I press my lips tight. Only a handful of people know about my supernatural quirk—Bess, Nettie, Wes, and Ransom comprise my entire ghost-seeing support circle on this ship, which is already four people too many for my comfort.
My talent—or curse, depending on whether you’ve just had breakfast or are trying to sleep—is technically called transmundane,further classified as supersensual. In normal human language, that means I see dead people, but only around the time of murders, which makes for a very niche and unwanted superpower.
I didn’t always have this spectral party trick. In fact, it started the day I met Bess and Nettie, when their tug-of-war over a vodka bottle ended with said bottle connecting with my skull. Ever since that fateful bonk, my life has featured unwanted ghostly visitors who pop up like supernatural telemarketers, and always when I least want company.
“Actually,” I admit, lowering my voice, “I have seen a ghost. A woman. And we’ve already sort of discussed her.”
Bess’s eyes widen. “Oh, my word. Is it the Queen of England?”
“Princess Grace?” Nettie suggests. “Amelia Earhart? Wait, is it Judy Garland? I always thought she’d make one heck of a ghost.”
I shake my head. “It’s Marlie Rothschild. It turns out, she’s been dead for a while.”
Both women gasp so hard they nearly inhale their napkins.
“Victoria Darkmore herself?” Bess clutches her pearls so hard I half expect to see them launching into my coffee.
“The original Mrs. Dirk Rothschild?” Nettie adds. “Before Madison swooped in and took her job AND her husband?”
“One and the same,” I confirm with a rather smug nod. “Complete with 1980s power shoulders that could double as aircraft carriers and enough hairspray to punch a decent hole in the ozone layer. And she isglorious.” I’ve never swooned over a woman before, but there’s a first time for everything. And boy, am I ever swooning hard.
“Where is she?” Bess looks around as if expecting to spot a ghost hovering by the omelet station.
Nettie leans in close and nearly dips her sleeve in her coffee. “I lived for her paranormal storylines! Remember when she waspossessed by that evil spirit and her eyes turned a scary shade of yellow? She chewed scenery like it was made of caramel!”
“The famous levitation scene.” I nod furtively.
“And when her eyes started glowing, I had nightmares for weeks!” Bess nods vigorously. “I had to sleep with a nightlight. Is she as fabulous as she seems? I swear, I thought if we ever met, we’d be best friends, especially after her husband cheated on her with his secretary. The same thing happened to me, and nothing bonds women more than a cheating ex!”
“Hear, hear.” I raise my coffee in solidarity. “I haven’t spoken to her yet, but, boy, I can’t wait until I do. Believe me, if there was a way to get her otherworldly autograph, I would.”
“Just hand her a pen and a napkin,” Nettie suggests. “Nothing livens up breakfast like airborne linen.”
We share a quick laugh just as a woman with strawberry-blonde hair pauses near our table, then backtracks with the hesitant steps of someone who’s both curious and trying not to appear nosy.
“I’m sorry,” she says, “but I thought I heard the name Marlie Rothschild? Victoria Darkmore was basically my idol.”
It’s Beth Williams, looking both impeccable and destroyed simultaneously. Her strawberry-blonde curls fall in perfect waves around a face with puffy eyes that look as if they’ve spent the night crying, though her designer sundress and collection of diamond bracelets suggest she believes in facing tragedy through fashion.
“Oh, please join us,” I offer, seeing an opportunity to pump a potential suspect for information. “I’m Trixie, and these are my friends, Bess and Nettie.”
“Hello, ladies.” Beth slides into the empty chair with slight hesitation. “I’m Beth. I think we met last night.” She nods to me specifically.
“That we did,” I offer a mournful smile in light of the events that took place.
“Hey, you’re the wife of Dr. Luca Carrington Jr.!” Nettie shouts, unable to contain herself or her knowledge of soap stars and their legal plus-ones.
Beth smiles, and yet it looks like a practiced, very much camera-ready expression. “Lance Williams, yes. But I get it, everyone calls him Luca.”
“Oh, I was obsessed with Luca and Laurie!” Bess exclaims, nearly spilling her coffee in excitement. “Their wedding episode broke ratings records!”
I give an enthusiastic nod. “I stayed home from school just to watch it. Faked a fever and everything. Luca and Laurie were everything to me.” Okay, so I may have envisioned killing off Laurie myself so that I could become the next Dr. Luca Carrington Jr. But who could blame me for having such homicidal fantasies? Half the country was having them at the time. Some still do.
Nettie clutches at her chest. “And I dumped my husband just to marry someone named Luca. I made sure I wore the same wedding dress as Laurie, right down to the seven-foot train that kept catching on everything.”
Bess gasps hard. “And the poufy veil with the pearl flower bangs?”
Nettie nods.
