“It’s Rex,” I shout with rage. “He’s one of them!”
“An alien?” Nettie asks with a hopeful expression as if her evening is about to get significantly more interesting. And trust me, Nettie would be the first in line to date a being from another planet. She’s pretty much all but conquered this planet, I don’t see why she wouldn’t dip her toe into another one.
“No,” I shout, still scanning the crowd for signs of our missing friend.
“A lion tamer?” she calls out with far too much admiration.
“Not that either,” I practically scream, my patience evaporating faster than champagne bubbles.
“A tamer of theshrew,” she snaps her fingers as she says it.
“He’s a swinger!”
Half the ballroom erupts in applause and cheers, apparently thinking I’ve just announced some kind of musical entertainment.
“A swinger?” Nettie shouts with sudden understanding, her voice carrying enough volume to be heard in neighboring countries. “Well, that explains the Montana ranch invitation! Who needs cattle when you’ve got wife swapping! I bet his idea of branding has nothing to do with livestock!”
We each dart our separate ways, and within thirty seconds I hear, “I found them!”
I dash over to Nettie, where she’s pointing toward a secluded alcove behind the buffet, where two figures are engaged in activities that definitely weren’t featured in the ship’s family-friendly entertainment brochure.
Wes and Ransom zoom across the dance floor like emergency responders with personal stakes in the crisis. Ransom reaches the alcove first, physically pulling Rex away from Bess,who’s adjusting her dress while pretending they weren’t just caught making out behind the shrimp tower.
The sound of Ransom’s fist connecting with Rex’s jaw echoes across the ballroom like the world’s most satisfying percussion instrument, and suddenly everyone’s Valentine’s Day just got a whole lot more memorable.
Nothing screams romance like watching swingers get punched by the security detail while love triangles collapse in real time and people start to realize that their side pieces have side-pieces.
CHAPTER 31
Suddenly Hitched—What a Trip!
Hey there, mystery-loving readers!
Well, we’ve docked back in Greenwich after ten absolutely unforgettable days aboard theEmerald Queen!My stiletto heels are officially retired as heroes (who knew designer footwear could be life-saving equipment?), my detective skills have been thoroughly tested by swingers and psychologists alike, and I’ve consumed enough chocolate to put Willy Wonka out of business.
From dodging murderous relationship therapists to watching Nettie charm the life out of a very dapper man, this Valentine’s cruise proved that love reallyISa many-splendored thing—especially when it involves criminal confessions, international incidents, and enough romantic drama to fuel a dozen romance novels.
I’ve learned some valuable lessons. Always trust your octogenarian friends’ instincts about suspicious silver foxes, never underestimate the investigative power of a good stiletto, and sometimes the most dangerous relationships are the ones that look perfect on the surface.
Until our next adventure, keep your hearts open, your heels sharp, and maybe avoid any cruise activities that involve alternative lifestyle exploration—trust me on that one!
Here’s to love, laughter, and keeping the body count to a minimum!
XOXO Trixie
P.S. Note to self: always trust Elodie’s shoe choices. You never know when designer stilettos might save your life!
Day 10: Return to Greenwich, England
“We did it,”I announce as we stand at the gangway watching passengers disembark like survivors of the world’s most romantic shipwreck. “We survived another journey on our way to justice.”
Bess nods. “Nothing quite says successful Valentine’s cruise like watching half our fellow travelers file restraining orders before their feet hit dry land.”
Bess, Nettie, and I have once again joined Wes, Ransom, Elodie, and Tinsley right here at the gangway as we wave to departing passengers who seem resigned to the fact that their time on this floating paradise is over.
TheEmerald Queen of the Seassits docked in Greenwich like a floating monument to romantic ambition and homicidal tendencies, gleaming white against the gray English morning. The scent of sea salt mingles with whatever expensive perfume is still clinging to passengers who’ve apparently bathed in eau de desperation for the past ten days. Valentine’s decorations droop from the railings like romantic surrender flags that have finally given up the fight, heart-shaped balloons deflated and looking as tired as most of the marriages that boarded with us.
The gentle thrum of engines winding down blends with the sound of rolling luggage and conversations in twelve different languages, while seagulls provide their own raucous commentary on the romantic aftermath unfolding below.
