Chapter 12
CHAPTER 12
Suddenly Single—What a Trip!
D ear Trixie,
Guess what? I’ve moved on, too! I’m now dating a blonde bombshell who’s half your age. She’s everything you’re not—fun, carefree, and far less dramatic. How do you like them apples? Any tips on how to handle all the jealous looks we’ll be getting on the cruise I just booked?
Sincerely, Stanton the Smug
Dear Stanton the Smug,
Oh, Stanton, how charmingly cliché! A blonde bombshell half my age? My, my, you’ve certainly checked off all the midlife crisis boxes. I’ve got a few thoughts on how to navigate those jealous looks with a bit of panache.
First, let’s talk about those envious glances. Are they really green with jealousy, or are they just trying to figure out if they’ve stumbled onto a father and daughter?
Next, while you’re busy flaunting your new arm candy, remember that relationships should never be based on revenge.
And as for the cruise, just make sure it’s nowhere near the Emerald Queen of the Seas .
Finally, if you’re really looking to get a rise out of me, you might want to remember that true happiness comes from within, not from external validation. But hey, who am I to rain on your blonde parade?
Sail on, Stanton, and remember—life is a journey, not a competition.
Wishing you all the best in your high-seas adventures,
Trixie
Stanton: Just wait until you meet my new sweetheart. Your face will turn green with envy and so will the face of that goon you’ve leashed yourself to.
Trixie: Let’s see—she’s young and hot and you’re old and not. Could it be your money she’s after?
Stanton: She’s after what I’m serving up in the bedroom, sweetie. Don’t fault me for being a good time, and don’t fault me for being wealthy.
Trixie: Lest you forget my lawyers took you to the cleaners. If there’s anything left, I hope she gets her blonde little mitts on it and makes a run for it. Sounds as if she’s earning her keep. It might be a questionably honest living, but one thing is for sure, she works hard for the money. My condolences.
Stanton: I’m not laughing.
Trixie: I’m not telling a joke.
According to the map on the back of our newsletter, Jennifer and her entourage lead us to Turtle Bay Beach, a secluded cove famous for its crystal-clear waters and the resident sea turtles.
The beach is a haven for water play, with inflatable slides, floating trampolines, and kayaks scattered about. But the real draw is the chance to swim with sea turtles, a magical experience that everyone seems more than eager to try.
The beach itself is a postcard-perfect slice of paradise. The sand is powdery white and it’s a gorgeous contrast with the bright turquoise ocean. A gentle breeze rustles the palm trees that line the shore and their leaves provide some much-needed intermittent shade. But there are other sources of shade to be had by way of cabanas. And the cabanas here are the epitome of beachside luxury—white and draped with sheer, flowing curtains that flutter in the wind. Each cabana is outfitted with plush seating, allowing guests to lounge in comfort while enjoying the stunning views.
Beach loungers and umbrellas dot the landscape and provide the perfect spot for sunbathing or simply relaxing with a good book—my idea of a good time. The loungers are a mix of sturdy wooden frames with thick, bright blue cushioned pads, ensuring that every moment spent here is as comfortable as possible. And luckily there are more than enough matching umbrellas to go around.
There’s a snack shack to our left, already enticing us with the aroma of grilled burgers, hot dogs, and Caribbean-spiced chicken, making it impossible to resist. And there’s a beach bar next to that, beckoning one and all with an array of tropical drinks and smoothies.
Bess, Nettie, and I settle in near our mark, and I can’t help but note that Jennifer and her buddies are a lot more morose than they were those first few hours on the ship. Lucy Taylor’s death seems to have knocked the proverbial wind out of them and understandably so. But as soon as they break off into groups, the chatter seems to pick up and there’s more than one bout of laughter as the women begin to relax.
“Look at them,” Nettie whispers while nudging me. “It’s like watching an episode of Real Housewives — Killer Cruise Ship Edition .”
Bess chuckles. “Yeah, but with more sea turtles, a dead body, and fewer table flips.”
“The cruise is young yet,” I tease. “Although in all fairness, the tables back on the ship are impossible to move, let alone flip.”
“And that’s why they had to resort to stabbing one another in the back,” Nettie says.
“Would you keep it down?” Bess practically hisses at her before looking my way. “Why do we bring her with us again?”
“Because I keep things interesting,” Nettie grouses back. “Now who do you think is going to attract the most turtles here at the bay?”
Bess’ eyes grow twice their size. “You stay away from those poor things. The sign clearly says you can swim with them, not on them. No touching!”
“ Pfft ,” Nettie huffs. “I’ll keep my hands off of those octagon-shaped cuties, but I doubt those little love bugs will be able to keep their flippers off of me. I’ve been known to attract quite the crowd when it comes to reptiles.”
Bess turns my way. “Did this conversation just segue back to men?”
Before I can answer, a collective and rather riotous group of women belts out a cock-a-doodle-doo from our left where Jennifer and her friends do their best to howl at the sky.
“Looks as if the party is back on,” I say, just as the entire lot of them runs and jumps into the water. “All right, ladies, sink or swim—Jennifer Mitchell is mine.”
We head to the shore and Nettie dives right under a wave and swims out like a dolphin until she corks back to the surface about ten feet out.
“Come on in, girls,” she shouts. “The water is warm as a bathtub!”
“It figures,” Bess says, wading in waist-deep. “Just when I was hoping it’d feel as if there was a glacier in the area.”
Bess and I sink down to our necks at the very same time and let out a collective sigh.
“I take it back,” Bess says. “This feels like heaven.”
“Indeed,” I say, going under and opening my eyes to a perfectly clear sandy bottom with a few stray sprigs of seaweed and what looks to be an entire army of sea turtles mingling amidst the bodies. “I see them,” I shout as I spike back out of the water. “There are tons of sea turtles out here.”
Bess and I swim out to Nettie and the three of us ooh and ahh at the bevy of gorgeous creatures in our midst. They’re here in every shape and size and their shells run from deep emerald green to a rich cocoa brown. We spend what feels like hours chasing them around and we let them chase us right back.
We’re about to venture out farther into the water—and no matter how far we swim we can still touch the bottom—but I see a sight that has me pausing my effort.
“Why don’t you ladies go on without me,” I say while nodding over to the edge of the cove where Jennifer Mitchell is lounging in the shade provided by a few boulders, and she happens to be all alone. “I just remembered why we’re at this beach to begin with.”
I swim off, and soon I find myself in the shade right along with my first and only suspect.