Chapter 3
Chapter Three
M el stood in the kitchen of their vacation apartment, measuring coffee beans with the precision of a chemist. The sun had barely risen, painting the sky in soft pinks visible through the open sliding glass doors. Palm fronds swayed lazily in the early morning breeze, casting dancing shadows across the balcony. Through the doors, the distant sound of waves breaking against the shore provided a gentle rhythm to the quiet morning. It was a perfect start to another day in paradise, and Mel loved it all.
She had always been an early riser. It was a habit from her detective days that refused to fade even in retirement. But now, instead of rushing to crime scenes, she spent her mornings perfecting her coffee technique. Today, though, it was her detective instincts that had her up especially early. She simply could not shake the uneasy feeling she had about the agitated neighbor across the courtyard. Pushing his unusual behavior from her mind again, she counted the seconds as the coffee grinder hummed quietly. Eighteen seconds exactly for the perfect coarse grind needed for the French press she had packed in her suitcase from the mainland. Helen often teased her about being a coffee snob, but Mel noticed she never complained about the results.
She gathered ingredients for two omelets. Eggs, cheese, and the fresh vegetables they had bought at the local market yesterday. Although she had always enjoyed grilling food, cooking was something she had discovered she enjoyed after retiring. It gave her the same satisfaction as solving a case. Following recipes, gathering ingredients, and creating something worthwhile ultimately made her happy.
“I smell coffee,” Helen said from the bedroom doorway. She padded into the kitchen wearing a light-yellow terryclothrobe, her hair charmingly mussed. “You’re up extra early.”
Mel’s heart did that familiar skip it always did when she saw Helen in the morning. It was like every day she was surprised at her good luck in finding the beautiful, cheerful woman. “Couldn’t sleep,” she admitted, pouring hot water over the coffee grounds. “Thought I’d make us breakfast.”
Helen came up behind her, wrapping her arms around Mel’s ample waist and pressing a kiss between her shoulder blades. “You’re thinking about our neighbor, aren’t you?”
“Maybe,” Mel said, setting the timer for the French press. She turned in Helen’s embrace, taking in the warm brown eyes she had fallen for six months ago. “But I’m also thinking about making you the perfect omelet.”
“My hero,” Helen smiled and pecked Mel on the lips. “Though I notice you didn’t deny thinking about the neighbor.”
Mel chuckled before sliding away to open the refrigerator. “Would it do any good?”
“No,” Helen admitted, settling onto one of the barstools at the kitchen counter. “But I appreciate that you considered it.”
Mel moved with practiced efficiency as she sliced mushrooms for the omelet before moving on to cracking the eggs. “What kind of writer did you say he looked like?” Helen asked, watching Mel in action.
“I didn’t,” Mel replied, starting to whisk the eggs. “But based on his typing patterns and the way he kept checking over his shoulder, I’d guess something controversial. Maybe investigative journalism.”
Helen’s lips curved into a knowing smile. “And the red-haired woman who visited him?”
“Not a local. Someone he knew but not particularly friendly with because he didn’t relax. From the pantsuit, I’d guess she was there more for business than pleasure,” Mel said, then caught herself. “Sorry. Force of habit.”
“Don’t apologize,” Helen said softly. “I love watching your mind work.”
The timer dinged, and Mel pushed down the French press plunger with careful force. She poured them each a cup, adding a touch of cream to Helen’s and leaving hers black. The familiar ritual grounded her, even as her mind wanted to race ahead with theories about their neighbor. “Perfect, as always,” Helen said after her first sip. “Though I still don’t understand how you can drink it black.”
“Years of bad precinct coffee,” Mel explained. “You either learn to drink it black or give up coffee altogether.” She set the bowl of eggs aside. “How about we enjoy this coffee on the balcony for a few minutes?”
Helen raised an eyebrow. “You wouldn’t want to do that to check on our neighbor, would you?”
“I plead the fifth,” Mel said, carrying her mug toward the sliding glass doors. As soon as she was outside, a movement caught her eye. Across the courtyard, the window blinds were open, and their neighbor was back at his desk. He looked even more of a mess than the night before. His typing seemed more frantic, his movements sharp and jerky.
“He’s back at it,” Helen observed as she joined her, following Mel’s gaze. “And he looks worse.”
Mel nodded. “No sleep, based on the way he’s moving. And he keeps checking his phone.”
“Waiting for something? Or afraid of something?”
“Could be both,” Mel said before taking a sip of her perfect coffee. “But we’re on vacation, so no mysteries, no investigations.”
Helen gave her a knowing look. “Says the woman who’s been analyzing his behavior in her head since she woke up.”
“I’m just curious by nature,” Mel said with a shrug.
“Mmhmm,” Helen hummed as she enjoyed her coffee. “And what time are we taking those macadamia nuts over?”
Mel couldn’t help but smile at Helen’s casual acceptance of what they both knew would happen. “I was thinking around ten? Give him time to get settled into whatever he’s working on.”
“Sounds perfect,” Helen agreed. “That gives us time to enjoy breakfast and get cleaned up. And maybe you can tell me more about what else you’ve been theorizing.”
“You know,” Mel said, reaching for Helen’s hand. “A year ago, I never would have imagined this. Having breakfast in Hawaii, planning to investigate a mysterious neighbor with someone who actually understands why I can’t just let it go.”
Helen squeezed her hand. “A year ago, I never would have imagined falling in love with a retired detective who makes the perfect cup of coffee and can’t help but solve mysteries.” She paused, her eyes twinkling. “Though I did imagine Hawaii. Just not quite like this.”
* * *
As she finished the divine-tasting omelet Mel made for her, Helen’s phone buzzed on the kitchen counter, the screen lighting up with her eldest daughter Diane’s smiling face. “Good morning, sweetheart,” Helen said, answering the phone and moving toward the balcony. She slipped into one of the chairs and relaxed.
“Mom, how’s Hawaii? Are you being careful? Are you using sunscreen?” Diane’s questions made Helen smile. At thirty-eight, her eldest daughter seemed to think their roles were reversed.
“Everything’s wonderful,” Helen assured her, settling into one of the cushioned chairs. “The weather’s perfect, the ocean’s beautiful, and Mel’s already got a sunburn despite my best efforts.”
There was a slight pause on the other end. “And how is Mel?” Diane’s voice held careful neutrality. While both her daughters had been supportive when Helen introduced them to Mel, she knew they were still adjusting to the idea of their mother in a new relationship.
“She’s good. Made me a wonderful breakfast. She’s quite the cook.” Helen watched through the glass as Mel cleaned up the kitchen. “You’d really like her if you gave her more of a chance, Diane.”
Another pause. “I know, Mom. It’s just all so… unexpected,” Diane said as her voice trailed off.
“I never expected it either,” Helen said softly. “But sometimes life surprises you in the best ways.”
The sound of waves in the distance filled the silence between them. “Are you happy?” Diane finally asked. “Really happy?”
“Yes,” Helen said without hesitation. “More than I’ve been in a very long time.” She watched as Mel glanced her way, offering a small smile. “She takes care of me but lets me be independent. Makes me laugh. Challenges me to try new things.”
“Like what?” Diane asked.
“Well, I’m going snorkeling tomorrow,” Helen said, chuckling at her daughter’s surprised gasp. “I know, I know. Your mother, who barely puts her face in the shower spray, is going to breathe through a tube in the ocean.”
Another pause. “Are you sure you should be doing that?”
Helen took a deep breath, reminding herself thatDiane only meant well. “I’m sure,” Helen answered. “I’ll have Mel take pictures.”
There was a flash of movement from the neighbor’s apartment. Helen looked to see the man pacing with his phone to his ear. “Mom?” Diane’s voice brought her attention back to the call. “Is everything really okay? You seem a little distracted.”
Helen considered how to explain their current situation. “Everything’s fine, sweetheart. We just have an... interesting neighbor. Mel thinks something might be wrong, but you know how detectives are. They see mysteries everywhere.”
“And you’re getting involved?” Diane’s sounded even more concerned. “Mom, you’re supposed to be on vacation.”
“We’re just being observant,” Helen said, using Mel’s words from earlier. “Besides, I trust Mel’s instincts. She was a detective for thirty years.”
“Just be careful, okay?” Diane sighed, and her voice softened. “I know you’re an adult and can make your own decisions, but you’re still my mom. I worry.”
Helen smiled. “I know you do, sweetheart. And I love you for it,” she said. “But I promise we’re being careful. Mel would never let anything happen to me.” Through the glass, she saw Mel making notes on a small pad, probably documenting their neighbor’s behavior. The sight made her smile widen. Some habits never changed.
“You really love her, don’t you?”
“I do,” Helen admitted. “Very much. It surprised me too, you know. Falling in love right now. But sometimes the heart knows better than the head.”
“Well,” Diane said after a moment, “I suppose I should meet her properly then. Maybe when you get back, you could both visit? The kids would love to see their grandmother, and, well, I’d like to get to know Mel better.”
Helen felt her heart swell. “We’d love that, sweetheart. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I am happy that you are happy, and now I won’t keep you from your vacation any longer,” Diane said, her tone back to business. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
After they hung up, Helen sat on the balcony and processed the conversation. She heard movement behind her. “Everything okay?” Mel asked, appearing in the doorway with a fresh cup of coffee for Helen.
Helen accepted the cup gratefully, breathing in the smooth aroma. “Yes,” she said, smiling at her partner. “Diane invited us to visit when we get back.”
Mel’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Really? That’s good, right?”
“Very good,” Helen confirmed, reaching for Mel’s hand. “Though she’s a bit concerned we’re getting involved in a mystery on our vacation.”
“We’re not getting involved,” Mel replied. Then she glanced at their neighbor’s apartment, where the man was still on his phone. “We’re just...”
“Being observant?” Helen finished, her eyes twinkling.
Mel laughed, squeezing her hand. “Exactly. Now, should we start getting ready to be neighborly?”
Helen kept their fingers intertwined. “Lead the way, detective,” she said. “But first, kiss me good morning properly. Our neighbor’s mystery can wait five minutes.”
* * *
At precisely ten o’clock, Mel stood beside Helen in front of their neighbor’s door, the box of macadamia nuts in her hands feeling like a flimsy excuse for what was essentially surveillance. As she lifted her hand to ring the doorbell, she noted the apartment number—327—and rang the bell. “Here we go,” Helen whispered. Before Mel could reply, the rapid typing sounds from within ceased abruptly. Footsteps approached, sounding slightly hesitant. The door opened partially, secured by a chain lock, and their neighbor peered through the gap.
His bloodshot eyes darted between them. “Yes?” His voice was hoarse, matching his unkept appearance. Mel couldn’t miss the man’s oily gray hair and the fact he wore the same Hawaiian shirt as the day before. There were dark circles under his eyes and beads of sweat forming along his hairline despite the morning’s cool air.
“Hi there,” Helen said warmly, stepping slightly forward. “We’re your neighbors from just across the courtyard. We couldn’t help but notice you seemed to be working hard and thought you might like a treat.”
The man’s eyes narrowed, but Mel caught the quick scan he did of the hallway behind them. “That’s, um, that’s very kind,” he said, but didn’t unfasten the chain.
“I’m Helen Hardy, and this is Mel Nelson,” Helen continued smoothly. “Forgive us for being nosy, but we couldn’t help but notice you typing away at all hours. Are you a writer?”
The man blinked but didn’t say anything for a beat. For a moment, Mel thought the man might slam the door on them, but then he sighed. “One second,” he said before closing the door to reopen it again with the chain unfastened. One hand remained behind the door, making Mel wonder if he still held his phone. “James Abramson.” He accepted the box of nuts with his free hand. “And yes, I’m a journalist. Sports.”
Mel noted the qualifier ‘sports’ and how his eyes seemed to tense when he said it. “Must be an important story,” she commented casually. “To keep you up all night.”
Abramson’s fingers tightened on the box. “Deadline,” he said shortly. Then, seeming to remember his manners. “Would you like to come in for a moment? I just made coffee.”
“That would be lovely,” Helen answered as she stepped inside without hesitation. Mel had to work hard not to smile at how smoothly her partner had gotten them access. The apartment was a mirror image of their own, but where theirs was neat and organized, his was cluttered with papers, takeout containers, and the scent of old coffee. The living area looked barely used. Through the open door to the bedroom, Mel saw the man’s laptop sat on the desk, screen carefully angled away from view.
Mel motioned toward the desk. “That’s a lot of paperwork,” she said, noting the multiple notebooks scattered across the desk and onto the floor. “Must be more than just box scores you’re working on.”
Abramson’s laugh held no humor. “You could say that.” He moved to the small kitchen, his movements slow as he reached for coffee mugs. “How do you take it?”
“Black,” Mel replied, watching as he poured with unsteady hands. Helen declined politely, and Mel noticed the woman’s subtle positioning near the couch, giving them both clear views of the room.
“James,” Helen said, her voice carrying that gentle warmth that could easily get people talking. “Are you here on vacation or work?”
“Both, sort of,” Abramson said, handing Mel her coffee. “Needed somewhere quiet to finish this story. Somewhere out of the way. And you two?”
Mel smiled. “Vacation,” she replied. “We’re retired and decided to soak up some sun.”
Nodding, Abramson met Mel’s eye. “Retired from?”
Feeling like the man had already guessed her past profession, Mel didn’t see any reason to hide the truth. “Los Angeles Police Department.”
“She was a detective,” Helen added, and Mel heard the pride in her voice.
Before Abramson could comment, a phone buzzed, and he nearly dropped his coffee. The flash of fear across his face was unmistakable as he pulled the cell phone from the pocket of his wrinkled shorts. He checked the screen, his complexion going slightly pale before he quieted the call.
“Everything okay?” Mel asked, though she already knew the answer.
“Fine,” he said too quickly. “Just my editor. Always pushing deadlines, you know how it is.” Although not an author like Helen, Mel did understand deadlines, and that wasn’t the look of someone dealing with an impatient editor. That was the look of someone who might have seen something they shouldn’t have and was now in over their head.
“Must be quite a story,” Mel pressed, taking a sip of the surprisingly decent coffee. “To bring you all the way to Hawaii to write it.”
Abramson’s eyes met hers, and for a moment, she saw something calmer there. “Sometimes the best stories are the ones that don’t want to be told.”
The phone buzzed again, and this time Mel caught a glimpse of the screen in his hand. A generic-looking text message, like it was automated and not an actual person. Looking far less agitated, Abramson gently turned the phone face-down. “I think I need to get back to work,” he said. “Thank you for the gift.”
“Of course,” Helen said with a smile. “Thank you for the coffee.”
“Sure,” Abramson said, already moving toward the door. But then he paused, turning to look at them. “You said you’re right across the courtyard?”
Mel nodded. “We are,” Mel said. “Same floor and everything.”
She noted a mix of fear and calculation in the man’s expression. “Good to know,” he said softly, more to himself than them, before nodding. “Thanks again for the nuts. And the company.”