Chapter 14
CHAPTER 14
Suddenly Single—What a Trip!
D ear Trixie,
It’s Sandy here, and I need your help again. Well, I took your advice and met a few kind people on the cruise. I even went on a snorkeling adventure and met a handsome man named Jim! We’ve been hanging out quite a bit since then and I even thought I had met my soul mate.
But guess what?! He’s here as a part of a bachelor party and I just overheard some news between him and his friends. It turns out he has a wife!
Why are some men such duds? I feel so betrayed and foolish. Here I am on a solo cruise looking to pick up the pieces and now I’ve broken my heart all over again. Any advice on how to move on from this mess?
Sincerely, Soulmate-Scammed Sandy
Dear Soulmate-Scammed Sandy,
Oh, Sandy, what a heartbreaking twist! Some men can indeed be duds, but let’s focus on how to turn this unfortunate chapter into a new beginning.
First off, let’s ditch the guilt and self-blame. You’re not foolish—you’re trusting and open-hearted, which are qualities to cherish, not regret. The dud in this story is him, not you.
Next, channel that frustration into something empowering. Plan a day just for you. Pamper yourself with a spa day, indulge in your favorite hobbies, or go on a mini adventure. Remind yourself of all the wonderful things you bring to the table, independent of any man.
And if all else fails, enjoy a refreshing drink at the bar.
Wishing you smoother seas and brighter days ahead,
XOXO Trixie
Wes texted me after I finished up two of my three art classes for the day.
Once we got back from swimming with sea turtles, still thankful that all of Nettie’s toes were accounted for, Tinsley, ever the taskmaster, insisted that I teach one class after the other, stating that the passengers were hungry to create a replica of the stunning oceanic vistas that were afoot. So, of course, I quickly obliged. As much as I hate to admit it, Tinsley is more or less my boss in this floating paradise on the sea.
I had the crew help me lug out all of the supplies we’d need to appropriately capture the sunset as it turned the sky luscious shades of tangerine, cotton candy pink, and ethereal hues of lavender.
We painted dolphins prancing on azure waters and a few even painted man-eating turtles—apparently rumors have begun. Nonetheless, most all of it was done with acrylics, with the exception of one woman who insisted on using watercolor. Unfortunately, she learned the hard way that watercolor is the most unforgiving medium. Come to think of it, if Tinsley was an art medium, she would most certainly be watercolor.
But I digress. Toward the end of the second class, Wes sent both Ransom and me a text saying that he’s opened the Captain’s Buffet up a little early in the cruise as a sort of engagement gift to Ransom and me.
The Captain’s Buffet is a regal and elegant affair that takes place in the Starlight Lounge on one of the uppermost decks, in a circular room with a three hundred and sixty degree stunning view. And boy, was I ever excited to hear it. If ever there was one thing that can make me eschew dinner in the Main Dining room, it’s the Captain’s Buffet.
The Captain’s Buffet has gone by many names in the past—The Grand Feast, Elysian Eats, Gourmet Galore, and the Lavish Spread. But tonight it simply goes by The Captain’s Culinary Gift. A sort of a wink and nod to Ransom and me.
The buffet itself is invite-only—usually to the people who the captain feels he needs to impress on behalf of the cruise lines, or anyone who he feels he has something to make up for. And seeing that this lavish meal usually only takes place on the final dress your best night, it’s a treat knowing we’ll have it at least twice this week.
Heck, if Wes really wanted to woo me while I was still available to be wooed, all he had to do was open up the Captain’s Buffet on a nightly basis and I would have been his—bought solely by way of cheddar biscuits, king crab legs, and perfectly boiled lobster. Don’t get me started on the prime rib and the lamb chops—both of which are perfectly rare just the way I like them.
Ransom let me know he’d meet me up there but asked me not to wait because he had a call back from the coroner’s office and it seemed rather important. I didn’t fight him on it.
In fact, the only person I fought a battle royale to get here was Tinsley who threw a fit only a toddler could admire when I told her my third art class was canceled posthaste due to personal reasons. Those personal reasons were hunger—and a lust born of my love of all-you-can-eat oversized prawns.
Tinsley tried to reason with me, stating that I had to earn my keep. To which I kindly, and okay, perhaps not-so-kindly informed her that I, in fact, do not have to earn my keep. Even though I do get paid to teach—an embarrassingly paltry amount—I purchase my own cruise each time the ship sails. I mostly do that because the cabin I would have received as an employee is sunk in the bowels of the ship and not a single part of me wanted to share a room with three other women, all fighting for the use of a bathroom that would make the facilities on any airline feel like a luxurious palace.
No, thank you. Besides, I buy my cabin on the same deck where Bess and Nettie reside—because that makes it easy to carry Nettie back to her room when needed. And it’s almost always needed. Really, Bess and I should think about staging an intervention for both booze and men.
Anyway, I didn’t even change my clothes. I came straight from the lido deck after unintelligibly begging about six different staff members to help haul my art supplies back to the craft cave because I couldn’t miss a single second of all-you-can-eat king crab legs. But I suppose a bright blue A-line dress is probably one of the most practical things you can wear to a buffet next to elastic pants so I’m all set to go.
The Starlight Lounge is dimly lit with enough twinkle lights overhead that it actually looks like a blanket of stars. The windows glow peach from the sunset, which makes the water look like red grenadine. But I’m not looking at the ceiling or the blood-red waters. My eyes are strictly fastened on the culinary offerings before me.
Like a warrior going off to battle, I take a moment to soak in the lay of the land, strategizing where and when to begin because heaven knows exactly where I’ll finish—the lava cake is in abundance here as well.
The Captain’s Culinary Gift Buffet has a dessert lineup that reads like a roll call from every five-star restaurant that has ever existed. Each and every sweet treat before me is truly to die for, to kill for, and perhaps worthy enough to do a little time in the Big House for, too.
Speaking of death, a spray of hot pink stars begin to twinkle by my side and I’m more than happy to see Beatrice Fiddlefae appear, looking just as anxiously at the culinary offerings as I am.
“Oh my,” she muses. “I guess we know what happens next.”
“You bet we do,” I say, grabbing a tray, then a warm plate from the queue, then another warm plate, then another until my tray can’t handle another piece of porcelain.
Investigation be darned because right now I’m too focused on getting my hands on all the surf and turf options I can eat rather than shaking down this ghost for all the clues I can wrangle.
I’m sure Ransom would be glad to know that even when justice hangs in the balance I still put my primal needs first—as he is forever telling me to do.
I’ll agree with him on that, but only when it comes to food. Not even sleep is sacred enough for me to turn a blind eye to the investigation.
Priorities, I suppose. It’s nice to know I’ve got them.
I toss crustaceans and questionably cooked slices of meat alike onto my tray with reckless abandon. And oddly enough, Beatrice keeps saying things like more lobster , more king crab legs in the ironic ways that some people say more cowbell these days.
As a culinary cheerleader, she’s a natural. And it almost makes me feel sorry that she can’t have a single bite.
But as soon as we take a seat by the floor-to-ceiling window, she’s not exactly looking at the view either. Instead, once I dive in, she dives in herself. No wonder she was insisting that I pile it high—the more for her to inhale.
“If I knew you were going to eat, I would have grabbed another tray,” I say, casting a sideways glance at my fellow passengers who are too busy inhaling their own lobsters and crabs to notice that half my food is disappearing, seemingly of its own volition.
“You obviously weren’t paying attention to my diatribe back at the seafood station,” she says, sucking a luscious bit of white meat right out of the king crab leg with a tenacity I can only admire.
“You know it makes me jealous when you do that,” I say, wagging my useless crab crackers at her. “I’m still relegated to these. I guess, sometimes it pays to be dead.”
“It always pays to be dead,” she counters with a wink. “Although this spread pales in compassion to what we have access to—as you would say twenty-four seven. But seeing that paradise is outside of time, it’s neither here nor there.”
A guttural sound emits from me as I momentarily pause from shoving an oversized prawn into my mouth.
“You’re making me long for paradise,” I say with a sigh.
“Your time will come. And you know how to get there. The rules are in the Good Book.” She toasts me with yet another one of my crab legs.
“Speaking of books, whoever stabbed Lucy Taylor to death deserves to have a legal tome or two thrown at them. And for as much as you don’t care for the woman, you’re stuck with this subpar buffet until her killer is caught.”
A round of gasps breaks out from my right and I look to see a couple looking aghast my way.
“ Ooh , sorry.” I wrinkle my nose their way before repositioning myself slightly so that I’m facing the window and no one can overtly see my mouth moving. Clearly, I’ll have to keep it down since I’m seated around a bunch of eavesdroppers.
“I hated the woman.” Beatrice’s face flushes the same hue as that hot pink wool coat she seems eternally stuck in. “She was a morally repugnant gnat who lied her way to the top.”
I squint over at the woman, midbite. “The top of what?” I quickly shove that prawn into my mouth as I await her answer.
“The top of the food chain.” She’s back to wagging that crab leg in my face.
I’m about to ask what food chain just as a body—a rather obnoxious body—plops down across from me and bounces Beatrice right out of her proverbial seat.
And just like that, my appetite up and disappears.