“The lesson’s not over yet,” I say with a wink. “Watch and learn.”
He frowns, completely unamused by the fact I’ve just taken the lead on the case. It could be worse. I usually do this part without him.
We reach Val, who turns to us with a carefully constructed smile that’s all teeth and zero warmth.
“Val,” I say, trying to sound cheerful, “this has been quite the day, hasn’t it?”
She sighs dramatically. “Honey, you have no idea. First, the lighting was all wrong, then that dingbat, Beth, nearly sends me plunging to my death—accidentally, she claims—and now my hair is fighting a losing battle with this ridiculous Nordic wind.” She pats her perfectly styled locks. “My stylist would have a conniption if he knew what I was dealing with.”
“It must be difficult,” Ransom says, calm and measured, “dealing with Madison’s death on top of everything else.”
Val’s smile falters for a millisecond before it bounces back onher face. “Oh, it’s absolutely devastating. We were all so close, you know. Like sisters.”
The delivery is perfect, but I’ve seen more genuine emotion in a shopping channel jewelry presentation.
“How did you and your husband meet?” I ask, easing into the conversation. “Was it on set?”
Val’s face brightens at what looks like the chance to tell her favorite story. “Oh, no. It was much more romantic. I was modeling at a charity gala in Miami for the local performing arts center. Santino was the celebrity host. He saw me across the room and told his agent, ‘I’m going to marry that woman.’” She pauses for effect. “Three months later, we were exchanging vows on his yacht in Saint-Tropez.”
“Sounds like love at first sight,” I say with a shrug. Or love at first yacht, but I don’t say that out loud.
“More like lust,” she says with a wink. “But twenty years later, we’re still together, which in Hollywood is practically a golden anniversary.”
“I’ll say,” I give a little laugh, and both she and Ransom give me the side-eye.
“You and Madison seemed to work closely on the show,” Ransom says, smoothly transitioning the conversation.
Val’s perfectly arched eyebrows twitch slightly. “We had creative differences, as they say in the business. Madison always wanted to be front and center. The rest of us were just background decoration to her.”
I glance down at the icy swath of water below, and my head starts to spin on cue. The fjord is dreamy and gorgeous from this bird’s-eye vantage point, but oh-so-terrifying, too.
I’m about to suggest we hit the refreshment table before I accidentally topple over the edge when a spray of tiny gold stars shimmers next to Val. And within seconds, Marlie Rothschild appears decked out in full 1980s soap opera glory. This time she’s donned agold silk blouse and white slacks with a hard crease running down the middle, along with flashy red high heels that sparkle in the light. Her shoulder pads are so massive she could easily run defense in the NFL, and her hair is teased to heights that could interfere with low-flying aircraft—if she were alive.
I gasp audibly at the sight of her, because who wouldn’t? And well, that causes both Ransom and Val to inspect me with concern.
“Sorry,” I say quickly. “I thought I saw something fall from the cliff.” Like my sanity.
Ransom raises a brow as if to ask the question, and I give a subtle nod his way. That’s the nice thing about being married to someone who you’re a perfect fit for. You can have an entire conversation with just one look.
He’s familiar enough with my supernatural quirks to recognize when I’ve got otherworldly company.
“Please, continue,” I encourage Val, while trying not to openly stare at Marlie, who is now examining her ghostly nails as if she were bored. And considering some of the insane plotlines she’s lived through, she might be. “What about Madison?”
“Darling, that woman was insufferable,” Marlie answers before Val can. “She stole my husband, my role,andmy signature eyeshadow technique. The only thing she didn’t steal was my talent.”
I bite my lip to keep from responding, but I can’t stop staring at the woman. I can’t help it, I’m actually starstruck. Victoria Darkmore herself—or at least the actress who played her—is floating right here next to me. Dead and in person. I’m dying to see her levitate again just the way she did last night. If you ask me, that’s her signature move.
“Madison and I worked well enough together,” Val continues, oblivious to our ghostly celebrity guest. “But she was, let’s see…ambitious. Perhaps too ambitious.”
“Ambitious enough to dig into your charity finances?” Marlieasks, circling Val as if she were about to go in for the kill. “Tell them about the missing money, honey. The kids at the performing arts center would like to know where their funding went—straight into your closet, wasn’t it?”
I gasp again without meaning to, and Val nods my way as if I understood the implications of what she meant bytoo ambitious.
“Did you and Madison have any disagreements recently?” Ransom asks.
Val examines her manicure as her red polish glitters in the light. “Nothing serious. Just the usual reality TV squabbles over screen time and storylines.” Her tone is casual, but there’s a marked tension around her eyes.
“Now, tell the truth. She threatened to expose your little charity scam on national television,” Marlie says with a wry smile curving on her lips. “Is that what you call a squabble these days? In my world, we’d call that a motivation for murder in the first degree.”
