Page 92 of Viking Vengeance Cruise

We find the exact woman we’re looking for at the windows overlooking the dark ocean, standing alone in her gold gown, the candlelight turning her into a woman gift-wrapped in actual treasure. Her honey-blonde bob is perfect as always, her posture elegant, one hand resting on the window frame as she stares out into the black water.

Poppy Lindgren looks beautiful. Composed. Completely in control.

And, if I’m right, absolutely guilty.

Marina and I approach slowly, and I note the way she’s holding her shoulder. It’s subtle, but it’s there. A small roll, a slight adjustment, a woman managing pain nobody else would notice unless they were looking for it.

I’m looking for it.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Marina says gently as we stop beside her.

She turns, and her face lights up with that warm smile. “Oh, just reflecting on the cruise. It’s been quite the journey, hasn’t it?”

Quite the journey, indeed. One of us won’t be finishing it without handcuffs.

Magnus drifts closer and eyes her with obvious appreciation. “Such poise. Such beauty. I wonder what she looks like when that mask cracks. I’d happily volunteer to help her out of it. The mask, that is. Among other things.”

He reaches toward Poppy’s neck, and I swat at him reflexively. The man flirts the way other people breathe. Death hasn’t slowed his rotation one bit.

“Would you go away?” I hiss through my teeth.

Poppy’s smile falters. “I’m sorry?”

“Not you,” I say quickly, realizing exactly how that looked. “I was just... there was a bug.”

“A bug?” She glances around the pristine lounge with its sparkling chandeliers and expensive decor, a lounge so clean you could perform surgery on the dessert table.

“It’s gone now.”

Magnus laughs. “Oh, this is delightful. You’re terrible at this.”

I’d argue, but he’s not wrong.

Marina bites down on a laugh and disguises it as a cough. Our arms are touching, which means she can hear every word out of the LARPing lothario’s mouth.

Ghost-hearing by osmosis. It’s a package deal nobody signs up for and nobody gets to return.

Poppy looks between Marina and me, her composure springing its first tiny leak. “Are you two okay? By the looks of it, you’re not getting along.”

I take a breath. “Actually, we’re getting along fine. But I think you’re familiar with disagreements among friends. Sort of like the one you had with Astrid.”

Her smile freezes. “What are you talking about?”

“You and Astrid were close, weren’t you?” I ask, keeping my tone conversational. “Lunch dates whenever she swung through Connecticut. Text messages about book recommendations. She sent your daughter a graduation card.”

“Yes, we were friends.” Poppy blinks back her surprise. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Friends share things,” Marina says quietly. “Confidences. Secrets.”

“I suppose.” Poppy glances toward the party as though scouting an escape route. She doesn’t look surprised anymore. In fact, she looks downright worried. “But I’m not sure where you’re going with this.”

“I’m talking about the fact that Astrid discovered your secrets,” I say, watching her face carefully. “The ones you’ve been hiding behind your perfect smile and your helpful demeanor.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her eyes widen a notch. For a woman with no idea what I’m talking about, she certainly seems well-informed.

“Your husband’s affair,” I say, just above a whisper. “The one you’ve known about for years. And the painkillers you’ve been borrowing from his medical practice. If borrowing is the right word for pills that never find their way back.”

The color drains from her face. “That’s... that’s ridiculous. Who told you that?”