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I make a face at him before looking at Ransom. “I don’t know. I saw you standing back here and—”
“You saw me?” His finger freezes, poised over his phone as he stops midflight from taking notes.
“Yes, you,” I say. “You were wearing that weird denim suit again.”
“Denim?” Wes hikes a brow.
I nod his way. “He’s been changing all night from that to what he has on now.” I shake my head over at Ransom. “This is such a better look on you. I know I asked earlier, but are you sure there’s not a costume party on board?”
Ransom lifts his chin a notch and inspects me. “Captain, I think we need to seize the bar. And I’ll make sure to have all the drinks scattered around the room traced for hallucinogenics. The deceased has a drink at her fingertips, and Mrs. Troublefield here might be feeling the ill effects from something she ingested as well.”
“Mrs. Troublefield?” I balk just as Nettie and Bess scuttle our way. “My formal moniker, really? This coming from the man who just asked to see me in my birthday suit?” The words slip from my mouth without meaning to and I gasp. It’s too late now. Lord knows that’s one verbal sandwich I can’t un-eat.
“Birthday suit?” Wes growls at Ransom with a threat.
“I don’t recall this conversation.” Ransom’s brows swoop in like two birds in flight as he inspects me further. “When did you say this happened?”
“Tonight. Out on the promenade deck when you were wearing that suit.” I shake my head at him. “Why are you denying it?”
“Because it didn’t happen,” he says so matter-of-factly, I’m moved to believe him.
“Something is definitely happening,” Bess says. “Why don’t we get some air,” she says, hooking her arm to mine. “Don’t say another word,” she mumbles through the side of her lips like a seasoned ventriloquist. “I know his type. Anything you do or say will be held against you.”
“I know his type, too,” Nettie says, hooking her arm to mine on the other side. “If you’re lucky, he’ll hold it all against you in the dark. And if you’re really lucky, he’ll leave the lights on and set up a camera.”
And just like that, I’m escorted from the scene of the crime.
I glance back, only to find Ransom with those ocean blue eyes of his still trained on me.
He looks angry and worried for me all at the same time.
What just happened between us?
What just happened to that poor woman?
And why am I to blame for both?
CHAPTER 4
The night air on the balcony just outside the Diamond Lounge is cool and breezy as the ship continues to sail south, seemingly following the trail of moonlight dancing on the water before us.
“We did it,” Nettie pants as we weave our way through a thicket of people, all of whom look shell-shocked by what’s transpired inside. “We escaped justice—for now.”
“For now is right,” Bess wheezes. “Trixie, we really need to find you another hobby. Tripping over a dead body isn’t a good look on you—or me by proxy.”
“Did you say dead body?” Tinsley crops up with that sportscaster, Travis Weatherly, glued to her side. “I knew it,” she hisses my way. “You’re really living up to your name, Trixie Troublefield. Who’d you off this time?”
“Someone died?” A look of horror grips Travis as he turns his head toward the lounge. “It’s Julia, isn’t it? She said it was coming.” He takes off in that direction before anyone can stop him.
“She knew she was going to die?” I practically choke on the words. “Then it was murder for sure.”
Nettie shakes her head. “We can’t verify that until you’ve seen a ghost.”
“What ghost?” Tinsley squints over at us as the string lights overhead blink on and off for a moment as if they were verifying a poltergeist presence themselves.
Bess swats her gray-headed bestie on the arm. “There is no ghost,” she assures Tinsley.
Bess and Nettie are the only two people on the ship who know about my supernatural foible. Not even my own bestie, Elodie Abernathy, who manages the Queen’s Mall, knows about my dalliances with the dead.
