Page 50 of Fire and Ice Cruise

Bess stares at her. “The trolls?”

“Why not?” Nettie counters. “They’re sneaky. They live in rocks. It’s a perfect cover for a stowaway.”

Bess frowns. “They’re not real, Nettie.”

“That’s exactly what they want you to think.” She leans closer to the exhibit. “What if trolls have been committing murders on cruise ships for years? Decades. Centuries, even. It’s the perfect crime—everyone blames the humans while the trolls run free.”

“That’s the most ridiculous theory you’ve ever had,” Bess says.

“Is it? Think about all the unsolved deaths on cruise ships. There must be hundreds. What if it’s been trolls this whole time?”

Ransom clears his throat. “The FBI would’ve noticed.”

“Would they? Or are the trolls just that good?” Nettie waggles her eyebrows. “I’m telling you, this one right here has shifty eyes.” She points to one that indeed has shifty eyes, and I swear they’re looking right at me. “He’s definitely guilty of something.”

“Nettie, you’ve truly outdone yourself,” I say, unable to hold back a laugh any longer.

“I aim to please.” She turns back to the troll, whom she’s all but dubbed her boyfriend. “I still think he’s a catch though. Like I said, I’ve always had a thing for bad boys.”

“Your late husband was a Vermont farmer,” Bess points out.

“He had a rebellious streak. He once planted corn where he was supposed to plant wheat. It was all very scandalous.”

Bess laughs. “Nettie, that’s a crop rotation, not rebellion.”

“Agree to disagree.”

We spend another twenty minutes listening to Nettie develop increasingly elaborate theories about troll involvement in maritime crimes. By the time we stumble back into the drizzly afternoon, I’m exhausted from laughing and Bess looks like she needs a stiff drink.

Marina, however, is nowhere to be seen.

“Do you think we should look for her?” Bess asks, craning her neck in the direction we saw her last.

I scan the tiny village—tourists browsing shops, taking photos, and living their non-murder-adjacent lives. “Maybe she’ll find us when she’s ready.”

But here’s what I’m afraid of—people don’t have furious phone conversations in alcoves unless those conversations are dangerous. And people don’t beg documentary producers to forget they exist unless they’ve got secrets worth killing for.

The trolls didn’t murder Gideon Vale—despite Nettie’s compelling evidence.

But someone did.

And I’m starting to wonder if Marina Maxwell knows who that could be.

CHAPTER 16

Bess, Nettie, Ransom, and I narrowly escape the great troll courtship of Isafjordur just in time to head out for our whale watching excursion.

We no sooner arrive at the dock than I spot Marina blending into a crowd of tourists boarding for the whale watching trip.

“Marina!” I call out and wave like mad until I catch her attention. And sure enough, I do.

Marina freezes, and her expression does some serious gymnastics before settling on a smile that doesn’t quite look natural. “Hey!” she says with a slight wave as she makes her way over. “I was just heading back to the ship.”

“Not on my watch,” Nettie says, threading her arm through the poor woman’s. “We’re a pod now. That’s what whales travel in, right? Pods?”

“I think that’s dolphins,” Bess says. “But maybe it’s whales, too.”

“Same difference.” Nettie flicks her wrist. “Marine mammals stick together.”