Chapter 20
CHAPTER 20
G irls’ Chat
Hattie: Hey, Trixie! It was so nice meeting you! I thought I’d introduce you to my cousin Bizzy who is also transmundane (telesensual, a mind reader like me). She’s the one I was telling you about!
Bizzy: Hello, Trixie! So nice to meet you! I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve invited my friend Lottie Lemon into the chat because Hattie mentioned that you already knew her!
Lottie: Hey, all! Trixie, congratulations on the upcoming nuptials! Oh my goodness, I cannot tell you how excited we are! And guess what? Noah, Everett, and I are making the trek to New York just to witness the event in person! I can't wait for the big day! And I can’t wait to give you a big squeezy hug! BTW, so nice to meet you, Hattie! Bizzy is like family to me, and that means you are, too! And come next week, Trixie and I will be related by marriage!
Trixie: Thanks, guys, for everything! And I love this group chat! We transmundane girls have to stick together! In fact, you’re all invited to the wedding if you can make it. There will be a buffet to die for! But please don’t die.
After Zumba, and a much-needed shower, I went straight to the lido deck and devoured an omelet slathered in tomatillo salsa.
What can I say? All that Latin music put me in a mood.
Ransom met me for breakfast in the formal dining room but was whisked away before we could finish our lox and bagels. He said there might be a break in the case and took off as if he were running out of a burning building. Only knowing Ransom, he’d be running into it—to save any and all left behind.
But I digress. I’ve tried texting him three times since then for any and all details regarding this big break, but so far he’s conveniently not picking up his phone.
After second breakfast, I met Bess and Nettie on the gangway and here we are.
“Merritt Garrett?” Bess cries out as she tries to keep up as we walk to the designated picnic area where I’ll be conducting an open-air art class right here in beautiful Halifax, Nova Scotia.
Fun fact: the Seabreeze newsletter informed the passengers today why Nova Scotia retains its distinct name. The long and short of it: Nova Scotia has its own name because it has its own story. Scottish settlers named it “New Scotland” way back when, and then the French and British fought over it like a couple of seagulls over a French fry. When Canada came along in 1867 and scooped it up—or rather they entered into a mutual agreement—Nova Scotia kept its name and its distinct flavor. Honestly, it just sounds fancier than “Canada’s East Coast”.
And Halifax, our current locale, just so happens to be on the southeastern coast of this glorious peninsula and we just so happen to be setting foot in Point Pleasant Park.
And Point Pleasant Park is certainly living up to its name today. The trees are ablaze in a riot of crimson and gold, the autumn air is crisp, and the sea breeze rolls in with a gentle whoosh that carries with it the briny scent of the Atlantic.
I take it all in as I spread out the supplies on a couple of picnic tables, giving myself a moment to appreciate the ocean, the dappled trees with their citrine colors, the glorious forest, the blue skies—before I have to deal with the chaos that is an outdoor art class.
Wes asked me to teach it. Apparently, the ship wanted a scenic experience for passengers, and nothing says scenic quite like appreciating nature’s beauty while trying to keep your easel from blowing away.
“Yes, Merritt Garrett,” I say as I watch both Bess and Nettie gape at me with horror—and maybe a smidge of delight from Nettie. “She’s the ghost in this case.” I shrug.
They asked, I answered, and all unholy heck broke loose.
Bess and Nettie help me unpack brushes and palettes while trying to digest what I’ve just told them.
“So, is she here now?” Bess cranes her neck around with a look of horror growing on her face.
“Oddly enough, I haven’t seen her since the buffet.”
Nettie lets out a dark chuckle. “I’ve seen the woman’s hips. She won’t be leaving that buffet anytime soon. And don’t think for a minute I’m belittling her.” She grabs onto her own hips and gives them a squeeze. “I consider these beauties my hunting trophies. If she’s smart, she’s still grazing her way through the dessert station. Dessert is my favorite kind of prey.”
“Mine, too,” I say, giving my hip a generous pat and it wiggles and jiggles for days.
Bess snorts out a laugh. “I’ve got both of you beat. My hips could’ve kept the whole Titanic afloat until we got safely to shore.”
“Ooh,” I say. “Speaking of the Titanic , I can’t wait to head over to the Maritime Museum. I hear they have a premier exhibit of that fateful ship.”
“Oh hon,” Bess groans. “With your luck, every visitor in that place this afternoon has the potential to drown. Bad luck plus bad luck equals a heck of a lot of bad luck. If I were you, I’d do everyone a favor and steer clear. ”
“ Bess .” I laugh at the thought. “I’ll do no such thing. You and I both know I don’t have bad luck.”
“She’s right,” Nettie snips at her bestie. “It’s all those people who get in her way who have the bad luck.” She nods my way. “And there will be a lot of people there today who just so happen to have a stroke of bad luck the second you walk in.”
“ You ladies .” I try to laugh, but it comes out more of a moan because a part of me is afraid it’s true.
Soon, the class begins and I give the group a cheerful wave. It’s about a dozen passengers from the ship, all clutching their brushes as if they were ready to defend themselves. And if the wind picks up any more than it has, we might have to protect ourselves from the elements.
“Welcome, everyone,” I call out, trying to channel that perky Zumba instructor who all but ate my soul for breakfast. “Today, we’re going to paint the beautiful scenery around us, here at Point Pleasant. And please don’t worry if you’re new at this—it’s about fun, not perfection!”
My eyes drift to Josie and Visalia, who are seated toward the back. Josie looks cozy in a lush camel-colored peacoat with brilliant green feathers dangling from her ears. And Visalia looks bubbly in a hot pink trench coat.
The air is more than brisk, and I’m glad I’m wearing a coat myself. There is nothing like crisp fall air, especially when you can see the beauty of the season right before your very eyes.
“Let’s start with a light sketch—nothing too detailed. Just capture the shapes of the trees and the shoreline,” I say. “And then we’ll start filling it in with whatever medium you like. I’ve got watercolor, acrylic, and some special markers I’ve brought along. They’re called alcohol markers and they really pack a punch. They’re perfect for rich, vibrant colors and they blend seamlessly. I’ll be happy to guide you no matter which medium you prefer.”
In no time, we get lost in our artistic efforts, and it’s not hard to do with the sweeping views of the magnificent ocean, the texture of the expansive forest, the colorful trees that are giving their all to this glorious season, and the birds who duck in and out of the landscape as if trying to photobomb their way into our portraits .
And just as the class wraps up, the wind picks up. Hard.
Papers fly. Palettes tip. The trees seem to wave manically at us, and the sky, once a lovely shade of peaceful blue, looks as if it’s ready to change its mind.
“ Whoa ,” I shout, trying to hold on to my supplies—although to no avail. Everything topples. Brushes, papers, palettes—it all crashes to the ground and does a cartwheel in every direction at once.
“How do you like my new party trick?” a deep otherworldly voice shouts from above, and for a second, I think I may have somehow offended the Man Upstairs with my loose idea of the coastlines—although that voice sounded decidedly female…
“ Boo! ” the voice shouts from above and I look up to see Merritt Garrett in all her ghostly glory, speeding around with what looks like an entire solar system of stars trailing behind her like a kite.
Leave it to Merritt to commit a little ghostly vandalism.
Most all of the group has already moved on to the scenic hike part of the activity, leaving me to deal with the aftermath. But Josie Coffee, bless her heart, comes over to help me gather up brushes and scattered paper.
“Thank you so much,” I say, giving her a tired smile as we wrangle the supplies back into the plastic bins from which they came.
“No problem,” she says, crouching beside me as she gathers the last of the brushes and markers from the ground. “And if there’s anything else I can help you with, I’ll be happy to do it.”
“Actually, there is,” I say, trying my best to hide a rather devious smile.
Josie Coffee is about to tell me everything she knows about Merritt Garrett—and oddly enough, she’s going to do it right in front of Merritt Garrett herself.