Chapter 22
Suddenly Single—What a Trip!
Trixie, this is Shelby. I may have gone overboard with my shopping, and I mean way overboard. I can't help it. I'm so down from that last disastrous conversation with Ned. The more I think about it, the more I realize I'm actually starting to miss him. It's like every purchase is an attempt to fill the void he left. I've shopped till I dropped, and now my checking account is on the verge of dropping into the abyss as well. Help!
Shopaholic,
Shelby
Dear Shopaholic,
It sounds like retail therapy has turned into a retail tornado. Before your checking account waves the white flag, maybe it's time to address the real issue. Meeting with Ned once more might not only help mend fences, but also stop the shopping spree. Who knows? Reconciliation or closure might just be the best purchase you can't find in stores.
XOXO Trixie
"The coroner's report?"Ransom's head tips to the side and a look of amusement crosses his face as we stare at one another across a candlelit table right here in the Mariner's Magical Whisper. An entire tribe of supernatural fairy-like creatures roam around the room as if it were the most natural thing in the world—and believe me, Ransom might prefer that reality to the one I'm determined to give him.
"They found high levels of a plant derivative in Roger's system," he says. "And although this particular plant is safe in small quantities, when concentrated it can lead to auditory and visual hallucinations, and if you concentrate it even more, you're staring down the barrel of a heart attack."
"Blackbeard's Brew," I practically shout and half the restaurant turns my way.
He nods. "It could be. I contacted my buddies in the FBI, specifically the ones in South Carolina, and they're on the hunt for the liquor as we speak. I'm thinking someone distilled it, turned it into a concentrate, and let nature do the rest. He either drank it or someone gave him a lethal injection."
"Did they find any needle marks on him?"
He nods. "They did on his abdomen, but then Connie let us know he was also a diabetic."
"Oh wow. That would be a cover for an unwanted injection."
"That's what I was thinking. Good work, Detective Troublefield." He puts down his fork. "Are you up for changing the subject?"
And here we go.
"I am," I say, landing my fork on my plate as well. Face it, the time for chocolate cheesecake is over. Besides, my appetite just evaporated like an apparition.
I cast a quick glance at the waitresses dressed as fairies, the friendly-looking otherworldly characters wandering around much to the delight of the patrons, and feel as if I've just wandered into an alternate universe—one there's no escaping from.
"Okay," I gird myself as I lean in. "Ransom, what I'm about to tell you is genuine. And well, to be honest, I've already mentioned it several times and you didn't seem to believe me."
He inches back in his seat. "My apologies. I can assure you, I'll take whatever you have to say as serious as gospel." He gives my hand a squeeze. "Go on, Trixie. Nothing will change. I promise."
"If you say so." I sigh at the thought. "Ransom, just minutes before I boarded the Emerald Queen for the very first time—well, long story short, Nettie sort of bopped me over the head with a bottle of vodka. I darn near almost passed out, but that wasn't the worst of it. For some reason, that seemed to dislodge something inside of me, and—well, I've garnered the oddest supernatural quirk known to the living and the dead." I nod his way. "I can see ghosts."
His expression smooths out and he's right back to frowning.
"Not all ghosts, not all the time," I quickly prattle off. "Usually it's just one and it's the one who's been sent back to help me solve a case. You see, come to find out, I'm something called transmundane. That's the umbrella term for a whole array of supernatural abilities. My specific oddball quirk is called supersensual. In fact, do you remember that trip we took to Honey Hollow? Your cousin's wife, Lottie Lemon, is supersensual, too. Anyway, I can't help it, and I can't seem to stop it either. Bess and Nettie found out pretty early on. And well, Wes found out after Tinsley accused me of terrifying the passengers a few trips back." I sniff hard and note his eyes have rounded out like quarters as he examines me. "Believe me, I'd rather not have this. But I guess there are rules to this kind of thing and someone up there thought I fit into them."
I pause and shrug his way, hoping for some kind of a response other than that inquisitive look he's giving me. He's still holding my hand. He hasn't run off and jumped overboard to get away from my insanity, so that has to be a good sign, right?
"Trixie," he says it low and his tone is all business. Ransom stares soberly at me for far too long. "I'm not sure what's happening here. Are you forgetting I'm a retired FBI behavior analyst?"
"Are you implying that I'm bending the truth?"
"It's not bending the truth if you believe it."
I gag at the thought and my hand dislodges from his. "Are you suggesting I'm nuts? Wait. For both our sakes, don't answer that." I squeeze my eyes shut as panic starts to set in. "The footage!" I shout up over the music and half the lounge stops their conversation for a second. "Remember the footage of me in the library during our last trip?" I ask, leaning his way as far as the table will allow. "You said yourself there was no way that I could have constructed that oversized octopus all by my lonesome."
He considers it a moment. "The books were flying off the shelves seemingly on their own."
"That's right. But they weren't," I say. "You can bet your supernatural britches there was a testy apparition at the helm of that horror. Although, to be honest, I thought the sculpture of a Kraken constructed purely out of books was sort of a thing of beauty." I cringe that I just went there. "Nevertheless, here we are. This is who I am, Ransom. And I can no more help the fact I see the dead than I can the fact I'm obsessed with chocolate lava cake—or the fact I love you." I squeeze his hand hard. "Please tell me you understand." Although the words I really crave to hear are that he believes me.
His phone bleats and he ignores it for a moment before glancing at the screen.
"It's Wes. He says he needs to speak to me."
"Boy, does he ever have lousy timing," I muse.
"No, this is good," he says. "It will give me time to digest everything I've heard. I think I'll need it."
We don't finish our desserts before heading out. Ransom walks me down to the Emerald Theater where I'm just in time for the first show of the night, and I can see Bess and Nettie already seated in their usual spots.
"We're going to get through this," Ransom says with a pained look in his eyes.
"Why do I get the feeling you want to add that we'll get the best shrink money can buy?" I'm only half-teasing.
"If that's what it takes."
"Ransom."
"I'm sorry." He winces. "But you did mention you were hit on the head." His phone bleats again, but he doesn't bother looking at it this time. "Enjoy the show. I have tomorrow off. How about we spend it together?"
"Sounds like bliss," I say less than enthused. "As long as it doesn't involve a straitjacket, I'm in."
He frowns as if I've just managed to foil his psychiatric-based plans.
"I love you." He offers me a warm kiss before disappearing like a ghost himself.
And there you have it.
I told Ransom my deepest, darkest, kookiest secret, and by the looks of things, he believes me, all right—he believes I'm a loon.
The sound of someone getting riled up garners my attention, and I look up to see Connie and Shep having what looks to be a heated argument before they abruptly part ways.
I have a feeling there's far more lunacy taking place on this ship than either Ransom or I care to think about.