Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
A fter lunch, Helen walked with Mel along the now-familiar pathway to the resort. Her hand found Mel’s as they approached the entrance, seeking comfort in her partner’s steady presence. The manuscript’s revelations still churned in her mind. It was all she could do to grasp the detailed accounts of game fixing, the massive amounts of money involved, and the list of powerful people implicated. It felt surreal that their peaceful Hawaiian vacation had led them to uncover something so dark. “Are you sure about this?” Helen asked softly, entering the lobby. “Coming back here after what we found?”
Mel squeezed her hand. “I really think we are okay,” she answered. “No one should know who we are, and staying away from our apartment tonight might draw more attention.”
Nodding, Helen followed Mel’s lead. Suddenly, movement near the elevator caught Helen’s attention. The pale man in his dark suit emerged, walking with purpose toward the front desk. They watched from behind a large potted palm as the man approached the desk.
“Checking out,” the man said to Kai, his voice carrying across the quiet lobby. “Room 325.”
Helen felt her stomach clench. “Mel,” Helen whispered, tugging gently on her partner’s hand. “He stayed in the apartment next to Abramson’s…” Then her heart went cold as she realized something else. “His suitcases. Where are his suitcases?” The large, black suitcases he had arrived with were nowhere to be seen. She remembered how conspicuous they looked when he checked in. In an instant, the implications hit her like a physical blow. “Oh God.” Her grip tightened on Mel’s hand. “You don’t think...”
“Not here,” Mel murmured, though Helen felt tension radiating from the woman. They watched as the pale man completed his check-out, his movements efficient and unremarkable.
Nothing about him suggested he might have disposed of a body, but Helen’s mind couldn’t shake the horrible possibility. Only when he’d left the lobby did Helen release the breath she’d been holding.
“We should sit down,” Mel suggested, guiding her toward some chairs in a quiet corner. “You’re shaking.”
Helen sank into the chair, her legs suddenly weak. “Those suitcases,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “They were big enough, weren’t they? To... to...”
“Yes,” Mel confirmed grimly. “They were.”
The horror of it threatened to overwhelm her. Helen had read mystery novels, of course. She had even considered trying to write one. But this was real. This was happening, and they were somehow in the middle of it. “What do we do?” she asked, looking to Mel for guidance. “We can’t just let this go, but we fly home the day after tomorrow.”
Mel leaned forward, her voice low but intense. “We have the manuscript now,” she said. “We have proof of what Abramson uncovered. The question is, what’s the safest way to use it?”
“Safe for who?” Helen asked. “For us, or for justice?” The question hung between them as resort guests passed by, their vacation chatter creating a surreal backdrop to their grim conversation. Helen watched a family with young children check in, their excitement about their Hawaiian vacation painfully familiar. She had trouble believing it had really been less than a week since she and Mel had stood there themselves, thinking only of sunshine and romance.
“We need to be smart about this,” Mel said finally. “These people, the ones Abramson exposed in his manuscript, they’re powerful. They’ve already shown what they’re willing to do to keep their secret.”
Helen nodded, her mind racing. “But we can’t just walk away. Not now.”
“No,” Mel agreed. “We can’t.” She reached for Helen’s hand again. “But we need a plan. Something that protects us while ensuring the truth comes out.”
The lobby’s air conditioning raised goosebumps on Helen’s arms, or maybe it was the weight of their situation. “We have less than forty-eight hours,” she said. “To figure out what to do and how to do it safely.”
“I know,” Mel said, her expression holding a mixture of concern and determination that Helen had come to know well. “And I promise you, we will find a way. But first, we need to go to our apartment and talk this through.”
As they stood to leave, Helen caught sight of their reflection in the lobby’s decorative mirrors. They looked like any other couple on vacation. She was in resort wear, and Mel in her comfortable Hawaiian shirt and cargo shorts. Nothing about their appearance suggested they were sitting on explosive evidence of corruption. And very possibly murder.
* * *
From their balcony, Mel watched the afternoon shadows lengthen across the courtyard. Her mind kept returning to those black suitcases, trying to piece together a timeline of events. Movement in Abramson’s office caught her eye. Mel’s eyes widened as she realized Felicity Coedy had just entered, her red hair unmistakable even from a distance. The literary agent moved straight to the desk where they had last seen Abramson. “Helen,” Mel called softly through the open glass door. “The literary agent is back.” She watched as Felicity started to rummage through the papers on the desk before focusing on the desk drawers. The woman’s movements were precise. They were not the frantic searching of Brigitte earlier. It was someone who knew exactly what they were looking for.
Mel watched as Felicity noticed the slightly open drawer. Felicity’s posture changed. Even from across the courtyard, Mel read the tension that suddenly appeared in her shoulders. The agent began a more thorough search of the desk, her earlier precision giving way to increasingly aggressive movements.
“What’s happening?” Helen asked, joining Mel on the balcony.
“I think she’s realizing something has been taken,” Mel whispered, though there was no way they could be heard. “And she’s not happy about it.”
They watched as Felicity pulled out her phone, typing rapidly. Mel’s detective instincts hummed with warning. Something about the woman’s behavior suggested more than just literary agent concerns. The way she carried herself, her authoritative presence in the elevator. It all pointed to someone used to wielding real power. Suddenly, Felicity’s head snapped up, looking directly toward their balcony. Mel instinctively ducked down in her chair, pulling Helen with her, but it was too late. For a moment, their eyes met across the courtyard.
“Did she see you?” Helen asked, pressing close to Mel’s side.
“Yes,” Mel said grimly. “And she definitely recognized me.”
They waited in tense silence, barely breathing. When Mel carefully peered out again, Felicity was gone from the window. “We need to move,” Mel said, already stepping into the apartment and thinking of what essential belongings they needed to gather. “I’m beginning to think that woman is more than just a literary agent, and now she knows we’ve been watching.”
Helen nodded, quickly grabbing her purse with the thumb drive and tablet containing Abramson’s manuscript. “Where are we going?”
“First? A walk on the beach,” Mel said, her mind racing through options. “We need to be visible, public. Then we’ll figure out our next move.”
They took the stairs instead of the elevator, Mel’s hand protectively on Helen’s lower back. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows through the open-air corridor. Every shadow seemed to hold potential danger. As they emerged onto the path that wound through the courtyard and led to the beach, Mel kept her pace deliberately casual while scanning their surroundings. The area was still busy with late-afternoon tourists. She knew that was good. Witnesses made everything safer.
“Talk to me,” Helen said softly as they walked. “What are you thinking?”
Mel guided them onto the sand and toward the water where the sound of waves would make it harder for anyone to overhear. “I’m still not sure, but what if Felicity Coedy is trying to double-cross Abramson? What if she is negotiating directly with the people behind the game fixing?”
“Which means she’s dangerous?”
“I think she could be,” Mel answered. “And now she knows the drawer was opened. I’m afraid she will guess we have whatever was in it. Or at least realize we know who else might have been in the apartment.”
They walked in silence for a moment, their feet leaving paired tracks in the wet sand. “The pale man,” Helen said. “Do you think she’s the one who sent him?”
Mel nodded slowly. “It fits. She tries to control the situation legally first with pressure, maybe bribes. When that doesn’t work...” She let the implication hang in the air.
“And now she knows we’re involved.”
“Yes.” Mel stopped walking, turning to face Helen. “I’m so sorry. I never meant to put you in danger.”
Helen’s hand found hers, squeezing gently. “Don’t you dare apologize. We’re in this together, remember?” The beach was beautiful, the sun just starting to set in the distance, and Mel knew under different circumstances, it would be breathtakingly romantic.
Instead, Mel found herself cataloging escape routes and calculating how quickly they could get to the airport if needed. “Thank you,” Mel said, pulling her closer. “I remember.” She kissed her gently before pulling back and letting the seriousness of their circumstances come back into focus. “But I think we should consider finding another hotel. Somewhere she won’t expect us to go.”
“Agreed,” Helen replied. “But first, shouldn’t we make another copy of everything on that thumb drive? As insurance.”
Mel smiled. “Good idea,” she answered. “We’ll need to be careful, but I agree that insurance is exactly what we need.”
* * *
The copy shop was nearly empty when they entered, and the fluorescent lights were harsh after the Hawaiian twilight outside. Helen clutched her purse close to her side. Only a teenage employee stood behind the counter, more interested in his phone than their arrival.
“Over there,” Mel nodded toward a self-service printer in the corner. Helen’s hands trembled slightly as she connected the thumb drive to the printer. The magnitude of what they were about to do, making a physical copy of evidence that had likely gotten a man killed, made her stomach churn. But they needed something tangible in case anything happened to the digital version. Even with a copy safe in her online Dropbox, Helen would feel better with a paper copy. Although when she created the account to back up her in-progress manuscripts, and her granddaughter assured her no one could get into her data, Helen was old school enough to want something she could put her hands on. As the printer hummed to life, Helen watched the pages emerge one by one. Words that detailed corruption at the highest levels of professional sports, names of people who would do anything to keep this information buried. She thought of Abramson, of those big suitcases, and had to steady herself against the printer.
“Hey.” Mel’s hand found her waist. “You okay?”
Helen nodded, forcing a small smile. “Just processing everything.” She gathered the warm pages into neat stacks. “What next?”
“We call the police,” Mel said. “But carefully. We tell them our concerns without revealing what we have. See how they react.” Outside, they found a quiet coffee shop a few blocks from the copy store. Helen sipped her tea while Mel made the call. She listened as Mel explained their situation. Starting with their neighbor’s suspicious behavior, the attack they witnessed, his subsequent disappearance, and the pale man’s suitcases.
“Yes, I understand,” Mel was saying, her jaw tightening. “But if you could just have a detective call us back... Yes, I know it’s getting late and how busy everyone is... Former LAPD, thirty years’ experience... I see.” Helen could tell from Mel’s expression that it wasn’t going well. When she finally ended the call, the woman’s face was tight with anger. “They want us to come into the station. But I don’t have high hopes. The dispatcher’s tone said it all. They think we’re just nosy tourists imagining things.”
After a long Uber ride and an hour’s wait in the precinct, a young man in a suit with an expression that suggested he’d rather be anywhere else came to greet them. “Mel Nelson?” he asked. “I’m Detective Kanahele. I hear you have something you want to tell me.”
Helen watched Mel lift her chin as she stood. “Yes, I’m retired police detective Mel Nelson,” she turned to Helen. “And this is Helen Hardy. An additional witness.”
Detective Kanahele raised an eyebrow. “I see,” he said. “Come with me then, so I can hear this out.” They followed the detective to a small room with a table and four chairs. He motioned for them to sit while he sat across from them and took out a notepad. He flipped it open and read something before fixing them with his gaze. “So. You witnessed an assault through a window, but when officers responded, there was no evidence of any crime?”
“That’s correct,” Mel replied, her voice professionally neutral despite the condescension in his tone. “We saw someone in dark clothes and a ski mask attack our neighbor, James Abramson.”
“And now Mr. Abramson is... what? Missing?”
Helen leaned forward. “He was working on an important story,” she said. “Something that powerful people wouldn’t want to be published. Then he disappeared after we saw him attacked, and clearly—”
Detective Kanahele held up a hand. “Mrs. Hardy, with all due respect, it sounds like your neighbor simply checked out early. People do that all the time at resorts.”
“Without his laptop?” Mel asked sharply. “Without telling his daughter?”
The detective sighed, closing his notepad. “Look, I understand you’re concerned. But we can’t launch an investigation based on speculation and coincidence. If Mr. Abramson doesn’t show up in a few days, his family can file a missing persons report.”
Helen felt frustration bubble up in her chest. “By then it might be too late.”
“I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful,” Detective Kanahele said, standing to indicate the meeting was over. “Enjoy the rest of your vacation.”
Outside the station, the humidity wrapped around them like a wet blanket. Helen’s tea from earlier sat sour in her stomach. “Well,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “That was useless.”
Mel took her hand as they walked toward the Uber they called. “Not entirely,” she said. “Now we know we can’t count on official help. Which means we need to be even more careful about protecting what we have.”
Helen thought about the copy of Abramson’s manuscript in her purse. Mel carried the thumb drive in her pocket. “What do you think Felicity will do?” she asked. “Now that she knows we’ve been watching?”
“Nothing public,” Mel replied grimly. “She’ll want to handle this quietly, like everything else.” She opened the car door for Helen. “For now, we go back to the resort and pack our stuff. It’s time we went into hiding.”