Chapter 20
“Mind if I join you?” I ask as I approach, settling into the chair across from him with ease—I’ve made a career out of appearing harmless right before asking uncomfortable questions about people’s connection to dead bodies and swinger societies.
Rex looks up from his contemplation of the Atlantic Ocean with the panic usually reserved for husbands caught deleting their browser history.
Behind us, the Love Connection Speed Dating Carousel continues in full swing, with Nettie currently holding court at the Design Your Dream Date station like a romantic empress addressing her subjects.
She’s got approximately six gentlemen in various stages of romantic desperation hanging on her every word as she explains her ideal evening, which apparently involves both fine dining and extreme sports. That’s so Nettie.
“Of course, please,” Rex says, though his usual silver-fox confidence seems slightly tarnished around the edges.
The afternoon air carries the intoxicating aroma of grilled burgers and golden fries sizzling on the deck barbecue stations, mixing with the salt breeze and whatever industrial-strength romantic optimism is wafting from the speed dating chaos behind us.
The sound of grills crackling mingles with romantic music and nervous laughter, while Valentine’s decorations flutter in the sea breeze like Cupid’s surrender flags refusing to give up the fight.
Rex has positioned himself—and me, by proxy—in a quieter seating area near the ship’s railing, where the promenade deck curves away from the main romantic battlefield.
The afternoon sun filters through the ship’s awnings, casting everything in that golden light that makes even questionable life choices look social media-worthy.
“This is quite the production.” Rex laughs, nodding toward the Love Connection Speed Dating Carousel where Nettie has now moved to the Speed Compliments station and appears to be receiving a standing ovation from her current group of admirers.
“I haven’t seen organization like this since the military, and frankly, this looks more dangerous. ”
“My friend Nettie is in her element,” I reply, watching my octogenarian friend gesture with the enthusiasm as if she’s discovered her calling in competitive romance.
“She approaches dating like it’s a competitive sport, and honestly, she’s winning.
I think she’s already collected more phone numbers than a telemarketer. ”
A crew member materializes beside us like a uniformed food fairy, carrying a tray of steaming clam chowder bowls. “Complimentary chowder, folks?”
“Of course,” I say, because I’ve never met a free meal I wouldn’t accept, especially one that comes with the perfect excuse to extend this conversation. I trade my empty bowl for a fresh one brimming with creamy goodness.
“With glee!” Rex is quick to accept his bowl as well. I can’t help but make a face. Any man who loves chowder can’t be all that bad, can he? And he certainly can’t be a killer. I hope.
He moans through his first bite. “This is why I love cruise ships—unlimited food, unlimited entertainment, and unlimited opportunities to make questionable decisions when it comes to my cholesterol levels.”
Perfect. A man who admits to questionable decisions is exactly the kind of man I need to interrogate about potentially homicidal activities.
A constellation of tiny red stars materializes beside Rex’s chair, and Richard the Ghost makes his appearance like the world’s most melancholy party crasher.
He looks even more distinguished in death than he probably did in life, wearing that same cozy sweater that makes him look like someone’s favorite professor who happened to die under mysterious circumstances.
“Well, this is interesting,” Richard says, settling into a spectral position slightly above us where he can observe both Rex and me. “I didn’t expect to see Rex here.”
Neither did I, but I’m sure glad about it.
“So,” I begin, stirring my chowder as if I were making small talk instead of conducting an investigation, “what brings you on this particular Valentine’s cruise? Seems like an interesting choice for a single gentleman.”
Rex’s laugh carries just enough genuine warmth to make me wonder if my suspicious nature is working overtime. “I wasn’t exactly single when I booked it. Lavender Voss invited me. She was a friend, and I’ve been her personal pilot for years. When she suggested I join this cruise, I couldn’t refuse.”
“Her pilot?” Richard’s ghostly eyebrows climb toward his ethereal hairline. “I didn’t know Lavender had a personal pilot. Though I suppose there’s a lot about my wife I didn’t know. I knew they were friends, though.”
“Wow, a personal pilot sounds very exclusive,” I observe, taking a spoonful of chowder that tastes like liquid comfort with a side of maritime luxury.
“Lavender did like to travel in style,” Rex explains with a fond smile as if remembering a good friend instead of a murder victim. “She had speaking engagements all over the country, seminars, and workshops. I’ve been flying her around for about five years now.”
“Did you know about her work?” I ask, testing the waters like someone checking the temperature before diving into the deep end of a potentially incriminating conversation.
Rex shrugs as if he’s never paid much attention to the details. “She gave me a book once, something about modern relationships, but I’m not much of a reader. I just got us to where we needed to be and minded my own business.”
“Smart man,” Richard mutters. “I should have minded my own business, too.”
“And now you’ve met Bess,” I continue, watching Rex’s entire demeanor shift as if I’ve just turned on a romantic spotlight in his head.
“Ah, my Bessie,” he sighs with far too much contentment.
His Bessie? My internal alarm system starts goes off like a burglar alarm at a jewelry store. This is serious. This is planning to relocate to Montana serious.
“She is quite something,” I agree, although part of me wants to remind him that Bessie belongs to our trio first and Montana cowboys second—or never.
“She is remarkable,” Rex says with the kind of genuine admiration that makes it hard to suspect him of homicidal tendencies. “Smart, funny, independent. At our age, finding someone who makes you laugh every day is worth more than all the gold in Fort Knox.”
He does have a point, but still. I’m not liking it.
“Speaking of Fort Knox and valuable things,” I venture with the subtlety of an amateur sleuth operating a jackhammer at a library, “that Montana ranch invitation sounds pretty serious.”
Rex chuckles as if he’s just been caught planning grand romantic gestures.
“I know it sounds fast, but when you get to be my age, you don’t waste time with games.
I’m thinking of retiring now. Besides, I’ve got a beautiful place outside Billings—horses, mountains, the whole western fantasy.
It seemed like something Bess might enjoy. ”
“And if she doesn’t want to go back with you?” I ask with the direct approach that’s served me well in both marriage and murder investigations.
“Then I guess I’ll have to learn to love the high seas,” Rex replies with the good-natured resignation of a very smitten man who’s already calculating the cost of permanent cruise ship residency.
The sound of commotion from the speed dating area draws our attention back to the romantic battlefield, where Nettie appears to have caused quite the stir.
She’s surrounded by approximately half the male participants, all of whom seem to be hanging on her every word like she’s dispensing the secrets of unlimited buffet access.
“Would you look at that,” Richard observes with something approaching awe. “That woman’s got more charm than a snake oil salesman at a medicine show.”
“That’s Nettie, all right,” I mutter.
“She’s got quite the following,” Rex observes, clearly impressed by Nettie’s ability to command attention from men half her age and twice as desperate.
“Nettie could convince Congress to actually agree on something,” I reply, watching her gesture with enthusiasm while discovering her true calling in competitive romance. “She’s got this gift for making everyone feel like they’re the most interesting person in the room.”
“Yes. It’s remarkable,” Richard murmurs, and I swear there’s something almost wistful in his ghostly voice. “She reminds me of someone I used to know.”
Rex turns his attention back to me as if making polite conversation. “What about you? Bess tells me you’re a new bride. How are you enjoying married life?”
“It’s incredible,” I say with a happy sigh.
“Every day with Ransom feels like a gift. He’s my best friend and my favorite person all rolled into one.
” I gesture toward the frantic dating rounds.
“Watching all this, though, I’m grateful we found each other the old-fashioned way.
These people are trying to cram entire relationship evaluations into the time it takes to order coffee. ”
“Tell me about it,” Rex agrees. “But I suppose it’s better than the alternative. At least here, if you make a fool of yourself, you’re surrounded by strangers who’ll forget about it by the next port.”
“Unless someone ends up dead,” I say casually as if discussing the weather instead of homicide. “Then everyone remembers everything.”
Rex’s expression shifts and takes on a far more serious air. “That poor woman. Lavender didn’t deserve what happened to her.”
“Did you know she had enemies?” I ask, stirring my chowder as the steam rises between us.
“Everyone has enemies,” Rex says with a reluctant laugh. And I figure he’s lived long enough to accumulate a few adversaries himself. “But Lavender’s were more… well, they were more passionate than most.”
“Passionate how?”
Rex glances around to make sure we’re not being overheard, then leans in hard. “That woman, Claudette, the one with the marriage counseling business? She hated Lavender with the kind of intensity usually reserved for war crimes.”
“Any idea why?”
“Oh, I know exactly why,” Rex says as if he’s witnessed the drama firsthand. “Claudette and Lavender weren’t just professional rivals. They had a much more personal connection.”
Richard suddenly goes very still beside me, his ghostly presence snapping, crackling, and popping as if he, too, were waiting with bated breath to hear what comes next.
“Personal how?” I prompt. Something in Rex’s tone is making my detective instincts ping like a sonar system in dangerous waters.
Rex takes a long sip of his chowder, clearly savoring both the soup and the dramatic pause. “Claudette and Richard—Lavender’s husband—they were having an affair.”
I suck in a quick breath and can’t seem to exhale.
A loud roar goes off to my left as Richard explodes into a constellation of angry red stars and disappears faster than my common sense around chocolate, leaving me sitting across from Rex with the shocking realization that I’ve been getting relationship advice from a man who was cheating on his murdered wife with her biggest enemy.
Sometimes the most dangerous affairs aren’t the ones that end in divorce—they’re the ones that end in murder.