Chapter 19
CHAPTER 19
“ D on’t panic ,” Elodie shouts over the cacophony of riotous screams. “It’s just a primal way of getting our blood pumping.”
“And a primal way of stopping my beating heart,” I say over the noise. “You people are a bunch of psychopaths.”
We’re ushered to the front row of the Zumba class that Elodie dragged me off to by a peppy brunette instructor who looks straight out of middle school, and whose enthusiasm can only be explained by an excess of caffeine or a love of human suffering. She looks like she’s been awake for hours with her ponytail swinging as if she’s ready to grab life by the horns despite the fact it’s far too early for any bull to be awake. And I certainly smell bull.
Floor-to-ceiling windows line one side of the room, revealing the first cracks of light across the horizon. The ship has yet to dock in Halifax, and outside the sea looks calm as the sky ripples in shades of pink and orange.
It’s beautiful.
If only I didn’t feel like death—or playing a part in someone’s demise, i.e., Elodie.
The room is teeming with bodies, and I give the place a quick once-over, only to do a double take to my left.
Ha ! Quinn Riddle is here in some ridiculous throwback to the eighties, purple and neon green tights and she’s paired it with a leotard with what looks like suspenders. Her hair is slicked back in its signature bun, and I’m starting to wonder if she ever unleashes it. Knowing Quinn’s affinity for all things tight and twisted, I’m betting the answer is no.
And next to her, to my utter astonishment, is Tinsley Thornton, our very own, very grumpy cruise director, whom I would have thought isn’t too keen on “getting physical” unless it involves fighting off complaints from disgruntled passengers.
I catch sight of Neelie as well—the latest unfortunate arm accessory to Stanton—as she stretches, practically folding herself in half like a lawn chair.
Another grunt escapes me. “I can’t believe people willingly deprive themselves of sleep for this,” I mutter, shaking my head. My gaze settles back on Quinn and Tinsley, who both look as if they’re already enjoying themselves far more than should ever be allowed. “Then again, it explains a lot. No wonder those two are so cranky all day. I’d be snapping heads off, too, if I woke up while the sun was still yawning.”
Elodie laughs. “Oh, come now. Quit your witchin’. You can do it, too, Trix. And remember, you need this. Trust me, stamina and flexibility are key for your wedding night. You don’t want to pull a muscle trying something adventurous, now do you?” She nods toward Neelie, who, for some inexplicable reason, is practically doing the splits while bouncing about doing her warm-up stretches. “Look at little Neelie go! Now that’s the kind of enthusiasm I’m talking about. She could do just about anything in bed. Am I right, or am I right?”
“Poor thing,” I muse, watching Neelie bend and twist. “You do realize she’s sleeping with Stanton. She’s not only wasting her time, but she’s wasting her athletic abilities, too.”
The music kicks in, loud and raucous pulsating beats of Latin rhythms—and suddenly, we’re moving—far too fast far too enthusiastically. Or at least, some people are moving. I think I’m doing more of an awkward shuffle because my feet are protesting with every step I take.
“ Five, six, seven, eight ,” the instructor shouts, and I find myself flailing, trying to keep up with her rapid-fire instructions. Elodie is all grace and elegance—how she’s smiling is beyond me—while I look more like I’m trying to swat at invisible bees.
“And now that I have your attention,” Tinsley huffs, barely keeping that smirk on her face in check as we move and groove to the music. “I can’t believe you went out of your way to hunt down another body.”
I nearly stumble as I try to get a better look at her.
“What is this, number five?” she continues. “You really are making quite the name for yourself. I’m starting to think Quinn is right. Ransom has decided to turn a blind eye to your murderous ways.”
Quinn snorts while barely breaking a sweat. “I’ve been saying that for months. But whenever I suggest as much, I darn near put my career in peril. It’s clear Trixie here holds a heck of a lot of power.” She raises a brow at me. And even though she said those words dripping with sarcasm, I somehow think she means them. “And she knows exactly how to wield it.”
I open my mouth to respond with something witty, with something to put them both in their places, or at the least correct the body count—I thought we were up to ten, or is it eleven? But instead, I gasp for breath and my knees wobble as we twist to the left.
“If… you think…”—I pant—“this… is what… a killer… looks like…”—I barely manage—“I’m… definitely… not… guilty.”
“All right, enough.” Elodie laughs as we spin in a circle. “I need you to hone all of your killer instincts for your wedding night. We’re all counting on you to not collapse before you reach the honeymoon suite. And I am most certainly counting on a full post-mortem the morning after—no lethal pun intended.”
Tinsley crops up next to us and huffs out a laugh. “Wouldn’t that be something? If Ransom himself turns out to be her next victim? And on their wedding night.”
“It would serve him right,” Quinn grunts and my mouth falls open as I shoot her a look.
The Latin beat goes on and meanwhile, Neelie executes a squat, spin, and the splits, and manages to look as if she’s in the throes of a dance competition. To make matters worse, I’m fairly certain she’s glowing—and not from sweat .
“Geez, would you look at her.” Elodie nods in Neelie’s direction. “The girl is fit as a frisky fiddle. I’m pretty sure she could bench-press Stanton if she wanted. Flexibility, stamina—she’s got it all. Now you—” She raises a brow at me. “We’re working with a different situation, Trixie. And we’re running out of time. Your wedding night is just days away.”
The ship wobbles ever so slightly and reminds me that we’re currently docking in glorious Halifax. Outside, the sky is now a brilliant shade of gold as the sun finally rises above the horizon.
“All right, ladies, let’s kick it up a notch!” the instructor chirps, her voice far too high-pitched, far too excited for any given situation.
Neelie bends backward into a stretch that makes me wince just looking at it. “I think this might be my favorite part of the day,” she sings as the rest of us ogle in awe of her contortionist abilities.
“Stanton must be so happy.” Elodie sighs before flitting her baby blues my way. “You’ll need more Zumba.”
“Try more coffee,” I say. “And perhaps less breathing, too.”
Merritt Garrett isn’t breathing anymore, and that alone presents a litany of trouble for both her and me.
Elodie is right. We’re running out of time and so is the killer.
One thing is for certain. I’m not walking down that aisle with Merritt floating next to me.
I’m sending her back to paradise where she belongs, so Ransom and I can enjoy a little slice of paradise of our own.