Page 14 of Viking Vengeance Cruise

They head off together toward Wes, presumably to start the paperwork avalanche that comes with a guest getting crushed by an ice sculpture at a literary event. I’m guessing corporate doesn’t have a form for that. Yet. Give Tinsley a week and she’ll invent one in triplicate, laminate it, and name it after herself.

Marina reaches Wes first, and for half a second his captain face slips into a look he definitely didn’t learn in maritime school before duty snaps it back into place. She powdered her nose for this man twenty minutes ago. Now they’re standing over incident reports together. Romance on the high seas is not for the faint of heart. Or the faint of paperwork.

The crowd is finally, mercifully, thinning. Women file out in small groups, still whispering, still glancing back at Astrid’s body as though they can’t quite believe what happened. A few are crying. Most look stunned. One woman is already on her phone, composing what has to be a very dramatic text to the folks back home in Willow Creek. By morning, the story will have three Vikings and a sword fight. By Friday, I’ll have done it in the library with a candlestick. By next month, there will be a commemorative sweatshirt.

Another woman pauses near the exit and turns back to the buffet with a look of longing in her eyes. “Can I just grab one meatball⁠—”

“No!” three security officers shout in perfect unison.

She leaves, looking personally victimized by Swedish cuisine. Her therapist just felt a disturbance in the force.

At last, the Valhalla Lounge empties down to crew, melting Viking, and one very dead book club founder. The music cuts off, leaving us in an eerie silence broken only by dripping ice and the distant chatter of women as the Emerald Queen slides deeper into the Baltic night.

Ransom walks over, still wearing the growl. “Wes is calling it in. Swedish authorities will board and take over the investigation when we dock in Gothenburg.”

“So this is officially a murder investigation,” I say.

“This is officially a nightmare wrapped in paperwork and tied with a bow of international jurisdiction issues,” he says with a nod. “Poisoned at a book club party. Crushed by an ice sculpture shaped like a Viking. The press is going to feast on this for weeks.”

I cringe. “At least it’s memorable.”

He lifts a brow my way. “That’s not helping.”

“I’m rarely helpful in these situations. I find the bodies and occasionally solve the murders. The helping part is really more your department.”

“Leave the investigation to me and help yourself to some peace and quiet for a change.” He pulls me in and lands a warm kiss on my cheek.

I open my mouth to answer, or, more to the point, to protest, but Wes beats me to it, captain mode bolted firmly back on. “Ransom, I need you to coordinate with your team. Secure the lounge. Nobody touches anything until we can properly document the scene and hand it over to the authorities.”

“On it.” Ransom heads off, barking orders at his officers in that clipped tone he saves for full security mode. And yes, I find it wildly attractive. I’m only human. A human who married a walking security briefing and has zero regrets.

Wes turns to me, Bess, and Nettie, and his face gentles. “You three should get some rest.”

“We’re not leaving,” I say immediately.

“Trixie—”

“Someone murdered that woman in a room full of witnesses. And unless I’m very wrong, which I’m not, that someone is still on this ship, probably enjoying a cocktail while we mop up their mess.” I glance at Astrid’s vacant stare. “I’m not going anywhere until I figure out who.”

Wes sighs, long and deep. He’s had this exact conversation with me a dozen times, and we both know how it ends. “Fine. But stay out of the security team’s way.”

“When have I ever gotten in the way?”

He flashes a quick smile. “Do you want that list chronologically or alphabetically?”

Bess snorts. “Alphabetically would take less time.”

“Wow. Thanks for the support,” I tell her.

“Anytime, Trix.”

Nettie turns to me with that gleam in her eye. “You know, Astrid went straight for you when she was dying. She grabbed you, shook you, used her last breath trying to communicate with you.”

“She was choking,” I say. “She grabbed whoever was closest.”

“Sure.” Nettie winks my way. “Or maybe she understood you’re thick as thieves with the Grim Reaper.”

“Yeah,” Bess adds, not even trying to hide her amusement. “Thick as killer thieves.”