Chapter 14
Conversations buzz through the Mermaid Lounge as the fifteen-minute break kicks into gear.
Women cluster around the refreshment table, loading plates with second helpings while dissecting Holland’s lecture in hushed, excited tones.
The chocolate fountain gurgles away, the scent of coffee mingles with perfume and the faint salt air coming through the cracked windows, and someone is laughing so hard near the cheese platter that she snorts.
Holland Rowen stands alone by the floor-to-ceiling windows, staring out at the dark ocean rolling past us, and it’s time to make my move.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell Bess and Nettie, who are currently engaged in a heated debate about whether the cucumber sandwiches qualify more as food or a drink.
“They’re garnish pretending to be a meal,” Nettie argues.
“They’re refreshing and low-calorie,” Bess counters.
“So is ice water, but I’m not calling it lunch.”
She has a point.
Marina is already loading up a plate.
I leave them to it and make my way over to Holland, weaving through groups of animated women discussing desire and second acts and whether anyone actually enjoys dating apps.
“That was wonderful,” I say as I approach.
Holland turns, and her smile is genuine but tired. “Thank you. I never know how these things will land.”
“It landed perfectly. You gave everyone permission to want more. That’s a gift.”
“Or a curse, depending on how you look at it.” She laughs, but there’s an edge to it. “Sometimes wanting more just makes you dissatisfied with what you have.” She frowns at the window.
“Is that what happened with you and Silas?”
Her eyes widen slightly. “I’m sorry?”
“I noticed he left during your talk. And you mentioned renegotiating intimacy in long-term relationships.” I pause, trying to find the right words. “I’m not trying to pry. I just—I know what it’s like when a marriage gets complicated.”
Holland’s shoulders drop. “It’s not Silas’s fault.
He’s wonderful, really. He’s supportive, talented, and still makes me laugh after thirty years.
” She glances toward where Silas has re-entered the room and is pouring himself coffee.
“He’s just content with where we are, and I’m restless. That’s on me, not him.”
“Restlessness isn’t a character flaw.” Unless your name is Stanton Troublefield, also known as my ex.
“Tell that to my guilt complex.” She wraps her arms around herself. “When Silas and I started Nordic Hearth, we were building something together. It was exciting. Now it feels like we’re just maintaining something, and I want to build again.”
“Have you told him?”
“I’ve tried. He listens, he’s patient, but I don’t think he really understands.” Her voice softens. “Or maybe he does.”
A shimmer catches my eye, and Celeste materializes beside us, her white gown flowing in a non-existent breeze. She’s examining her ghostly nails with the bored expression of someone stuck in an airport waiting for a delayed flight—a delayed flight to the afterlife.
“Oh, please.” Celeste drawls, floating closer to Holland. “This whole ‘I’m-restless-but-my-husband-is-perfect’ routine is getting old. Just admit you want something he can’t give you and move on.”
I try very hard not to react. Celeste might have a point.
“Word to the wise, Troublemaker,” Celeste growls my way, “ask Holland Rowen what Gideon Vale had planned for her second act.” She muses, “Let’s just say he wasn’t exactly her biggest fan.”
Gideon wasn’t a fan?
Holland tries to make sense of my expression. “I’m sorry. You didn’t come over here for my marital drama.”
“Actually, I—”
“Look at her husband,” Celeste interrupts, pointing toward Silas, who’s adding enough cream to his coffee to qualify it as whole milk.
“Now that is a man built like he was carved by somebody who took their time. He’s got that silver fox energy going.
He’s the strong, quiet type, I can tell.
I bet he’s great with his hands—all that woodworking.
” She fans herself dramatically. “If I were alive, I’d climb that man like a tree. ”
“Wow,” I mutter, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from saying another word to her. I guess she’s not as hot-to-trot for Gideon as he is for her.
“Are you okay?” Holland asks, concerned.
“Fine. Just—I’ve got a cramp. In my foot.”
“Oh, those are the worst!” Holland presses a hand to her chest. “I’ve been getting them regularly since I started menopause. Ageing, for a woman, is the pits.”
“It seems to be the consensus,” I say, watching as Celeste floats over to Silas and circles him slowly, and appraising him as if he were tonight’s dinner selection.
“He’s got good bone structure,” she calls out in a ghostly trill.
“He’s the kind of man who probably builds you furniture and fixes things without being asked.
” She glances back at me. “Though between you and me, I prefer men who smile more. Like that captain of yours. Now he knows how to have a good time.”
I cough to cover what might be a laugh or might be a scream. It’s hard to tell.
Although, to her point, Wes does like to laugh and show off those dimples of his at the very same time. He’s an adorably good time.
Holland watches me with growing concern. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”
“Absolutely. I was just thinking about—estate planning. It gets me every time.”
Celeste snorts. “Nice save, Troublemaker. Now cut to the chase, would you? I’ve got things to chase myself.”
I can’t help but frown at the salty wraith.
“Holland, how well did you know Gideon Vale?”
“Gideon?” She shivers as she says his name.
“Well enough for him to invite my husband and me along on this cruise. We’ve been in his club for a few years now.
Silas and I figured we should embrace the next leg of this journey called life.
Plus, we like to stay ahead of the curve and be as relatable as we can to our customers.
Without them, we’d be in the poor house.
” She laughs it off, then sobers up quickly.
“But I’m not kidding. Silas and I know what side our bread is buttered on.
And believe me when I say we’re ready to exploit the heck out of this over-the-hill nonsense.
When we’re through with it, we’ll have twenty-year-olds wishing they were fifty. ”
“Well, then, I guess fifty is the new twenty,” I say, and we share a laugh.
Celeste rolls her eyes and gives me the wrap it up signal. Boy, she’s impatient. You’d think she has an eternity to solve this case—unlike me.
“So, Holland, did you happen to see anything odd that night Gideon was murdered?”
“Murdered.” She shivers again as she glances across the room, and her expression shifts. She leans in slightly. “Actually, I did see something. In fact, I heard something too.”
“Even better,” I say. “What was it?”
I’m afraid to breathe until she unleashes whatever knowledge she gleaned that night.
“I saw him talking to someone.” She points discreetly toward Marina, who’s standing near the refreshment table, talking to Nicolette.
Both women are laughing and seem to be enjoying themselves.
“I saw that redhead over there—I don’t know her name—having a very angry conversation with Gideon. Right before he disappeared.”
My heart kicks up a notch.
I saw that too, but I’ll be honest, I wish I hadn’t. Marina is the last person I want to put on my suspect list, especially not anywhere near the top.
“I followed them,” Holland offers, and my stomach sinks.
“Where?”
“Near the hallway that leads to where they found him. I was looking for the restroom and got turned around.” Holland wraps her arms tighter around herself.
“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but they were being pretty loud.
Gideon said something about making her famous overnight, and she was begging him not to.
She said she would do anything for him to forget he ever laid eyes on her. ”
My mouth falls open. Gideon kept insisting he recognized her. And now I wonder if it was true.
“Did you tell security?” I’m only asking because I want to know how deep in this Marina really is.
“I mentioned it to Officer Riddle, but I didn’t get that woman’s name. I felt awful about it—like I was throwing a stranger under the bus.” She looks genuinely distressed. “But then I thought, what if it’s important? What if she had something to do with what happened to him?”
Great. Quinn knows, and now she’s onto Marina. Although if Marina did the deadly deed, I suppose the fact that Quinn is after her is warranted.
“What did Gideon say to her?” I shrug as if I’m just trying to make casual conversation and failing miserably. “After the redhead begged him not to make her famous overnight?”
“He laughed. Not a nice laugh. And he said something like, ‘Too late for that now. The story’s already in motion.’” Holland shudders. “It gave me chills. You could tell that he enjoyed having power over her.”
Celeste drifts back over, suddenly interested. “Well, well, well. Plot twist. Your new friend Marina Murderer Maxwell has secrets.”
“Did you see where she went after?” I ask Holland, hoping she didn’t see a thing.
Not that I want to cover for a killer, but the less I know in this case might be for the best. I think.
“No, I ducked into the restroom before they saw me. When I came out, they were both gone.” She hesitates. “Do you think I should tell someone else? Make an official statement?”
“You already told Quinn Riddle. She’s the acting Chief of Security, so I guess that’s all you can do.”
“I just keep thinking—if that woman did something terrible because Gideon was threatening to expose her, and I said nothing—” Holland trails off, looking miserable.
“You did the right thing,” I assure her, though my mind is racing.
Marina. Sweet, grieving Marina, who lost her husband fifteen years ago and swears she hasn’t had romance since because of the trauma. What secret is she hiding that’s worth begging Gideon Vale to keep quiet?
Before I can dig deeper, Nicolette moves to the front of the room and claps her hands twice.
“All right, ladies and gentlemen! If we could all take our seats, we’ll get started with the second half of our session.”
Holland and I part ways with a brief goodbye as women shuffle back to their chairs, clutching fresh plates of food and coffee cups. I land in my old seat and Nettie plops down beside me with what appears to be an entire chocolate fountain’s worth of chocolate-covered strawberries.
“Did you leave any for anyone else?” I ask.
“Survival of the fastest, Trixie. Survival of the fastest.”
Nicolette waits for everyone to settle, looking polished and professional in her burgundy sheath dress. Her dark hair is perfectly styled, her makeup flawless, and she radiates the controlled competence of someone who’s spent decades in courtrooms.
“Welcome back,” she says smoothly. “Now that Holland has inspired us to reinvent our intimate lives, let’s talk about protecting ourselves while we do it. Because nothing ruins a second act faster than discovering your assets are gone and your legal protections are nonexistent.”
Nervous laughter ripples through the room.
“We’re going to cover estate planning, divorce settlements if you’re leaving a marriage, protecting your assets if you’re entering a new relationship, and the legal realities of dating after fifty. And like I said earlier, all the fun stuff they don’t tell you about in romance novels.”
“This should be cheerful,” Bess mutters.
Nicolette launches into her presentation with the confidence of a woman who’s explained this a thousand times. She’s engaging and funny, making dry legal concepts accessible, and the room is completely absorbed.
But I’m watching Marina, who’s taking notes as if her life depends on it.
And Nicolette, who keeps glancing at Marina with an expression I can’t quite decode.
Celeste floats near the ceiling, looking bored. “Pay attention, Troublemaker. One of these people is a killer. And killers are always very interested in estate planning.”
She’s right. Because when you’re planning to murder someone—or when you’re running from a past that could destroy your future—you need to know exactly how to protect yourself when everything falls apart.