Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
R eturning from their perfect day and wonderful dinner, Mel waited with Helen in the resort lobby for the elevator. Through the large windows, Mel saw the sky already darkening into twilight after a magical day. Helen took her hand and leaned closer. “Thank you again for everything,” she said. “This was the most beautiful vacation day I’ve ever had.”
Before Mel could respond, voices approached from around the corner. One of them Mel recognized as their anxious neighbor, Abramson, but the other voice was new. It sounded female, authoritative, and with an East Coast accent. Mel felt Helen’s hand tighten in hers as their neighbor appeared. After a beat, Mel realized he was accompanied by the red-haired woman they had last seen visiting his apartment. Abramson pulled up short when he saw them, his familiar disheveled appearance seeming to wilt further. In contrast, the woman beside him, dressed impeccably in a lightweight cream linen business suit, maintained perfect composure. When their eyes met, the woman gave Mel a tight smile.
“Oh, hello,” Abramson said, his voice strained. He cleared his throat. “Good evening, neighbors.” The elevator dinged its arrival, doors sliding open to reveal empty space. Mel watched as the red-haired woman gestured for Abramson to enter first, the movement subtle but commanding. Helen followed, gently tugging Mel along, and finally the red-haired woman stepped in, positioning herself between Abramson and the door. “What floor?” she asked with cool politeness, though her finger had already pressed the button for the third floor.
“The third,” Helen replied with equal politeness. “We’re on the same floor as Mr. Abramson.”
The woman’s green eyes sharpened with interest. “How lovely. I’m Felicity Coedy, James’s agent.”
Mel noticed how Abramson flinched at her introduction. “Helen Hardy,” Helen said, then gestured to her companion. “And this is Mel Nelson.”
“Pleasure,” Felicity murmured, though her attention had already shifted back to Abramson. “So, are we clear, James? Our agreed deadline isn’t flexible. Everyone has been more than patient.”
Abramson glanced at Mel and Helen, coloring a little as if embarrassed to be having the conversation in front of them. “It’s not ready,” he muttered. “The story needs more... verification.”
Felicity seemed to have no qualms about having what Mel thought was a rather private discussion for an elevator ride with strangers. “Verification?” The woman’s laugh held no humor. “We’ve been over this,” she said. “The story is fine as it is. Perfect, even. Unless you’re suggesting there’s something you haven’t shared with me?”
The elevator seemed to move slower than usual, the tension making the small space feel airless. Mel watched the floor numbers illuminate one by one, her detective’s instincts recording every detail of the conversation her neighbor and his agent were having. It was almost as if Felicity positioned herself to intimidate Abramson, while the man kept glancing at the emergency stop button. There was a slight tremor in his hands. “I just need more time,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Felicity smoothed an invisible wrinkle from her jacket. “Time isn’t something we have in abundance, and you know it.” Mel felt Helen shift closer to her, clearly trying to appear casual while witnessing a private conversation. The elevator reached their floor, and the doors opened.
With what looked like a forced smile, Felicity gestured for Mel and Helen to exit first. “It was lovely meeting you,” she said. “I do hope you’re enjoying your vacation.”
“Thank you,” Mel said as they stepped out. “Have a nice evening.”
As they walked away, Mel heard Felicity’s voice drop lower, clearly meant only for Abramson, but carrying in the open-air corridor. “Remember what we discussed,” the woman hissed. “Make the right choice.”
The walk to their apartment felt longer than usual. Once inside, Helen immediately moved to the sliding glass doors. “Well,” she said softly. “That was interesting.”
Mel joined her at the window, wrapping an arm around Helen’s waist. “Very. Did you notice how he reacted when she pressed him about time?”
“I noticed how she positioned herself between him and the door,” Helen replied. “Almost like she was preventing him from running when they opened.”
“Exactly.” Mel’s mind was already connecting the dots. “She seemed very interested in his story being finished.”
Helen turned to face her. “But wouldn’t that be normal? Or do you think she’s more than just his agent?”
“I think nothing about this situation is what it seems.” Mel watched as Felicity and Abramson appeared in front of the window. The woman was talking, her gestures sharp and commanding, while Abramson slumped into his chair beside his desk. “First his daughter flies in to convince him to drop the story. Then we see that pale man in the suit checking in with suspicious luggage. Now his agent shows up, clearly here to pressure our poor sportswriter.”
“About deadlines,” Helen added. “Though somehow, I don’t think she was just talking about publishing dates.”
Mel nodded, pulling Helen closer. “No, I don’t think she was either.” They watched as Felicity finally appeared to have left Abramson’s apartment. Abramson immediately slumped forward, burying his face in his hands. “Whatever story he’s working on, it’s big enough to attract some serious attention.”
“Dangerous attention?” Helen asked softly.
“Maybe.” Mel pressed a kiss to Helen’s temple, trying to reassure her. “But we’re just observers right now. No need to get further involved.”
Helen gave a slight laugh. “Says the woman who’s already profiled everyone involved and probably has a pair of theories about what’s really going on.”
“Three theories, actually,” Mel admitted with a small smile. “But who’s counting?”
They stood together, watching as Abramson returned to his laptop, his typing more frantic than ever. The sun had started to set, painting the sky in brilliant oranges and pinks, but their neighbor seemed oblivious to the world outside his window. His focus was entirely on whatever story had people after him.
“I love you,” Helen said suddenly, turning in Mel’s arms. “Even when you can’t help solving mysteries on our vacation.”
Mel felt her heart swell with familiar warmth. “I love you too,” she replied. “Even when you enable my worst habits.”
“They’re not your worst habits,” Helen said, reaching to touch Mel’s cheek. “They’re what make you you.”
* * *
Standing in Mel’s arms, Helen watched through the sliding glass doors as the last rays of sunlight painted Abramson’s apartment in deep shadows. His desk lamp created a harsh circle of light around him, making him look isolated and vulnerable. Despite Mel’s earlier assurance about being just observers, when Helen glanced at her, she knew her partner well enough to recognize the familiar signs of her detective mind working overtime. “You should see your face right now,” Helen said softly. “And I can practically hear the gears turning.”
Mel’s arms tightened slightly around her waist. “Is it that obvious?”
“Perhaps only to someone who loves you,” Helen replied. “Want to share what you’re thinking?” Before Mel could answer, Helen’s phone buzzed in her pocket. When she fished it out, the screen showed her youngest daughter calling. “I want to take this,” Helen said to Mel, already stepping away.
“Of course,” Mel said a moment before Helen answered.
“Hi, sweetheart.” She opened the sliding glass doors to sit on one of the chairs on their small balcony.
“Mom. Diane told me about your mysterious neighbor,” Jenny said without preamble. “Please tell me you’re not actually investigating something on your vacation.”
With a small sigh, Helen tried to keep her voice light. “We’re not investigating anything, dear. We’re just being observant neighbors.”
“Uh-huh,” Jenny’s skepticism carried clearly through the phone. “And I suppose you being partnered with a retired detective has nothing to do with this ‘observation’?”
“Jenny,” Helen said, reminding herself her daughters only meant well. “Everything’s fine. We’re having a wonderful vacation. The weather’s perfect, the ocean’s beautiful—”
“Diane’s worried about you, you know,” Jenny interrupted. “We both are.”
Helen rubbed her temple, watching Abramson make another frantic phone call, his gestures sharp with anxiety. “I appreciate your concern, but I’m perfectly safe. Mel would never let anything happen to me.”
“That’s not—” Jenny paused, and Helen pictured her frustrated daughter running a hand through her hair, a gesture she’d had since childhood. “Mom, you’re supposed to be relaxing, not getting involved in whatever this is.”
“We’re not involved,” Helen insisted, though even she had to admit it was becoming less true by the moment. “We just happened to notice some odd behavior, that’s all.”
“From your neighbor who is acting weird,” Jenny said a little sharply. “Because that’s totally normal vacation stuff.”
“Jenny, sweetheart,” Helen said, taking on a more parental tone. “I promise we’re being careful. There’s nothing to worry about.”
“Mom,” Jenny’s voice softened. “I know you’re capable of making your own decisions. And I know Mel will protect you. Just be careful, okay? Both of you.”
“We will,” Helen promised. “I love you, sweetheart.”
After ending the call, Helen leaned back against the patio chair cushions, letting out a long breath. “Children,” she muttered as Mel joined her on the balcony and sat in the chair beside her.
“Everything okay?” Mel asked. “Is Jenny threatening to put you under surveillance?”
Helen laughed. “Nothing that drastic,” she said. “But she and Diane are worried.” She watched Abramson pace in his apartment. “What do you really think is going on, Mel? With him, his daughter, and that agent?”
Mel was quiet for a moment, her expression thoughtful. “I think Felicity Coedy has only her interests at heart. I didn’t get a sense she cared much about her client’s wellbeing.”
“She acted like someone used to getting her way, that’s for sure,” Helen added. “And whatever James is writing, it’s hot stuff.”
“Exactly,” Mel said. “I think whatever story he’s writing, it’s dangerous enough to attract a lot of attention.” She frowned. “The kind that makes a successful journalist look over his shoulder and jump at shadows.”
The night air had grown cooler, and Helen pulled her legs under her. “Should we be worried?”
“About Abramson? Maybe.” Mel slid an arm along the back of Helen’s chair and wrapped it around her. “About us? No. We’re just tourists who happened to notice some strange behavior. That’s it.”
But even as she said it, Helen sensed the tension in Mel’s body, the way her eyes kept tracking movement in Abramson’s apartment. She knew they were past the point of being casual observers.
* * *
As Mel sat with Helen on the balcony, she found herself analyzing every detail of their elevator encounter. Something about Felicity Coedy’s intensity toward Abramson nagged at her. One question she had was why she would be in Hawaii anyway. It seemed excessive, but a lot of what they had witnessed so far seemed off.
“I can hear you thinking,” Helen murmured against her shoulder.
“Just trying to piece it together,” Mel admitted. “I’m kind of thinking Felicity doesn’t fit the profile of a typical literary agent. Her bearing, and how she talked to Abramson, plus the fact she is here in Hawaii anyway... It feels all wrong.”
Helen shifted to look up at her. “Well, then, what do you think she is?”
“That’s just it,” Mel said, feeling frustrated. “She reminds me of people I’ve encountered before, but I can’t quite place it.”
Across the courtyard, Abramson had stopped typing. He sat with his head in his hands, occasionally glancing at his phone as if waiting for something. Or dreading something. “Could she be representing someone else?” Helen asked. “Someone else with an interest in the story he’s writing?”
Mel shrugged. “Impossible to know,” she said. “But she clearly wants the story published. Which makes sense because as his agent, she would get a huge cut in the royalties.” Suddenly, Mel’s mind went back to the pale man in the dark suit. A part of her knew he had to be involved somehow too. She blinked a second before a chill went down her spine. “Shit,” she said softly. “I think I know why the pale man from the lobby is here.”
“Why?” Helen asked. “Why is he here?”
“He’s here because he’s a fixer.”
“A fixer?”
“Someone wealthy people or organizations hire to make problems go away quietly.” Mel straightened slightly, her mind racing. “Someone powerful must want to stop whatever story Abramson’s working on.”
Helen tensed beside her. “Make problems go away quietly? That sounds ominous.”
“It can be,” Mel admitted, tightening her arm around Helen protectively. “But usually fixers prefer legal methods like bribes, threats of lawsuits, that sort of thing. Violence tends to attract attention they want to avoid.”
“Usually?” Helen’s voice held a note of concern that made Mel’s heart ache.
Conversation like they were having wasn’t how their vacation was supposed to go. “Hey,” Mel said softly, turning to face Helen fully. “We’re still just outsiders, remember? If things get dangerous, we’ll call the police and let them handle it.”
Helen gave her a weak smile. “Do you promise?”
“Yes,” Mel insisted, though in her heart she knew her protective instincts might override that promise if pushed. “Besides, Abramson seems more scared than threatened right now. Like he’s trying to decide something.”
As if on cue, their neighbor stood and began pacing, his shadow moving back and forth across the lit window. His movements were sharp, agitated, like a caged animal seeking escape.
“What would you do” Helen asked. “if you were in his position?”
Mel considered the question carefully. “If I had evidence of something big enough to attract this kind of attention? I’d be really careful but still make sure the story gets out even if something happens to me.”
“You think that’s what he’s doing?”
“Maybe.” Mel watched as Abramson looked at his watch and then returned to his laptop, He seemed to fiddle with something and focus on his desk. “But something’s holding him back. Fear maybe, or loyalty to someone involved.”
The night had deepened around them, the resort’s grounds quieter now. Only the sound of palm fronds rustling in the courtyard broke the silence. Mel found herself cataloging every detail of their situation, old cop habits refusing to die: Abramson’s increasing paranoia, Felicity’s intimidation to publish soon, Brigitte’s arrival to get her dad to kill the story, not to mention the pale man’s presence. All pieces of a puzzle she couldn’t quite solve yet.
Helen stifled a yawn. “We should probably head inside,” Helen suggested. “It’s getting late.”
Mel nodded, but her eyes remained fixed on Abramson’s window. “You go ahead. I think I’ll stay out here a bit longer.”
“Mel,” Helen’s voice was gentle but firm. “You need rest too. Whatever’s happening will still be there tomorrow.” Looking at Helen’s concerned face, Mel felt a familiar surge of love and gratitude.
She didn’t take for granted how lucky she was to find someone who understood her so completely. “You’re right,” Mel conceded, pressing a kiss to Helen’s forehead. “As usual.” They stood together, taking one last look at their neighbor’s apartment. Abramson had finally stopped typing and stared at his screen, his expression unreadable in the harsh desk lamp light.