Chapter 33
CHAPTER 33
Last Sail Before the Veil—What a Trip!
D ear Trixie,
Help! I’m already having nightmares about the wedding night, and not the fun kind. What if it’s a total fright? I mean, there are a million what-ifs—what if the cabin’s bed is too small, what if we’re so exhausted we fall asleep before anything romantic even happens, or worse—what if we end up sharing our room with a stowaway seagull (don’t ask, I saw one eyeing our balcony last cruise)? I want our first night as a married couple to be perfect, but it feels like everything could go hilariously (or disastrously) wrong. How do I embrace whatever happens—fright, delight, or maybe something in between?
Sincerely, Nervous Nora
Dear Nora,
Oh, Nora, let me tell you—you are speaking to a fellow worrier here! Trust me, I’ve had all those same thoughts (and a few extra involving very nosey fellow passengers). But I think the magic of the wedding night is that it’s not about perfection. It’s about the moment—whatever form that takes. Maybe it’s filled with romance and rose petals, or maybe you both fall asleep halfway through, opening a bottle of champagne because the day was that wonderful and exhausting.
If the bed is small, you’ll laugh about being tangled up. If the seagull finds its way in, well, it’s an extra guest who wasn’t on the RSVP list—just another funny memory for the scrapbook. The point is, delight doesn’t always come from things going perfectly, but from embracing the unpredictability together. If you can laugh at the mishaps and just enjoy whatever the night brings, then it’s already perfect.
XOXO Trixie
The next day the Emerald Queen reaches her final port of call for the trip, beautiful Boston, Massachusetts, and it’s a city I cannot wait to explore.
Last night, Ransom and I had a nice dinner with Bess and Nettie, then took a romantic stroll on the promenade deck just as one of the ship’s bands gave a concert under the stars.
It was dreamy, and perfect in every way—mostly because it was void of any disembodied spirits or even a hint of my ex. And as soon as we solve this case and Stanton disembarks the ship in New York, our future will continue in that heavenly direction.
The ship docked in Boston early this morning, and it’s as if the entire harbor has rolled out the red and gold carpet for us.
Fall in New England doesn’t just paint the town red. It smacks you in the face with an autumn wonderland—there are leaves in every citrine color, along with the faint hint of chimney smoke in the air. True autumn bliss.
Nettie is already chomping at the bit, pulling Bess and me off the gangway as if she’s trying to outrun Father Time himself.
“Come on, ladies, it’s time to cause some trouble,” she says, yanking at her oversized straw hat. “Boston waits for no one, least of all us.”
“I don’t know,” Wes calls out with Ransom on his heels. “It looks like Boston’s been waiting since 1773 for this kind of trouble. ”
“Please.” Bess chuckles. “This town doesn’t know what’s about to hit it.”
“Slow down, ladies,” Ransom says. “We’ve got all day.”
“Ha!” Nettie belts out a laugh. “We girls are already running circles around the two of you!”
I nod back at Ransom. “Or at least we will be, right up until we pass out. And then we’ll need you to carry us home.”
Wes ticks his head at the thought. “I knew you brought us along for a reason.”
Boston is charming, with its historical waterfront, sparkling harbor, winding cobblestone streets, and classic brick buildings. The city effortlessly combines quaint colonial character with a polished modern atmosphere.
We start our grand Boston adventure with the quintessential rebellious act—tossing tea into the harbor. Not an actual chest of tea, mind you—we’re not that committed to a reenactment. Nettie somehow got her hands on a family-sized tea bag that’s probably meant to brew a vat of iced tea, and with all of the drama of a treasonist, she lobs it over the rail.
“Take that, taxation without representation,” she shouts and nearly lands herself in the harbor as well.
Bess gives her a look that could scorch a colonial wig. “You do realize, we shouldn’t be littering in the water.”
“Relax, Toots.” Nettie sniffs. “They’ve been doing this since the eighteenth century. They’ve got it down to a science. Besides, the bag is organic, plant-based, and the tea is caffeine-free so the fishies will live. It was practically dissolving on the way down.”
“Just like your logic,” Bess mutters and we all share a laugh.
Next up, we’re boarding one of those adorable duck boats—a bus that turns into a sea-worthy vessel! And sure enough, we prove that on land or at sea we’re a rollicking good time.
Nettie is in her element, chatting up the driver, who seems more interested in steering us toward potential traffic jams than historical landmarks.
But alas, all good things and good ducks must come to an end, and the four of us end up on the streets again as the autumn breeze demands that we huddle close. The briny scent of the ocean mingles with the roasted nuts from the vendors and that in itself makes fall in Boston feel perfect.
Well, almost perfect. With a killer on the loose, perfection is just out of reach.
It’s time to change that.
Maybe it’s high time we switch gears and take our focus away from these killer views and focus on someone with killer intent.