Page 23 of Transatlantic Terror Cruise

“Meaning, we’re right back to that big problem I need you to help me solve.”

“Which is?”

“I need you to help me track down Brad Whipple’s killer.”

I lift my chin at the thought.

For once, Tinsley and I are on the same page—albeit a homicidal one.

I nod her way. “I guess we’re joining forces.” I’m not one to fight a gift horse in the mouth—not even a stubborn mule like Tinsley. Heck, if she helps solve this case, that means I can land myself in the honeymoon suite where I belong—horizontal.

“Joining forces?’ Tinsley balks. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Okay,” I tell her. “Regardless, we’re bringing down a killer.” I turn my sights on Elvie Whipple. “In the least, we’re about to shake down a suspect.”

“Nothing can go wrong,” Tinsley whispers as we make our way through the room.

“Nothing will,” I say just as a sassy redhead materializes out of nowhere and floats down from the ceiling.

And just like that, I have a feeling things are about to go very,verywrong.

Time to find out if our cosmetics queen helped arrange her husband’s permanent retirement.

After all, they say you have to suffer for beauty, but I’m betting murder is bad for business.

CHAPTER11

The Luscious and Lethally Delicious Beauty Brunch swirls around us in a cloud of perfume, primping, and an annoying level of perkiness from the beauty brand ambassadors ready and willing to ambush anything that moves with a blush brush.

Classical music floats through the Coral Crown Lounge like champagne bubbles, mingling with the scent of vanilla and something fruity that I’m pretty certain started life as a face cream.

Women crowd the makeover stations, while others sample what look to be ordinary pastries, and are, in fact, high-end cosmetics. I’m still trying to decide if it’s a case of brilliant marketing or a lawsuit waiting to happen. Perhaps both.

Tinsley and I weave through the crowd toward Elvie Whipple, who happens to be holding court next to a display of products with names that sound like they were dreamed up at a true crime convention. Kiss Me Deadly Lip Stain sits next to Mortally Gorgeous Face Powder, while Scrumptious Suspect Zero Setting Spray promises to keep your makeup intact during police lineups. And part of me is wondering if this upcoming conversation will lead to the police department indeed.

“Oh my stars and murder mysteries, how I miss this!” Sassy, AKA Titsiana Genevieve Forenza, materializes beside me in a shower of hot pink stars with her spectral form vibrating with enough excitement to make the chandeliers shiver. “These launches were always so much fun. Although I have to say, the afterlife has much better catering. And the dress code? Well, it’s to die for.” She winks at her own joke. “Get it,die? I’m technically dead by earthly standards. But let me be the first to tell you that death is more or less a lie.”

I shoot her a curt nod.

Indeed, after being visited by almost a dozen ghosts, I’ve surmised the fact death is more of a gateway than it is an eternal dirt nap. I’d let her know as much, but seeing that Tinsley is right next to me, I bite back a response. The last thing I need is her thinking I’m talking to myself while we interrogate a suspect. Heaven knows she’s already questioned my sanity on more than one occasion.

Believe me, so have I.

“Ooh, look at that dreamy display,” Sassy says while zipping right through a tower of cosmetics, with each package shaped like a pastel macaron cookie. “The cherry-flavored Crime Scene Cleanup concealer was my suggestion. Brad hated it—he said it was too on the nose. Speaking of noses, you should try the Alibi-Proof Powder in coconut. It really works to keep down the shine. I mean, it worked when I had a nose. And now I can’t stop shining.” Her entire countenance brightens a notch as if to prove her point.

We come upon the guest of honor, and mysuspectof honor, the newly minted widow herself.

Elvie glows in her bright pink suit almost as bright as Sassy. Her auburn waves match her stark red lipstick, and juxtaposed to her pale skin it looks almost garish.

Funny, I don’t remember her looking so pale yesterday. But I suppose that’s what a night of grieving will get you. Even though she and Brad had exchanged a few barbs yesterday, certainly she loved him.

Thoughts of my ex come back to me. Stanton Troublefield had beentroublefor the twenty-five years I was married to him. Sure, he cheated at every turn, unbeknownst to me, and he got on my very last nerve nearly every single minute—something I was very well aware of—but I’d grieve him if someone suddenly plunged a knife into his back.

Wouldn’t I?

Even a little?

But then, I could have easily plunged that knife into his back myself. And the only person I would have been grieving for would’ve been me—in fear I’d be carted off to prison.

---