Chapter 7 #2
The new soap hunk strolls toward us with the confident gait of a man who knows his face is insured for more than most people’s homes.
And it better be, because it’s one heck of a face—even as far as soap stars go.
The trophy wives immediately begin a subtle choreography of positioning themselves to look casual yet camera-ready.
“Ladies,” he greets them with a smile that turns the charm up to top volume. “Lovely view, isn’t it?”
His arrival creates such a distraction that Boomer has to physically snap his fingers to regain everyone’s attention. Ransom stands beside me, looking thoroughly unimpressed by the newcomer’s effect on the female population.
“Don’t worry,” I whisper to him. “You’re still the most handsome man on this mountain.”
“Comforting,” he mutters back.
These women might be fawning over soap stars, but my husband has basically been starring in a cozy mystery about a cruise ship for as long as I’ve known him.
The plot involves a security officer, his accident-prone wife, and a statistically improbable number of homicides at sea. Have I mentioned he’s a great kisser?
We resume filming, this time with Ryker awkwardly inserted into the scene. The script has been hastily rewritten to include him asking the trophy wives about the tragic loss of their friend, which seems tactless given the circumstances, but I suppose perfect for reality television.
“Such a shocking accident,” he says with faux concern.
“It wasn’t an accident,” I blurt out, going off-script.
Boomer dances with glee at this unplanned moment of drama. “Keep rolling!” he hisses to the cameramen.
Val takes a daring step toward the edge before turning to face the group. “Madison had many secrets,” she says cryptically, also deviating from the script. “Some of them were dangerous to know.”
As she speaks, Beth shifts her position, accidentally bumping into Val, who wobbles precariously near the edge of the cliff.
For one heart-stopping moment, Val teeters on the brink of a drop so steep she might as well be falling off the planet.
Ransom lunges forward, grabs her arm, and plucks her back to safety before we have two dead housewives to contend with.
“Oh my stars!” Val gasps, clutching her chest. “I nearly fell to my death!”
“I’m so sorry!” Beth shouts, looking genuinely horrified. “It was an accident! I swear!”
“CUT!” Boomer shouts, but not before the cameras capture the look of suspicion Val shoots at Beth. And honestly, I’m doing the same.
“That was PERFECT!” Boomer crows once the cameras stop rolling. “The tension! The near-death experience! The drama! This is why we film on location, people!”
Ransom’s jaw is clenched so tight I fear for his dental work. “This is ridiculous,” he mutters to me. “That was a genuine safety hazard.”
“Welcome to reality TV,” I whisper back. “Where near-death experiences are great for business.”
When we finally wrap for the day, Bess and Nettie rush over and tackle us with enthusiasm.
“You were fabulous!” Bess gushes, hugging me so tightly, I can feel my vertebrae pop.
“You’re both natural stars!” Nettie agrees. “We’ve been watching from behind the snack table.”
“And schmoozing with the soap hunks while the trophy wives were distracted,” Bess adds with a wink. “Bridge Blackthorne told me all about his feud with Victor Darkmore. Apparently, it started over a parking space at the studio twenty years ago!”
Ransom ticks his head to the side. “Some men really know how to hold a grudge.”
“And Dr. Luca Carrington Jr. signed my guidebook,” Nettie says, proudly displaying a Norwegian travel guide with a soap star’s signature across a picture of a fjord.
“He thought I was a producer at first, so I didn’t correct him until after he’d spilled some very interesting gossip about our dearly departed Madison. ”
“Do tell,” I encourage.
Ransom leans in.
“Apparently,” Nettie starts as she lowers her voice, “Madison really was getting the dirt on everyone for a tell-all book. Just like Beth mentioned this morning. And I mean everyone—soap stars, trophy wives, even the network executives.”
Bess nods. “Someone offered Madison a quarter million dollars to kill the book project. She turned them down flat. She said the story was worth way more than that.”
“Ooh.” I lift my eyes to Ransom. “That’s a lot of money.”
He nods. “And that would certainly provide motive for multiple people to want her silenced permanently.”
Across the way, I spot Val standing alone near the edge, staring out at the fjord with an expression that doesn’t match her usual camera-ready smile.
There’s something about her posture that suggests a woman carrying a heavy burden.
And I can’t help but wonder if that burden has to do with a certain steak knife plunged into someone’s chest.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell Bess and Nettie. “Speaking of distracted, this is a perfect time to speak to my first suspect.”
Ransom clears his throat, and I straighten.
“I mean, my husband’s first suspect,” I correct myself rather smoothly, if I do say so myself.
Together, Ransom and I head toward Val, whose secrets seem as deep as the fjord she’s currently looking down at. I’m betting that behind her designer sunglasses and perfectly highlighted hair lurks a woman who might know exactly why Madison Rothschild ended up with a knife in her chest.
In Norway, the cliffs aren’t the only things with dangerous edges.