Chapter 19 #2
“Unless you’re also a Viking,” Wes adds. “Then you’d fight them in their own element.”
“Are you a Viking, Captain?” Nettie asks.
“I’ve got Scandinavian ancestry. Does that count?”
“Absolutely,” Bess says.
“Then yes. I’m Viking-adjacent,” Wes tells her with a wink.
Ransom lifts a brow my way with a look that says, Wes, a Viking? He glances to Marina, then back to me with another look that says, I think the only thing he’s adjacent to is trying to land the new crew member horizontal.
I nod his way with a look that says, I couldn’t agree more. They should smash faces already and put us all out of our misery.
He nods right back.
Married telepathy is simply the best.
“Adjacent counts,” Nettie says. “I once dated a man who was adjacent to employed.”
Marina’s shoulders shake with the effort of holding in another laugh, and she’s losing.
“What about you?” Wes directs the question to the only woman he apparently sees in this room. “Land or sea?”
“I’d negotiate,” Marina tells him. “In fact, I’d do my best to avoid the fight entirely.”
Somewhere in that answer is a woman who’s had practice.
“That’s cheating,” Nettie protests.
“That’s survival,” Marina shoots back.
“I like the way you think,” Wes says as his dimples press in, and Marina’s blush graduates to a full sunrise all over her cheeks.
Ransom leans down to whisper in my ear. “Should we leave them alone?”
“And miss this? Never.”
“So,” Wes says as he looks my way. “How’s the investigation going?”
Ransom grunts in lieu of a response.
“I was asking the detective in charge.” Wes nods my way.
Everyone laughs, and Ransom growls low in his throat. “She’s not actually a detective.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” Wes says. “She’s solved more murders on this ship than most actual detectives.”
“To be fair, I have excellent help.” I pat my husband’s knee. “Not every woman lands a man who runs background checks as a love language.” I gasp a little because I sure hope I didn’t let the Marina-shaped intelligence detail out of the bag.
“I stand by my assessment,” Wes says.
I stretch my legs out and let the heat sink into my muscles. “Fine. You want the rundown?”
“Please,” Wes says. “Someone has to fill me in on where the case is at, and we all know it’s not going to be your husband.”
Ransom dips his chin as he narrows his ire onto Wes. “You do realize I pack heat.”
“Not at the moment,” Wes says without missing a beat. “And that’s exactly why I felt brave enough to say it.”
Laughter goes around. Well, almost all the way around. Ransom simply purses his lips. Have I mentioned he’s lethally handsome? Especially when he’s lobbing death threats at the man in charge of the ship.
“All right,” I say. “Let’s start with Sienna.
Sweet, nervous, raising her grandkids while her daughter goes through something rough.
Astrid was going to expose whatever that something was at the costume gala.
Sienna had motive, she had opportunity, and she was overheard telling Astrid, ‘You can’t do this to me.
’ But she also cried on a fortress wall this morning, and she seems genuinely devastated.
” I take a breath. “One more thing. Sienna dug into Astrid’s past looking for a counterpunch, and she found one.
The perfect marriage was a sham. Astrid had an affair with her husband’s business partner, embezzled from the company to pay for it, and framed the partner when her husband noticed the money missing.
He’s still in prison. So our victim wasn’t just controlling.
She was a criminal who let an innocent man rot for two decades. ”
Ransom’s chest expands. “I’m going to look into that. I don’t like the thought of an innocent man rotting in prison.”
“Thank you,” I tell him.
“So is Sienna guilty or a good actress?” Nettie asks.
“It’s unclear to me.”
“What about the dramatic one?” Bess asks.
“Freya?” I wince. “She confessed to having an affair with her best friend’s husband.
Astrid found out and threatened to expose her publicly.
Freya had a screaming match with Astrid two hours before she died.
” I pause because the next part deserves its own moment.
“Also, she’s the one who told me my flirtatious Viking ghost is actually an accountant named Gerald who went LARPing on weekends. ”
Silence. Even the stones stop hissing out of respect.
A few jaws drop around the room, all belonging to the women. Then Nettie bursts out laughing so hard she nearly rolls off the top tier. “Your sexy ghost is a numbers guy?”
“Was. He’s dead now. Although I like to think he’s up there somewhere balancing celestial ledgers and finally getting the respect a man in a fur cloak deserves.”
“A LARPing accountant,” Nettie wheezes, wiping her eyes. “That might be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. Spreadsheets by day, pillaging by weekend. The man contained multitudes.”
Magnus would be beside himself if he were here. Thankfully, he seems to avoid saunas. My guess is the steam wilts his fur cloak, and a soggy Viking loses roughly ninety percent of his brooding power. Gerald, though. I’m willing to bet Gerald loved a good steam.