Chapter 7
We follow everyone up the trail, and within five minutes, I’m questioning every decision that led me to this moment.
The Sleeping Giant might be napping peacefully, but the sun is wide awake and apparently nursing a very hot grudge.
Sweat pours down my back, my legs are screaming in protest, and the red dirt is doing its best to permanently stain my feet a color I can only describe as rusty regret.
“Thank goodness we brought water,” I gasp, taking a swig from my bottle.
Ruby stops dead in her tracks, her face stricken with genuine horror. “But did we bring donuts?”
She says it like this is a very real survival need, right up there with oxygen and shelter. And really, who says it’s not?
A laugh comes from up ahead as Cozy, Doreen, and Bubbles pause for us to catch up.
So much for catching Cozy alone. The Spice Girls seem to operate on a buy-one-get-two-free policy and there are no returns. Of course, Doreen and Bubbles came back to see if Cozy was in need of assistance—or donuts. That’s what best friends are for.
“Donuts?” Cozy shakes her head at Ruby. “Honey, I knew I liked you.”
“Donuts sound great,” Doreen glances back with a smile. “But those cinnamon rolls of yours? I may as well start gluing them to my hips. I’ve already had three this morning.”
Bubbles blinks at the thought. “Well, that’s a good idea. That way when you get hungry, you can have them handy.” She pauses, her brow furrowing in genuine confusion. “Although things might get soggy when you take a shower.”
We all break into a laugh regardless of the fact that Bubbles seems intent on her soggy logic.
“Bubbles!” Cam calls from up ahead, waving her forward.
“I’m coming, dear!” She bounces off to catch up with her husband, her ponytail swinging as the camera crew announces they’ve got some great footage and they’re going to head further up the trail to get a few landscape shots.
Doreen catches up to Tom, and soon it’s just Cozy, her husband Gary, and the three of us trudging up the incline.
We round a bend and arrive at a scenic overlook where someone, possibly an angel, possibly a tax-deductible donor, has installed a picnic table and chairs.
The view is breathtaking in that way that makes you forget you’re dying from heat exhaustion.
The ocean stretches out in endless blue, meeting the sky in a seamless horizon, while the lush green mountains roll beneath us in waves of tropical glory.
It’s the sort of view that belongs on someone’s Instagram with the caption Wish You Were Here, followed by But Also It’s Really Hot.
“Let’s sit a spell and catch our breath,” Cozy says, fanning herself with her hand as she collapses onto one of the chairs. “I swear on every mint julep I ever drank, this heat is trying to bury me six feet deep in this red dirt.”
“Me, too,” Ruby says.
“Me three.” Lani gasps out each word.
I’d include myself in that equation, but it only feels like I’m tempting fate.
We all sink into chairs around the old teak table that has weathered to a soft silver, and I’m pretty sure I hear my legs sigh with relief.
“So, Gary,” Ruby launches right in. “What’s it like being married to the most beautiful woman on television?”
Gary adjusts his glasses and smiles indulgently at his hot chili pepper of a wife. “It’s an adventure. I’m just a boring man who plays a little poker, runs his practice, and married well above his pay grade.”
“Oh please,” Cozy drawls, waving him off. “You do just fine. And besides, I’ve heard enough from you and your buddies when you think we’re not listening. Don’t think I don’t know what you boys talk about when you’re off playing poker.”
Gary chuckles. “And what is it that you girls talk about when we’re not in the room?”
“Honey,” Ruby says with a grin, “we talk about men, food, and occasionally world domination. In that order.”
Lani nods. “It’s a balanced diet of conversation.”
I decide to steer us back on track before Ruby starts rating the attractiveness of every man on the island. Not that I could blame her. “We’re so sorry about your friend, Debbie Lee. This must be incredibly hard for all of you.”
Cozy’s smile fades, and she looks down at the table, her fingers tracing the weathered wood.
“We are, too. I mean, Debbie Lee wasn’t exactly warm and fuzzy, but she didn’t deserve...
that.” She looks up, her eyes meeting mine.
“And believe me, we didn’t have any peanut butter in our recipe.
The only thing we can think of is maybe she got a dirty plate, or something was cross-contaminated somewhere along the line. ”
“A dirty plate?” I sit up a little straighter because I have a feeling the resort is about to enter into a lawsuit of the unhygienic variety.
She nods toward Lani. “And we know it has nothing to do with the kitchen at the resort. Our staff brought everything to the makeshift studio themselves. We’ve been using the same traveling kitchen setup for years. It’s all contained, all sterile. That’s why this doesn’t make any sense.”
Gary leans forward, his bald head pinking up in the sun. Daring choice, going hat-free on a Hawaiian trail. The sunburn will teach him.
“The whole thing is tragic,” he says. “Debbie Lee was meticulous about her allergy. She carried an EpiPen everywhere, checked ingredients obsessively. For this to happen...” He shakes his head. “It seems almost impossible.”
Ruby leans forward as well. “So who didn’t like Debbie Lee? I mean, she seemed like she had a strong personality. And everyone knows that a wicked witch has to get a bucket of peanut butter dumped on her eventually.”
Lani and I both gasp in horror. I should really look into a muzzle.
I wince internally. That’s basically Ruby’s version of subtlety. About as delicate as a sledgehammer wrapped in velvet.
“It was a bucket of water,” Lani hisses before nodding at Cozy and Gary.
Gary inches back slightly, his eyes widening behind his glasses. “Are you implying it was murder?”
“No,” I’m quick to say, shooting Ruby a look that screams ease up. “We’re just trying to figure out where the peanut butter came from. If it wasn’t in the recipe, and the kitchen was clean, then how did it get there?”
Lani remains suspiciously quiet, which is probably for the best considering she’s currently the prime suspect in Koa’s investigation.
“Oh hon,” Cozy says, waving the thought off with a manicured hand. “Debbie Lee Rivers had a list of enemies a mile long. That woman could make a saint consider homicide.”
“Really?” I lean in, trying to keep my voice casual. “Like who?”
Cozy glances over her shoulder, checking that we’re still alone at the overlook. “Well, I hate to say it,” she lowers her voice a notch, “but Doreen and Debbie Lee were not on good terms.”
Not on good terms. In cozy-mystery math, that’s roughly one step from a chalk outline.
“Doreen?” Ruby’s eyebrows shoot up. “But she seems so... nice.” She says nice as if it’s a four-letter word, and ironically enough it is.
“She is nice,” Cozy says quickly. “Don’t y’all get me wrong, Doreen is the heart and soul of our show. That woman is ethical as the day is long, loyal as a hound dog, and the kind of friend you want in your corner when the chips are down. But Debbie Lee was fixing to push her out.”
My stomach tightens. “Push her out? Of the show?”
Or off the planet?
Cozy nods, her expression grim. “Debbie Lee was beating the ratings drum like it owed her money. She said we needed fresh energy. She was fixing to drag in some twenty-something food blogger and put Doreen out to pasture. Can you imagine such a thing? Doreen’s been with this show since the lights first came on.
She is the show, lock, stock, and casserole dish. ”
Gary shifts uncomfortably. “Cozy, maybe we shouldn’t—”
“They’re going to find out anyway,” Cozy says. “The whole crew knew. Debbie Lee wasn’t exactly subtle about it. She’d make comments during filming, talk about appealing to younger demographics, suggest that comfort food was dated. It was all very cruel.”
“How did Doreen handle it?” I ask.
“Professionally,” Cozy says. “At least in public. But I caught them arguing the night before the taping. Doreen was furious. She told Debbie Lee that she’d built this show with her bare hands and she wasn’t going to let some producer with delusions of grandeur destroy it.”
Lani clears her throat. “That sounds complicated.”
“It was,” Cozy admits. “But Doreen wouldn’t, I mean, she’s too...” She trails off with uncertainty creeping into her voice.
“Too what?” Ruby jumps in, clearly enjoying herself. “Too nice? Too ethical? Honey, I’ve been married enough times to know that the nicest people can surprise you when they’re backed into a corner.”
“Doreen’s not a killer,” Cozy says firmly. “She’s just... she was upset. Wouldn’t you be?”
“Absolutely,” I say. “And for the record, we’re not accusing anyone of anything. We’re just trying to understand what happened.”
Gary stands, brushing red dirt off his khaki shorts. “Well, whatever happened, I hope they figure it out soon. This whole thing has cast a shadow over what was supposed to be a celebration of Hawaiian culture and good food.”
Cozy rises too, adjusting her coral pink top. “Gary’s right. We need to—”
A rooster appears out of absolutely nowhere, because that’s what roosters do in Kauai, and crows directly at us with the aggressive confidence of a tiny dinosaur who’s forgotten he’s the size of a football. And without hesitation, he charges right at us.
The rest of us jump out of our seats as if a feathered bomb were about to detonate.
Ruby shrieks and lurches backward, flailing her arms like a woman fighting off invisible bats. “Get back, you feathered menace! I knew it! I knew the chickens would turn on us eventually! This is how it ends! Death by drumstick!”
The rooster keeps coming with his beady eyes locked on Ruby like she’s personally insulted his mother.
Ruby jumps back once more and her foot slips on the loose red dirt at the edge of the trail, where the ground drops away into a sheer ravine that’s straight down and goes on forever.
“Ruby!” I lunge forward, trying to grab her, but her arms pinwheel and her eyes go wide.
She’s about to pitch herself right over the edge just as I snatch her by the wrist. Lani catches her other arm, and Cozy seizes her waist.
“Pull!” someone shouts.
Doreen appears out of nowhere, grabbing Ruby by the hair, and Bubbles latches onto Ruby’s belt loop.
We all heave backward in one chaotic, graceless motion, sending Ruby flying forward and stumbling onto solid ground. She lands hard on her knees and gasps.
“Oh my word,” she wheezes. “I almost died. I almost fell to my death because of a chicken.”
“Rooster,” Lani corrects, still death-gripping Ruby’s arm. “There’s a difference.”
“I don’t care if it’s a bald eagle! That feathered terror tried to kill me!”
The rooster struts away, completely unbothered, as if attempted murder is just part of his morning routine.
I’m somewhere between laughing and crying, my face hasn’t picked a lane yet. “Ruby. You almost kicked the bucket because of a rooster.”
Ruby and I are clearly heading toward a shared obituary, and it’s going to involve feathers, chickens, and at least one regrettable resort cocktail.
Bubbles blinks at the rooster. “But he looks so innocent. Back home in Maine, our roosters are much more polite. They’d at least wait until you turned your back before they attacked.”
Maine sounds terrifying. It also sounds as if I really dodged a bullet.
“Are you okay?” Doreen asks Ruby, her practical nature kicking in. She checks Ruby over with the brisk efficiency of a former home-ec teacher inspecting a student’s handywork.
“I’m fine,” Ruby says, even though her voice is shaky. “Thanks to you, ladies. We make a great team! Mahalo, girls!”
Cozy grins, slinging an arm around Ruby’s shoulders. “We really do. You know what? I think we’re going to go on with the show.”
Translation: my resort is going to host a week of celebrity chefs, a murder investigation, and approximately seventeen chickens with grudges. Wonderful.
Cozy takes a deep breath before continuing. “Debbie Lee would’ve wanted us to finish what we started. And honestly, after everything that’s happened, I think we could all use something positive to focus on.”
Doreen nods slowly. “You’re right. We came here to celebrate Hawaiian food and culture. We shouldn’t let a tragedy derail that.”
Bubbles claps her hands together. “Plus, we already paid for the permits. And the permits have our names on them. So technically, they’re ours. We own them now. It would be like abandoning a pet.”
I can’t help but smile when she says it. And just like they’re not abandoning their furry little permits, I’m not abandoning my not-so-furry little murder.
Bubbles bounces on her toes, somehow chipper despite everything. “And honestly, I just keep telling myself that everything happens for a reason. The universe always has a plan, doesn’t it?”
My mouth falls open. Is she talking about Debbie Lee?
I nod her way. “I guess everything does happen for a reason.”
Even murder.
We all start heading back down the trail, the heat pressing down on us like the branding iron that’s haunting Lani.
“Oh good grief,” Cozy grunts. “This sun is fixing to fry us up like catfish at a church picnic.”
“You got that right,” I say with a grunt.
I’m pretty sure I’m being cooked from the inside out, but at least if I die out here, Cozy will give me a memorable Southern-fried eulogy.
As we descend the Sleeping Giant, careful not to wake him with our chatter, I can’t stop thinking about the things that Cozy revealed.
Because if Doreen Meadows, ethical, practical, comfort-food queen Doreen, had a reason to want Debbie Lee gone, then we’re not just dealing with a simple case of accidental poisoning.
We’re dealing with a woman who had everything to lose and a producer who held all the cards, right up until someone decided to shuffle the deck permanently—and smear it with a fatal dose of peanut butter.