Page 11 of Transatlantic Terror Cruise

“And what a way to go,” I say, taking a bite and moaning. “At least we’ll die happy.”

Nettie snorts. “You’ll be happy and in heaven as soon as Handsome Ransom ravishes you in that honeymoon suite once again.”

“How about we check out that killer collection again before we lose Trixie?” Bess suggests, eyeing the display at the front of the room. “I’m really interested in learning more about that morbid microphone.”

“I’m interested in the knife,” Nettie says. “You know what they say, keep your friends close and your knives closer or you might end up with one in your back.”

My phone buzzes and I pull it out of my purse. It’s a text.

“Speaking of the handsome devil,” I say, wagging my phone their way. “Why don’t you two go on ahead. I’ll meet up with you in a second.”

They take off and I step to the side to look at the message my brand-new husband sent.

Ransom: Quinn broke her arm chasing a pickpocket. She needs surgery. I’ll have to arrange for her to be medevacked off the ship.

“Oh no.” I groan hard just reading it.

I text right back

Trixie: I’m so sorry. How long will you be tied up?

Ransom: Not to worry. Unless catastrophe strikes, the crew can handle things. We will resume our honeymoon protocol shortly.

A light laugh escapes me at the naughty thought.

I quickly scan the room, and as I’m about to step into the crowd, Becky Lee darts past as if she’s being chased by her own shadow with that knitting bag of hers clutched tight to her chest.

“Geez,” I say with a laugh caught in my throat, feeling pretty lucky that I wasn’t scalped by a knitting needle in the process.

I step into the flow of the crowd and spot Brad and Elvie just shy of the bar. I’m about to pass them by but slow down a notch once I notice they seem to be having what looks like a nuclear-grade argument as both of their faces turn a shade of red that matches the curtains next to them.

“I know what you’ve been doing,” Elvie hisses the words and they carry right to my ears. “Do you think I’m stupid?”

“Not stupid, honey,” Brad gravels out. “Just convenient.”

Convenient?I balk at the odd and potentially awful comeback.

What is that supposed to mean?

I drift toward the table laden with memorabilia, losing myself in the macabre display.

Twenty minutes disappear like smoke until I decide it’s time to find my favorite wayward octogenarians once again.

I scour the front of the lounge and all along the nooks and crannies, but they’re nowhere to be found.

The makeshift stage catches my eye. It’s just a wooden stage on the same level as the rest of the room, but those floor-to-ceiling crimson curtains on either side afford at least ten feet of clearance on either side behind them.

We’ve had performances in this lounge before and the cast and crew have utilized the space behind the curtains as a dressing area and staging area for any and everything. I check behind the curtains on the right side and come upon a couple making out hot and heavy.

I won’t lie, I’m a bit envious.

But there’s no sign of Bess and Nettie.

I head for the opposite side of the stage and delve into the dimly lit expanse.

“Bess?Nettie?” I call out and my voice sounds muffled by all the fabric hanging before me. I wouldn’t put it past Nettie to head back here in hopes of trying out that knife she had her eye on. And, well, Bess would definitely try to stop her. Or more to the point, strangle her bestie with that ominous microphone cord. It’s been used as a weapon of destruction before, thus the cord’s entry into the morbid display in the first place.

But there’s no sign of them here either. And for that, I’m much relieved.

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