Chapter 11
CHAPTER 11
M ore screams ensue—from me.
More growls ensue—from her.
My panicked howls of horror bounce off the walls of the tiny elevator as Merritt—yes, Merritt Garrett, every last ethereal blue glowing inch of her—folds her ghostly arms and scowls at me.
“Would you calm down?” she snaps, her voice roars out with an otherworldly splendor and a bevy of miniature blue stars emanates from her. “Someone is going to think you’re getting murdered in here!”
“Oh, the irony,” I say, blinking at her as my pulse hammers at a life-threatening pace. And it would certainly be another irony if I , too , bit the big one at this very moment. “What are you doing back? Let me guess. You didn’t make it past the pearly gates?”
Her eyes roll like a couple of slot machines. “Try again.”
“You’re not a fan of the heat?”
Merritt growls my way like an angry celestial lion. “I’m here to help you solve my murder, you nitwit!”
“ What ?” I inch back, nearly pressing myself right through the wall of the elevator. “Are you sure? I mean, there are rules about these things—I think.” My mind spins through a thousand scenarios. “If we were following the usual ghost rules, then that would mean you were the person you loved the most. Huh .” I nod to myself. “Now that I think about it, it totally makes sense. ”
“Oh, would you hush?” she bellows, her voice turning into a rather classic ghostly growl just as the elevator lets out a perky ding, announcing our arrival at the lido deck.
The doors slide open, and Merritt tilts her head back, sniffing the air like a bloodhound. “Is that fried chicken I smell? All this back and forth between realms has really worked up my appetite.” And with that, she zips off toward the buffet—or rather floats off.
“ Wait ,” I hiss, stumbling out of the elevator in her wake, albeit on foot and lacking her ethereal glide. “We need to—oh, for heaven’s sake. Never mind.”
Merritt makes a beeline for the Blue Water Café in all her blue glowing glory, and for once I’m grateful I’m the only one privy to the supernatural horror.
The café is a paradise in and of itself with its black granite floors that glitter and gleam. The lights are dim at this late hour, but it still manages to showcase the sparkling brass and glass that echoes throughout this culinary palace of delights.
Eighties rock music plays softly in the background and mingles with the low hum of late-night conversations. The place is nearly packed, not an anomaly at any hour of the day. After all, this is one of the Emerald Queen’s culinary showpieces—a buffet that seems to stretch to the horizon, offering everything from savory to sweet. There are pizzas with every topping imaginable, burgers stacked to the ceiling, an army of steaming hot casseroles, decadent muffins, an assortment of fresh baked pies, and, best of all, that molten lava cake that has been calling my name all night.
I watch as Merritt floats from one culinary treat to the next, noshing on them as she goes—thankfully with a modicum of discretion. The last thing we need is a poltergeist investigation team swarming the ship due to floating food which seemingly evaporates into thin air.
The ghosts who come back to help me always seem to have a hearty appetite. I don’t know where they put it. I don’t want to know. There are some mysteries I’m content letting remain just that—a mystery.
I pick up a tray and stack it with six ramekins full of the ooey- gooey chocolate wonder, then grab a latte to go with it. If this can’t help me forget this disaster of a day, nothing can. Or in the least help mitigate it until morning.
Merritt bursts into a ghostly cackle as she flies horizontally through a row of eclairs and cream puffs, opening her mouth and gobbling them up as fast as she can as if she had morphed into a famished version of Pac-Man.
I’ll admit, I’m a bit in awe. In fact, I think I have a goal of what I’d like to do in the afterlife.
The afterlife .
I couldn’t always see the dead. That happened just a little under a year ago after Bess and Nettie inadvertently bonked me over the head with a bottle of questionable vodka.
Anyway, come to find out, I’m something called transmundane, further classified as supersensual. Which means I can see ghosts. Thankfully, I only see the ones that have come back to help solve a homicide, and as it stands, that’s one ghost too many if you ask me.
I glance over at Merritt, who’s currently hovering over the pizza station with a look of unmitigated glee.
Hand to heaven, I think she’s in a better mood now than I’ve ever seen her before. Who says carbs can’t make you happy?
I scan the room for a seat and, lo and behold, I spot my bestie on the ship, Elodie Abernathy, chatting away to another blonde seated across from her.
“Hello there,” I say as I come upon their table before I realize who that blonde is and freeze.
It’s none other than Neelie Holiday.
“On second thought…” I do my best to backpedal, but Elodie catches me by the elbow and reels me in.
“Oh no, you don’t!” She plunks me into the seat next to her. Elodie is a tall, svelte blonde who happens to hail from South Africa and has the hint of the coolest accent to prove it. “I was just talking to Ms. Holiday here. She looked shaken up and in need of a shoulder to lean on,” Elodie purrs with delight over at Neelie, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out why. “Turns out, we have a lot in common—same insatiable appetite for the latest fashions, and same insatiable appetite when it comes to rich men.”
And now I see the light.
Neelie bleats out a nervous laugh. “I’m afraid that might be true. Elodie has been giving me some excellent advice, actually.”
“Now this I’ve got to hear,” I say while shoveling a bite of molten lava cake into my mouth. Nothing like ooey-gooey chocolate bliss to make an awkward situation bearable.
Elodie waves a hand. “I told her she shouldn’t settle for a man like Stanton. I mean, the last thing you need is an ex-husband coming up the pike—or worse, one that never goes away.” She gives Neelie a stern look to make her point.
“Hear, hear,” I say, raising my latte in agreement.
Although when it comes to Ransom, I never want him to go away.
Neelie sighs as she stabs at a slice of vanilla cake with rainbow sprinkles. “It’s just Stanton can be so charming, you know? When he wants to be.”
“Oh, we know,” Elodie says with a laugh. “But charm is like frosting on a moldy cake. Looks pretty and tastes sweet, but underneath…” She shudders hard at the thought. “Underneath, you’ve got a whole lot of issues that aren’t going to get better with age.”
“Especially with Stanton,” I say, pointing my fork her way. “Although he’s more like a fruitcake—hard, dense, and full of questionable bits.”
Neelie giggles like a schoolgirl—most likely because she is one. “You’re both terrible.”
“That’s what friends are for,” Elodie says, patting Neelie on the hand. “Look, sweetie, if you ever need someone to show you the ropes of being fabulously single and independent, you’ve got me. I’m practically an expert at this point.”
“Thanks.” Neelie blushes as she says it. Or maybe it’s her spray tan accelerating. It’s hard to tell. “I might just take you up on that.”
I swallow down another bite of chocolate lava cake while eyeing the two of them. The way Neelie and Elodie are bonding, you’d think they were long-lost sisters. Which is fine, I suppose. Except there’s the fact that Neelie is still very much a suspect in Merritt Garrett’s murder.
“Neelie”—I lean in, deciding to take advantage of the awkward here and now—“what do you think happened to Merritt tonight?”
Neelie’s eyes widen, and for a moment, I think she’s going to run.
“Heck if I know.” She stabs at her cake once again and this time comes up with a forkful of vanilla-frosted goodness. “I just hope whoever did this is caught and quick. Merritt didn’t deserve that. No one does. The weird thing is, this type of thing usually only happens to my sister.”
“Your sister ?” I blink over at her in stark confusion.
“That’s right.” She nods. “My sister Hattie has stumbled upon enough bodies to fill a morgue.”
“Well then”—Elodie leans back and gets a better look at me—“it seems you and Hattie have something in common. I suggest you meet up and compare notes. Perhaps she, too, is dating the head of security who thereby lets her get away with murder in exchange for a few dirty favors.”
“She’s actually dating the head homicide detective,” Neelie says with a laugh, and both my mouth and Elodie’s fall open. “Stanton says you’re heading to Brambleberry Bay tomorrow with us. She’ll be there. I’m sure she’d love to meet you. In fact, everyone I know can’t wait to meet you. You’re practically a legend around those parts.”
Elodie elbows me. “She’s a legend around these parts, too.”
“Well, here’s hoping either you or Hattie can get me out of this mess.” Neelie blows a stray hair out of her eyes. “I don’t look good in prison blues.”
“They make you wear orange,” Elodie says and Neelie belts out a bona fide scream. “Oh, hush now. If there’s one thing Trixie Troublefield is good at, it’s sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong.” She winks at me. “And if anyone can help get to the bottom of this, it’s her.”
“Oh joy,” I mutter, reaching for another molten lava cake.
Just what I need—a ghost and a murder case on my wedding cruise. Someone get me a bingo card .
Elodie continues sharing her tricks and tips on how to have her way with as many men as possible before her time on this spinning blue rock is through while Neelie takes copious notes on her phone.
I’m about to inhale my third molten lava cake just as an irritable ghost zooms my way screaming as if her head were on fire before floating right through me.
My entire body rocks forward and I give a mean shiver.
“ I’ll be back ,” Merritt threatens as she floats right through the ceiling.
That’s what I’m afraid of.
I have a feeling that this case—this ghost —is going to be far more complicated than any I’ve faced before. And something tells me, whether I like it or not, Merritt Garrett isn’t going anywhere until I find her killer.
One thing is for sure, I need to solve this case and shove Merritt Garrett back into the great beyond where she belongs. Preferably before I walk down that aisle—and more importantly, before my wedding night.