Page 33 of Transatlantic Terror Cruise

Bess and Nettie accused me of working up an appetite and I let them know I was more or less eating away my performance anxiety. Bess thinks I should find a way to bar the far-too-friendly ghost from my stateroom, and Nettie has decided she likes Sassy’s style.

She so would.

The boutique is already teeming with customers—women with nowhere to go and all day to get there with a credit card in hand—which happens to be almost verbatim when it comes to Elvie’s business plan regarding this trip. And with all these buy two, get one free sales that the Queen’s Mall seems to be running, Elodie really doesn’t fight fair.

Speak of the devil.

I spot my blonde bestie looking rather sassy herself in her ship’s uniform that looks about two sizes too small. She’s unbuttoned her crisp white blouse to show off her ample décolleté, and that navy pencil skirt looks as if it was dipped onto her body by way of hot wax.

“Elodie,” I hiss her name a little harsher than intended, but only a little.

“Oh, don’t you Elodie me.” She purses those ruby-red lips my way and punctuates her sass with a wink.

Sass seems to be a catching condition these days.

Oh, who am I kidding? Elodie invented sass. If offered the ability to haunt my honeymoon, she’d be sitting in the middle of the bed with us, barking out commands.

“Look at you,” she purrs. “You look positively edible,” she says, circling me like a fashion-obsessed shark.

“I look like a flamingo in the middle of a fever dream,” I counter, tugging at the hem of this hot pink cocktail dress I’ve squeezed myself into. And don’t think I didn’t notice that all of the glitzy gowns Elodie stuffed in my closet were at least a full size too small. Either that or my newfound obsession with cinnamon rolls is already taking its toll.

“Please, Elodie,” I beg, because let’s face it, I’m not above it. “For the love of all things retail, let me buy some jeans.”

“Will do,” Elodie sings while tugging down the neckline of my dress with practiced precision.

Figures.

“Really?” I inch back as a sprig of hope blooms in my chest. Asuspiciousbloom of hope, but I’ll take it.

“Of course.” Those ruby lips of hers give a wicked curve. “As soon as we dock in Jolly Old England. But for this cruise, my love—your honeymoon, need I remind you—denim is strictly verboten.”

A kerfuffle arises across the way and I spot Sassy and Nettie playing tug-of-war for the same glittery kaftan.

“NowSassafras,” Nettie says firmly to the space three feet to Sassy’s left, “I think you’d look better in palazzo pants.”

And oddly, Sassy looks thoroughly offended at the thought of sporting a pair of wide-legged trousers.

Bess shrugs my way. “It could be worse. At least they’re not critiquing anyone’s love life at the moment.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” I mutter, just as Becky Lee Darling breezes in with her arms already laden with shopping bags.

Her salt and pepper hair bounces in perfect waves around her heart-shaped face. She’s squeezed her curvy frame into one of Elodie’s more adventurous sundresses and she tossed her signature purple knit cardigan over it. There’s something endearing about Becky Lee—a girl-next-door warmth that shines through her smile. Even her pale skin and premature gray at the temples seem to radiate with newfound enthusiasm this morning.

I hope she’ll be able to enjoy the rest of the cruise despite the grim circumstances.

She’s about to breeze by when I step in front of her. I can’t help it. She’s next on my hit list and I’ve got a homicide to solve and a honeymoon to have.

“Trixie!” she bubbles with a laugh. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I nearly barreled right through you. How’s married life treating you?” She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. “Although based on that glow, I probably don’t need to ask.”

I shake my head. “The glow is purely artificial and a direct result of this glowing frock reflecting off my flesh. This dress could probably guide ships to shore in a storm.”

Elodie belts out a laugh and it makes me wonder if making me look like a burlesque beacon in the night has been her intention all along. On second thought, it so is.

“So what are you up to today?” I ask the woman before me. “Planning on getting some knitting done out on the deck? It’s a beautiful day to do it.” And a beautiful day for me to join her and ask every last question about the deceased and his wife.

“That’s exactly what I had planned on doing,” she’s quick to say. “But actually, my head is sort of all over the place right now. My husband is congregating with the rest of the fans from the podcast this afternoon, so I thought I’d catch one of the shows. You know, get my mind off of things.”

“I can’t say I blame you.” A moment of silence bounces between us as she gives a quick nod. “So which show are you thinking about?”

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