Page 52 of Transatlantic Terror Cruise

Ready to Jump Ship

My neglected nautical goddess,

First of all, resist the urge to test his swimming abilities—the paperwork is absolutely brutal. Instead, let’s get creative with our attention-getting tactics.

Book yourself a window seat at the lido bar (the one with the spectacular view of the pool). Order something fancy with an umbrella. Then accidentally drop said umbrella. Repeatedly. You will be amazed how quickly a man’s poker face crumbles when his wife is being helped up by the very attentive pool boy.

Or perhaps try room service? Nothing saysyou’re missing outquite like having that gorgeous Italian waiter deliver breakfast in bed. Although I do recommend wearing something more substantial than the complimentary robe. Those breakfast trays can be surprisingly slippery.

Sailing seductively,

XOXO Elodie

P.S. And if he still doesn’t get the message, remember, the ship’s crew is very understanding about cabin reassignments. Just saying.

Trixie

The Sapphire Lounge beckons ahead,but my mind is still stuck on the whirlwind of the past twenty-four hours.

After that yummy encounter with Ransom in the crew lounge, the evening continued in a rather pleasant pattern—such as a lovely lingering dinner with Ransom, Bess, and Nettie complete with that heavenly lava cake that makes me forget my own name and even my newly accrued surname.

We caught a musical at the theater, then made an appearance at the casino (where I managed not to lose my shirt, although later in our cabin was another story entirely—and more to the point, I lost my entire cocktail dress). And don’t think for a minute that Ransom and I didn’t enjoy the captain’s generous midnight buffet that was sent up to our honeymoon suite. It was a spread fit for a king and a queen—or ten or twenty. More lava cake was had—in ways that would have made Elodie blush.

And lastly, Ransom and I landed in that private hot tub on our balcony. The hours we spent soaking in the sweet heat proved particularly memorable, leading to some creative canoodling that would have madeSassyblush—if ghosts could blush. Speaking of our spectral chaperone, she made another appearance just as things were getting interesting, and this time she had the decency to disappear after minimal note-taking.

“Earth to Trixie.” Bess nudges me as we approach the Sapphire Lounge. It’s the very next afternoon and we’re heading straight for a sign that readsWelcome to the Whispers of the Wicked podcast at sea! A killer convention.“You’ve got that newlywed glow again,” Bess insists.

“More like thatI finally got some alone time with minimal supernatural supervisionglow,” I shoot back.

“Please,” Nettie snorts. “With a smile like that, I’d say you had plenty of supervision—of the Handsome Ransom variety.”

“You’re not wrong,” I sing.

The Sapphire Lounge has transformed from its usual cocktail hour elegance into something more deliberately dramatic. Crystal chandeliers glow above in the dimly lit room where the curtains have been drawn over the windows.

I’m guessing light and bright doesn’t exactly set the mood for a good conversation about a very horrible murder.

Both Bess and Nettie have dressed appropriately for the occasion—dark slacks and a light sweater for Bess and a lime green kaftan with pineapples printed all over it for Nettie.

Okay, so Nettie’s attire might turn an eye or two. Which happens to be what my current attire has me doing as well, no thanks to the navy sequin gown with a giant pink glittery bow that sits right over my keester. Elodie really does have a sense of humor. Have I mentioned the plunging neckline?

But I digress. Bodies swarm the room amidst the rows and rows of chairs lined up, all facing a makeshift stage up front. The sound of classical music bleeds through the speakers and the scent of sugar-sweet donuts and coffee hijacks our senses.

In fact, to the left there’s an entire buffet of every donut imaginable, from bear claws to eclairs, powdered donuts, to chocolate glazed and everything in between. Admittedly, the platter of powdered jelly donuts looks especially fitting for this morbid gathering, but delicious nonetheless. And don’t get me started on the scent of the fresh brewed coffee.

That’s the nice thing about this ship. You don’t have to go to one of the many fancy coffee shops or cafés on board to track down a decent cup of joe. And am I ever addicted to a decent cup of joe.

The effect of all things combined is more upscale book club than crime convention. However, the enthusiastic chatter about favorite cases suggests otherwise.

“Well, this is cozy,” Nettie says, eyeing both the donut-laden display table and the gathering crowd with equal interest. “But wow, I didn’t expect everyone to be dressed like they’re attending a funeral.”

“Nettie.” Bess shoots her bestie a look. “Given recent events?—”

“I see the three musketeers have arrived,” Bess is cut off by a familiar curt voice coming from behind—one we’re all too familiar with.

We turn to find Tinsley wearing another naval-inspired pantsuit, but this one somehow manages to look even more militant than yesterday’s. And floating alongside of her is a rather stunning redheaded ghost in a dress that matches her glowing locks. Come to think of it, her entire countenance is giving off a red-hot lava effect.

“Four musketeers,” I correct without thinking. Sassy floats beside me, preening like the queen she is in a polka-dot dress that would make any pin-up girl jealous.

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