Chapter 3
Screams echo all around me as if someone just announced the resort is out of coffee and the nearest Starbucks is three thousand miles away.
And most of those screams would be my own. Okay, fine, everyone knows that the best coffee on the island is served right here at the resort, even if it is being brewed by the Wicked Witch of the West. As in west side of the island, where Melanie happens to reside.
“Backup! I need backup at the Coconut Cove!” Koa barks into his phone, already kneeling beside Debbie Lee’s crumpled body on the sand.
The tiki torches cast flickering orange shadows across her face, and the makeshift kitchen stage looms behind us like the world’s worst cooking show finale ever filmed.
The ukulele music cuts off mid-strum. The crowd pulls back in a wave, stumbling over beach chairs and dropped coconut drinks. The breeze carries plumeria and something sharper now, the metallic tang of panic.
Ruby and Lani swoop in on either side of me, hauling me away from the body while Koa and a herd of chickens do their best to form a barrier around the poor woman on the ground.
The roosters strut around Debbie Lee like tiny feathered security guards who have absolutely no idea what they’re doing, but are committed to the cause.
At least three cats take this opportunity to hop up on the makeshift kitchen counter and steal slices of banana bread for themselves.
Spam leads the charge, his one good ear twitching with opportunistic glee.
He’s no fool. He knows an easy snack when he sees it, especially one a dead woman is no longer in a position to defend.
“You got another one!” Ruby breathes with her eyes wide and, I hate to say it, sparkling with something that looks suspiciously like excitement. “Jinx, that’s four bodies in just a few months!”
“Believe me, I’m aware,” I manage, my voice barely above a strangled whisper.
Far too painfully aware.
Is there such a thing as being stalked by the Grim Reaper? Who do I see about putting in a restraining order, on behalf of both the resort and me? At this rate, I’m going to qualify for some kind of loyalty program, and I am not interested in the lethal rewards.
Face it. At this point, the Grim Reaper owes me rent, and maybe a fruit basket. If he’s smart, he’ll make it muffins.
Lani pats my arm. “At least this time you didn’t find a corpse in a pool. Or a spa. Or tangled in a lei.”
I inch back to get a better look at her. “That’s your silver lining? Geographic variety in corpse discovery?” Okay, so she has a point. And I’d really hate to have to drain the pool again so close to the last time.
Lani’s lavender hair glints in the tiki torchlight. “I’m just trying to be positive.”
I frown, but before I can say anything, Ruby and Lani exchange an all-too-familiar glance.
“Well,” Ruby says, her eyes gleaming. “Here we go again.”
Lani nods slowly. “Three’s a pattern. Four’s a hobby.”
“Some people collect stamps,” Ruby adds. “Jinx collects corpses.”
“I do NOT—”
“You do, too. And because of that—the game is afoot!” Ruby announces, way too cheerfully for someone standing ten feet from a dead body. “It’s time to stir up an investigation.”
Lani hefts her wooden spoon in the air. “It’s time to stir up some trouble.”
“Would you ladies hush? I had nothing to do with this,” I protest.
“You wish!” Melanie stalks up, her hair somehow still perfectly styled despite the trade winds and the chaos.
“And yet you were still at ground zero!” She jabs a finger at my chest. “Three dead bodies, Jinx. Three! And every single time, you’re standing right there when it happens.
I’m starting to think you’re cursed. Or worse yet, you’re doing it for the publicity. ”
Technically it’s four dead bodies, but I’m guessing this isn’t the best time to point out that she’s bad at math.
“Melanie—” I start, but she lifts a finger to my face.
“The resort’s reputation is hanging by a thread,” she hisses. “And you keep handing the thread to a killer!” She throws her hands up. “I swear, if the health inspector shuts us down over this—”
“I didn’t kill her!” I protest.
“You never do! And yet here we are! Again!” She gestures wildly at Debbie Lee’s poor body. “I need to help keep the crowd back,” she snaps, already turning away. “Someone has to manage this disaster since you’re too busy collecting corpses.”
She storms off before I can point out that managing disasters is literally my job now. And she’s one of the disasters I’m supposed to be managing.
Sirens wail in the distance, growing louder by the second.
And instantly, Hawaii’s finest show up along with EMTs and someone from the coroner’s office.
Sadly, none of them are strangers to our little slice of homicidal paradise.
They’ve been here before. Multiple times.
We’re practically on a first-name basis.
Not that this was a homicide. I gasp at the thought.
Was it?
I look over at Koa who’s talking in hushed tones to one of the uniformed officers. His jaw is tight, his shoulders tense, and when his eyes meet mine across the sand, I see it.
He knows.
He knows exactly what this is. Or at least that look on his face tells me he’s as close to positive as one can be.
Oh good grief. I’m practically a murder magnet at this point.
“Everyone back!” Koa’s voice cuts through the murmurs and sobs. “This is officially a crime scene. I need everyone to stay where you are until we can get statements.”
More gasps ripple through the crowd. Someone screams. A tourist drops their coconut drink onto the sand.
My brain spins with the events of the evening thus far.
Debbie Lee was fine just a little while ago.
She was talking, announcing the bake-off, being her usual brisk and ice-cold self.
Then she coughed, gagged, and fell to her death.
Just another day that ends in Y here at the Coconut Cove Paradise Resort.
We really should have people sign a liability waiver before they set foot on the grounds.
Wait a minute. Could this be some sort of allergic reaction?
The thought slams into me with the force of a rogue wave. She asked about peanuts! She was worried about peanuts. And then she ate the banana bread anyway.
Oh no. Oh no no no.
Ruby squints out at the crowd. “And just like that, the hunt is on.”
“Ruby—”
“Don’t you Ruby me. You know it, I know it, Lani knows it.” She glances at Lani, who nods solemnly. “Someone just committed murder at our resort, and we’re going to figure out who.”
“We don’t know if it’s murder,” I hiss. “And please keep your murderously loud voice down. There are people here who still believe in natural demises.” Not many, but still.
Lani crosses her arms. “That woman didn’t just drop dead from bad vibes. Someone did her in.”
Before I can argue, Tom, Gary, and Cam approach with Doreen, Cozy, and Bubbles in tow. The three women look shell-shocked, their faces pale in the tiki torchlight.
“Oh my goodness, I can’t believe it,” Doreen whispers, her practical demeanor crumbling like three-day-old banana bread. “She was just standing there. Talking and so excited to be here in the tropics. And now she’s—”
“Gone,” Cozy finishes, her Southern drawl thick with emotion. “Just gone. Like someone flipped a switch and turned her off for good.”
Bubbles sobs softly with her hands trembling as she struggles to cover her mouth.
“This is just like the time back in Maine when our mailman fainted at a wedding. Except he wasn’t dead, he just hated the groom.
But it looked the same! It looked exactly like this!
Oh, no, wait, he was standing up. Okay, it looked nothing like this.
He was sucker-punching the groom because the bride was pregnant with his baby, and he thought he was the one who deserved to have cake shoved in his face. ”
“Bubbles,” Cam says gently, pulling his wife against his chest. “Maybe don’t compare this to the mailman incident right now. He did go on to have a wedding of his own.”
Bubbles nods my way. “To the same bride. It was sort of a happy ending, except for the old groom. He dresses as a walrus at the local theme park now.”
Oh, the Bubble-isms are on fire. How I wish I could document this for the general public. Of course, not now. In fact, not anytime in the foreseeable future considering the grim circumstances that are making poor Bubbles’ brain work overtime trying to process the situation.
I step forward, trying to channel something resembling comfort. “I’m so sorry. I know this is awful. If there’s anything we can do—”
“No, I’m afraid there’s nothing anyone can do,” Tom says with his voice clipped. His military posture is even more pronounced now, with his shoulders back and his jaw set tight. “We need to get our wives somewhere quiet.”
Gary adjusts his glasses, his mild-mannered expression filled with stress. “This was supposed to be a fun trip. A chance to relax. Not, well…” he gestures helplessly at the crime scene, “with someone dropping dead in paradise.”
“Come on, ladies,” Cam says, already guiding Bubbles away. His politician’s smile is nowhere to be seen, replaced by something harder. “Let’s get you back to your rooms.”
The husbands usher their wives toward the resort, and I can’t help but feel that I somehow failed everyone—especially poor Debbie Lee.
Koa appears at my elbow, and I jump.
“Easy,” he says. “It’s just me.”
“You have got to stop sneaking up on me.” I only half mean it.
“You have got to stop being present at murder scenes,” he counters with an arched brow. And I can tell he fully means every word.
“It’s only an alleged murder scene.” I gasp again. “And you think it’s a murder!”
“Only because you’re here.” He frowns. “That and the fact the woman practically hugged you before she left the planet.”
“Nice of you to point that out.” Now it’s my turn to frown.
His eyes hold mine, warm as Kona coffee and twice as likely to keep me up all night. “Did you notice anything odd? Anyone who might have had it out for the woman?”
I shake my head slowly. “Everyone seemed relatively normal. Happy, even. The taping went great. And then she just—” I swallow hard. “She asked about peanuts. Before she ate the banana bread. She was worried about peanuts.”
Koa’s expression sharpens. “She might have had an allergy.”
“I think so. But Bubbles said there were only walnuts in the recipe, and Debbie Lee said she was fine with that.”
“We’ll need to test the bread.” He pulls out his phone, already typing notes. “And get statements from everyone who was near the food prep area.”
“What can I do to help?”
“Keep the resort under control,” he says, his voice dropping lower. “And Jinx? Be careful.”
He walks away before I can ask what he means by that, and within seconds Ruby and Lani close in on either side of me, flanking me like a couple of bodyguards in muumuus.
“So,” Ruby says, her eyes gleaming in the dancing tiki lights. “Where do we start?”
“We don’t,” I say firmly. “We let Koa handle this. We’re not getting involved.”
Lani snorts. “You’re already involved. She died at your feet.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
“Jinx.” Ruby grabs my arm, her grip surprisingly strong for an eighty-something-year-old woman. “Someone just murdered a person on our beach. At our resort. Again! During a cooking show taping no less. If we don’t figure this out, Coconut Cove Paradise Resort is done!”
She’s right. I hate that she’s right. But she’s so right that not listening to her would be wrong.
I look back at Debbie Lee’s body, now surrounded by police and EMTs and the organized chaos of an all-around crime scene. What’s left of the banana bread sits abandoned on the craft table, looking innocent and deadly all at once.
Someone at this resort is a killer, and they may have just served murder on a paper plate.