Sneak Peek!
Cruel Christmas Cruise
Book Description:
Nothing says “honeymoon” like stumbling over a dead body. And have I mentioned the ghost?
Cosmopolitan Magazine calls Addison's books, “…easy, frothy fun!”
Chapter 1
The Victim
I survey the Emerald Lounge like a queen inspecting her court, and what a sorry court it is.
The Carrington Academy fortieth class reunion is in full swing, and I’ve never seen a more pathetic parade of denial and surgical intervention in my life.
Crystal chandeliers drip overhead like frozen tears, their light catching on the gaudy gold tinsel wrapped around every available surface. Someone—probably that insufferable Tinsley from the ship’s decorating committee—has gone absolutely mad with the Christmas theme. Giant nutcrackers stand guard at each entrance, their dead eyes watching us all, while a tree that could rival Rockefeller Center dominates the room, its branches heavy with ornaments bearing our old school crest.
I sip my Holly Berry Special and hide my smirk behind the rim. The women have clearly raided every Botox clinic from here to Beverly Hills.
Holly Cresswell floats by with her face pulled so tight she could bounce quarters off her cheeks, while Ginger Garland’s lips have been inflated to the point of obscenity.
And the men? Oh, they’re trying just as hard with their hair plugs and spray tans. Alec Shepherd’s humanitarian award photos are his profile picture on every platform—I happen to know he donated exactly the minimum required for the photo op.
They think they’ve made it. They think their McMansions and trophy spouses have erased who they really are. But I know better. I know everything.
Like how Holly’s perfect husband didn’t just drop dead of a heart attack. Or how Alec’s empire is built on quicksand and cooked books. And sweet, innocent Ginger? If these people knew what really happened on that cliff five years ago…
I take another long pull of my cocktail, savoring the bite of cranberry and vodka. My phone buzzes with another notification—my latest post just hit a hundred thousand likes in under an hour. By tomorrow, I’ll have twice that, and by Christmas? Well, let’s just say this floating reunion is about to become the most explosive content my ten million followers have ever seen.
The music swells—some dreadful instrumental version of “Jingle Bells”—and I smile as I watch them all pretend they’re not terrified of me.
They should be.
In ten days, every skeleton in every designer closet will be dragged into the light.
What’s a felony or two among friends, after all? This room is practically a maximum-security prison’s worth of white-collar criminals in Armani.
I drain my glass in one final gulp, already planning my next exposé. But something feels—wrong.
My throat tightens.
The room tilts sideways, and the chandeliers blur into streaks of light.
My fingers claw at my neck as I stumble forward. The glass slips from my hand, shattering against the marble floor in a spray of red that looks disturbingly like blood.
As darkness creeps in from the edges of my vision, I see them—all of them—turning to stare. And in that moment, I realize someone has finally beaten me at my own game.
The last thing I hear is a woman screaming, and then nothing at all.
Chapter 2
Trixie
Emerald Queen of the Seas, Royal Lineage Cruise Lines
Itinerary
Trixie
The present…
Suddenly Hitched—What a Trip!
Hey there, mystery-loving readers!
Ready to join me aboard the Emerald Queen for a holly-jolly holiday cruise through the British Isles? I’ve packed my festive earrings (the icicle-shaped ones that double as weapons in a pinch) and my detective intuition! From Edinburgh’s misty castles to London’s twinkling markets, I’m determined to soak up every drop of Christmas cheer—along with plenty of hot chocolate with extra whipped cream.
Who knows what adventures await? Perhaps a friendly ghost or two in these ancient lands. After all, rumor has it that spirits (both the drinkable and supernatural) tend to be extra sociable during the holidays.
Here’s to making merry memories—and hopefully avoiding any untimely demises under the mistletoe!
XOXO Trixie
“Do you think they keep the naughty elves in a separate workshop?” Nettie asks as we weave through London’s Christmas-crazed streets. “Because I’m on the hunt for the hot ones. I call dibs on all the naughty elves from here to the North Pole!”
“You would,” Bess says, rolling her eyes at her bestie.
“Yeah, and you wouldn’t,” Nettie shoots back with a grin. “That’s what makes me the fun one!”
That might be a stretch since Bess is pretty fun too but it does wrap up those two in a nutshell pretty darn well.
Bess Chatterley and Nettie Butterworth happened to be my favorite octogenarians and they’re also a big part of the reason I live on the Emerald Queen of the Seas along with them.
My cheating ex would be the other significant reason I’ve taken to the high seas. But as bad as his cheating ways sound, I should probably pen him a thank you note. I much prefer my life now compared to living with him under one roof.
My name is Trixie Troublefield Baxter, and I’m staring down the barrel of fifty. I’m five feet five inches of unremarkable height with medium-length blonde hair and bangs cut in that blunt eighties style that refuses to die. Speaking of which, I can see the dead. It’s a long story.
The crisp December air nips at our cheeks as Bess, Nettie, my handsome husband Ransom, and I continue to walk, and I have to admit, London at Christmastime is nothing short of magical. Twinkle lights wrap around every lamppost, and the smell of roasted chestnuts mixes with fresh pine from the evergreens at the tree lots. And Big Ben chimes in the distance in all his old-world glory while competing with carolers dressed as Dicken’s characters on every corner.
“London at Christmas makes the North Pole look like amateur hour,” I say, threading my arm through Ransom’s as we dodge tourists who’ve decided the middle of the sidewalk is the perfect place for a photo op.
My handsome husband looks particularly delicious in his navy peacoat, his dark hair slightly tousled by the breeze. At fifty-four, he’s still as cutthroat handsome as can be and turning heads—not that I blame the women who do the double-takes. I’m rather fond of looking at him myself.
“Would you look at all this yuletide glory?” I continue in awe. “It’s stupendous!”
“Yup, whatever that is,” Nettie agrees.
“The North Pole called. They’d like their entire inventory back,” Bess quips with her red bob looking as if it’s immune to the wind. “Apparently Santa’s workshop has been cleaned out.”
“You think this is festive?” Nettie practically bounces along in her technicolor coat that looks as if it was tie-dyed in Christmas spirit. Her gray curls escape from under a purple beret embellished with an entire row of jingle bells—and boy, do those bells jingle—and she’s humming something that might be “Jingle Bells” but could also be anything from Madonna’s greatest hits. “Wait until you see how I plan on decorating my cabin back on the ship. The steward will need sunglasses just to drop off fresh towels.” She glances at my handsome hubby. “Oh honey,” she coos his way. “You’re glowing like Rudolph after too many energy drinks. Marriage clearly agrees with you.”
“Either that or he’s radioactive,” Bess laughs. “I’ve noticed the glow too.”
Ransom pulls me closer and drops a kiss on the top of my head. “When you’re lucky enough to marry the most amazing woman on the planet, it tends to show.”
“Careful there,” Bess warns. “Any more sweetness and we’ll all need some serious dental work.”
We share a quick laugh as we head to Covent Garden to meet with my son Parker, and my stomach can’t seem to stop doing little flips of excitement. Parker is a graduate student at Hollingsworth University out in Cambridge but he’s coming out to have lunch with us while the ship is in port.
The holiday market up ahead looks like Santa’s village on steroids with mistletoe-laced garland everywhere you look and a massive Christmas tree strewn with enough twinkle lights to guide a 747.
Street performers dressed as Victorian carolers belt out “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen” while a man in a Santa suit plays saxophone nearby, creating an eclectic mashup like only the holidays can. The scent of spiced cider and cinnamon drifts from every direction, mixing with the ever-present aroma of roasted chestnuts and something that might be burning fruitcake.
“Look at that window display,” Nettie exclaims, pointing to Harrods’ famous Christmas windows. “Those elves are wearing stilettos and sequins. Has the North Pole gone Vegas?”
“North Pole—The Vegas Residency,” Bess deadpans. “Coming to a department store near you. It sounds confusing.”
“Speaking of confusing—” Nettie says, dodging a group of tourists wielding selfie sticks like weapons. “Did you hear about the cruise ship Santa who got fired?”
“Don’t encourage her,” Bess warns, but there’s a smile tugging at her lips.
“He kept checking his list twice during working hours,” she finishes anyway. “HR said it was a clear case of OCD—Obsessive Christmas Disorder.”
Ransom groans while Bess actually chuckles.
“That was terrible,” Bess says. “But go ahead and tell another one.”
“Men are like Christmas cookies,” Nettie is quick to unleash another holiday pun. “Some are sweet but fall apart, others look fancy but taste awful.”
“And some give you food poisoning,” Bess adds dryly.
“And the best ones have a tough exterior but are warm and soft on the inside,” I add, squeezing Ransom’s arm.
“Smooth save,” he whispers, dropping a kiss on my temple.
“There he is!” I squeal, spotting Parker’s dark hair in the crowd. I dart forward, dodging tourists and street performers alike until I crash into my sweet son.
“Mom!” Parker laughs as I hug him tight.
“Let me look at you!” I step back to inspect my baby boy who’s a whole six inches taller than me. At twenty-four, he’s all Cambridge polish—complete with a tweed jacket, blue eyes with just the right hint of daredevil, and that same grin that used to mean trouble when he was little. I’m guessing it still means trouble—but trouble that I don’t want to know about.
“You look great, Mom.” He smiles before turning to Ransom. “So, how was the honeymoon?” His expression falls flat in less than a second. “Actually, forget I asked. I don’t want to know. Ever.”
We all laugh as Ransom claps him on the shoulder.
“Speaking of things better left unsaid”—Parker continues with his cheeks pinched pink—“I talked to Emerson. She sends her love.”
Emerson happens to be Ransom’s daughter who happens to be in college herself but she’s currently state-side, in Georgia to be exact. She also happens to be dating Parker. It’s relatively new and it’s still dizzying for me to wrap my head around. But they seem to be crazy in love. And seeing that Ransom hasn’t arranged for Parker to disappear, I’d say he approves too.
“When are you two going to make us grandparents?” Nettie blurts out.
I nearly choke while Bess lifts a finger. “Finally, someone’s asking the real questions.”
“Whoa,” Ransom and I say at the very same time. “They’ve got school to finish,” I add. “No one is even thinking about that yet.”
“Speak for yourself,” Bess mutters.
Parker, bless him, clears his throat. “Anyone hungry? I know a pub with amazing fish and chips.”
“Lead the way,” Bess says. “Nothing fixes awkward conversations like fried finger food.”
“The male survival playbook, page one,” Nettie says with a wink. “When the conversation gets deep, deploy the deep-fried diversion. My third husband once brought home an entire bucket of fried chicken and three boxes of donuts to avoid talking about his mother moving in.”
I’m about to comment when I spot my own diversion that makes me gasp.
It’s Wes I see cutting through the crowd right here in London, looking sharp in his captain’s uniform with enough brass buttons to blind all of England. The ship is actually docked in Greenwich, and lucky for us that’s just five miles from London.
And he’s not alone—he’s got a whole group trailing behind him, including two women practically attached to his arms, a blonde and a redhead.
“Well, well,” I mutter. “Look who’s collecting Christmas ornaments.”
“More like barnacles,” Nettie quips.
Wes spots us and heads over with his entourage in tow.
“Trixie! Ransom!” He beams. “Bess and Nettie! What a surprise!”
“Not half as surprising as your accessories,” I tease, nodding at the women clinging to him.
Wes is tall, has green eyes, and dimples you could dive into. He’s just as striking to look at as Ransom is, and he just so happens to be the captain of the Emerald Queen of the Seas.
Ransom is the head of vessel security. And fun fact? Wes was once married to Ransom’s sister. It’s all a bit twisted.
“Oh, you’re funny,” says the blonde on his right arm, her porcelain-perfect face framed by a sleek bob and her designer dress clearly chosen to highlight both wealth and cleavage. “I can see why Westie talks about you so much.”
“Westie?” Ransom raises an eyebrow at the cutesy moniker.
Ransom has known Wes for years and I bet he’s never heard anyone call him that.
Wes, whose formal name is Weston, actually manages to blush. “Everyone—these are my old high school classmates,” he says with a touch of pride.
“Who are you calling old?” the redhead taps him on the behind and the rest of them burst out with a laugh. But the redhead laughs the loudest with her perfectly styled crimson waves and a body-conscious cocktail dress that suggests both business meetings and bedroom negotiations. She carries herself with the confidence of someone who never accepts the first offer—but has the last word.
“My apologies,” Wes gives a gracious bow. “My good friends will be joining us on the cruise. It’s our fortieth class reunion.”
“Wes!” I gasp. “Why didn’t you tell us? Like maybe on the last cruise? This is huge!”
“You were on your honeymoon,” he protests. “I didn’t want to interrupt with tales of my impending midlife crisis disguised as nostalgia.”
“Who are you calling a midlife crisis?” the blonde demands with a laugh as her perfectly manicured nails dig into Wes’ arm as if she were claiming him. And judging by that lustful look in her eyes, I’d say she is.
“If the shoe fits”—Nettie murmurs—“although in this case, it looks more like a stiletto.”
“Now, now,” Bess says sweetly. “I’m sure Weston’s friends are just excited to see him again after all these years. And on a cruise no less. You kids are going to have the very best time.”
“Oh, we’re very excited,” the blonde purrs. “Aren’t we, Westie?” She licks her lips as she examines him and looks as if she’s going to devour him in three hasty bites. Honestly, I’m not sure Wes will survive it. The woman looks as if she eats men for breakfast.
Wes gives a good-natured laugh although I can tell her brazenness is making him rethink the entire reunion.
“Everyone, this is Mistletoe ‘Missy’ Thatch,” he quickly introduces the blonde, whose smile looks more like a shark circling its dinner.
“Mistletoe?” Parker whispers to me. “As in the botanical holiday matchmaker?”
“Call me Missy.” She nods, releasing Wes’ arm long enough to shake hands with each of us properly. “It’s lovely to meet you all. Westie has told us wonderful things about his friends on board. Haven’t you, Westie?” She turns to the others with a different tone entirely. “Although you left out the part about your midlife crisis.”
Wes laughs in response before nodding to the redhead. “And this is my good friend Ginger Garland.”
“Pleasure to meet you all,” Ginger says with genuine warmth. “Any friends of Weston’s are friends of ours.”
“And these two behind me are Holly Cresswell and Alec Shepherd,” Wes adds, gesturing to a strawberry blonde and distinguished silver-haired man standing slightly apart from the arm-clingers.
Holly steps forward with genuine warmth and extends her hand. “It’s lovely to meet you all. Wes has spoken very highly of his friends on board.”
“Especially you, Trixie,” Alec adds with a kind smile. “He says you have quite the talent for solving mysteries.”
“Oh yes,” Missy chimes in, her tone still perfectly pleasant toward us but with an edge when she glances at the strawberry blonde. “Holly here loves a good mystery too. Remember that time senior year when a certain someone’s diary went missing? Holly was quite the detective then, weren’t you?”
Holly’s expression tightens a bit. “That was so long ago, I hardly remember.”
“Some things never change,” Missy says with a growl before, turning back to us with that polished smile. “I do hope we’ll all get to know each other better on the cruise. It does sound like such fun.”
“Speaking of fun”—Ginger interjects—“remember that Christmas formal when Alec showed up in that ridiculous Santa suit with a skull and crossbones on the back? I thought Dean Morrison was going to have a stroke.”
“At least I didn’t spike the punch bowl,” Alec shoots back with a laugh.
“That was never proven,” Missy says with mock innocence, then adds to her classmates, “but we all know who really did it, don’t we?”
They all turn to Wes at once and Bess and I both gasp at the thought. Oddly enough neither Ransom nor Nettie is all that surprised.
“We’ll see you all on board,” Wes says, already being pulled away by his enthusiastic classmates. “Try not to find any dead bodies before we sail!”
Everyone laughs except me. My laugh comes out more like a strangled cough because I know all too well that dead bodies have a way of finding me, not the other way around.
“Such a kidder, our Westie,” Missy says pleasantly enough before turning to her classmates. “Although given our track record, maybe we should all sleep with one eye open.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ginger laughs. “The statute of limitations ran out years ago.”
Holly and Alec exchange a look before Holly speaks up. “Well, it was lovely meeting you all. Alec and I were just heading to Footstone & Belvedere for tea. Would anyone care to join us?”
“That’s very kind,” I say, genuinely appreciating the offer from the two who seem the most normal of the bunch.
“We’d love to,” Missy answers before anyone else can speak. “But Wes promised to show us his favorite spots in London. Didn’t you, Westie?”
Wes looks about as enthusiastic as a man heading to his own execution. “I did, yes. Perhaps another time?”
“Definitely,” Alec says warmly. “Enjoy your tour.”
We wave goodbye and start toward the pub with Parker leading the way through the crowded streets. Christmas shoppers bustle past with bags from Liberty and Selfridges, and somewhere nearby, a street musician is murdering “Silent Night” on what sounds like a broken accordion.
“Well, that was interesting,” Nettie says once we’re out of earshot. “I give it two days before someone pushes Missy overboard.”
“Nettie!” Bess scolds, but honestly, I’m thinking the same thing.
“What?” Nettie shrugs. “I’m just saying what we’re all thinking. I know her type. That woman’s got more secrets than a CIA file cabinet. She’s a menace.”
“She was perfectly nice to us,” Ransom points out. “It’s her own friends she seems to have a bit of tension with.”
“Did you see how she kept calling him Westie?” Bess asks. “It’s as if she was trying to stake her claim. And he is single. She just might be.”
“Or trying to annoy the other women,” Nettie suggests. “I knew a woman like that once. She ended up stealing her best friend’s husband just to prove she could—and that best friend was me.”
As we continue our way through the bustling street, I glance back one more time at Wes and his friends. They’re about half a block away now, but something catches my eye that makes me stop dead in my tracks.
Two translucent figures float near Holly and Alec. A woman with blonde hair styled in soft waves, wearing what looks like a cashmere sweater. The man is tall and athletic with dark hair and the confidence of someone who looks as if he’s used to being in charge.
My stomach drops faster than a lead anchor.
“Mom?” Parker’s voice breaks through my supernatural stupor. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Two to be exact but I’ll never admit it, not to Parker anyway. He’s the only one in our little group who doesn’t know about my supernatural quirk. And I intend to keep it that way.
“Trixie?” Ransom’s hand finds the small of my back. “Everything okay?”
“Yes.” I force myself to form a somewhat convincing smile. “Just thought I saw someone I knew.”
“Well, whoever it was, they can wait,” Nettie declares. “I’m starving, and Parker promised us the best fish and chips in London.”
“Right this way,” Parker says with a cheerful laugh.
I try to focus on the here and now—the Christmas lights twinkling overhead, the sound of Big Ben in the distance, the warmth of Ransom’s hand in mine. But my mind keeps circling back to those ghosts.
Two ghosts. A double haunting.
One ghost means murder. But two?
“You’re awfully quiet,” Ransom murmurs as we follow Parker down a narrow side street.
“Just thinking about the cruise,” I say, which is true enough. “Something tells me this reunion is going to be more eventful than anyone expects.”
“When is anything on that ship not eventful?” he asks with a wry smile. “But whatever happens, we’ll handle it together.”
I squeeze his hand, mentally filing away his optimism for when I’m knee-deep in my next unauthorized investigation.
Two ghosts mean double trouble, and that’s one Christmas present I definitely didn’t ask for.
If there’s anything worse than one holiday spirit at sea, it’s two. And something tells me this Christmas cruise is about to serve up more than eggnog and carols.
As we duck into the cozy pub with the smell of beer-battered fish and vinegar wrapping around us like a warm blanket, I can’t shake the feeling that those ghosts aren’t just a couple of random spirits.
They’re a dark harbinger of things to come.
And whatever is coming, we’re sailing right into it.
***I hope you enjoyed this preview! Thank you for reading!****