The crowd goes wild, especially the trophy wives, who seem to have forgotten all about their soap star husbands in favor of these newer, less surgically enhanced specimens.
“And that concludes our official filming for today!” Boomer adds. “Tomorrow, we move on to Geiranger, where our trophy wives will compete in the Seven Sisters waterfall challenge!”
As the crowd disperses, the trophy wives descend upon Wes and Ransom like designer-clad vultures. Val practically drapes herself over Ransom, who maintains a polite but professional demeanor despite the fact that she’s all but massaged every nook and cranny that his muscular body has to offer. And I do mean all, while Harper corners Wes with what appears to be a very intense conversation about hisenergy.
Bess and Nettie, meanwhile, have appointed themselves as the official ice-pack attendants for the soap hunks, with Nettie paying particular attention to Santino’s delicate hamstrings.
What can I say? Those women work fast.
“Well, that was quite the spectacle,” Tinsley sneers as she steps in close. I’ll admit, she looks flawless as always in a tailored blue dress that exactly matches the water from the fjord. “Our men really showed those soap stars how it’s done.”
“They certainly did,” I say. “I’m impressed they tied. They’re both fiercely competitive.”
Something tells me this isn’t over. I wouldn’t be shocked to find them arm wrestling over the bread basket before dessert.
Tinsley follows my gaze to where Ransom is now trying to politely extract himself from Val’s clutches.
“Speaking of competition...” Tinsley shakes out her chestnut locks. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to discuss some ship business with Boomer.”
She sashays away, making a beeline for the producer, who’scurrently reviewing footage, and promptly inserts herself into the conversation, touching Boomer’s arm and laughing at something that probably isn’t even funny.
I survey the scene—the aging soap stars being tended to by octogenarian groupies, the trophy wives circling fresh meat, the production crew capturing every awkward moment for posterity—and make an executive decision.
I weave through the crowd until I reach Ransom, who’s still listening to Val chatter on about her charity work.
“Excuse me,” I interrupt as I bat my lashes up at my handsome plus-one, “but I was wondering if you’d like to join me for dinner at the Blue Crab tonight? After such an impressive performance, you must be starving.”
Val scowls my way. “Why, I would love?—”
“That sounds perfect,” Ransom says quickly, and the relief is more than evident in his eyes. “Thank you, Trixie.”
“Wonderful!” I turn to Val. “Unfortunately, they only had a table for two, but I’m sure we’ll see you at tomorrow’s event.”
Val openly scowls at me. “Of course. Another time,” she says while stalking off.
I nod toward Wes, who’s still cornered by Harper. “Should we rescue the captain, too?”
“Only because I’m feeling generous,” Ransom grunts, and together we make our way over.
“Captain Crawford,” I say with a bright smile. “I hope you haven’t forgotten our dinner reservation at Blue Crab? I’ve just invited Ransom to join us after that impressive tie.”
Relief floods Wes’s features. “I wouldn’t miss it, Trixie.” He nods to the others. “Ladies, if you’ll excuse me—duty calls.”
Together, the three of us make our escape, leaving behind a deck full of disappointed trophy wives and their oblivious husbands.
The Norwegian fjords glide past—towering, silent, and impossible to read. A lot like this case.
Still, with Ransom and Wes beside me, I’m not worried.
We’ll get to the truth.
Even if we have to survive a few more soap-star showdowns, and possibly a killer, to do it.
CHAPTER 18
The Blue Crab sits like a jewelry box on Deck 14 of theEmerald Queen, brimming with understated elegance and hushed refinement.
Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over crisp white tablecloths, while floor-to-ceiling windows frame the Norwegian fjords like living paintings. Twilight has settled over the water, turning the towering cliffs into dramatic silhouettes against the darkening purple sky. The mountains seem to watch over us like ancient, patient guards that have seen a thousand ships come and go, and they have.
