Page 59 of Transatlantic Terror Cruise

Wes inches back. “I’m shocked you didn’t admonish her for even trying. Tinsley is the cruise director. You are the professional detective on the case.”

I clear my throat and Wes winces.

“You know what I meant,” he says softly my way.

“Indeed. And I’m with Ransom. This case needs to close like yesterday. It’s really cutting into some serious honeymoon time.” I shoot my handsome hubby a sly look. “Speaking of the case, are you ready to reveal the source who told you about Elvie’s sticky fingers?”

“Soon enough, but not yet,” he says, and I frown at the thought.

Wes tips his head my way. “You married him.”

“Yes, I did.” I waggle my brows at the handsome stud before me. “Lucky,luckyme.”

I’ll wrangle that answer out of him later. Thefunway.

“JACKPOT,” Bess screams so loud she pierces the noise in the casino and causes a woman in a skin-tight gold lamé dress to drop her martini.

“I won, too,” Nettie shouts twice as loud as she jumps up and down.

Wes takes a step that way and grimaces at Nettie’s machine. “I’m sorry, Net. This isn’t a win—I think you broke the one-armed bandit.”

“You can’t tell me I did the same,” Bess says, as her winnings climb to an even thousand dollars and we all let out a collective whoop just as her machine belts out a shrill cry, alerting the entire casino to her win. Soon, everyone in the vicinity is clapping up a storm.

The overhead lights blink a few times just as the announcement bell goes off and a smooth voice comes over the speakers. “The Midnight Murder Mingle will begin shortly in the formal dining room courtesy of theWhispers of the Wickedpodcast. All passengers are welcome to join in on the potentially lethal fun. Please join us for a killer buffet that’s to die for.”

A round ofoohscircles the casino.

“That’s our cue,” I say just as Ransom’s phone buzzes in his hand.

He checks the screen and his expression sours beneath the casino’s colorful lights. “The toxicology report is in. I need to get to my office.”

“Wait.” I grab his arm as he leans in to kiss my cheek and catch a whiff of that cologne that makes me weak in the knees. “Why would you run toxicology on Brad? He was stabbed in the back.”

“It’s routine.” The start of a smile curves his lips but doesn’t quite initiate. “And I may have a hunch about something.”

He gives me another quick peck before disappearing into the crowd. And before I can question him on that hunch, his tuxedo has melted into the sea of formal wear.

What the heck was that about?

Is it possible that I’ve been looking at this murder from the wrong angle? After all, sometimes the most obvious cause of death is just the finishing touch.

In my experience, a killer who goes for a dramatic ending usually leaves a trail of breadcrumbs leading to the real story. Or in this case, perhaps a trail of rhinestone brooches and suspicious bank transfers.

“I can’t believe I won a thousand bucks,” Bess shouts as she pumps her fists into the air.

Poor Nettie looks as if she wants to pump a fist right into her bestie’s face—that or commit a homicide.

But the last thing this ship needs is another murder on its register.

Nope.

It’s time for me to bring Brad Whipple’s killer to justice—and trade a homicide for a honeymoon.

CHAPTER32

While Trixie’s Away, the Ship Will Play—The Elodie Edition

Welcome, wayward wanderers! While our newlyweds are busy testing the room service staff’s discretion—and really, who knew breakfast in bed could be such an athletic event?—let’s unpack today’s tantalizing question.

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