CHAPTER 1
Itinerary: Norwegian Fjords Cruise (10 Days)
Day 1: Departure from Greenwich, England
Day 2: At Sea
Day 3: Stavanger, Norway (Pulpit Rock cliffs, charming old town, oil capital intrigue)
Day 4: At Sea / Scenic Fjord Cruising
Day 5: Flam / Sognefjord, Norway (deepest fjord, Flam Railway, tiny village)
Day 6: At Sea / Scenic Fjord Cruising
Day 7: Geiranger, Norway (Seven Sisters waterfall, UNESCO site, isolated village)
Day 8: At Sea
Day 9: Bergen, Norway (Colorful Bryggen wharf, fish market, funicular to Mount Fløyen)
Day 10: Copenhagen, Denmark (Disembarkation)
Suddenly Hitched—What a Trip!
Hey there,mystery-loving readers!
Ready to join me aboard theEmerald Queenfor the most dramatic—and potentially deadly—Norwegian fjords cruise ever? I’ve packed my warmest sweaters, my waterproof boots, and enough chocolate bonbons to survive whatever soap opera chaos awaits! From the towering cliffs of Stavanger to the breathtaking Geiranger fjord, I’m determined to soak up every drop of Nordic magic—along with plenty of aquavit and those divine Norwegian cinnamon buns that make life worth living.
Here’s to fjords, a little mystery, and hopefully keeping the body count to a minimum this time around. But I have a sinking feeling that this time, the drama won’t stay on the screen.
XOXO Trixie
Day 1:Departure from Greenwich, England
“I’m not looking at a single man on this entire cruise.” Bess crosses her arms over her chest hard enough to crack a rib. “Not one. I don’t care if he’s serving drinks, serving dinner, or serving time. My eyes are staying firmly fixed on the horizon. I’ve had it with men. Besides, dating at my age should be illegal.”
If there’s one thing I’ve learned about cruise ship life, it’s that a woman can only swear off men until the next devastatingly handsome specimen walks by. Which, on theEmerald Queen of the Seas, happens approximately every seven minutes.
“Oh sure.” Nettie honks out a laugh that could wake the dead—which, considering my new talent, isn’t just a figure of speech anymore. “Just like you swore off chocolate for breakfast, and I caught you inhaling six chocolate croissants from the buffet this morning like they might sprout legs and escape.”
“That was called emotional support pastries,” Bess shoots back,her red hair shaking with indignation. “Besides, we’re in England. It’s practically cultural immersion.”
We’re actually standing in the three-story atrium of theEmerald Queen of the Seas, surrounded by all nineteen decks of her glorious floating opulence. Outside the Greenwich port terminal, the controlled chaos of embarkation day swirls with luggage carts rattling by like miniature freight trains, taxi drivers honking with glee, and seagulls conducting targeted bombing raids on anyone daring enough to carry exposed food.
Inside, the ship gleams with enough crystal chandeliers to make a Vegas casino feel underdressed. Fresh orchids spill from Venetian glass vases, and there’s enough marble underfoot to impress Italy. The entire ship holds the scent of fresh ocean air, expensive perfume, and that particular scent of anticipation that comes with a brand-new cruise on the horizon.
My name is Trixie Troublefield Baxter, and at forty-nine, I never expected to be living on a cruise ship. But here I am—the ship’s art instructor no less—greeting passengers alongside my handsome husband, who makes other women walk into walls. Literally. I’ve witnessed three collisions in the past hour alone.
Bess Chatterley stands to my left in a sensible blue cardigan and pressed slacks, looking every inch the retired home economics teacher she is. An eighty-something redhead as sharp as a razor, she taught at Honey Hollow High for thirty years before her husband, the cheating dentist, traded her in for his secretary. Now she lives on the cruise ship, systematically draining his bank account one shore excursion at a time. It’s the kind of revenge that comes with complimentary turndown service, and I am here for it, especially since I’m doing the exact same thing.
Nettie Butterworth bounces beside her, wearing a rhinestone-bedazzled captain’s hat from the gift shop and a tropical print muumuu that could cause eye damage at fifty feet. Nettie is also inher eighties, she has wild gray curls, and a past that includes what she loosely calls farming in Vermont.
A little over a year ago, both of these wonderful women convinced me to make theEmerald Queenmy permanent address after my ex decided our marriage vows were more or less helpful suggestions.
“Welcome aboard!” I chirp to the next wave of passengers, and my smile is starting to feel like it’s been stapled in place.
Ransom steps in close next to me, and I swear three women near the fountain just started fanning themselves with their boarding passes.
