Page 61 of Transatlantic Terror Cruise

We share a quick laugh.

“First Degree Fudge,” I read. “Oh, look, it actually comes with a warning label about the ghost pepper kick it has.”

“Mmm.” Bess moans. “Premeditated Peanut Butter with swirls of chocolate that permeate like a guilty conscience.” We share another laugh before she reads another one. “Conspiracy to Caramel and Double Indictment—loaded with espresso.”

“I’m in,” I say, picking up one from a platter labeledCriminal Intentwith a marbled white and dark chocolate pattern.

We nosh on and nibble them all, but it’s the Beyond a Reasonable Doubt Fudge that truly lives up to its name with five different types of chocolate layered into one perfect bite, topped with gold leaf because apparently even felonious fudge deserves to dress up for formal night.

The table at the center of the scene of the crime, aka the mile-long buffet table is called theCold Case Collection. It presents an array of chilled delicacies including a massive ice sculpture of handcuffs that’s already drawing the attention of every amateur photographer in the room. But it’s theDeath by Chocolatedessert station that’s stealing the show—complete with chalk outline gingerbread cookies and red velvetblood-spatteredcupcakes.

The crowd sparkles under the crystal chandeliers in a sea of jewel-toned evening wear while holding champagne flutes close to the vest.

Through the sea of shifting bodies, I spot Elvie and Reed by the Lethal Libations bar. And I can’t help but notice that he has his arm around her waist with practiced familiarity as they laugh with another couple.

The champagne in Elvie’s glass rivals her bubbling laughter. She looks lovely in a floor-length burgundy gown. Not quite the weeping widow effect, but it looks understated and elegant, as she should. Especially considering the fact her deceased husband had a wandering eye—among other wandering body parts.

I’m guessing she really needed that liquid courage to get through this evening, and perhaps the rest of the cruise. If something happened to Ransom, I couldn’t see myself leaving my cabin, let alone entertaining the masses.

Elvie Whipple is a stronger woman than I could ever be in that department.

“Well, it looks to me as if the food is calling.” Wes pats his stomach as he looks longingly at the buffet table that seems to stretch from one end of the ship to the other.

“Captain! Captain!” a group of excited passengers call out as they wave and head this way.

Tinsley sniffs. “It looks as if more than the food is calling. You know what you need to do.”

“Yup.” He gives a mournful sigh at the dessert table. “I know exactly what’s expected of me and it’s not a donut.”

“You can always find a way to involve a donut,” I say just as he’s mobbed with a crowd of captain-hungry passengers ready to take their selfie game to the next level.

And in a move that I think I’m responsible for, he leads them to the donut display, and soon the entire mob is posing with the captainanda donut. As if women didn’t already find Wes delicious enough.

“And just like that, the cheese stands alone,” I muse to myself while scanning the room for my suspects.

“Not tonight, it doesn’t,” Tinsley says as she stands shoulder to shoulder with me. “I’m not leaving your side.”

“Just my luck.”

Becky Lee glides past us in an emerald silk gown, towing a distinguished-looking man who has a scowl that could sink a lifeboat—or a marriage.

“Trixie! Tinsley!” She gives a cheery wave as she makes her way over with the sourpuss in tow. “Hello, ladies,” she says sweetly. Her hair is pulled up into a messy bun and she’s donned a pink rhinestone brooch in the shape of a flamingo that stands out against the verdant color of her frock. “This is my husband, Patrick.” She nods to the man by her side and he offers a staged smile.

“Charmed to meet you,” he says in a tone that suggests anything but. “Come on, Beck. The buffet is getting cold. Do you want to play the part of a social butterfly or stuff your face?” He steers her away and his fingers dig into her arm enough to leave white impressions against her flesh.

“Well, he’s delightful,” Tinsley mutters.

“Like a root canal without anesthetic,” I add. “Did you see how he grabbed her?”

She nods. “I bet it’s not the first time he’s done that.”

“Or sadly the last,” I say grimly. I’m about to suggest we hit the buffet ourselves and help Bess and Nettie put a dent in that thing when a blonde hurricane nearly knocks right into us.

“Girls.” Elodie materializes before us in a swirl of pink chiffon. “I see we all survived another formal night. And now it’s time to make some questionable decisions with questionable company.”

“Speaking of questionable decisions.” My shoulders do a little shimmy. “How was your haunted house inspection?”

She waves me off with a perfectly manicured hand. “It never happened. Apparently, he’s taken. And happily so.” She rolls her eyes at the thought of anyone finding happiness without her. “Now where’s the vodka? I’m off the clock and demand to get properly pickled. Besides, there has to be another mysterious stranger here somewhere, looking for a close encounter of the horizontal kind.” She darts off just as pink and red stars explode overhead and Sassy materializes in her wake.

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