“And to hoping dessert doesn’t come with another body,” Ransom adds dryly.
We clink glasses, and for a moment, it’s almost peaceful. Just three people enjoying excellent food and decent company.
Tomorrow we dock in Geiranger. And somewhere on this ship, a killer is watching.
But tonight? Tonight, we enjoy fine dining and plan our next move.
CHAPTER 19
Suddenly Hitched—What a Trip!
Dear Trixie,
I’m considering booking a spa treatment during my upcoming cruise. Is theEmerald Queen’sspa worth the splurge? I’ve heard conflicting reviews about whether the treatments are actually relaxing or just overpriced. Any insider recommendations from your current Norwegian adventure?
Spa Hesitant in Seattle
Dear Spa Hesitant,
Writing to you from my current Norwegian fjords cruise, where I’ve become quite familiar with our spa facilities (purely for research purposes, of course).
TheEmerald Queen’sNorthern Lights Spa is indeed worth every dime! After hiking up to Pulpit Rock, the hot stone massage literally saved my ability to walk. The spa uses actualsmooth stones from Norwegian beaches—a lovely touch that our therapists are quite proud of.
The best-kept secret? Book the Fjord Relaxation Suite for the hour we sail through Geirangerfjord. While everyone else is jostling for position on the crowded observation deck, you’ll be floating in a heated mineral pool with floor-to-ceiling windows and the exact same spectacular view—minus the elbows and selfie sticks.
I’m currently sharing the thermal suite with several of our soap opera guests who are filming their reality show onboard. Let me tell you, there’s something delightfully humanizing about seeing daytime TV’s most dramatic villains padding around in spa slippers, debating the merits of eucalyptus versus lavender steam. One particular silver-haired soap legend (who shall remain nameless) has been in the sauna so long I’m concerned he might actually be melting.
My top recommendation is the Nordic Detox Wrap. Trust me on this one! It’s the only reason I’m able to function after sampling every variety of sweet treats at last night’s Norwegian cultural celebration. The trophy wives have been booking this treatment in droves after their confessional filming sessions, which tells you everything you need to know about its miraculous properties.
XOXO Trixie
P.S. Avoid the spa if Bess and Nettie are anywhere nearby. They’ve been banned from the relaxation room after launching a thermal-suite gossip circle so disruptive that it set back inner peace by a decade. Being marched out in bathrobes while arguing they were “only discussing soap opera plot inconsistencies” is a core memory now.
Day 7:Geiranger, Norway (Seven Sisters waterfall, UNESCO World Heritage Sites, isolated village)
TheEmerald Queencan’t actually dock in Geiranger—the fjord is too deep and the village too small—so we’re tendering in on smaller boats like Vikings invading in slow motion. And since it’s a shore day, that means Bess, Nettie, and I indulge in our traditional double breakfast. Okay, fine. We partake in second breakfast whether we’re in port or not.
Speaking of breakfast, the Blue Water Café outdid itself this morning with a Scandinavian spread featuring smoked salmon, pickled herring, cloudberry jam, and something called lefse—thin Norwegian flatbread that Nettie immediately buttered, sugared, and rolled up like the world’s most delicate burrito.
“This is heaven,” she declared through a mouthful. I stuck with the waffles, but I admit, the lefse looked tempting.
After breakfast, I updated my blog—carefully avoiding any mention of murders, investigations, or the fact that my art class this morning turned into performance art when a seagull dive-bombed Tinsley mid-demonstration.
The bird made a valiant attempt to steal her paintbrush, which resulted in Tinsley painting herself more than the canvas. She now has a streak of cerulean blue across her forehead, which resulted in a string of equally colorful expletives when she realized acrylic paint doesn’t wash off easily. My students were more amused than they should have been. I was, too, honestly.
Now, freshly tendered and standing before one of Norway’s most famous natural wonders, I’m trying to focus on the majesty of nature instead of the absurdity of bringing soap opera stars to witness it.
The Seven Sisters waterfall cascades down the steep mountainside like nature’sownsoap opera—dramatic, excessive, and absolutely breathtaking. Seven distinct streams of water plummet nearly fifteen hundred feet into the emerald waters of theGeirangerfjord below, creating a misty veil that shimmers in the scattered sunlight breaking through the moody Norwegian clouds. The sky above shifts between steely gray and hopeful patches of blue, as temperamental as the divas we’ve brought to witness this UNESCO World Heritage spectacle.
The scent of pine mingles with the earthy aroma of moss and the clean, mineral tang of the waterfall itself. All around us, the sounds of nature compete with the sounds of civilization—the thunderous roar of falling water versus the whining complaints of trophy wives who’ve discovered that Norwegian hiking trails don’t care about Louboutin hiking boots or Prada athleisure wear.
Ransom is with me, while Bess and Nettie have skipped ahead like mountain goats with something to prove. The scenery around us might be majestic, but I can’t stop stealing glances at my handsome hubby.
“You’re staring,” he says, though he’s looking straight ahead at the trail.
“I’m admiring the view.”
“The waterfalls are that way.” He gestures forward.
