Chapter 23 #2
The Velvet Viking Book Club is scattered across the atrium, saying their goodbyes in clusters. Without Astrid’s iron rule and Poppy’s counterfeit warmth, they look lighter somehow. Freer.
I wrap my arms around Ransom and tip my head onto his chest as the women stream past us. “Nothing bonds a book club quite like a felony,” I say.
“Except maybe a group rate,” he offers, and I pull back to stare at him because my husband made a joke, unprompted, in public. The Baltic really does change people.
Sienna approaches with her frizzy auburn hair pulled back in a ponytail, and I nearly applaud.
The earth-tone scarves are gone. In their place she’s wearing a flowing red velvet jacket with lipstick to match, and the effect is less retired English teacher, more woman ready to conquer the world one bodice ripper at a time.
“Trixie,” she says, offering a small smile. “I wanted to say thank you. For believing me. For finding out the truth.”
“I’m sorry it was someone you considered a friend.”
“So am I.” She smooths one velvet lapel. “But at least now I don’t have to worry about Astrid’s threats anymore. And my grandkids are waiting for me at home.” Her whole face brightens as she says it. “I can’t wait to see them.”
“Give them an extra hug from me,” I say.
“I will.” She hesitates. “And Trixie? I’m going to tell the club the truth about my daughter. No more hiding. No more shame.”
“Good for you.”
She heads down the gangway, red velvet rippling behind her, and I watch her disappear into the crowd with a warm swell of hope. Three grandbabies are about to get the best version of their grandmother. Astrid never stood a chance against that woman, and neither will they.
Ransom pulls me close. “Just so you know, I made a few calls,” he says it casual as if giving a weather report. “I contacted a few old friends in the legal system. They’re pulling the case files on the man Astrid framed. If the conviction’s as rotten as it sounds, the wheels can start turning.”
I blink back and stare at this man. “Really? This is why I love you. You’re a cinnamon roll. Tough on the outside, pure softie in the middle.”
“Don’t let that get out. I have a reputation.” He dots a kiss on my lips, and I stand there grinning, married to the best-kept secret on the high seas.
Freya appears next, and I do an honest double take.
The waist-length braids are gone. Her dark hair spills loose and soft over her shoulders, and she’s traded the black leather for something gentler, though the silver jewelry survived the transition.
She looks demure and more certain of herself all at once.
The warrior went home. The woman is heading out into the world.
“Well,” she says, stopping beside me. “This was the most eventful book club cruise I’ve ever been on.”
“I imagine most don’t include murder.”
“You’d be surprised.” She grins. “Thank you for not throwing me under the bus. I know I had motive.”
“You were honest about everything.”
“Honesty.” She gives a mournful laugh. “That’s a new approach for me. Maybe I’ll try it more often.”
“What are you going to do?” I ask. “About your friend? About the affair?”
Her smile fades. “I’m going to tell her the truth. She deserves to know. Then I’ll deal with whatever consequences come from that. It’s time to stop hiding.”
It’s the season for it. Confession is sweeping this ship faster than word of a midnight chocolate buffet.
“That takes courage,” I tell her.
“Or insanity. I’ll let you know which one it was after she’s done screaming at me.” She gives a little wave. “See you around, Trixie. Try not to find any more bodies.”
“I make no promises.”
Historically speaking, the bodies find me.
She laughs and heads off, and it hits me that I’m going to miss the dramatic Viking teacher with the defiant streak. May her landing be soft and her friend’s screaming brief. And may she find true love with someone who’s available.
Tinsley and Elodie drift up just in time to catch Wes leaning a touch too comfortably toward Marina.
It’s not scandalous or improper, simply close enough for anyone with functioning peripheral vision to clock it.
Tinsley’s peripheral vision could spot a workplace romance through a steel bulkhead.
Her gaze flicks from Marina’s face to the shrinking space between them, and her mouth tightens by a fraction.
“Marina,” she all but hisses, “I need you in a staff meeting. Immediately.”
Wes doesn’t hesitate. He shakes his head once. “No, you don’t. Take the afternoon off, Tinsley. You’ve earned it.”
Tinsley blinks. “I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me,” he says. “We’re docked in Tallinn. Enjoy it. Walk the town wall. Treat yourself to lunch on Town Hall Square. I hear the marzipan is life-changing.”
Life-changing is a strong claim on this ship, where the phrase usually involves a corpse. The marzipan is a welcome upgrade.
Marina does her level best not to look caught between a promotion and a scandal, and she almost pulls it off.
Wes turns back to her. “Have you seen the Old Town yet? I could show you Toompea Hill. There’s a viewing platform at the top with the whole city spread out below. Red rooftops, church spires, the harbor beyond. The view alone is worth the climb.”
Marina smiles, and it warms her whole face from the inside out. “I’d love that. But don’t we have to be back soon to welcome the next passengers?”
“We’re here until evening. The ship repositions to Barcelona tonight, and the next cruise begins once we arrive.”
Before she can follow him, I head over and steer us both a few steps aside to give us a little privacy. I’ve been carrying this since Copenhagen, and if I don’t say something now, I’ll talk myself out of it.
“Marina.” I keep my voice low, just for her. “You know I’ve never asked. About any of it.”
Her chin dips a notch. “I know.”
“And I’m not asking now. Not really.” I give her arm a small squeeze. “I just want you to know that whatever it is you’ve been carrying, whenever you’re ready to set it down, I’m here. We all are.”
For a moment she doesn’t say anything. Her ice-blue eyes shine with tears, and I think she might finally let it spill, right here in the middle of disembarkation mayhem despite the man in a Panama hat continuing to defend his minibar innocence behind us.
“There’s a whole story,” she says finally. “You’ve probably guessed that much.”
“I’ve guessed a little,” I counter.
A little, and then some.
“I’m going to tell you. All of it. I promise.
” She glances toward Wes, who’s waiting a few feet off and pretending very hard not to listen.
He’s about as convincing as Nettie listening in on a lecture about chastity and pretending to be interested.
When Marina looks back at me, her voice drops even lower.
“I just—I’d like a little time first. A little while where I’m just Marina.
Where there’s a handsome captain who wants to climb a hill with me and none of the rest of it has caught up yet.
” She swallows hard. “Once I say it out loud, everything changes. I’m not ready for it to change. Not yet.”
And there it is. The closest thing to the truth Marina Maxwell has ever handed me, wrapped in a promise instead of a story.