“I still can’t believe you pronounce it shuh-but-boller,” Nettie says, biting into her third fresh-baked cinnamon roll. “It looks nothing like that on paper.”
“Skillingsboller,” Wes corrects gently. “And you’re massacring it worse than Santino DiAngelo’s Bulgarian accent in season twenty-seven.”
“Ha!” I laugh at Wes’s expansive knowledge of all things soap. “I didn’t know you were a fan.”
Ransom nods. “That explains a lot.”
“Listen up, Captain.” Nettie wags a finger at him while holding the sweet treat tight. “I’ll have you know Santino spent three weeks with a dialect coach for that storyline,” she shoots back. “He told me so himself while I was helping ice his hamstrings.”
“I bet that’s not all you helped ice,” Bess mutters into her drink, a fruity concoction that has lots of berries and tea—and I’m pretty sure it has some aquavit in it too. The Norwegian spirit has systematically dismantled her already minimal filter.
Ransom surveys the spread of kjøttboller—yummy meatballs, fresh salmon, and potato salad—with the focused attention heusually reserves for crime scenes. “The Norwegians certainly know their way around fish.”
“Is that your professional assessment, Agent Baxter?” Wes asks, spearing a piece of salmon as if he were harvesting it from the sea.
“Just an observation, Captain Crawford.” Ransom frowns at Wes for employing his proper moniker and thus making him respond in kind. “Although I have investigated three cases involving fish smuggling.”
“Only three?” Wes’s eyebrow arches with mock disappointment. “I’ve intercepted at least a dozen contraband seafood operations in the span of my career.”
“Seriously?” Bess shakes her head at the two of them. “The two of you are comparing fish arrest records?”
“It never ends,” I say.
“He started it.” Ransom’s lips curve in that wicked way that makes my heart skip ten beats. It’s so not safe.
“Speaking of fishy investigations,” I say, not one to let a good springboard to homicide pass me by. “How about we discuss a certain murderer on our cruise ship?”
“It’s time for the Suspect Circle,” Nettie says as she rubs her hands together with glee, as only someone who isn’t a suspect can.
“How about Murder Roundtable?” Ransom counters.
“How about Homicide Huddle?” Bess offers.
“Death Diamond,” Nettie contributes, to everyone’s confusion.
“Suspect Circle it is,” I declare before this can devolve further. “Let’s start with Val Pierce-Henderson.”
“Former Miss Venezuela, current Miss Charity Fraud,” Bess summarizes, the aquavit clearly doing the talking now.
“According to Elodie, Val’s charity for a performing arts center for underprivileged kids is basically a personal piggy bank,” I explain, lowering my voice though there’s no one within earshot except a couple of seagulls with judgmental expressions—mostly because they’re eyeing the amount of food we have and ourunwillingness to share. “Madison confronted her about it the day before she was murdered.”
“The charity angle gives her a solid motive,” Ransom notes. “Exposure would mean public humiliation, possible legal consequences, and the end of her funding stream.”
“Plus, she’s from Venezuela,” Nettie points out, as if this is significant evidence.
We all turn to stare at her.
“What?” she asks defensively. “They have tropical plants there. Probably oleander, too.”
“That’s not exactly compelling forensic evidence,” Ransom says before tipping his head as if reconsidering it.
Nettie leans in. “I once watched a documentary about poisonous plants in South America,” she insists. “Or maybe it was aCriminal Hospitalepisode where Dr. Ricardo poisoned the hospital board with rare Amazonian tree frogs.” She frowns. “It gets confusing at my age.”
“Moving on to Beth Williams,” Wes suggests, tactfully redirecting the conversation.
“Or should we say Elizabeth Carmichael?” I correct. “Former wife of soap star Winston Reed, who died mysteriously at fifty-two.” I already filled Ransom in last night at dinner, and Bess and Nettie by proxy.
“The woman’s collecting soap star husbands like I collect shot glasses,” Bess remarks, helping herself to more aquavit.
