Page 56 of Fire and Ice Cruise

He gives an amused smile. “Mine stops somewhere around 1985, so you’re way ahead of me.”

We share a quick laugh at the thought.

The observation lounge is empty except for us and the view from the windows is showcasing Iceland’s rugged cliffs and black sand beaches. Afternoon light pours through the glass, sharpening everything and turning it silver. The corridor is empty this time of day, that particular mid-afternoon quiet when most passengers are still at activities and the ship feels briefly like it belongs to no one.

Celeste shimmers in a shower of baby pink sparkles that would make a fairy godmother jealous.

I take a good look at her and gasp.

If I didn’t know better, I’d think Elodie dressed her. I don’t see why not—she practically dresses me.

The ghost in question is wearing a different outfit now—some kind of fitted white dress that screams designer even in death, her platinum blonde hair styled in those perfect waves that look effortless but aren’t. She’s stunning in that old-Hollywood way, all cheekbones and red lips and the kind of figure that made men beg for things on their knees.

And she happens to be looking at Silas like he’s a five-course meal and she hasn’t eaten in decades.

Which, technically, she hasn’t.

“Oh my,” Celeste purrs, circling him slowly. “Isn’t he just delicious. Look at those shoulders. And that salt-and-pepper hair situation? He’s devastating in all the right ways.”

I keep my expression neutral. Hard to do when a dead woman is practically drooling over your murder suspect.

“I’m sorry,” I say to Silas, ignoring Celeste’s commentary. “About the loss of your friend. This must be incredibly hard.”

Something flickers across his face. Grief, perhaps—or a good imitation of it.

“Gideon wasn’t exactly a friend. More of a professional acquaintance. But yes, it’s been difficult. Especially for Holland. She feels responsible somehow, even though she had nothing to do with what happened.”

“Of course she didn’t.” I watch him carefully. “Nobody thinks she did.”

“Good.” He turns back to the window and his reflection looks ghostly in the glass. “Because Holland wouldn’t hurt anyone. She’s the most genuine person I know. Everything she does comes from a place of wanting to help people transform their lives.”

Celeste zooms in close to the man. “Such conviction. Such passion. I do love a man who defends his woman.” She swoons and pretends to faint.

Ghosts can’t faint, can they?

Regardless, I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

“The Second Act Society seems like an amazing program,” I tell him.

“It is.” Silas’s voice warms up when he says it. “Holland threw herself into it the moment we joined. That’s how she is. She can’t do anything halfway. Gideon built something real with this group and Holland just—she needed it to mean something, you know? Not just for us but for everyone in it.”

“Unlike Gideon?” I’m just taking a stab at it.

The question hangs there between us a moment too long.

Silas’s jaw tightens. “Gideon cared about his bottom line. About creating content that would go viral, get views, generate buzz. He didn’t care who got hurt in the process. At the end of the day, this was a business to him. It may not have started out like that, but it sure ended that way.”

“Sounds like you didn’t care for him much.” I might be pushing my luck with that one, but here’s hoping I’m lucky indeed.

“I didn’t trust him.” Silas turns to face me fully, and his expression is completely earnest. “Look, I don’t speak ill of the dead as a general rule. But Gideon Vale made a career out of exposing people’s worst moments. Dragging them back into the spotlight when they were trying to move forward. He called it ‘truth-telling.’ I called it exploitation.”

Celeste fans herself with all the drama a dead diva can afford. “Would you look at all this righteous anger. The protective husband energy. Be still, my non-beating heart.”

I do my best to tune her out. “Did he exploit someone you know?”

“He tried to.” Silas’s hands curl into fists at his sides. “Nicolette Devereaux. You know her, right? The lawyer from the Society?”

I nod. Nicolette with her designer wardrobe and sharp wit and carefully cultivated air of sophistication. I really do like her.