Tainted Love Valentine Cruise (Cruising Through Midlife: Cruise Ship Cozy Mysteries #13)

Chapter 1

Suddenly Hitched—What a Trip!

Hey there, mystery-loving readers!

Ready to join me aboard the Emerald Queen for the most romantic—and potentially deadly—Valentine’s Day cruise ever?

I’ve packed my killer heels, my heart-shaped sunglasses, and enough chocolate reserves to survive whatever romantic chaos awaits!

From the cliffs of Ireland to the lights of Paris, I’m determined to soak up every drop of Valentine’s magic—along with plenty of champagne and those divine little cream puffs that make life worth living.

Here’s to love, laughter, and hopefully keeping the body count to a minimum this time around. Though I have a sinking feeling that love might literally be murder on this voyage.

XOXO Trixie

Emerald Queen of the Seas, Royal Lineage Cruise Lines

Itinerary

10-DAY CRUISE

Day 1: Departure from Greenwich, England

Day 2: At Sea

Day 3: Portland, England (Stonehenge Excursion)

Day 4: At Sea

Day 5: Cobh, Ireland (Blarney Castle Excursion)

Day 6: At Sea

Day 7: At Sea

Day 8: Le Havre, France (Paris/Normandy Excursion)

Day 9: At Sea (Valentine’s Day)

Day 10: Return to Greenwich, England

Day 1: Departure from Greenwich, England

“Valentine’s Day is a capitalist conspiracy to make everyone feel like failures at love while emptying their wallets,” Bess Chatterley announces as she adjusts her crimson wool coat right here in the elegant atrium of the Emerald Queen of the Seas.

And honestly? I can’t argue with her logic, even though I’m currently floating on cloud nine in my newlywed bubble—which, according to Bess, should pop any day now like a cheap party balloon.

It’s the first day of yet another cruise here on the glorious Emerald Queen of the Seas, and Bess, Nettie, and I are standing at the mouth of the gangway, greeting giddy passengers along with a few crew members who look more than happy to deal with a little Valentine’s drama.

“Oh, come on, Bess!” I say, bouncing with a laugh. “You’re being way too practical. Valentine’s Day is about celebrating love, the one thing that makes the world go round.”

“Celebrating love?” Bess scoffs, watching a couple stumble aboard wearing matching His Queen and Her King sweatshirts that probably have Bess twitching to stage an intervention.

“More like celebrating the markup on roses and dinner reservations. I bet those two paid triple for those monstrosities just because their tacky outfits have hearts on them.”

“At least someone is making money off romance,” Nettie chimes in, adjusting her heart-shaped sunglasses as if to prove a point. “I’ve been investing in love for eighty-plus years and I’m still waiting for my dividends!”

I can’t help but snort. “Nettie, your approach to love is like day trading—high risk, frequent transactions, and you never quite know when the market’s going to crash.”

“Your dividends?” Bess raises an eyebrow while gesturing toward a man boarding with a bouquet so large it looks like he robbed a funeral home. “Nettie, you’ve been married more times than Elizabeth Taylor had facelifts.”

“Exactly! I’m a repeat customer, which means I believe in the product,” Nettie shoots back, straightening her hot pink sweater that reads Single and Ready to Jingle in rhinestone letters that could blind the dead.

“You, on the other hand, are like a restaurant critic who’s never actually eaten the food—just complained about the menu prices. ”

“I’ve eaten plenty,” Bess mutters, watching another couple board with tattered luggage that screams we spent our mortgage payment on this cruise. “And most of it gave me indigestion.”

“That’s because you keep ordering from the wrong menu.

” I laugh, feeling a bit giddy myself as I spot my gorgeous husband across the atrium.

“I, however, have finally ordered from the right menu—the only menu I care to look at for the rest of my life. Look at Ransom and me. We’re proof that real love exists.

Even if I did have to solve a few murders to get here. ”

“You two are still in the honeymoon phase,” Bess points out with a grunt. “Give it six months and you’ll be arguing over who forgot to take out the proverbial trash—assuming you survive that long with your track record of finding dead bodies. Kidding. Mostly.”

She cringes as I gape at her.

“Six months?” Nettie mock-gasps while clutching her bedazzled purse as if it were a life preserver. “Bess, that’s practically a golden anniversary in today’s dating world. Most relationships don’t make it to the toothbrush stage or sharing their streaming passwords.”

I grin. “See? Ransom and I have already survived three separate streaming service logins AND a few murder investigations. We’re basically relationship veterans at this point.”

“That’s exactly my point.” Bess tosses up her hands, nearly smacking a passing passenger carrying a heart-shaped box the size of a small coffin.

“We’ve turned love into a subscription service with monthly fees and early termination penalties.

And apparently, Trixie’s package comes with a complimentary corpse finder feature.

” She winks my way. “If you have to find one on this trip, make sure it’s Cupid. ”

The three of us share a mournful laugh.

Bess Chatterley and Nettie Butterworth happen to be my two favorite octogenarians, and they’re also a big part of the reason I live on this floating paradise instead of back in my old life getting cheated on by my ex-husband.

Because nothing says upgrade like trading a cheating spouse for two sassy senior citizens and a supernatural murder-solving hobby.

And have I mentioned my hot new husband? Some might say that getting cheated on by my ex was the best thing that’s ever happened to me—and some would be me.

Speaking of being cheated on… Bess, with her sharp red bob and even sharper wit, spent decades teaching home economics at Honey Hollow High back in Vermont before her dentist husband decided his secretary’s dental hygiene was more interesting than his marriage vows.

Now she’s making him pay—literally—for her cruise ship lifestyle while she drains his wallet one buffet at a time.

I have to admire a woman who turned her divorce settlement into a floating retirement plan.

Nettie, meanwhile, looks like a walking Valentine’s Day explosion in her technicolor coat and those heart-shaped sunglasses.

Her gray curls peek out from under a pink beret, and knowing Nettie, it probably has some kind of flashing lights or musical component.

She’s from Scooter Springs, Vermont, where she “dabbled in farming,” though Bess always makes air quotes when she says that, hinting at Nettie’s more colorful agricultural past that may or may not be legal in some states.

“You know what your problem is, Bess?” Nettie continues, pointing a perfectly manicured finger at her bestie. “You’ve been hurt once and now you think all men are emotional tax write-offs.”

“Am I wrong?” Bess snorts, watching a man board whose forehead displays the words I’M MARRIED in large block letters.

Wait, is that actually tattooed on his skin?

“Nettie, I was married to the same man for forty years,” Bess continues.

“I’ve been hurt approximately fourteen thousand times, give or take a few forgotten anniversaries, and that time he tried to floss his teeth with my good jewelry—despite the fact he’s a dentist.”

“Well, I’ve been married more times than I can count,” Nettie declares with a touch of pride, “and I regret absolutely nothing. Each husband taught me something valuable.”

“Like what?” I ask, genuinely curious and slightly concerned for her mental health regarding the lessons she may or may not have learned.

“Husband number one taught me that love is blind because he couldn’t see the dishes piling up or the lawn that looked like a jungle.

Husband number two taught me that love is also deaf.

He couldn’t hear me asking him to get a job for three years straight.

Husband number three taught me that prenups exist for a reason and so do private investigators.

Husband number four taught me that retirement communities have surprisingly active social scenes and shockingly loose morals. And husband number five—”

“Taught you that cremation is cheaper than divorce,” Bess finishes dryly.

“Now that’s just morbid,” Nettie says with a dark smile. “He taught me that sometimes the best relationships are the ones that end before someone gets arrested. Or before you have to start hiding the kitchen knives.”

“That’s... actually kind of wise,” I admit, watching the steady stream of passengers flooding the ship, each one looking as if they’re either ready for the vacation of a lifetime or a nervous breakdown. Sometimes both. Day one on a new cruise can be a lot.

But there’s just nothing like that first day glow.

Speaking of glowing, the rest of the crew that’s standing with us seems to be glowing, too.

The crew loves the first day of a new cruise just as much as the passengers.

The scent of a freshly scrubbed ship, the delicious scents from the fresh buffets, and the briny scent of the sea.

I have to admit, it’s an intoxicating combination.

I glance over at Wes, who looks absolutely dashing in his crisp white uniform, and just about every woman who spots him begs for a selfie with the captain. Of course, he’s more than happy to comply, flashing that dimpled smile that could navigate ships through storms.

Elodie and Tinsley stand next to him, side by side in their matching crew uniforms—white blouses and navy pencil skirts. Although Elodie’s version fits like it was painted on by a very talented and slightly perverted artist, while Tinsley’s looks like it came straight from the regulation handbook.