“Perfect timing,” Wes says, squinting up at the clouds. “How about we head back to the ship?”
We gather our things in haste, with Bess needing slightly more assistance than usual, thanks to her aquavit appreciation. As we trek along the harbor toward theEmerald Queen,I can’t help but marvel at the contrast—the cheerful, crooked buildings of Bryggen with their bright facades hiding centuries of secrets, not unlike our suspects with their carefully maintained veneers concealing darker truths.
I’m hoping that tonight, at the formal dinner, someone’s carefully constructed facade will finally crumble. And I hope by then we know exactly which one that is.
“Penny for your thoughts,” Ransom says, his arm warm around my shoulders as we walk.
“I was just thinking that people are like these buildings,” I reply, gesturing to Bryggen. “Colorful exteriors hiding centuries of history. Some of it good, some of it, not so much.”
“That’s surprisingly poetic for someone who just ate their weight in Norwegian meatballs,” he teases.
“I contain multitudes of layers,” I say with a laugh. “And excellent taste in Scandinavian cuisine.”
“And husbands,” he adds with a smile that still makes my heart skip.
“That, too,” I say. “But only this husband.” I hike on my toes and steal a kiss from him, right here in the heart of all of this beauty.
We make our way back to the ship where, in just a few hours, our final act will play out like the season finale ofAll My Suspects—complete with revelations, confrontations, and hopefully, justice for Madison Rothschild.
CHAPTER 23
Night has fallen on our final evening in Bergen, transforming the harbor lights into a glittering necklace around the dark waters.
After a day of exploring Norway’s most colorful port city, theEmerald Queenhas come alive with anticipation for tonight’s grand finale. Passengers have traded hiking boots and sweaters for formal wear, and the corridors buzz with excitement about the closing episode ofTrophy Wives of Paradise—Soap Opera Stars Edition!
And believe me, no one is as excited as I am.
I make the final adjustments to my outfit, a sky-blue cocktail dress with a neckline to there and a side slit, that as Nettie put it, shows off my pins. I secure a pearl hairpin behind my left ear, and admire the look that Elodie sent up this morning. I can’t help but wonder if we’ll be toasting the end of another successful cruise or finally unmasking a killer before the night is through. Hopefully both.
Bess and Nettie have risen to the occasion with gusto. Bess dazzles in a midnight-blue sequined gown that throws light withevery move, while Nettie goes full vintage glamour in emerald, straight out of a 1950s Hollywood premiere—elbow-length gloves included, which she keeps threatening to remove when things get serious.
Ransom is already on patrolling duty, so Bess, Nettie, and I boot-scoot our way over to the Golden Compass Lounge and gasp as we spot the once familiar room. The lounge has undergone one serious transformation for tonight’s finale.
Gone is the casual elegance of our welcome party, replaced by an atmosphere of pure Hollywood glamour. Crystal chandeliers have been dimmed to a flattering golden glow that makes everyone look ten years younger and much more mysterious. White linen-covered tables adorned with centerpieces of white roses and orchids dot the perimeter of the room, while the middle of the room has been cleared for mingling and the inevitable dramatic confrontations that define both reality TV and murder investigations.
It’s dimly lit, the bodies are thick, the atmosphere is jovial, and the air is electric.
Here’s hoping no one gets electrocuted.
And to top it all off, the scent of all things delicious ignites my senses.
“Hubbahubba,” Bess sighs.
“The men do look delicious,” Nettie says, licking her lips as if she’s ready to take a bite out of the first man she sees.
“I was talking about the buffet,” Bess is quick to correct while taking in the culinary delights surrounding us.
The food spread is enough to make even the most jaded cruiser’s jaw drop. A towering seafood display featuring Norwegian salmon, king crab legs, oysters, and three kinds of caviar anchors one end of the room. Carving stations offering prime rib and rack of lamb are attended by chefs in tall white hats.
An international cheese and charcuterie display curves alongone wall, artfully arranged to resemble a world map if you squint and have had enough champagne. Speaking of which, waiters in tuxedos glide through the crowd with silver trays of bubbling flutes, ensuring no guest suffers the indignity of an empty hand.
And the dessert buffet? Well, it might actually be illegal in several countries, but thankfully not on this ship. A chocolate fountain cascades next to platters of petit fours, individual soufflés, and something involving spun sugar that looks too artistic to eat. Not that this will stop Nettie from sampling one of everything for quality control purposes. It won’t stop me either, for that fact.
But the pièce de résistance is the ice sculpture dominating the center of the room—a life-sized rendering of Madison and Marlie with linked arms and impressively large angel wings that span toward the ceiling, their frozen faces bearing serene expressions that neither woman likely ever wore in real life. The irony of Madison being immortalized in a substance designed to melt away is not lost on me. And Marlie? Well, I bet Marlie herself will have a thing or two to say about these things.
From hidden speakers, instrumental versions of soap opera theme songs provide the soundtrack for the evening—dramatic piano with occasional swelling strings that make even the act of selecting an appetizer feel momentous.
Ransom and Wes stride over, looking devastatingly handsome, both wearing their formal best.
