Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Dinner was just the six of us. None of our other tablemates showed up, which was a letdown. I’d been hoping to see Augusta and Carl again, and my curiosity about Helena and Jasper was still nagging at me.
“We make port in Cozumel at eight tomorrow morning,” Jordy said, eyeing me carefully. “Are you okay with everyone doing their excursions?”
“I am,” I replied. They didn’t need my permission, but ever since the angina scare, they’d all been tiptoeing around me like I might shatter. “Whatever happens is going to happen. If we can’t figure out who pushed Sebastian in the pool by morning, I’m going to let it go.”
Gilly choked on her water, coughing behind her napkin. “That’ll be a first.” She dabbed at her mouth. “You’re a dog with a bone, sometimes. Just gnawing away even after it’s past its expiration date.”
“Not this time,” I insisted, lifting my chin. “After tonight, it’s going to be chill-vibes Nora for the rest of the trip.”
“I can’t wait to meet chill-vibes Nora,” Pippa teased. “I bet she’s a hoot and a holler.”
“Me too,” Gilly piled on. “It sounds like we’re getting a BFF upgrade.”
“You two are pure comedy gold,” I shot back at them. “Take that show on the road.”
Our laughter lightened the mood, the earlier tension fading.
“So, Gilly tells me the doctor said Sebastian’s platelets were high, and he might’ve had a stroke,” Scott said, steering the conversation back to business.
“That’s what Doctor Patel said.” I met his gaze. “You’re a doctor. Can you tell if someone had a stroke after death with just a blood test?”
“It’s not that simple.” Scott steepled his fingers, thinking. “A high platelet count suggests he was throwing clots, but without an autopsy, there’s no certainty.”
“And if the cause of death is listed as natural or accidental, there won’t be an autopsy,” Ezra added.
“Exactly.” Scott shrugged. “It’s a frustrating loophole. Autopsies are expensive, and insurance doesn’t cover them. The police will if it’s part of an investigation, but if it’s ruled accidental? No dice.”
“It’s always about money,” Gilly sighed.
“It usually is,” I agreed. “It keeps the world spinning and stops it cold in its tracks just as fast.”
I scanned the dining room for Charise. Instead, a young Latino man approached the table, a polite but reserved expression on his face.
He was lean, maybe in his early twenties, with neatly combed black hair and sharp brown eyes.
His uniform was crisp, but his sleeves were a little too long, making him look like a kid playing dress-up.
“I’m Domingo,” he said, his voice smooth and quiet. “I’ll be your steward this week. Are we ready to order?”
“I thought Charise was our steward,” Jordy said, frowning.
Domingo shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Charise has been transferred to another section of the dining room,” he said, clearing his throat. “At her request.”
“I can’t say I blame her,” Pippa said. “I wouldn’t want to serve the man who publicly annihilated me and my career on live television in front of millions of people.”
I winced. “When you put it like that...”
“Give us five minutes, Domingo,” Ezra said, his tone friendly but firm. “We’ll be ready to order.”
Domingo nodded once, crisp and polite, then walked away.
“So, is Charise still a suspect?” Gilly asked.
I inclined my head in the affirmative. “Yes, but not a strong one.”
Ezra leaned forward, his elbows on the table. “If she killed Sebastian, she’d probably have stayed on our service. She’d want to show she didn’t hold a grudge. Moving sections makes me think she expected him to come back.”
I pointed at Ezra with my thumb. “What he said.”
“Most criminals aren’t masterminds, though,” Ezra continued. “And Charise does have a strong motive.”
“Which is why she’s still on the list,” I conceded.
“Who else is on the list?” Scott asked.
“Callie, of course,” I said. “The spouse is always a suspect. The not-from-Louisville couple, too. I don’t know if they’re hiding something connected to Caldwell’s death, but they’re definitely hiding something. Then there’s Rebecca Hansen—”
“The security chief?” Gilly interrupted, startled. “Why would she kill him? That’s just more work for her.”
“Good point.” I laughed. “But she pings my gut as someone covering up the truth. Whether it’s to protect corporate interests or for her own reasons, she stays on the list. And lastly, Ramone.”
“Who’s Ramone?” Gilly asked, brows raised.
“He’s a Latin ballroom dance instructor,” I explained. “He came by our table last night to hand out cards.” I gestured between Ezra and me. “We saw him cozying up to Callie in the perfumery yesterday afternoon.”
“That was the guy?” Gilly threw her hands in the air. “Gah! You miss one dinner, and you miss everything.”
“Anyone else?” Pippa asked.
I glanced at Ezra. “Anyone else?”
“You covered it,” he said with a smirk. “And then some. The problem is, we have no proof anyone’s involved.” He rubbed his hands together, eyes twinkling with mischief. “But we’re making a Hail Mary play tonight. Who wants to learn some ballroom?”
Everyone raised their hand.
Dinner had, once again, been delicious. I’d gone for the pork chop with mango salsa this time — the meat tender and juicy, the salsa sweet and tangy with just a hint of heat.
The roasted potatoes were buttery and crisp, and the asparagus had a perfect snap.
I skipped dessert, though. After the angina scare earlier, I wasn’t about to tempt fate with molten chocolate lava cake. No death by dessert tonight.
Afterward, we all went back to change for the ballroom lesson. Ezra pulled on a pair of dark blue pants that hugged his thighs and backside just right, along with a beige shirt that clung to his broad chest and showed off the definition in his arms. He looked good enough to eat.
“Mmm,” I said, openly admiring him. “You look better than dinner.”
“High praise indeed,” he said, grinning. “You’re pretty tasty-looking yourself.”
“What, this old thing?” I teased, twirling in my black cocktail dress. The bodice dipped low enough to be flirty without crossing into scandalous, and the skirt flared out when I spun, making me feel light and playful.
Ezra caught my hand and pulled me into his arms, spinning me again, this time against his chest.
“Yowza,” I purred. “Are you secretly a dancer, Ezra Holden? And if you are, why is this the first I’m hearing about it?”
“I might’ve done a little West Coast Swing back in my twenties.”
My eyes widened. “You’re kidding me.”
“Not a single bit.”
“This will not be the last time you take me out dancing.”
He grinned. “Duly noted.” He didn’t let go of me, holding me close, swaying us to music only he could hear.
“How are you feeling?” he asked softly. Before I could protest, he added, “Just a question. Don’t read into it.”
“I’m feeling good.” And it was the truth. The nitroglycerin earlier had done its job. No more chest pain, no tightness in my neck, no headache, and I wasn’t even tired. I patted his chest. “Satisfied?”
He kissed me. “More than.”
“And…” I tapped my clutch. “I packed my prescription just in case.”
The corners of his eyes softened, the tension easing from his face. “Then I think we have everything we need.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
I walked to the wall that separated our room from Gilly’s and gave it a few good slaps. “Are you all ready?” I called.
“Yep,” Gilly shouted back. “I’ll check on Pippa.”
“I heard you!” Pippa bellowed from two suites away. “We’re ready. Meet you in the hall.”
Ezra chuckled. “Paper-thin walls.”
“Yep,” I agreed with a shake of my head. “Paper-thin walls.”
Our friends were waiting when we stepped into the hallway, and they looked stunning.
Gilly’s dress was a fire-engine red sequin number that fit like it had been tailored just for her, and Pippa wore a sleek pearl dress with a thigh slit that screamed Old Hollywood.
Jordy had swapped his usual jeans for black slacks and a black button-down shirt with pearl buttons, and the sleeves rolled up just enough to look effortlessly cool.
Scott wore charcoal gray pants with an open-collar tuxedo shirt.
His eyes stayed locked on Gilly, who was pretending not to notice but was absolutely soaking it up.
Between the six of us, we looked like a group straight out of a heist movie. Three couples dressed to thrill, both figuratively and possibly literally.
Tonight was the night. We were either going to find the killer or force them into a mistake. And if that didn’t work, I’d have to take a page from Elsa’s playbook and let it go.
The grand ballroom on deck five was just as extravagant as the name promised.
Chandeliers sparkled overhead, casting a warm glow over the polished wood floors.
The walls were lined with rich, heavy drapes in deep burgundy and gold, adding to the upscale atmosphere.
Round tables with neatly pressed white linens sat along the edges of the room.
A grand piano rested in the corner by a main stage, its black surface reflecting the soft lighting, and at the far end, a smaller stage stood ready for live music later in the evening.
When we made our entrance, heads turned. People paused what they were doing to watch us, some whispering, others just staring.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t because we looked like movie stars.
It was because we were ridiculously overdressed.
The ballroom had listed “cocktail attire” as the dress code, but, apparently, that didn’t apply to dance lessons.
Most of the other passengers were in cargo shorts, sundresses, and cruise ship merch.
Ah well. I glanced at my friends and shrugged. “I say we own it.”
“Damn straight,” Gilly said, tossing her chocolate brown hair over her shoulder like a queen.
“Let’s light this place on fire,” Pippa added, grinning.
Jordy chuckled. “Should we be afraid?”
Scott didn’t answer, still too focused on Gilly.
Ezra shook his head slowly, smiling as he took my hand. “No. But everyone else should be.”