Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
T he library’s study room had a hushed atmosphere and soft lighting, creating an illusion of calm that was at odds with what they had found on the thumb drive. Mel glanced at Helen’s face as they read through Abramson’s manuscript together on Helen’s tablet. She couldn’t miss how the woman’s expression shifted from general interest to deeper concentration, and then to shock as the scope of the corruption became clear.
“This goes beyond just college sports,” Helen whispered, her finger tracing a line of text. “Look at these names—team owners, league officials, even politicians.”
Mel nodded, her mind already connecting the dots. “It’s incredible,” she said. “Somehow, Abramson found the paper trail and then, amazingly, talked people into giving videoed confessions.”
Helen leaned closer, her shoulder brushing Mel’s. “There’s something else,” she said. “The timing of these games and the way the fixes were coordinated. I think it’s too sophisticated for small-time criminals.”
“What do you mean?”
“Look here,” Helen said, pointing to a particular paragraph. “The pattern suggests someone with intimate knowledge of both the gambling industry and professional sports. Someone who could manipulate multiple games simultaneously without raising suspicion.”
Mel felt a surge of pride mixed with concern. Helen’s analytical skills continued to amaze her, but the implications of what they were uncovering made her increasingly uneasy. “You’re right,” she said. “This is organized crime level coordination, but with white-collar sophistication.”
They read in silence for a few moments, the only sound the gentle hum of the library’s air conditioning and the occasional tap of Helen’s finger advancing to the next page. “Mel,” Helen said, “remember what Brigitte said about her mother’s death? The car accident?”
“Yes, why?”
“Because according to this, it confirms what we guessed before,” Helen said. “Abramson was investigating similar corruption in college basketball when his wife died.” Helen’s voice dropped even lower. “He mentions here that he was close to exposing key figures when the ‘accident’ happened.”
The implication hung heavy in the air between them. Mel felt her jaw tighten. “So either Brigitte doesn’t know the truth about her mother’s death...”
“Or she was trying to protect her father from the same fate?” Helen finished. “And possibly failed? Then why isn’t she more concerned that he is missing?”
“But then there’s Felicity,” Mel said. “An agent who travels to Hawaii to show up in person to pressure him about publishing.”
Helen nodded. “This is such a hot story. I am sure she could sell it to the highest bidder for a lot of money,” she said. “I mean, we are probably talking millions, even if the book is never published.” She paused, then added softly, “And let’s not forget our pale friend with the large suitcases. The man you think is the fixer.”
The mention of the suitcases sent a chill down Mel’s spine. She glanced at her watch, noting they had been in the library for over two hours. “We should go,” she said. “We have enough information to know what’s going on. At least a little more.”
“Where to?”
Mel considered their options. “Back to the resort. Now that I’ve had time to think about it, I can’t see how anyone could connect us with what we’ve found. We are just a couple of busybody neighbors, remember? A harmless pair of old ladies,” she said. “And I need to make a call. I know someone from my LAPD days who might be able to trace some of these financial connections.”
They packed up, Helen sliding the tablet into her bag while Mel tried to convince herself not to start getting paranoid. The walk back to the resort would leave them exposed if she was wrong, but they couldn’t very well hide forever.
Outside, the Hawaiian sun was warm on Mel’s face. They walked close together, Mel constantly turning over the facts they knew. “You’re doing that thing with your jaw again,” Helen said softly, her hand finding Mel’s.
“Sorry,” Mel said, forcing herself to relax slightly. “I just can’t help thinking about how this was supposed to be a peaceful vacation.”
Helen squeezed her hand. “I wouldn’t change it,” she said. “Well, maybe the part about Abramson potentially being murdered, but not the rest. Not working with you like this.” The simple statement made Mel’s heart swell. She glanced at Helen, marveling at how naturally the woman had adapted to their impromptu investigation. The successful author had revealed depths of courage and insight that continually amazed her.
“Still,” Mel said as they waited for a traffic light, “I never meant to possibly put you in danger.”
“And maybe you didn’t,” Helen replied firmly. “But if so, we chose this together.” She gave her a slight smile. “Besides, I always wanted to be Nancy Drew when I was young. I just never expected to get the chance at sixty-six.” The resort came into view, its white walls gleaming in the afternoon sun. Mel felt her investigator’s instincts heighten as they approached. Somewhere in that building was likely at least one person who wanted Abramson’s story buried, possibly literally. She slowed their steps to consider what to do next. Helen turned to her as they paused in the shade of a palm tree. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking that we need to be very careful about our next moves,” Mel said slowly. “The people behind this corruption have already proven they’re willing to kill to keep their secret.”
Helen nodded, her expression serious but unafraid. “Then we’ll be careful,” she said. “Together.”
* * *
Helen’s phone buzzed just as they entered the resort lobby. Seeing Diane’s name on the screen made her stomach tighten. Her daughter had an uncanny ability to sense when something was wrong. “I should take this,” she told Mel, who nodded understanding.
“I’ll scout ahead,” Mel said. “Meet you by the koi pond.”
Finding a relatively private spot near some potted palms, Helen answered. “Hi, sweetheart.”
“Mom.” Diane’s voice held that mix of love and concern that Helen knew so well. “How’s the vacation going?”
Helen watched Mel disappear around a corner, no doubt checking their surroundings. “Oh, wonderful,” she said, trying to keep her voice light. “The weather’s perfect, and the ocean is just beautiful.”
“Uh-huh.” A pause. “And how’s the mysterious neighbor situation?”
Helen silently cursed her earlier honesty about their investigation. “Everything’s fine, dear. Just a misunderstanding, really.”
“Really?” Diane’s voice relaxed through the phone. “Good. Jenny and I were both worried you were getting involved in something unnecessary. We thought for a moment that you might be in danger. You’re not, right?”
Helen sighed, moving deeper into the corner by the palms. “Right,” she said softly. “Mel and I are being very careful.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. They were being careful. She just couldn’t mention the organized crime connection, the suspicious deaths, or the very real possibility that someone might figure things out and want to silence them.
“Being careful about what exactly?” Diane’s voice sharpened. “Mom, you’re supposed to be relaxing on the beach, not getting involved in anything.”
A group of tourists passed by, their beach gear dripping water on the marble floor. Helen waited until they were out of earshot. “Diane, I promise you, everything is under control. Mel knows what she’s doing.”
“That’s what worries me,” Diane said. “She’s a retired detective. Maybe she can’t stop detecting. And she could drag you into it.”
“She’s not dragging me anywhere,” Helen replied, perhaps more sharply than intended.
The silence on the other end suggested Diane wasn’t buying it. “Mom,” she finally said, “I love you, but you’re a terrible liar. What’s really going on?”
“Nothing dangerous,” she said, which felt like the biggest lie yet. “We’re just helping a neighbor sort out some confusion.”
“Confusion?”
“Yes. But it’s probably nothing,” Helen said. “Listen, sweetheart, I need to go. We have dinner reservations.”
“At four in the afternoon?”
“Time difference, remember?” Helen said quickly. “It’s later here.” It wasn’t, but she needed to end the conversation before she revealed anything more.
“Mom—”
“I love you, Diane. Give the kids hugs from grandma. I’ll call you tomorrow when we get to the airport, and I will be home before you know it.” She ended the call before her daughter could protest further, feeling guilty but knowing it was necessary.
She quickly went to the koi pond to meet Mel. “Everything okay?” Mel asked when she arrived.
Clearly, she was having trouble hiding the concern she felt. “I had to lie to Diane,” Helen said softly. “I hate lying to my children.”
Mel squeezed her hand. “It’s for a good reason,” she said. “The less they know, the better at this point.”
Helen nodded but felt anxiety tighten in her stomach. “So, what next?”
“Let’s go to the bar where we had a drink last night,” she answered. “They have an outdoor courtyard where I think I can make this call without anyone hearing.” Mel’s face softened. “Are you ready?”
Straightening her shoulders, Helen put on a smile. “Ready. But Mel?”
“Yes?”
“When this is over, we’re taking a proper vacation. Somewhere with no mysteries to solve.”
Mel’s smile was warm despite the tension. “Deal,” she said. “Though with our luck, we’d probably stumble onto a mystery at a knitting retreat.”
* * *
The bar’s garden seating provided decent cover while still allowing Mel to watch the street. As the reality of the possible danger started to sink in, she decided to be more careful. For starters, she positioned them in a corner where the dense tropical foliage created a natural screen. Helen had gone inside to order them Mai Tais, giving Mel privacy for this call. Her fingers hesitated over Mickey Chen’s contact information. During her LAPD days, Mickey had been her go-to person for digital forensics, though his methods weren’t always strictly by the book. That’s why she’d kept his number even after retiring. Sometimes you needed answers that wouldn’t come through official channels.
She pressed dial. Mickey answered on the second ring. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite retired detective,” he said, his familiar voice carrying a hint of amusement. “Don’t tell me you’re bored with the easy life already?”
“Hello, Mickey,” Mel said quietly. “I need a favor.”
“Of course you do. You never call just to chat.” She heard a keyboard clicking in the background. “So, what do you need to know?”
“I need information on someone. James Abramson. Sports journalist with the LA Times.”
More typing. “Interesting,” he said after a beat. “Seems your guy was a top reporter for a bit, then all but disappeared. What’d he do?”
“Maybe nothing,” Mel answered. “Maybe something. I need his financial records. Recent transactions, accounts, anything unusual.”
“You know that’s not exactly legal without a warrant.”
“Since when has that stopped you?”
Mickey’s laugh was warm with nostalgia. “God, I’ve missed you, Nelson. Give me a minute.” Mel waited, trying to control her impatience. Helen would be back any second and she wanted to be done with the conversation with Mickey if possible. The less the woman knew about Mel’s once darker ways, the better.
“Okay,” Mickey said. “Got something interesting here. Large cash withdrawal seven days ago. Ten thousand dollars.”
“Going on the run money,” Mel murmured.
“Maybe. He booked a ticket to Singapore three days ago. One way.”
Mel’s mind raced with implications. “Was it used?”
“Nope. Scheduled for tomorrow, actually.” More typing. “But another thing. Guy’s basically broke. Massive credit card debt, second mortgage on his house in LA, late payments on everything,” Mickey said. “I’m impressed he was able to get his hands on even ten-k.”
Helen appeared with their drinks, setting a Mai Tai in front of Mel. Her questioning look asked if it was okay to sit. After hesitating for a beat to consider what she wanted to say in front of Helen, Mel nodded. “Interesting,” Mel said into the phone. “And Mickey? Check his wife’s accident from three years ago. Something’s not right there.”
“I can do my best, but that might take longer,” Mickey said. “But more importantly, how is retired life treating you?”
“I’m not exactly acting retired at the moment,” Mel replied, watching a resort shuttle bus stop across the street. “How long do you need?”
“Give me an hour. And Mel? Be careful. I don’t know what you’re doing, but you’re not protected by a badge anymore.”
“Thanks for the reminder,” Mel said. “And thanks for the help.” She ended the call, wrapping both hands around her drink’s cool glass.
Helen touched her arm. “Well?” she asked, her eyes concerned.
“Abramson was planning to run,” Mel finally said. “He withdrew a bunch of money and booked a flight to Singapore for tomorrow morning.”
“But something happened first,” Helen added softly.
“Yeah.” Mel took a sip of her cocktail, organizing her thoughts. “It’s interesting, but the man is deep in debt yet was able to withdraw ten thousand dollars from his bank account. He had to have received ten thousand dollars from someone.”
“Hush money?”
“Or funding his escape,” Mel replied. “My friend Mickey’s looking deeper. He’ll call back in an hour.”
Helen nodded, her expression thoughtful. “So either someone wanted to help him disappear...”
“Or wanted him to look like he disappeared voluntarily,” Mel finished. “The question is, did Brigitte know? Or Felicity?”
“The daughter and the agent,” Helen mused. “Both trying to control his story, but for different reasons?”
Mel let out a slow breath, her mind working. “Exactly. And now we have proof he was planning something.”
“But not proof of what happened to him.”
“No.” Mel’s hand found Helen’s under the table. They sat in thoughtful silence, the gentle splash of the garden’s fountain mixing with distant traffic sounds. The late afternoon sun filtered through palm fronds, creating shifting patterns on their table. In another context, it would have been perfectly peaceful.
“An hour,” Helen said finally. “What do we do until then?”
Mel considered their options. “We stay visible but vigilant. Order some lunch. Act like normal tourists.”
“Do you think someone might be watching for us?”
“I think the probability is low.” Mel managed a small smile. “But I can’t be one hundred percent sure.”
“So, we continue to be careful,” Helen said matter-of-factly. “And not let anyone figure out what we know.”