Chapter 9

Suddenly Single—What a Trip!

Trixie! It's me, Ned. You won't believe what's happening now. My ex-wife, Shelby, is parading around with all sorts of new jewelry. And guess what? There's a big fat diamond on her ring finger. It has me wondering if she's already engaged. How should I react to this, especially with our shared financial battles and my recent inheritance still under wraps?

Feeling kicked in the teeth,

Ned

Dear Ned,

It seems like the sea isn't the only thing with undercurrents on this cruise. My advice? Consider making time to speak with Shelby. A calm, honest conversation could clear the air and help both of you move forward, regardless of your past or current circumstances. Remember, it's not about rehashing the past but understanding where you both stand now. Besides, someone may have suggested she indulge in a little retail therapy. She may have bought those baubles herself.

XOXO Trixie

After my run-inwith the ghost with the most secrets, I head back to the buffet for take two. This time I settle on a couple of rum-soaked glazed buttermilk donuts and an iced hazelnut latte before heading out onto the promenade deck to enjoy them.

The air is warm and balmy, the humidity is high, and I'll be honest, it feels like a nice warm hug. And even though it's technically November, the air carries a hint of salt and the promise of endless summer days.

If it weren't for an entire roster of homicides that have taken place on this ship, I'd say living on the Emerald Queen is a dream.

Oh heck, homicides aside, living on the Emerald Queen is every one of my dreams come true.

I'm mid-bite into the most sinfully delicious rum-soaked donut—the kind that promises your hips will hate you but your soul will sing in gratitude—when Elodie Abernathy, my best friend aboard the ship, practically materializes out of thin Caribbean air. She plops down across from me, as subtle as a cannon blast, and it's one blast that I welcome.

Elodie is a tall, blonde drink of water—more like vodka—and is a self-proclaimed maneater who believes in a take-no-prisoners kind of affection when it comes to the opposite sex.

"Good afternoon," I say, pushing my plate of buttermilk donuts her way and she swipes one up without missing a beat. She looks sharp in her white puffy blouse and tight navy skirt—i.e., her uniform. Elodie is the manager of the Queen's Mall here on the ship. She originally hails from South Africa, which explains her totally cool accent, and she's been sailing since she was old enough to be on her own. "You look like a pirate queen on a mission. What's with that look in your eye? And why don't I like it?"

I've seen it before, and believe me, those baby blues of hers might look innocent enough, but there's a gleam of something wicked brewing in them.

"My mission? I can guarantee you it has nothing to do with this confection." She wiggles the donut in her hand. "It's to steer the shipwreck that is your love life into smooth waters. If you don't get some action with that man of yours quick, I might be moved to have one of these rogue pirates throw you overboard."

"Something tells me you've already sized up every rogue pirate on board."

"I would have, but rumor has it I'm down one." She leans in hard just as the entire deck erupts with gasps and cheers as another pod of dolphins swims by. "Why on earth are you intent on finding the dead? And don't you dare tell me you have nothing to do with the spate of corpses this ship has seen. I'm starting to believe Tinsley's killer theories about you are correct. But I couldn't care less how many people you slaughter in hopes to garner Ransom's attention. You can put down your murder weapon, you've already got him. That man is ga-ga over you like no other. Now go on and get what's yours before I lock the two of you in an interior stateroom and cut the electricity. Let's see if you can figure out what to do in the dark." She makes a face. "Even though we both know it's much more fun with the lights on."

"I don't know whether to laugh or cry." I take a quick bite out of my donut. "Tinsley doesn't really think I'm a killer, does she?"

"She has a pool running with the waitstaff." Elodie shrugs.

"What's the over-under?"

"Odds are good that you'll slaughter the staff in their sleep." She shakes her head at me. "And is that really the takeaway you have from this conversation? Good grief, you're rougher around the edges than I thought. What's it going to take for you to get some action with the hottest man on this ship? Because death clearly isn't cutting it. A drink? A gun? A wedding?" She sucks in a quick breath. "Oh my word, you're one of those prudes. You want a wedding before you allow that man anywhere near your pleasure palace." She rolls her eyes. "Fine. I'll find you a dress and a venue. But don't complain if they're not to your liking. Someone has to take the bridal bull by the horns."

"But—"

"No buts." She holds up her donut like a threat. "Trixie," she starts, her voice dripping with the kind of drama that usually has me bracing for impact. "You and Ransom are still circling each other like two lost stars in a galaxy of singles itching to mingle. It's painfully sweet, but it's giving me cavities."

"We're not lost stars," I grumble. "We're..." I can't tell Elodie that I'm keeping a secret from Ransom—or the fact that I rattled off that secret and he didn't quite get where I was going with it. Darn Roger Maxwell for choosing that moment to make his debut as a corpse. Besides, if Elodie even gets a whiff of the fact I've got a secret, it will be a secret no more as far as she goes. And I'm not sure I want to tell Elodie. It's not that I don't trust her, but I like the fact we have a normal relationship that doesn't include the dead—not in the ghostly way at least. "Ransom and I are just taking our time."

"Taking your time? Sweetie, glaciers move faster. And they're not half as cold as you two have been lately." She leans in, her blonde bob swaying with the conviction of her words. "But fear not, for I have a plan."

I sigh because, of course, she does. Elodie's plans usually involve more intrigue than a spy novel and twice the danger. "I'm afraid to ask, but go on."

"Simple," she says, her blue eyes sparkling with devilish delight. "We're going to thaw that glacier. I'm thinking a little intervention in the form of a moonlit dinner on the deck. What's better than a romantic setting, the soft strumming of a guitar, the ocean whispering sweet nothings—and a lacy number from the Queen's Boutique. I'll have it sent up to your cabin asap."

"That sounds—actually really nice."

"If you play your cards right, it will be perfectly naughty. You, my lovestruck friend, are going to let go. Let go of all those fears and inhibitions and just jump. Figuratively, of course." She winks. "Unless you're into bungee jumping. That, too, can be arranged."

"I'm not that insane. Although, you, my friend, are most certainly insane."

"But effective," she counters with a grin. "Trust me, Trixie. Sometimes love needs a little nudge. Or a full-on shove." She hops to her feet. "Now, finish that donut. We've got a glacier to melt, and I need you at full strength. We'll talk." She trots off and I take another bite out of my buttermilk donut.

Under normal circumstances, if anyone can navigate the treacherous waters of love and get Ransom and me to safe harbor, it's Elodie Abernathy.

But there just so happens to be a ghostly secret in the mix, and therefore, all normal circumstances have gone out the supernatural window.

Heaven help us all.

A round of gasps circles the deck as the passengers point out another pod of dolphins and I'm about to jump up and check them out when a curious sight snags my eye.

"Oh my word." I abandon my rum-soaked donut and run in that direction instead.