Chapter 20

Suddenly Single—What a Trip!

Trip Tip: Don't forget to leave room for dessert. Sure, you may have already indulged in three helpings of prime rib, but that chocolate fountain isn't going to dip itself.

Elsie James swirlsthe drink in her hand before taking a sip. "I mean, everyone knows Connie Parker has never been up to any good. But then, I guess grief can do all sorts of wonders, including sanitize your personality," she muses as we hug the bar here at Sapphire Cay. "Connie is a lot of things. Sweet isn't exactly one of them. Don't get me wrong. I like her, but she's a pistol through and through. But that was Roger's type." She scowls at the bartender for a moment. "As much as we girls can appreciate a bad boy, the bad boys like their girls more than a little naughty, too."

"She knows us well," Hank says, lifting his stein her way, and those snakes of his sizzle and hiss over Ransom's face.

My body shudders at the sight before I revert my attention where it needs to be.

"Elsie"—I pause for a moment—"when I asked Connie about Mr. X, she mentioned that you've been around Jolly Roger a lot longer than she has. She said she doesn't know his identity, but that you might have some idea."

Her eyes narrow to slits as she takes a sip of her drink. "That's funny because she's been around just about as long as Mr. X has. Connie knew Roger before they became an official couple. Let's just say Roger was a bit of a cad. Connie is the reason Roger's second marriage hit the skids."

"This is true," Hank says. "Although Roger was always destined to have an entire string of ex-wives. That is, if fate hadn't intervened and spared an entire spate of unknown women."

Fate or a killer?

I shoot him a look that says just that and Ransom wrinkles his forehead as if trying to read my mind.

"You know what?" Elsie lifts a finger. "Come to think of it, Connie has a degree in molecular biology."

"She does?" That perplexed look on Ransom's face only deepens. "I spoke with her briefly yesterday and she mentioned she was a novelist."

"That's Connie in a nutshell." Elsie shakes her head. "Smart as a whip but doesn't see the streets of gold she's walking on because her head is too far up in the clouds. She once told me that she worked in the field of genetics after graduation—something to do with counseling would-be parents regarding genetic disorders, but she said it bored her to tears. She's a party girl at heart—and a pirate at heart, too. You know, pirates are nothing but rebels when it comes down to it. I guess diverting from her given career path was a part of her rebellion. And she is an author. I've read a few of her books. Although I'm not sure they're enough to keep her in the pricey shoes she likes. My brother is an author, a celebrated one, too, and he's just scrimping by. Being a successful author can mislead people about the monetary gains a career like that can give. And if there is money to be made, it comes in spurts. Let's just say Connie isn't exactly an expert at saving her nickels. She's more likely to nickel and dime herself to death. Nope, to keep up with her shopping habit, a spurt of change every now and again won't do. She needs an entire fountain of money." Elsie blows out a breath. "And who knows? Maybe Roger left the company to her. His partner Hank bit the big one about a year ago. Neither of them had kids. It's up in the air who'll get it."

Ransom and I exchange a dark glance.

Connie is most certainly a candidate for Mr. X. And by Connie's own estimation, that's exactly who will get the company.

That phone we found last night comes to mind.

"Elsie, did Roger ever mention anyone called Bully?"

Her eyes widen as she stares blankly into the sea just over my shoulder.

"Bully?" Her lips press together until they're white. "You know, come to think of it, he did. Actually, he didn't use it as a name or even a nickname, but he called Shep a bully more than once. Shep Murphy," she says, turning to Ransom. "He's the one in charge of social media for the crew."

Ransom leans her way. "What was Shep bullying Roger about?"

"That's a question you'll have to ask Shep," she says, knocking back the rest of her shot and sliding her glass forward. "He's the guy behind the phone screen. And he certainly knows his way around a hashtag better than he does the high seas." She gives a playful chuckle. "But Roger, now there was a man who sailed too close to the wind," she slurs her words just a touch. Not that I mind. A drunk Elsie might be more helpful than a sober one. "He had affairs left and right. Poor Connie was at her wit's end." The bartender offers her a refill, but she bats him away. "It's been real nice chatting with you folks, but if you'll excuse me, I've got to use the ladies' room. As much as every Jolly Roger libation is my deepest passion, they do tend to go right through me."

She swims off, and no sooner does Ransom scoot my way than a series of sharp screams and a bout of high-pitched laughter goes off at the other end of the bar.

Hank floats up a notch to get a better look. "Now there's a couple of women who know how to have a good time." He starts to float in their direction before casting a glance my way. "Don't you worry, Trixie Troublefield. We'll have a good time soon enough ourselves. You're going to nab Roger's killer and you're going to do it posthaste," he thunders. "Or Roger won't be the only one buried in Davy Jones' proverbial locker."

I frown at the threat as he begins to dissipate.

For a seemingly nice guy, he sure knows how to make a girl feel like dead meat.

I'm about to say something to Ransom when the screaming ramps up and we both lean hard to get a better look at what's happening.

Laughter and screams ensue from the other end of the bar.

We twist that way and catch Nettie and Elodie in the midst of a spectacle that looks downright disastrous, especially for a woman Nettie's age—or any age, come to think of it.

Nettie has landed herself on the counter and is lying down with a lime in one hand and a shot of something pink in the other.

"Gentlemen, prepare for an adventure on the high seas of deliciousness! Who's up for some body shots?" she shouts before proceeding to lie flat on the bar before wedging the lime in her mouth. She grabs the nearest salt shaker and then dumps the shot of pink liquor into her belly button—or into the folds of skin that are theoretically surrounding it.

Not to be outdone, Elodie follows suit as she jumps onto the bar as well.

"This ship has two captains," she shouts. "And we're about to take you on a voyage to the islands of intoxication," she calls out and is met with enthusiastic cheers. She positions herself next to Nettie with a bottle of rum in close proximity, ready for the taking.

And just like that, pirate after pirate—each one far scragglier than the last—partakes in the boozy spectacle while Bess does her best to pluck each scraggly sea dog off of the women at hand.

The booze goes flying, the shrieks of laughter threaten to pierce every ear on the island, and I think someone just stuck a lime wedge into Bess' mouth, too.

Rum is everywhere, soaking both Elodie and Nettie until they're practically forced to fall back into the water with a splash. But they're not quitters. Within seconds, they're right back where they started from, with a slice of lime in their mouths and all.

Ransom offers me a side glance. "I think our friends have officially commandeered this bar."

"What do you think, you handsome sea raider?" I snag a lime off the bar and wag it in front of the hot detective before me. "When in Rome? Or should I say the Caribbean?"

A dark smile curves on his lips, and before I know it, I'm lying on the bar with a lime in my mouth and a splash of rum in my navel.

Ransom knows exactly what to do—and he does with the expertise of a frat boy on a bender.

A good time is had by all—except for the deceased.

He's still waiting for justice.