“The man is paying attention,” Elodie purrs without regret. “Clearly, he knows value when he sees it.” Her lips curve at the thought.
Tinsley grunts, “I can’t believe I have to watch another man chase after you.”
“Men don’t chase me,” Elodie adds as she lifts her chin. “They recognize me.”
True as gospel. And coincidentally, Elodie gets recognized just about every single cruise.
Tinsley storms off with her heels clicking against the marble like angry Morse code.
“That went well,” I say as Ransom pulls me close and his woodsy cologne envelops me.
He tilts his head to the side. “This looks like it’s going to be quite the voyage.”
Wes nods. “Filming a reality show with the wives of soap opera villains on a cruise ship,” he sighs. “What could possibly go wrong?”
“Add in a staff rivalry for the producer,” I quip, “and we’ve got ourselves a floating powder keg.”
Bess snorts as she leans in. “At least you didn’t see a ghost. That would really complicate things.”
I laugh at the thought before turning back toward the atrium. And then I see her again, my favorite soap star of all time.
There, by the grand staircase, stands Marlie Rothschild in her emerald green gown. She gives me a quick wave, her expression suddenly solemn, before dissolving into a shower of tiny gold stars.
I gasp as my hand flies to my mouth.
“Trixie?” Ransom pulls back a notch. “What’s going on? What’s wrong?”
“It’s Marlie,” I pant. “She—she’s gone.” More to the point, she’s evaporated to nothing.
It’s more than apparent now that this voyage won’t just feature reality show drama, manufactured jealousies, and soap opera egos.
It will feature what always seems to find me on the high seas—murder.
CHAPTER 3
There is something invigorating about a brand-new cruise.
The ship smells so clean, so fresh, so full of possibilities—murderous possibilities, but I decide to push those out of my mind for now. I refuse to spend the first day of my Norwegian fjords adventure contemplating which passenger might end up face-down in the infinity pool. Been there, discovered that—way too many times for my liking. And honestly, the coroner’s liking, too.
Instead, Bess, Nettie, and I finish up with our muster drill (via the app), then get dressed in some snazzy dresses, not too formal, but with enough sparkle to get a soap star to notice us. Please don’t judge me. Yes, I know I’m married to the hottest man on the ship, but the stars of yesteryear are gracing theEmerald Queenwith their distinguished, slightly wicked presence! I can’t help wanting to get noticed at least a little bit. Unless, of course, one of them is a killer. Then I’d prefer to remain firmly in the background, thank you very much.
The intoxicating scent of all things delicious hits us like achampagne cork to the forehead as Bess, Nettie, and I breeze through the doors of the Golden Compass Lounge.
“Sweet heavenly aroma of crab puffs,” Nettie groans as her nose twitches with all the subtlety of a rabbit in a carrot patch. “How I’ve missed the scent of food.”
“We ate three hours ago,” I’m quick to remind her.
“And your point is?”
I shrug because Nettie herself has a point.
The lounge is teeming with bodies, each of them more glittery than the last, and I’m starting to think we’re woefully underdressed despite the fact we’ve each donned what amounts to formalwear.
“We haven’t even stepped into the room yet,” Bess says, adjusting her cobalt blue wrap dress. “Let’s at least pretend we’re here for the social atmosphere before we raid the buffet.”
“Speak for yourself,” I say, eyeing a passing tray of champagne flutes. “I’m here for the whole package—food, drink, and the glittering possibility that I might accidentally rub elbows with soap opera royalty.”
“Even though you’re married to the hottest man on the ship?” Bess arches an eyebrow.
