“That seems a bit far-fetched,” Ransom says with a slow blink.
“Says the man who’s never watched a single soap opera in his life,” Nettie retorts. “Identity reveals after plastic surgery are practically a once-a-week event on daytime television.”
“Which brings us to Victor himself,” I steer us back on track. “He seems genuinely upset about Madison’s death, but he’s also an actor who’s been playing the same role for thirty-eight years.”
“The man cries on cue,” Bess points out. “I’ve seen him shed a single tear while ordering coffee.”
“He also has the most extensive knowledge of poisons,” Wes adds. “Victor Darkmore has poisoned at least eight people on the show.”
I inch back and examine him as my mouth falls open. “Wes! You are a fount of sudsy knowledge!”
He shrugs. “I was doing research for the case.”
“Over the last thirty years?” Ransom counters, and I think he got him.
“He poisoned nine people on the show,” Nettie corrects automatically. “You’re forgetting the Christmas gala massacre of 2011.”
“That was a dream sequence,too!” Bess protests.
“It was NOT!” Nettie cries out with such passion, that about ten different tourists run for cover.
As they bicker away, Ransom leans in close to my ear. “You know, for all their soap opera obsession, those two have surprisingly good observational skills.”
“Don’t let the crochet hooks and orthopedic shoes fool you,” I whisper back. “We both know they’re sharper than they look.”
“Speaking of sharp,” Ransom says, his voice dropping, “have I mentioned how particularly beautiful you look with Bergen as your backdrop?”
“You are a smooth talker, Ransom Baxter,” I tease as a surge of heat creeps up my neck.
“I mean it,” he insists, his fingers finding mine under the table. “Even surrounded by UNESCO-recognized historic architecture, you’re still the most captivating sight in Norway.”
Wes clears his throat once again. “Are you two going to keep making googly eyes at each other, or can we finish discussing ourmurder suspects?” he interrupts, though there’s amusement in his tone.
“Jealousy doesn’t become you, Captain,” Ransom replies mildly.
“Neither does modesty, Security Chief,” Wes counters with a grin.
“Are we back to that again?” I tease. “You boys and your name-calling. You better watch it, or I’m going to put both of you on a time-out.”
Bess and Nettie howl out a laugh, and the picnic table vibrates beneath us.
“If you boys need to go measure your anchor chains, we can wait,” Bess says, causing Nettie to choke on her skillingsboller.
I laugh despite myself. “Okay, before this devolves any further, and way before the anchor chain comparison can begin, what’s our plan for tonight’s formal dinner?”
Ransom scowls in the direction of the ship. “I’ve arranged for additional security personnel to be present and discreetly positioned throughout the dining room. We’re not taking any chances.”
“And I’ve instructed the kitchen staff to prepare all food and drinks under direct supervision,” Wes adds. “No chance of additional poisoning attempts. I hope.”
“Nettie and I can provide a distraction if needed,” Bess volunteers. “I’ve been working on my fainting spell. Want to see?”
“Maybe save it for tonight,” I suggest quickly before she can demonstrate. I’d hate for life to imitate art.
“I still can’t believe we’re heading to Copenhagen tomorrow,” Nettie sighs. “The cruise will be over. Our last day. If we don’t catch the killer tonight...”
“We will,” Ransom says with quiet confidence. “We have everything we need.”
As if on cue, the sky darkens overhead, and a light drizzle begins to fall. Bergen, apparently, is famous for its rain, a fact the tourism brochures conveniently minimize.
