Page 38 of Transatlantic Terror Cruise

CHAPTER19

Nettie is already halfway to the stage here in the Queen’s Theater before Alfonso can finish extending his hand. And judging by the riotous laughter, the audience is already eating it up.

“Finally, someone who appreciates my talents,” she shouts.

“Your talents?” Alfonso raises a perfect silver brow.

“For reading minds.” Nettie taps her temple as she winks his way and more laughter ensues. “For instance, I can tell you had eggs for breakfast.”

Alfonso inches his head back. “I... did, actually.”

More laughter lights up the room.

“With hot sauce,” Nettie goes on. “The expensive kind, because you’re far more pickier about your condiments than you are your women.” The room explodes with a roar at that one—and I do believe The Amazing Alfonso’s face just turned the same shade of that velvet suit he’s wearing.

Becky Lee leans my way. “I think she hit a nerve!”

I nod. But then, Nettie is an expert at spotting a womanizer in the wild.

Nettie leans his way and openly inspects him. “But you are particular about your hair products because you have them imported from Italy.”

The man’s jaw roots to the stage. It’s clear she’s impressing him, and the rest of the audience, too.

“And that suit?” Nettie circles him like a fashion critic at a crime scene. “Custom made in Milan. But they got the measurements slightly wrong on the left shoulder. That’s why you keep adjusting it when you think no one is looking!”

More gasps and laughter.

Becky Lee bumps her shoulder to mine. “I thought he was fidgeting.”

“Take that, buddy,” Nettie says as she pokes him on the chest over and over, causing him to stumble backward.

Security starts moving toward the stage, but Alfonso staves them off, although he does look genuinely rattled.

“How could you possibly?—”

“Eh.” She waves him off. “You’re no challenge.” The room is inconsolable at this point. “Oh, and you might want to check your jacket pocket. Your room key fell through that hole in the lining about twenty minutes ago.”

Alfonso’s hand flies to his pocket and his mouth rounds out in surprise when he finds it empty.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Nettie announces to the chuckling crowd—“the real mystery isn’t reading minds—it’s learning to use your eyes!”

The crowd offers up a rather violent applause as Nettie spins and squints at the crowd.

“Now, let’s see what we have out here. You, sir, in the white dress shirt—you’ve been secretly taking your secretary to lunch when you tell your wife that you’re going golfing!”

The man begins to protest just as the woman next to him whips around to glare at him.

A sharp round of gasps breaks out, the loudest of which comes from Bess.

“Nettie,” she shouts. “You take that back. You’re going to ruin their marriage!”

So much for using her eyes—more like her third eye. And I so knew she had one.

Nettie shrugs. “I can’t take the blame for something he did first.” She inspects the crowd once again. “And you, madam in the shiny blue blouse. Interesting how you’ve beenvolunteeringat the museum just when that handsome new curator started to work there. Those ancient artifacts aren’t the only things you’re studying, are they? And your husband is none the wiser either.”

“Ethel, is that true?” the man seated next to her cries out and the two of them begin to bicker.

Nettie’s attention darts around the room like a heat-seeking missile ready to strike just about anyone down with embarrassment by way of a naughty secret or two.

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