“I wasn’t talking about the waterfalls.”
His mouth quirks. “Subtle.”
“I learned from the best,” I reply, bumping my shoulder against his. “You should see the way you look at me when you think I’m not paying attention.”
“I’m conducting surveillance,” he says seriously. “Making sure you’re not about to trip over a body or start interrogating wildlife.”
“That seagull had it coming. It had very suspicious behavior.”
“The seagull that attacked Tinsley?”
“Exactly. It was clearly working for someone. And by the way, thank you for looking out for us all.”
He glances down at me then, the humor softening into something steadier. “I look because it’s my job,” he says. “I stay because it’s you.”
“Aww, come here.” I’m about to pull him in for one serious smooching session when a tussle breaks out near us.
“I was told we’d be taking a shuttle,” Val hisses, tiptoeing her way along the muddy path like a cat forced into a bathtub. Her designer hiking ensemble, which I suspect was purchased specifically for this excursion and will never see the outdoors again, is already splattered with evidence that Mother Nature doesn’t respect a four-figure price tag.
“My skin-care routine doesn’t account for this level of humidity,” Beth laments, frantically patting her face with a monogrammed handkerchief. “My foundation is literally sliding off my face.”
Harper, to her credit, seems the least bothered by the twenty-minute hike, though even she keeps checking her pristine manicure for signs of damage. “At least the view is worth it,” she offers, though her gaze is fixed more on the cameramen than the natural wonder behind them.
Meanwhile, Bess and Nettie have somehow reached the viewing platform ahead of everyone else, despite being nearly twice the age of the trophy wives.
“Pick up the pace, buttercups!” Nettie calls back, waving her walking stick like a weapon. “We’re burning daylight, and I’ve got plans to become Norway’s newest soap star before sunset!”
“I told you we should have taken that alpine hiking class ten cruises back,” Bess reminds me as I reach the platform. “Caribbean beaches are lovely, but they don’t prepare you for fjord adventures.”
“Next time we solve a murder, I’ll be sure it happens somewhere with more appropriate cardio training opportunities,” I pant, catching my breath and taking in the truly magnificent view.
The Seven Sisters live up to their name with seven waterfalls tumbling side by side down the mountain face, their spray catching the afternoon light. The fjord spreads out below us,impossibly deep and blue-green, hemmed in by cliffs so steep they look carved by giants.
Behind us, the drama continues.
“This is abuse!” Val announces to no one in particular, or possibly to everyone within a three-mile radius. “My personal trainer specifically warned me against inclines over fifteen degrees. This is at least thirty!”
“It’s a walking path,” Harper points out flatly.
“Asteepwalking path with no handrails and questionable footing,” Val counters, grabbing onto a small tree for support, and a shower of pine needles rains down over her, prompting her to belt out a scream.
Beth stops to examine a rather severe mud stain on her pale pink hiking pants. “These were custom! I had to wait six weeks for them to arrive from Milan.”
“And they’re covered in dirt now,” Harper observes with the curve of a wicked smile.
“Norwegian dirt,” Beth corrects, as if the country of origin somehow elevates the tragedy. “This is never coming out.”
The soap husbands, meanwhile, have been delivered to the filming location via a special arrangement that involved significantly less hiking and significantly more complaining. They stand in a semicircle near the edge of the viewing platform with Boomer nudging them into place like a seasoned director.
“No, no, NO!” Boomer throws his hands up in exasperation. “Dirk of Darkness, you need to be centered with the middle sister falls behind you. Lance—Luca, whoever you are, three steps to the right—your lighting is terrible there. Santino, can you please stop checking your phone? The international crime syndicate can wait!”
Ransom steps off to the side, doing what he does best, holding the line between order and chaos while quietly tracking the most dangerous edges of the viewing platform. But every few minutes,his attention drifts back to me. It’s not obvious or dramatic. Just a look that saysI’ve got you.And with these vultures around, boy, do I appreciate it.
The mountain air may be cold, but that silent check-in warms me anyway.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” Boomer claps his hands for attention once everyone has finally assembled. “Welcome to our Geiranger Fjord spectacular! Today, we’re filming theLegends of Daytimesegment, where each of our beloved soap stars will recreate their most iconic line against this breathtaking backdrop.”
A ripple of excitement passes through the trophy wives, who suddenly seem to forget all about their hiking trauma.
