Page 28 of Transatlantic Terror Cruise

“I was going to add that you look radiant.” Ransom pulls me into his arms and drops a kiss on my lips before pulling back and giving me another quick once-over. “Is that a teardrop on your cheek?”

“That’s right,” I tell him. “And you know what that means. I’ve killed before, and if you’re not careful with your words, I might just do it again.”

We all give a quick laugh—well, everyone but me.

“All right, ladies,” Wes says, holding his hands up slightly. “I’m not touching this with a ten-foot pole. How about we treat you to some coffee? You look like you could use a pick-me-up. And I hear The Caffeinated Crown just pulled a batch of cinnamon rolls out of the oven.”

We don’t protest.

In fact, less than five minutes later, we’re settled at the coffee shop’s outdoor balcony, taking in the sea breeze while staring out at sparkling waters.

The smell of fresh-baked cinnamon rolls and premium coffee fills the air, almost masking the scent of whatever fruity powder Elvie dusted on our faces. The sun casts a warm glow over marble tables while turning the waves into crushed diamonds.

Bess cranes her neck past me and frowns. “People look downright petrified of our presence. I’m starting to feel like we need an exorcist.”

Nettie shrugs while studying the menu. “Or maybe just a paper bag to put over our heads.”

Ransom lifts a brow. “It might attract less attention.”

Wes returns with our orders balanced on a tray—a Murderous Mocha for me, complete with chocolate shavings and whipped cream. A Killer Caramel Latte for Bess, and Nettie’s bold choice, a quad-shot Deadly Dark Roast that could wake the dead—and probably has. Each comes with a slice of Death by Chocolate Cake that looks like it might actually follow through on that threat, in addition to those fresh, hot, out-of-the-oven cinnamon rolls. Plus, two plain black coffees for Wes and Ransom. I have a feeling they’ve had enough excitement for the day, merely by being in the same vicinity as us.

“It’s so nice that the café has adapted the theme from Brad Whipple’s podcast,” I say, hoping that I’m right and it’s not the fact that this ship has somehow become the murder capital of the world—the watery portion of the world at least.

“That’s right,” Ransom says, lifting his coffee my way. “They were supposed to be hosting a podcast here this morning, so the manager made a few changes to the menu items yesterday. But we all know why that podcast was canceled.” He looks over at Wes. “Did the barista ask you any questions?”

“She asked if we were with the circus,” he admits, setting down our drinks. “I told her we were with the murder investigation. Somehow that seemed less dignified.” He winces my way. “My apologies.”

“No need to do so,” I say, toasting him with my cinnamon roll before taking a bite. “Oh my word,” I moan. “This is amazing.”

Bess nods in agreement. “I’d wear this mask every day just to get my hands on one of these. How have I not had one before? I live on this ship.”

Nettie grunts. “The same ship we make questionable choices on. Like choosing to successfully avoid this place for years.”

“It just opened up,” Wes is quick to clear the air. “You haven’t missed a thing. In fact, the ship is trying out a slew of new places during our transatlantic run.”

“Speaking of questionable choices and questions in general.” Ransom sighs as he looks my way. “What did you learn from Elvie Whipple? Besides her unique approach to makeup application.”

Well, well, so much for keeping secrets. But then, that’s what I get for marrying an ex-FBI behavioral analyst.

I have a feeling my days of getting away with anything at all have all but dissipated.

And I’d love to say the very same thing about the killer.

CHAPTER14

My mouth falls open. “What makes you think—” I gag in response to Ransom all but accusing me of speaking to Elvie Whipple.

I did, of course, but that’s beside the point.

Ransom raises a brow in a way that says he knows me far too well as the ocean glitters beneath our balcony view here at The Caffeinated Crown.

“Oh, all right.” I take a sip of my mocha, buying time and leaving a blue lipstick print on the cup. Wait, I thought they were red? Oh, good grief, my entire face has probably changed colors six times by now. Elvie’s cosmetics aren’t only edible, apparently, they’re mood-shifting, too.

I quickly give everyone at the table the synopsis of my meeting with Elvie, carefully omitting Tinsley’s involvement. I figure that’s my ace in the hole for when I really need to distract Ransom or Wes from whatever trouble I’m about to get into. And on this ship, trouble is as reliable as the dinner buffet—or one of my surnames.

Wes clears his throat. “Well, I heard something interesting involving Brad and Elvie.” He leans forward and those brass buttons of his catch the light. “I heard the two of them had quite the argument before yesterday’s deadly lounge party.”

“We heard that argument firsthand,” Bess confirms, absent-mindedly scratching her day-glow cheek and accidentally scraping through the first six base layers. “Those two were spitting venom like a couple of cobras at a snake fight.”

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