Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
T he hallway’s cheerful tropical wallpaper and potted palms felt jarringly at odds with the knot forming in Mel’s stomach as they approached their apartment. After the dismissive treatment from the police detective, her instincts were already on high alert. Those instincts screamed louder when she noticed their door was slightly ajar, a gap barely wide enough to see but definitely not how they’d left it.
“Helen,” Mel said quietly, putting out an arm to stop her. “Stay behind me.”
Helen’s sharp intake of breath told Mel she’d spotted the door too. “Should we call security?”
“Not yet.” Mel’s mind shifted to the familiar patterns of her police training. “I’m guessing whoever did this is long gone. But stay close.”
“Okay,” Helen whispered. Moving forward carefully, Mel noted the subtle marks around the lock that most people would miss. Professional tools, not amateur break-in equipment. She pressed the door open slowly with her fingertips, conscious of Helen’s presence at her back. The apartment’s interior was dark, and as much as she hated to give away their presence, Mel turned on her cellphone’s flashlight. Nothing immediately appeared disturbed, but Mel’s trained eye caught the subtle signs like a throw pillow slightly askew, a chair not quite where it belonged.
“Wait here,” Mel whispered, but Helen’s hand found hers.
“Together,” Helen said firmly. “I’m not letting you face this alone.”
Mel wanted to argue, to insist Helen retreat to the safety of the hallway, but she knew that determined tone. Instead, she squeezed Helen’s hand once before letting go. “Stay behind me then. And if I say run...”
“I know,” Helen replied softly. “I will.” They moved through the apartment slowly, Mel checking each potential hiding space with the thoroughness ingrained by decades of police work. The living room had been searched systematically. There were drawers opened, but the contents weren’t dumped onto the floor, and things were moved but not thrown aside. The kitchen showed similar signs of a careful invasion.
“Whoever did this, I think they knew what they were looking for,” Mel said as they entered the bedroom. She moved to the bureau. What she found made her jaw clench. Their clothes had been removed from drawers and replaced, but not quite perfectly. Someone had gone through their most private space.
“The thumb drive,” Helen said, her voice steady despite the circumstances. “They must have guessed we took it.”
Mel nodded, noting how their suitcases had been searched too. “Felicity saw us watching from the balcony. She must have figured out we had whatever was in that drawer.”
The bathroom was the final room to clear. Mel’s reflection in the mirror looked grim as she checked the last possible hiding spot. “It’s empty,” she announced, though the knowledge brought little comfort. Their sanctuary had been violated, and their safety compromised.
Back in the living room, Helen sank onto the couch, her usual composure cracking slightly. “What do we do now?”
Mel sat beside her, pulling her close. “We can’t stay here,” she said, her mind already working through options. “They will likely be back.”
“A hotel like you thought we should?” Helen suggested, leaning into Mel’s embrace.
“Yes, but not an obvious one. Somewhere they wouldn’t expect us to go.” Mel pressed a kiss to Helen’s temple, trying to convey comfort even as guilt churned in her stomach. “I’m so sorry, Helen. I never meant for this to get dangerous.”
Helen pulled back slightly to look at Mel directly. “Don’t you dare apologize,” she said firmly. “We’re in this together, remember? Besides, I’m not some fragile flower who needs protecting.”
The fierce determination in Helen’s voice made Mel appreciate her all the more. “You’re amazing, you know that?”
“So you keep telling me,” Helen replied with a small smile. “Our flight is in the morning so should we just pack all our things and get somewhere safer? Preferably before whoever did this decides to come back?”
They packed quickly, filling their suitcases much more haphazardly than when they left the mainland to go on their vacation. Mel noticed how Helen’s hands shook slightly as she gathered their things, but her movements remained purposeful. The thumb drive was secure in Mel’s pocket, while Helen’s tablet was in her purse. Mel had the hard copy of the book in her carry-on suitcase. “Ready?” Mel asked, doing one final sweep of the apartment.
Helen nodded, adjusting the strap of her purse. “Ready. Though I have to admit, this isn’t quite how I imagined our Hawaiian vacation ending.”
“No?” Mel replied, managing a small smile as she checked the hallway before letting them out. “You mean you didn’t plan on investigating a possible murder and uncovering what looks like major sports corruption?”
“Oddly enough, no,” Helen replied, her attempt at humor not quite hiding her tension. “Not quite.”
* * *
Helen sank onto the edge of the hotel bed, finally letting exhaustion catch up with her. The room was smaller than their resort apartment but clean and anonymous and exactly what they needed. Through the window, she saw palm trees swaying in the moonlight. Mel was doing another security check of the room, testing the locks and examining potential entry points. Helen knew better than to tell her to relax. After their apartment was searched, Mel’s protective instincts were in overdrive. “The balcony door has a decent lock,” Mel reported, drawing the curtains closed. “And we’re high enough that access from outside would be difficult.”
“That’s good,” Helen said, though her mind was still processing the violation of their vacation home. The way their belongings had been searched haunted her. “Do you think they’ll figure out where we’ve gone?”
Mel sat beside her, taking her hand. “Not likely. I paid cash, used a fake name, and we’re on the other side of town from the resort. Basic counter-surveillance.”
Helen couldn’t help but smile slightly. “You make it sound so routine.”
“Well, I did spend thirty years dealing with this sort of thing,” Mel replied, but Helen heard the tension beneath her casual tone. Her phone buzzed making them both jump. The screen showed an unknown number. Helen’s hand trembled slightly as she showed it to Mel. Mel nodded. “Put it on speaker and let me do the talking.”
Helen answered, holding the phone between them. “Hello?”
“Mrs. Hardy.” The voice was electronically distorted, impossible to identify as even male or female. “I see you and Ms. Nelson have left the hotel.”
Helen felt Mel’s hand tighten on hers. “Who is this?” Mel demanded.
“Someone who knows what you took,” the voice replied. “And someone who strongly suggests you forget everything you’ve seen and learned during your vacation. Go home, enjoy your retirement, and leave this alone.”
“Or what?” Mel’s asked, her tone hard as steel.
“Or your peaceful retirement might become significantly less peaceful.” The threat hung in the air for a moment before the voice continued. “Return what you’ve taken for your continued wellbeing.” The line went dead.
Standing abruptly, Helen began to pace. The hotel room suddenly felt too small, too exposed. “Maybe we should just give it to them,” she said. “Whatever’s on that drive, is it worth risking our safety?”
Mel caught her hand as she passed, pulling her to a stop. “Helen, look at me.” When their eyes met, Mel’s expression was serious but tender. “If you want to walk away from this, we will. No questions asked. But remember that they killed Abramson over what’s on that drive. If we don’t do something with the information, his death means nothing.”
Helen sank back onto the bed beside Mel. “I know,” she said softly. “And I don’t want to walk away. I’m just scared.”
“Me too,” Mel admitted, wrapping an arm around her. “But we have options. We have a copy of everything, remember? And I’m calling that detective again. Maybe when he sees our apartment and hears about that phone call, he will listen to us.”
* * *
“Are you sure about this?” Helen asked as they rode in a taxi back to the resort. “Going back there?”
Mel squeezed her hand. “We need Detective Kanahele to see the evidence of the break-in while it’s fresh,” she said. “And having official documentation of the intrusion could help protect us later.” The resort’s familiar facade came into view. Detective Kanahele was waiting in the lobby with two uniformed officers, his earlier dismissive attitude replaced with something more professional. “Ms. Nelson, Ms. Hardy,” he greeted them. “Show me what you found.” As they led the officers up to their apartment, Mel noted how Helen stayed close to her side.
Their door still showed the subtle signs of entry that Mel had noticed earlier. “Here,” Mel said, pointing to the marks around the lock. “Someone used tools to get in.” The detective examined the door frame carefully while one of the officers took photos. Inside, Mel walked them through the systematic way the apartment had been searched. “Whoever did this knew what they were looking for. They were thorough but careful not to leave obvious signs of disturbance.”
“And you believe this is connected to your neighbor’s disappearance?” Detective Kanahele asked, making notes in his small pad.
“Yes,” Mel said firmly. “We saw him being attacked, and now our apartment is searched. That’s not a coincidence.”
The detective’s expression remained neutral. “Tell me your theory, Ms. Nelson,” he said. “Former detective to current detective.”
Mel chose her words carefully, aware of how much to reveal. “James Abramson was an investigative journalist working on a story about sports corruption. His daughter flew out to try to stop him from publishing. His literary agent showed up to pressure him about deadlines. Then a man in an expensive suit arrives, Abramson disappears, and our apartment gets searched by professionals.”
“You think he uncovered something big enough to kill for,” the detective said, but it was not quite a question.
“I think he had proof of something that powerful people wanted to keep quiet,” Mel replied. “And now those same people think we have whatever evidence he collected.”
Helen stepped forward. “We just received a threatening phone call,” she added. “They know we are staying somewhere else. They’re watching us.”
The detective frowned. “A threat? Why didn’t you lead with that?”
“Because we needed you to see this first,” Mel explained, gesturing to the apartment. “To understand that these aren’t just random events or an old lady’s imagination.”
Detective Kanahele walked to the sliding glass doors, looking across at Abramson’s apartment. “You said you witnessed the attack from here?”
“Yes,” Helen confirmed. “We saw someone in dark clothes hit him from behind while he was at his desk.”
“But the investigating officers found no evidence of an assault,” the detective reminded them.
“The attacker may have cleaned up any sign,” Mel said. “These people know what they’re doing.”
The detective was quiet for a moment, processing. “I’ll have officers dust for prints,” he finally said. “And I’ll put in a request for the resort’s security footage, but I can’t promise we’ll find anything useful.”
“So you believe us now?” Helen asked.
“Let’s say I’m taking your concerns more seriously,” he replied. “A break-in and a threatening phone call changes things.” He turned to Mel. “You said Abramson was investigating sports corruption?”
Mel nodded, careful not to mention the thumb drive or manuscript. “Based on his background and what we overheard. He seemed scared but determined to publish something big.”
The detective closed his notebook. “And now he’s missing, and you’re being threatened,” he said. “I’ll assign officers to patrol the area tonight. Do you have somewhere safe to stay?”
“Yes,” Mel said, not offering details. “We’ve taken precautions.”
Detective Kanahele nodded approvingly. “Good. I’ll need a statement about the phone call, and then I suggest you both lay low until you are on your way home.”
Mel held the man’s eye. “We can do that.”
“We’ll be in touch,” the detective said as they prepared to leave. “And Ms. Nelson? Current detective to former detective. If this really is what you think, watch your back. People willing to make someone disappear rarely stop at one victim.”
The warning sent a chill down Mel’s spine, not for herself but for Helen. She’d dragged the woman she loved into something dangerous, and now they had less than twenty-four hours to figure out what to do with the evidence they had.