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“Good Lord.” Bess rolls her eyes just as Captain Crawford heads over with a wave.
“Ladies.” He gives a slight bow, wearing his full captain’s regalia, white suit, lots of gold pins and buttons, and a white hat with a short navy bill that lets everyone know he’s the man in charge.
Captain Weston Crawford Cockburn—yes, Cockburn, although he’s eschewed his formal surname and uses his middle name as such instead—and wisely so, is handsome to a fault. He’s tall, with dark hair, green eyes, and dimples. Much like Ransom, he’s in his mid-fifties with one divorce behind him. He has two grown sons, whereas Ransom has a grown daughter. Fun fact: it was Ransom’s sister that Wes divorced.
He nods my way. “How was Honey Hollow?”
“We found a body,” Nettie shouts as if we struck ghoulish gold. And in her eyes, it might have equaled just that.
“Technically, I found the body,” Bess corrects. “And I was almost charged with murder, but never mind that. We’re home, in one piece, and that’s all that matters.”
Both Bess and Nettie live on the ship full-time, and they’re the very reason I’ve taken up residence here myself. It’s not a bad deal if you can swing it, and thanks to the fat divorce settlement I’ll be receiving soon enough, I plan on swinging it until I become a corpse one day.
“So nice to see you again, Wes,” I say, offering him a hearty embrace. Wes and I have grown quite close after just a few cruises together. He’s made it clear that he has romantic feelings toward me, but he respects the fact Ransom and I are presently seeing where things may lead. “Despite the body, we had a wonderful time in Honey Hollow, but am I ever glad to be back on the ship. I can’t wait until we hit the South Pacific and the briny air gets warmer, the sea gets bluer, and—”
“The men wear less clothes,” Nettie finishes for me.
Not quite where I was going, but that works, too. Just the thought of seeing Ransom in far less clothes sends a tingle down to my toes.
That birthday suit comment comes back to me and I cringe for a moment. The only man who’s ever seen me in my birthday suit was Stanton. And judging by the fact he traded me in for several younger models, it’s safe to say he wasn’t too impressed with the couture Mother Nature gifted me.
“What’s been going on?” I ask Wes just as he glances over his shoulder and frowns.
“Tinsley’s been going on,” he mutters under his breath.
Tinsley Thornton is a bronzed looker with a shock of long chestnut hair. She’s fit and fabulous, somewhere in her forties, and has more than a slight obsession with both Wes and Ransom. I’m not her favorite person, but then the feeling is pretty much mutual.
“She’s been unstoppable,” he says. “As least as far as trying to land me horizontal.”
“That’s because she’s done it before,” Bess points out.
“It didn’t end well the first time,” Nettie points out as well.
“That’s because in her eyes, it didn’t end.” He takes a deep breath. “I hate to say it, but I think at some point during this cruise, I’m going to do my best to find her someone else she can occupy her hormones with.”
“Who you got in mind?” Nettie asks. “Let me guess. He’s tall, dark, handsome, and his name is Ransom.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” I whisper to myself.
Wes chuckles my way. “Have no fear, Trixie dear.” He winks as he says it. “I have something else in mind.”
Tinsley crops up behind him and wraps an arm around his waist as if staking her claim.
“Whatever it is you have in mind—” she says it low and husky, her chest doing its best to blossom right out of her white dress shirt. It’s tight and fitted, as is the navy pencil skirt she’s paired it with. It happens to be the ship’s uniform for the female crew, and I’ve always thought there is something unnecessarily sultry about it. “It had better involve me.”
“It does.” Wes frowns as he says it. “I was just about to invite you all to the Diamond Lounge.”
“The Diamond Lounge?” Bess gasps.
The Diamond Lounge is one of the most exclusive, ritzy clubs that this ship contains. As I understand, it’s only used for the upper echelon and their haughty-naughty activities.
“That’s right,” Wes says. “We’ve got a group called the Cancel Culture Club aboard and they’re kicking off the cruise with a private party. Of course, they’ve extended an invitation to my crew.”
“The Cancel Culture Club?” I shake my head as I try to put together what it might mean.
Tinsley nods. “It’s a group of about three dozen who have all been deemed untouchable by society after they stepped in it—metaphorically.”
“That’s right.” Wes lifts his shoulders. “In effect, they’ve all been canceled.” He says that last word with air quotes. “It’s sort of a support group they have going, that’s congregating here on board. Shall we head to the party?”
