Page 35 of Transatlantic Terror Cruise

“All I’m saying is”—Nettie continues as we make our way down the aisle—“any man who can read minds is bound to be good husband material.”

“Nettie”—Bess sighs—“he’s not actually reading minds. It’s an act.”

“Think about it”—Nettie goes on undeterred—“no more guessing as to what your needs are. He just knows.”

“I bet Ransom doesn’t have to guess either,” Bess says with a dark chuckle.

“You’re spot-on,” I tell her. “He’s very intuitive when it comes to the female body. Although with Sassy around, he might be moved to second-guess himself. The poor man probably thinks I’m giving him the cold shoulder.”

“Eh.” Bess shrugs. “I think it’s a good idea to pepper in a headache now and again on your honeymoon. That way you can manage expectations.”

“You would.” Nettie grunts as she gives her bestie the side-eye while walking straight into an empty seat and somersaulting over it.

Thankfully, she’s able to dust herself off with no apparent injuries—at least that are apparent to the naked eye.

“Trixie! Over here,” a light female voice calls out from somewhere up ahead and I squint into the darkness to see Becky Lee Darling waving to catch my attention. She’s managed to snag a cluster of seats near the front and that purple cardigan she’s bundled in adds a cozy splash of color in the dim theater.

I’ll choose to overlook the fact she’s inadvertently seated in what’s known as the fun zone. Anytime you’re up front and center at one of these interactive shows you’re inevitably a part of the act. But, as it stands, there’s room for all three of us next to her.

“You’re a lifesaver,” I tell her as we settle in.

Although she’s pretty much responsible for whatever Nettie does to poor Alfonso. I don’t need a road map to know where this fun-zone train is headed.

Becky Lee says a quick hello to both Bess and Nettie as we settle ourselves in our seats. Her hair is up in a messy bun, and what little light there is in the room seems to be picking up her gray roots and making them shine like tinsel. She shifts in her seat, tugging her cardigan closer.

I can’t say I blame her. There’s always a chill in the theater.

“We’re in for a real treat.” Her messy bun wobbles as she turns my way. “I hear this Alfonso person is pretty incredible,” she says with the words tumbling out all at once. “There was this woman in Miami, and he told her exactly where to find her lost wedding ring. Down to the date and location.”

“Really?” I inch back to get a better look at her and note the fact her fingers keep tangling in the hem of her cardigan. “How’d you hear that?”

“Research.” She gives a quick nod. “As soon as I heard Brad and Elvie wanted to take their fans on a cruise, I researched everything right down to the shows. That’s how I initially heard about The Amazing Alfonso. I must have watched a hundred of his videos online. When I get my mind set to do something, I need to know every last detail before I dive on in. I’m sort of a perfectionist that way.” She gives a robust laugh. “My husband thinks it’s silly, but doing things like that eases my mind.”

I chuckle along with her. “Well, I hope you researched all of the dining options, too,” I tease.

“Are you kidding?” She laughs once again. “That was the first thing I did. But with hundreds of places to eat on the ship, I ran out of time to dig into them all.”

“I guess you’ll just have to see them for yourself.”

She nods my way. “That’s exactly what I plan on doing. In fact, right after this?—”

The lights dim to pitch before she can finish, and music swells through the theater, something dramatic and vaguely mystical, and I can’t help but feel as if a séance is about to break out.

“Ladies and gentlemen”—a deep voice rolls through the darkness like thunder—“prepare yourselves for an afternoon of mystery, of wonder—of secrets revealed.”

Smoke curls across the stage as a man steps out of the shadows and The Amazing Alfonso materializes before us. He’s six feet of theatrical drama wrapped in a wine-colored velvet suit that might have made even Liberace think twice. His silver hair sweeps back from his temples in perfect waves, and his goatee looks sharp enough to use as a letter opener.

“Welcome, one and all,” he thunders in a deep, booming voice that seems to rattle its way right through my ribcage. “Every mind holds secrets,” he purrs, prowling the stage like a tiger who’s raided a velvet factory. “Some we keep from others, some we keep from ourselves. But today”—he pauses, and I swear even the fog moving around him seems to be holding its breath—“today, we explore them together.”

Light gasps and murmurs circle the crowd before it quiets down again. It’s clear every soul in this room is ready to have their secrets plucked right out of their minds—or more to the point, the minds of others. There’s not a person on the planet who would want all of their deep, dark secrets laid out for all to see by some would-be mentalist.

Alfonso gets right to work, starting with the crowd-pleasers, with lots of audience participation that includes plucking numbers from the minds, guessing the right cards from a playing deck, and even revealing the contents of a few women’s purses. Even I could do that last one. The entire act so far is standard fare for a mentalist, but executed with enough charm to keep both Bess and Nettie sitting at the edge of their seats.

Okay, fine. I’m sitting at the edge of my seat, too. But only because I’m a sucker for these kinds of shows.

“And now”—Alfonso hovers his hand over his eyes as he squints out at the audience—“it’s time to get a little personal.”

Another hushed round ofoohsandahhscircles the room.

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