Chapter 22 #2
She slams into a high-top table, sending champagne flutes flying and landing with a crash loud enough to wake the dead. Present company excluded. He’s already up and thrilled about it.
Women scream and gasp. A smattering of applause breaks out, along with one well-meaning cheer from a woman who clearly believes this is part of the entertainment.
“What’s going on?” someone shouts.
Poppy scrambles to her feet, her gold gown torn at the shoulder, her hair suddenly disheveled. “She attacked me!” she screams, pointing my way. “She’s insane!”
The party rages on, entirely unbothered. The voices climb to boisterous levels, and even the music seems to tick up another notch. Nothing rattles a room full of women who have had this much champagne. I could juggle flaming cinnamon buns and they’d assume it was a scheduled activity.
Poppy gives a quick glance our way before darting into the crowd, and Marina and I waste no time in chasing after her.
“Stop that woman!” I shout, but no one seems to notice as we push our way through bodies.
And then a flash of sequins rockets out of the crowd. Nettie latches onto Poppy’s back with a whoop of pure joy, and the two of them spin in a circle while the surrounding partygoers raise their glasses in approval.
The lounge erupts. Women screaming, men shouting, everyone trying to either get closer or get away, and I’m fairly certain someone just knocked over the entire dessert table.
A moment of silence for the princess cake. It deserved better. So did my shapewear.
I lunge forward, trying to wrestle Poppy and Nettie apart before someone gets hurt. “Nettie, let go—”
Poppy twists violently, shaking Nettie loose, and suddenly I’m falling forward, landing hard on Poppy’s back. “OOF!” The air rushes out of my lungs, and probably a little of my soul along with it.
Marina rushes over to help, but her heel catches on someone’s gown and she trips, toppling directly onto my back.
“Oh my word, I’m so sorry!” Marina gasps.
“DOG PILE!” Nettie shouts with absolute glee, launching herself onto Marina’s back.
“NETTIE, GET OFF OF THEM!” Bess shouts and lunges forward to grab her, but her momentum carries her right over, and she lands on top of Nettie.
We’re a complete disaster of evening gowns and bruised dignity, four women stacked on top of each other in the world’s most dysfunctional Viking pancake tower.
“GET OFF ME!” Poppy screams from the very bottom.
“I CAN’T brEATHE!” I wheeze from the middle.
“NEITHER CAN I!” Marina chokes out above me.
“THIS IS AMAZING!” Nettie yells at top volume.
“THIS IS ASSAULT!” Bess corrects from the top of the pile.
We’ve got Poppy pinned like a very angry, very well-dressed butterfly. Four women, one felon, zero plans. Somewhere in Valhalla, the shield-maidens are watching this maneuver and voting to revoke our horned helmets. Historically inaccurate or not.
“What is happening?” Bess demands.
“She’s the killer!” Marina blurts, still clutching her wrist where Poppy grabbed her.
Ransom comes running in with his weapon drawn, and Wes is right behind him.
“EVERYBODY FREEZE!” Ransom’s voice slices through the chaos.
Everyone freezes. Everyone except the four-woman pile still struggling on the floor, because apparently freezing is for people with working lungs.
Ransom spots the pile of evening gowns, and his eyes widen. “Are you ladies okay?”
“I’m currently being crushed!” I croak. “But Poppy just confessed to poisoning Astrid Storm!”
Wes is already rushing over to help untangle the disaster. He pulls Bess off first, then Nettie, then carefully helps Marina to her feet, his hands lingering on her arms to steady her.
“Are you hurt?” he asks, a little out of breath himself.
“Just my pride,” Marina says, smoothing down her blue gown.
Ransom hauls me up next and checks me over with frantic efficiency. The man has rescued his wife from too many ridiculous situations, and it’s starting to show in his technique. He checks the ribs first now. He’s learned.
Wes reaches down and pulls Poppy to her feet last, and she’s a complete mess, her composure utterly shattered.
“I had her,” Nettie announces, dusting off her sequined muumuu with as much poise as a woman who just yelled “dog pile” at a formal event can muster. “It was a total takedown. Ten out of ten. I should be deputized.”
“Try institutionalized,” Bess says without missing a beat.
“Deputized, institutionalized. Either way, I want a badge.”
Wes pulls Marina in close. “You’re sure you’re all right?”
“Just bruised,” Marina says as they lock eyes, and she doesn’t pull away from his protective grip.
I tuck that little moment away for later. I’m nosy, not dead.
Security descends on the lounge in force. Six officers in uniform, radios crackling, all of them looking very serious and very done with this cruise.
Quinn Riddle pushes through the crowd, handcuffs already out. She looks at Poppy, then at me, then back at Poppy.
“She admitted it,” I say. “Right before she attacked Marina and tried to run. She confessed to poisoning Astrid Storm with oxycodone—the medication is hers.”
Quinn steps in and efficiently cuffs Poppy, reading her rights in that flat, professional tone before escorting her toward the exit. She’s about to walk past me when she pauses. Quinn narrows her eyes at me, her expression caught somewhere between annoyed and grudgingly impressed.
“Good job, Troublefield Baxter,” she says finally. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
It’s already gone to my head, by way of an incoming headache.
She leads Poppy away, and the crowd parts clean down the middle. The Velvet Viking Book Club watches in stunned silence as their perfect, kind, helpful member is escorted out in handcuffs. The lounge comes back to life with murmurs and whispers as the music picks up in volume once again.
Penny for your thoughts, indeed. Turns out her thoughts were running closer to twenty-five to life.
Ransom reaches me in three strides and pulls me into his arms, holding me so tight I can barely breathe. Second time tonight, though this version is far more enjoyable.
“You caught the killer,” he murmurs into my hair.
“Technically, Nettie caught her. I just accused her, and I may have hopped on her back to prevent a getaway.”
“Close enough.”
Wes is still holding Marina’s wrist, examining the red marks Poppy left. “You should get ice on this.”
“It’s fine,” Marina says, but she’s blushing.
“Let’s let the doctor decide that.” He keeps her hand in his as he leads her toward the exit, and she doesn’t resist.
Bess appears beside me and puts her arm around Nettie’s shoulders. “You tackled a killer.”
“I did!” Nettie grins. “And it was amazing. How soon can we do it again?”
“Never.”
“You’re no fun.”
“I’m extremely fun. I just prefer my fun without felony assault charges,” Bess says. “Come on, let’s hit the dessert buffet. I think we’ve earned a cookie or two.”
“We’ve earned the whole tray,” Nettie counters. “I did a takedown, and takedowns burn calories.”
Sixty seconds from felony takedown to cookie negotiations. This is why they’re my people.
They take off just as Magnus materializes once again, looking rather satisfied with himself. “Justice for my Astrid. The murderess will face her punishment.”
I squeeze Ransom’s hand so he can listen in on the fun, too.
“Your Astrid?” The words land on me all at once, and my eyes sting. “You’re still in love with her, Gerald,” I say as I sniff back tears.
“My name may be Gerald,” he says, his voice going softer by the second.
“But in my heart, I’ve always been Magnus.
The real you isn’t what others name you.
It’s who you choose to be. That’s the Viking way, little one.
To become the warrior you were meant to be, regardless of what the world says you are.
” He’s already fading. “You did well tonight. I’m proud. Until we meet again!”
Magnus belts out a roar that blows my bangs straight back, and I’m the only soul in the room who gets to enjoy the breeze. And then Magnus Darkwater disappears once and for all in a shower of silver stars.
“Goodbye, Gerald,” I say with a sigh. “Long live Magnus.”
Ransom tilts my chin up, and I look into his warm cobalt eyes. “Another cruise, another murder solved. I’m proud of you, too.”
A laugh bubbles from me. “Just another day living on the Emerald Queen,” I say, and I kiss him while the Valhalla Lounge slowly returns to some semblance of normal around us.
I’ve officially accepted that my life includes airborne champagne flutes, dog piles on killers, and philosophical chats with dead accountants in fur cloaks.
And honestly?
I wouldn’t have it any other way.