Page 25 of Fire and Ice Cruise

I’m sort of with her on that.

Marina glances back at me helplessly, but all I can do is shrug because we both know she’s no match for two octogenarians on a mission.

But I’m not headed for the lattes to dish about our hot-to-trot captain. Instead, I make my way toward Nicolette, weaving through clusters of Second Act Society members who are doing their best to pretend everything’s normal while openly discussing a homicide.

I grab a small plate, plop a chocolate-glazed cruller on it, and position myself close enough to Nicolette that it would be rude for her not to acknowledge me.

She looks up from her phone, and I watch her evaluate me in about two seconds flat—the way lawyers do when they’re deciding if you’re worth their time, or if you look like you have the funds to afford their nonstop fees.

“Trixie, right?” She slips her phone into her pocket. “The art instructor.”

“That’s me. Painting my way through the high seas, one watercolor at a time.”

I take a bite of my cruller and offer a smile.

Lucky, lucky me. I have my very first suspect all to myself.

But too bad for the killer, because their luck is about to run out.

CHAPTER 9

“That was a good speech. It was very inspiring,” I say to Nicolette Devereaux as we stand right here in the Meridian Lounge after she appointed herself the new leader of the Second Act Society for the duration of the trip, and perhaps beyond.

“Thank you.” Her lashes bat so fast and hard it’s as if they’re butterflies struggling to take flight. “Gideon would have appreciated it. He was all about inspiring people to take action.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss.” I glance at the crowd still mingling around us. “Were the two of you close?”

Something flickers across her face and she forces a smile this time. “We were friends. Colleagues, really. He helped me think through my next steps after I decided to leave my practice after a quarter of a century.”

“Wow, twenty-five years is a long time to practice law.”

“Too long.” She selects a chocolate-covered cruller for herself but doesn’t take a bite. “Divorce law is brutal. You spend all day watching people destroy each other over furniture and custody schedules. After a while, it wears you down.”

“So, you decided to reinvent yourself for your second act?”

“That was the plan.” She glances around the room, and I catch something raw in her expression. “Gideon was supposed to help me figure out what came next. He had this whole process, this way of helping people discover their authentic selves.” She laughs, but there’s no humor in it.

“I guess I’ll have to figure it out on my own now. I mean, the classes and the events we have planned are so great. I can’t imagine coming away from this empty-handed.” Not that I’m going anywhere.

“I’m sure you won’t.”

I take another bite of the cruller and give an involuntary moan. It’s just that good.

“So how did you meet Gideon? Through the Second Act Society?”

“Actually, a friend set us up on a blind date about six months ago.” She finally takes a bite of her cruller, and I watch her chew thoughtfully. “It was spectacularly awkward. We had zero romantic chemistry, but we clicked as friends. Well, acquaintances really. Gideon was one of those people who kept everyone at arm’s length, you know? He was very driven, very focused on his work.”

“What exactly did he do? I know he ran the Second Act Society, but was that his full-time job?”

“Oh, no.” Nicolette shakes her head. “The Society was more of a passion project. His real work was in documentary filmmaking. He produced limited series for the big streaming platforms—you know, the prestige documentaries that get people talking.”

“What kind of documentaries?”

“Reinvention stories, mostly. Public figures navigating scandals, rebuilding their brands, that whole thing.” She leans in slightly, lowering her voice. “Between you and me, I think he was drawn to people with something to hide. He had a way of making you feel safe, like he was on your side, and then he’d dig and dig until he found the crack in your armor.”

“That sounds manipulative.” I wince as I say it, because I didn’t mean to let that slip.

“Oh, it absolutely was.” She doesn’t sound particularly bothered by this. “But that’s what made him good at what he did. Before the documentaries, he worked as some kind of reputation strategist—helping wealthy people manage scandals, control press narratives, make problems disappear. He knew all the tricks because he’d used them himself.”