Page 68 of Fire and Ice Cruise

I sink down to my shoulders and my entire body sighs with relief I didn’t know I needed. My hair floats around me like tendrils as I dip lower, down to my neck.

“This,” I announce, “is worth the naked shower trauma.”

“Almost,” Bess says, but she’s smiling.

Nettie’s already floating on her back with her arms spread wide. “I’m never leaving. You’ll have to pry me out of here with heavy machinery.”

“They close at ten,” Wes says.

“Then I’m staying until ten o’one!”

We drift for a while, letting the heat work its magic on muscles I forgot I had. The water holds you up without effort. Some combination of temperature and mineral content that makes floating feel like Iceland’s personal gift to tired humans. Around us, people chat in a dozen languages, laugh, sip drinks from the swim-up bar, and generally look like they’ve figured out the meaning of life and it involves volcanic hot springs. And I think it very much does.

Ransom drifts closer, his hair slicked back, water droplets clinging to his shoulders. Even wet the man is unfairly attractive. Some things remain constant regardless of employment status.

Wes floats nearby, his captain face replaced by something more relaxed, more human. “So, Detective Troublefield Baxter,” he says. “How’s the case going?”

Ransom growls. An actual low rumble of disapproval.

Wes raises his hands in mock surrender, water sluicing off his arms. “What? We both know she’s investigating.”

“Darn right she is,” Bess says.

“And that means we get to case out the hot hunks, too,” Nettie adds with a grin.

Bess inches back, scandalized. “There are no hot hunks we’re looking into.”

Nettie grunts. “A girl can dream.”

I bite back a smile and float closer to the group. “Okay, fine. Let’s review.”

“Review what?” Wes asks.

“The suspects,” I say. “First, there’s Nicolette Devereaux. Hot divorce lawyer, sophisticated, clearly hiding something about her past. Gideon was planning to expose her in his documentary. Silas showed me a photo of her slapping Gideon the night he died.”

“Slapping him?” Wes straightens slightly.

I nod. “It looked like a violent assault. In the Opaline Royal Lounge during the bon voyage party. Timestamp was nine forty-seven.” I hold up a finger. “Then there’s Holland Rowen. She participates in the Second Act Society with her husband, Silas. She seems genuinely devastated by Gideon’s death. And Celeste mentioned something about Gideon threatening Holland’s second act.”

“The ghost mentioned it,” Ransom clarifies for Wes, his tone suggesting he’s still not entirely comfortable with my supernatural consultation services.

“Right. The ghost.” Wes doesn’t sound skeptical exactly. More like resigned. “Continue.”

“There’s Silas Rowen,” I continue indeed. “Holland’s husband. He’s extremely protective of her. And he was my source about Nicolette. Although he did throw her under the bus.”

“Maybe because she’s guilty,” Nettie offers.

“She could be,” I say. “And then there’s Marina.” I glance over at Wes and he glowers at the horizon.

The name hangs in the air between us like a ghost.

And speaking of ghosts, Celeste has been utterly useless to me and this case, especially for someone who claims to know who the killer is.

A spray of miniature hot pink stars catches my eye to the left and I spot the wily blonde wraith wrapped around a beefy hot hunk who looks as if he could bench press all of Iceland. She gives a little wave and blows a kiss my way.

It’s nice to know she’s easily entertained.

Wes sighs my way. “What about Marina?”