Page 59 of Viking Vengeance Cruise

We sit in comfortable silence for a moment, the movie flickering in the background, someone on screen declaring their undying love while dramatic music swells. And here the two of us soak in hot water on a ship where somebody recently ended a life. Leave it to the Emerald Queen to program her own irony.

“So.” I nudge Marina’s foot with mine under the water. “How’s the new job treating you? Assistant cruise director seems like a lot.”

“It’s definitely a lot.” She shifts in the water to get a better angle on the jets. “Tinsley is…intense. But I’m learning. And honestly? It’s nice to have purpose again. To feel useful.”

“How is sharing a cabin with her?”

Marina’s face does this thing where she’s clearly trying not to laugh and losing the fight. “She has very strong opinions about closet organization. And bathroom counter space. And the acceptable volume for watching television after ten p.m.”

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes. She created a chart. With time slots. For everything.”

I nearly snort water. “A chart?”

“A color-coded laminated chart.”

“Oh geez.” I sink a little. “Somewhere on this ship, a laminating machine is putting in for hazard pay.”

Marina grins. “But she’s not actually that bad once you get past the clipboard and the organizational anxiety. She’s just particular.”

“That’s a generous way to put it.”

“I’m practicing generosity. It’s in the job description now.”

“Right under surviving Tinsley, I’d imagine. Ask for a raise.”

The movie transitions to a beach scene, and I catch the sound of the on-screen waves mixing with the waves below, a strange stereo effect that has me half-convinced the sea is auditioning for a part.

“So who do you think killed Astrid?” Marina opens her eyes, and her voice drops right along with the question.

“Your guess is as good as mine.” I watch the steam curl off the water between us while I think. Marina’s ice-blue eyes reflect the hot-tub lights, and she’s chewing on something that isn’t dinner. Curiosity, concern, and a third ingredient she’s not ready to name. “You know what else is quite the mystery?” I say it carefully. “You.”

She goes very still.

I offer what I hope is a reassuring smile. “Marina, I know we’ve just met, but if there’s any danger you’re in, I want you to know that you’re safe here. With us. I mean that with my whole heart.”

Never mind that I’ve made this vow on a vessel currently harboring an active murderer. The universe is welcome to not test me on it.

Her throat works as she swallows. “I’m fine. Really.”

Really. In my experience, women only tack that word on when the fine is anything but. It’s the verbal equivalent of a smoke detector chirping. Everything’s okay, and also, please check the batteries.

“Bess, Nettie, Ransom, Wes—we all care about you. If something’s wrong⁠—”

“Maybe one day,” she interrupts softly. Her gaze drops to the churning water. “When the time is right. But please don’t think less of me for not being ready to talk about it yet.”

“Never,” I say without missing a beat. “We’ve all got things we’re not ready to share. You tell us when you’re ready, or you don’t tell us at all. Either way, we’ve got your back.”

She looks up, and her eyes go glossy with tears she refuses to spill. “Thank you.”

Footsteps sound on the deck, headed straight for our tucked-away sanctuary. Marina glances over my shoulder, and a grin sneaks up one side of her face.

She sighs. “And I think this is my cue to leave. Have a great rest of the night, Trixie.” She gives a knowing smile. “It’s clear you’re about to.”

She’s out of the hot tub in one smooth motion. She grabs her towel and wraps it around herself.

“Marina, you don’t have to⁠—”