“Trixie Troublefield!” Boomer’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “You’re up next!”
I blink in surprise, and everything in me freezes. The confessional chair sits empty on stage with the spotlight warming it.
“Here goes nothing,” I pant as I rise from my seat.
I make my way to the steps just as Boomer checks his watchand frowns. “Actually, I’m starving. Let’s break for lunch. We can do Trixie’s segment later. It’s not like the boring housewife has any real dirt on anyone anyway.”
I frown his way. I’ll admit, the dismissal stings a bit, but I nod and smile as Boomer dismisses the audience. If he only knew that I now have enough dirt to bury someone six feet under. The question is, which of our suspects deserves the burial?
Val with her charity fraud? Beth with her mysterious first husband, who died under suspicious circumstances? Harper with her apparent vendetta against Victor Darkmore? Or someone else entirely? If this were truly a soap opera, there would be a killer twist. Like maybeIwas the killer. Only I don’t have enough evidence to bury myself,yet.
Like the shocking mid-season twist onThe Guiding Lies,I have all the pieces but can’t quite see the full picture.
And on theEmerald Queen, missing the final clue could mean becoming the killer’s next victim.
CHAPTER 22
Cruise Ship Gossip Flash
HOT OFF THE PROMENADE PRESS
You didn’t hear it from me, but...
Last night’s impromptu hot tub scene forTrophy Wives of Paradisehad to be reshot THREE times because Val keptaccidentallysplashing water on Beth’s freshly done hair extensions! The makeup team was furious, but Boomer kept the cameras rolling, calling it authentic tension.
Spotted: Dirk Rothschild dramatically removing his sunglasses before announcing, “This changes everything,” about a delayed poolside towel delivery.
The ice sculpture at last night’s gala mysteriously toppled right as Harper was giving her confessional about trusting your instincts. Several passengers swear they felt a cold breezepass through the room just before it happened, while others claim they heard faint laughter that sounded suspiciously like Marlie Rothschild’s famous villain cackle from season seventeen.
Word from the galley is that the head chef is refusing to prepare any more off-menu requests after Santino sent back his Norwegian salmon three times, each time requesting itless Norwegian.
Most suspicious behavior goes to Beth Williams who has been spotted taking extensive notes on the ship’s emergency evacuation procedures. Research for her next role or planning a quick getaway? The mystery deepens!
Until next time, keep your ears open and your champagne glasses full!
XOXO Trixie
Day 9: Bergen, Norway (Colorful Bryggen wharf, fish market, funicular to Mount Fløyen)
Spoiler alert:Boomer decided to nix my interview altogether. One of the soap villains was having a tantrum in the casino, and he thought it would behoove the ratings to get it all on tape, rather than pretend I had anything to say that anyone wanted to hear. When I told Ransom, well, he was moved to tell Boomer a few things that Ransom thought he should hear, by way of his weapon. I told him to save the bullets. We might need them.
The cheerful wooden buildings of Bryggen wharf welcome us to Bergen, our final Norwegian port before tomorrow’s farewell in Copenhagen.
I’ve already updated my blog with photos of yesterday’s fjordadventures, carefully omitting any mention of murder investigations or poisoned soap stars.
Breakfast today was a two-act culinary extravaganza per usual. First up was a gargantuan spread at the Blue Water Café buffet with Bess and Nettie while Ransom briefed his security team. We demolished plates piled with smoked salmon, fresh bagels, creamy Norwegian egg casserole, plump blueberries, and those adorable heart-shaped waffles with lingonberry jam that Nettie insists on callingViking love cakes.
Not satisfied with merely stuffing ourselves senseless, we proceeded to second breakfast in the formal dining room (a day on land requires both carbs and caffeine in abundance), where we indulged in made-to-order eggs Benedict with Norwegian crab, and Bess charmed the chef into creating chocolate-stuffed French toast that wasn’t even on the menu.
I savored both that decadent creation and a delicate smoked fish omelet with dill cream, while Nettie somehow managed to put away both a Norwegian salmon hash and a stack of cloudberry pancakes despite insisting she could hardly eat a bite.
We finally waddle off the ship, which is directly docked rather than tendered, thank goodness—and we meet up with Ransom and Wes at the harbor entrance, both looking unfairly energetic and handsome for men who’d spent the morning coordinating security protocols for tonight’s potentially murderous formal dinner.
The rainbow-colored wooden buildings of Bryggen wharf stand shoulder to shoulder like cheerful frat buddies propping each other up after a long night on the town. Reds, yellows, and earthy tones pop against the moody Norwegian sky, where patches of blue play hide-and-seek with thick, gray clouds. These crooked structures have survived since the fourteenth century, and it is officially a UNESCO World Heritage site that’s seen more drama than asoap opera marathon—although probably with fewer evil twins and amnesia plots.
We’ve already roamed, shopped, and picked up lunch, and now we’re seated at a picnic table overlooking the harbor where we can seethe Emerald Queendocked majestically in the distance, its white hull gleaming despite the temperamental sky.
The scent of fresh fish from the nearby market mingles with salt air and the enticing aroma of our Norwegian feast spread across the wooden table. While the trophy wives are back on the ship getting pampered for tonight’s formal dinner finale, we’ve escaped for some local cuisine and much-needed murder investigation strategizing. Okay, so I’d like to think that last part is going to happen. A girl can dream. I can’t help it if homicide is my love language.
