Page 14 of Fire and Ice Cruise

“Or be killed,” I point out.

“Or accessorized to death,” Nettie adds.

“Geez, Nettie,” Bess grunts. “Show some respect.”

“I am. I’m complimenting the scarf. It’s a beautiful scarf. It’s just also a murder weapon.”

She’s right on all counts.

Ransom doesn’t look too impressed by the analysis or the truth behind it.

I’m about to say something when Quinn Riddle shoves through the crowd with all the warmth of an ice storm in January. Her dark hair is yanked back in a bun so tight it looks painful, and her pale face has gone an interesting shade of fury-red. She’s wearing her security uniform pressed to within an inch of its life, and when her eyes land on me standing over the body, her nostrils flare hard enough to suck a seagull through them.

“Don’t you dare tell me you just happened to stumble upon another body,” she grouses right at me.

“Would you believe we were bird watching?” I try.

She doesn’t laugh.

“Stargazing?”

“Trixie,” she snips.

“Doing a little light redecorating?”

“Trixie.” Quinn looks worried for my mental health—as she probably should be.

Ransom clears his throat. “Actually, we both stumbled on him this time. Literally. I have the bruised tailbone to prove it.”

Quinn lets out a cry of frustration that startles several onlookers—I’m a little surprised she didn’t startle the corpse.

She points hard at Ransom. “You’re not any better than her!”

Ouch. I mean, she’s not wrong, but seriously, ouch.

She starts barking orders at her security squad—and I do mean barking, she’s giving full drill sergeant energy—and they immediately spring into action with yellow caution tape. Within minutes, the corridor is cordoned off and we’re all herded back into the lounge.

The crowd parts as Silas and Holland push through, both looking dazed. Holland’s honey highlighted hair has come slightly loose from its earlier perfect styling, and Silas looks as if he’s gone pale beneath his tan.

“Captain, what’s going on?” Silas asks with his voice tight.

“I’m afraid there’s been an incident.” Wes takes a breath—his shoulders back, his expression neutral, and his voice unreasonably calm. “Gideon Vale has been found dead.”

Holland’s hand flies to her mouth, but I catch the briefest flicker cross her face before shock settles in. She glances toward the cordoned corridor, and something about the set of her shoulders doesn’t quite match the horror in her gasp. She looks relieved.

Silas wraps an arm around her shoulders like the protective husband he is. “How did it happen?”

“We’re still determining that,” Wes says carefully, which is captain-speak for he was definitely murdered but I can’t say that out loud yet. And sadly, Wes has way too much experience with this as of late.

A commotion erupts near the entrance as Nicolette breaks through the crowd and nearly launches herself into the cordoned-off area. Two security officers catch her by the arms before she can contaminate the crime scene—not that Ransom and I didn’t beat her to it.

“Who did this to him?” Her voice climbs to a pitch that could shatter the windows. She squints into the corridor. “Was he strangled? By way of his very own scarf?”

Oh good, now everyone knows exactly how he died. Not that it was a mystery to begin with.

Her words echo through the lounge, and I watch the crowd’s reaction ripple outward—gasps, whispers, someone near the back actually faints. The medics are on it within seconds.

Nicolette begins to gag and gasp before belting out an ear-piercing scream.