Page 17 of Viking Vengeance Cruise

I’d salute, but my hands are full of croissant. Priorities.

Bess and Nettie appear at that exact moment, guardian angels wielding breakfast plates.

Well, Bess is the guardian angel. Nettie is chaos in a muumuu. More to the point, she’s a hurricane about to make landfall.

Their plates are absolutely ridiculous in the most delicious way possible.

Bess has pancakes four high with a mountain of whipped cream starting to slide sideways, a syrup situation bordering on a swimming pool, a tidy scattering of donut holes, and an entire jar’s worth of strawberry preserves.

Nettie has waffles, a three-donut tower that has no business standing, more bacon than should be legal in international waters, and a bowl of fruit salad balanced on top, destined for the floor. Nettie uses the words balanced meal every bit as loosely as I do.

“Well, if it isn’t Quinn Riddle, the only puzzle nobody wants to finish,” Nettie says with a wink as she plops into a chair. “What does the Ice Queen want now?”

Quinn’s jaw tightens. “I was just leaving.”

“Oh, don’t leave on our account,” Nettie says with a smile that’s all teeth and zero warmth. “Bess and I were just talking about Trixie.”

“I’m sure you were,” Quinn says coolly.

I do my best to shrink in my seat. With Nettie steering this conversation, we could end up anywhere. None of it good, I’m guessing.

“Yep.” Nettie deposits her plate with a decisive thunk. “We were discussing how Trixie’s basically a serial killer who keeps getting away with it. Bodies just pile up wherever she goes.” She pauses for dramatic effect. “You know what that means, don’t you?”

Quinn’s eyes narrow. “What.”

“It means you should watch your back, Bun Head.” Nettie grins wider. “Trixie’s on a roll. And there’s no use tattling to the cruise line about it either, because they’ve already fired and rehired both her and her husband. Multiple times. So clearly, they don’t care.”

“They care about lawsuits,” Quinn fires back.

“And yet here we all are,” Bess observes mildly. “Still employed. Still breathing. Well, most of us.”

Nettie leans forward conspiratorially. “So face it, Bun Head, you’re stuck with her.”

Bess nods sagely. “And if I were you, I’d definitely watch my back.”

Quinn gasps. An honest-to-goodness gasp, her face going even paler than usual, which I didn’t think was possible without medical intervention. She spins on her heel and stalks off toward the elevators, her spine rigid with fury.

We all watch her go in satisfied silence. Even her exit looks freshly pressed.

“That was beautiful,” I say.

“That was necessary,” Nettie corrects, already carving into her waffles. “Someone needed to put her in her place.”

“I don’t think you put her in her place so much as terrorized her.”

“Same thing.”

Marina looks between us with wide eyes. “Do you always antagonize ship security like that?”

“Only when they deserve it,” Bess says, popping a donut hole into her mouth.

“Which is always,” Nettie adds. “It’s a full-time job. No benefits, but the hours are flexible.”

Marina takes the three of us in. Somewhere in her head, a mental note is writing itself: never cross the octogenarians. And maybe not Trixie, either.

We settle into eating, and I’m halfway through my hash browns when I spot Elodie weaving through the tables toward us. She’s impossible to miss. Her hair has somehow negotiated a truce with the wind, her white linen pants have survived the breakfast buffet unscathed, and she’s wearing a coral silk top I couldn’t afford with a year of my art-supply budget. She moves through the crowd fully aware that every eye is on her and completely unbothered by it. She’s also carrying a mimosa, which seems ambitious for ten in the morning but very on brand. In Elodie’s world, orange juice is a garnish.

Elodie Abernathy manages the Queen’s Mall, hails from South Africa, and is the most prolific man-eater this side of Nettie Butterworth, which is really saying something, considering Nettie’s track record. She’s also one of my best friends on this ship, which means I forgive her for most things.