Chapter 2
“It’s time to meet our idols!” I sing so loud that Spam hops right out of my arms and runs for cover under the craft table brimming with refreshments and snacks for the crew.
I can’t help it. I’ve been waiting for this moment ever since we found out The Spice Is Right would be taping at our humble little resort.
I’ve been watching their show for so long you’d think I could cook an entire Thanksgiving dinner all by my lonesome by now.
You would be wrong. I mostly watch for the gossip and to drool over the dessert.
“If I faint, just drag me to the ocean and revive me with salt water,” Lani says, fanning herself with her hand.
Ruby grabs both our arms. “These women are going to be our new best friends! I can feel it. The Spice Girls are moving to Kauai and living at the resort forever. I’m manifesting it right now.”
“Sure,” I say. “Three celebrity chefs, one ginger menace, and a pool that’s currently held together by hope and a pool noodle. What could possibly go wrong?”
Spam, sensing he’s been mentioned, strolls past with all the dignity of a mayor. A small mayor who was never elected.
And yet that chubby little cutie knows darn well he’d have my vote each and every time.
Lani takes a moment to frown at her bestie. “Ruby, the last thing you manifested was a husband, and we’re still finding his belongings in the linen closet.”
“That was a gift from the universe,” Ruby insists.
“That was a restraining order from the universe,” Lani corrects.
The evening sky is quickly turning my favorite hue, where orange and pink get married and turn lavender at the tips, just like Lani’s hair. Our little resort is thumping and jumping tonight thanks to the culinary royalty who have decided to grace our slice of paradise.
We head toward the stage where the producer, Debbie Lee, stands with three women who look like they just stepped out of a glossy ad for a cooking empire. She waves us over briskly, like a woman who probably schedules her bathroom breaks.
“Ladies, meet Jinx Julep, our resort manager, and her team, Lani, head of the culinary department, and Ruby, the head of—” she squints my way for a little verbal assistance.
“The head of chaos coordination,” I finish for her as best as I can. And it happens to be true as gospel. It’s not on Ruby’s business cards, but it should be. In bold. Possibly in glitter.
Cozette Chadwick steps forward first in a flowing floral dress that hugs every curve. Her gorgeous red hair catches the tiki torchlight, and she reeks of confidence and Southern charm. She extends her hand with a smile that says she knows exactly how fabulous she is. And she really is.
“You girls can call me Cozy!” she calls out in the cutest Southern drawl.
Cozy is known as the sassy, flirty one of the bunch that can’t get enough of cheesecake or men.
“Did you hear that?” Ruby elbows Lani so hard I hear the air whoosh out of her lungs. “She called us girls.”
And just like that, Cozy is Lani and Ruby’s favorite person on the planet. A person who might be without her bifocals at the moment, but still.
Doreen Meadows steps up next in a crisp linen blouse and slacks, her salt-and-pepper bob holding its shape despite the Hawaiian humidity.
She’s the practical one, the straight shooter, the comfort-food queen who makes you want to call your mom and apologize for not visiting more often while feeding you the best mac and cheese you’ve ever had in your life.
“It’s wonderful to meet you all,” she says, shaking my hand with a firm grip.
When Doreen reaches for Lani’s hand, Lani holds up her flour-dusted fingers and offers the handle of her wooden spoon instead. “It’s safer for everyone,” she says.
Doreen laughs and gives it a shake. “What an absolutely beautiful resort you have here.”
“Thank you,” I tell her. “We just show up. Mother Nature does the rest.” The Grim Reaper does a little himself, but I decide to leave that lethal detail out of it for now, and forevermore.
Next up, Bubbles Bilini bounces forward, and I do mean bounces as her bleach-blonde hair catches the breeze. She’s wearing a pastel sundress and a smile so sweet it could rot out every tooth on the island. She blows kisses to us and giggles at absolutely nothing.
“Oh my goodness, this place is magical!” Bubbles squeals.
“It’s just like I pictured Hawaii, except with more chickens.
And cats! So many cats! Back in Maine, we only have the odd squirrel or two that wander around, and let me tell you, squirrels do not have this kind of confidence.
These chickens walk like they own a timeshare. ”
“Some of them do,” I’m quick to assure her and we all share a quick laugh.
“Wait, do the chickens live here, or are they on vacation too?” Bubbles blinks my way. “Because if they’re guests, I have so many questions.”
We give a riotous laugh once again—well, all of us except for Bubbles.
Bubbles Bilini is pure sunshine with a side of frosting, and well, she might be a little ditzy but that’s what makes her so darn loveable.
“We’re so excited to be in Hawaii!” Cozy says, fanning herself with blood-red manicured fingers. “It’s the first time for all three of us. In fact, we brought our husbands along for the tropical ride, too.”
“Ooh,” Ruby squeals at the thought of a fresh supply of testosterone in the vicinity. What can I say? I know her. “It sounds like a second honeymoon wrapped in a work trip,” Ruby is quick to point out. “That’s romance with a side of a tax write-off!”
Lani and I chortle away because she’s not wrong.
But the three women exchange an odd look. It’s subtle, more or less a tiny flicker, but I catch it. Cozy’s smile tightens at the corners, Doreen’s eyes dart away, and Bubbles’ laugh trails off into something hollow.
I sure hope there’s not trouble in paradise.
Speaking of trouble in paradise, my gaze drifts across the crowd right back to Detective Koa Hale still leaning against that palm tree, arms folded, watching me with those coffee-brown eyes of his.
He’s wearing his usual off-duty uniform of jeans and a navy polo that does excellent things for his shoulders, and his black hair is slightly mussed from the trade winds.
The man could narrate an instruction manual and I’d listen like it was poetry—on my knees while begging for more.
And maybe begging for him to break out the handcuffs, too.
Have I mentioned he’s hotter than lava, has a body that could stop a bullet, and that perma-scowl on his face makes women swoon from three islands away?
And more importantly, have I mentioned that my lips are intimately acquainted with his?
That happens to be my very favorite part.
My least favorite part is that whole homicide investigation thing that keeps happening between us.
I sure hope no one here has homicide on their mind, with the exception of me.
I always seem to have homicide on my mind these days.
It doesn’t help that my ex just had a destination wedding at this resort last week, but that’s another story entirely.
Okay, fine, long story short, there was a homicide at his matrimonial shindig.
Spoiler: it wasn’t his. I know, I know. The Grim Reaper can’t win ‘em all.
Cozy follows my gaze and lets out a low whistle. “Well hot honey on a stick! That man could melt the butter clean off a biscuit.”
“They grow them different here,” Ruby is quick to agree. “All that sunshine and surfing does wonders for the gene pool.”
“The ocean air builds character.” Lani nods sagely. “And abs. Hot men are sort of our specialty around here.”
“This is true,” Ruby says. “And that’s why it’s sort of my mission in life to collect them all.”
Lani nods. “Like Pokémon cards, but sexier.”
“And with far more wedding certificates involved,” I add. “Ruby is our resident maneater.”
Debbie Lee belts out a hoot of a laugh. “In that case, ladies,” she turns to her cohorts, “you might want to watch your husbands around Ruby.”
The three women exchange another morbid look, and I can’t help but wonder why they keep missing the punch line. It must have been a long flight.
“Oh, loosen up, girls, would you?” Doreen waves over a trio of men who’ve been standing near the refreshment table. “Come meet the staff!” she calls out.
The first man approaches with his every movement measured.
He looks to be somewhere in his sixties, balding with a soft middle, glasses perched on his nose, and he happens to be wearing a sweater vest despite the tropical heat.
He looks like somebody’s kind uncle who volunteers at the library on weekends.
“Gary Chadwick,” he says, shaking my hand with an expanding smile. “Plastic surgeon back in Maine. And this beautiful creature is my wife, Cozy.” He gazes at the redhead with genuine affection. “She keeps me younger than my own scalpel can.”
The second man stands a little too straight with his shoulders squared, his jaw set tight while giving off some serious military vibes without the uniform. He too looks to be in his mid-sixties with a solid build, graying at the temples, and has his hands clasped neatly in front of him.
“Tom Meadows, attorney.” His handshake is firm and professional and makes me feel as if I can successfully sue the pants off my ex—and perhaps the pants off whatever floozy he’s currently sleeping with. Although, knowing my ex, her pants are already off. Poor thing.
“I’m in corporate law, estate planning, nothing too exciting,” Tom continues. “Doreen here is the real star of our family.” He squeezes his wife’s shoulder. “She’s been keeping me fed and happy for twenty-seven years.”
The third man is camera-polished, far too tan—far too orange—with a smile bleached two shades past natural and hair that didn’t get that expensive by accident.
Early sixties, gym-fit, veneers so blinding they could guide an entire fleet of alien ships right to our sandy shores.
His haircut probably runs three figures and a tip.