Chapter 10
The break scatters couples across the sanctuary like seeds in the wind.
Some drift toward the refreshment table for another round of malasadas.
Others wander the garden paths with their fingers intertwined, putting Aunty Leilani’s intimacy lessons into practice.
And a few, like Doreen and Tom, head toward the waterfall pool, seeking either privacy or perspective.
Or a quiet corner to align their alibis.
Koa and I exchange a look that’s become shorthand for let’s go investigate without making it obvious we’re investigating.
“Want to check out the waterfall?” I ask, loud enough for anyone nearby to hear.
“Sure.” His hand finds mine, warm and solid, and we follow Doreen and Tom down a stone path lined with torch ginger—giant red pod-like flowers that look as if they belong on Mars and enough bird of paradise that I keep expecting them to flap off and migrate.
The pool area is tucked behind a curtain of ferns, secluded enough to feel private but open enough that we’re not technically eavesdropping. We’re just happening to be in the same scenic location at the same time. It’s called investigative proximity, and I’m pretty sure I just made that up.
Doreen sits on a smooth lava rock near the water’s edge, her salt-and-pepper bob catching the dappled sunlight filtering through the canopy.
She’s removed her sandals and dips her toes in the pool, watching the water ripple outward in circles.
Tom stands behind her with his hands in his pockets, his stiff posture slightly softened by exhaustion.
Koa and I settle onto a nearby rock, close enough to talk without shouting over the gentle waterfall, far enough to maintain the illusion that we’re just another couple seeking romantic ambiance.
“This place is beautiful,” I say, aiming the comment at no one in particular but hoping it lands as an invitation.
Doreen glances over, and her face relaxes into something just this side of a smile. “It really is. I needed this. We all did, I think.”
“The therapy session seems intense,” Koa offers, his tone conversational, but his eyes are still firmly locked on my lips. He’s a smart man.
“Intense is one word for it.” Doreen gives a dry laugh, but there’s no real humor in it. “Aunty Leilani doesn’t believe in holding back. She thinks couples need to dive into the deep end or they’ll never learn to swim.”
Apparently, Aunty Leilani’s idea of a warm-up is a tongue-down in front of strangers. Noted.
Not that it’s a bad idea. In fact, I’m thinking of signing Koa and me up for it, again and again.
Tom shifts his weight, his jaw tight, his hands clasped in front of him with the controlled stillness of a lawyer who’s never raised his voice in court. “Some of us prefer a more measured approach.”
There’s an edge to his voice, something brittle beneath the surface, and Doreen’s shoulders tense just hearing it.
No wonder they needed to be here. They can’t even agree on the style of therapy they like.
I decide to test the waters. “It must be hard, being here after everything that happened with Debbie Lee. I can’t imagine trying to focus on relationship work when you’re processing a loss like that.”
Doreen freezes solid before her shoulders droop a notch. “Debbie Lee was difficult, I’ll be the first to admit it. We worked together for five years, and I still don’t know if I’d call us friends.”
“That’s honest,” Koa says.
“Honesty is all I have left.” Doreen pulls her feet from the water and turns to face us more fully.
That sounds like the line of someone who’s just decided to burn it all down.
“Debbie Lee was brilliant at her job,” Doreen continues.
“She knew how to make a show successful, how to read an audience, how to keep us all on our toes. But she was also ruthless. She didn’t care who she hurt as long as the ratings stayed high. ”
Tom places his hand on Doreen’s shoulder, and I can’t tell if he’s being protective or if he’s issuing a warning. “Doreen, maybe we shouldn’t—”
“It’s fine, Tom.” She doesn’t even look at him. “They’re going to hear it anyway. Everyone’s going to hear it.” She nods at the two of us. “Debbie Lee was planning to replace me on the show.”
The words land heavy in the humid air.
“Replace you?” I feign surprise, as if it’s the first time I’m hearing this. “But you’ve been with the show from the beginning, right?”
“From day one.” Doreen’s smile is bitter.
“I helped build that show from nothing. We filmed the first season in my kitchen, for heaven’s sake.
But Debbie Lee decided I was stagnant. That comfort food was dated.
She wanted someone younger, trendier, someone who could appeal to the Instagram generation. ”
“That’s terrible,” I say, and I mean it. I know darn well what it feels like to be replaced by someone younger, trendier, and someone who appealed to the look-at-me-me-me generation. In fact, my ex replaced me with multiple people who checked all three of those boxes.
“It gets worse.” Doreen’s hands twist together in her lap.
“She was going to make it look like it was my fault. She was about to leak footage from early episodes where I looked awkward on camera, where I forgot ingredients, where I ruined a dish. She was about to blame declining ratings on my lack of evolution. She was building a narrative that would make my firing seem justified.”
Koa tips his head as if he’s amused. “How did you find out?”
“I overheard her on the phone.” Doreen’s voice drops. “The night before we started filming here. She was in her room at the resort, talking to someone at the network. I was walking past, and her door was open just a crack. She didn’t know I was there.”
Tom’s grip on her shoulder tightens. “You should have told me immediately.”
“I was humiliated, Tom. I needed time to process it.” She finally looks up at him, and there’s something raw in her expression. “This show is everything to me. You know that. And she was going to take it away and make me look like a failure in the process.”
My mind is racing. Motive, opportunity, means. Doreen had all three. But there’s something in her voice, in the way her hands shake slightly, that makes me hesitate. She’s devastated, angry, hurt, but is she a killer?
I probably would be, but that’s just me.
“I’m so sorry,” I say. “That must have been awful.”
“It was.” Doreen takes a shaky breath. “But you know what the worst part is? I wasn’t even the only one Debbie Lee was targeting.”
Koa and I exchange a glance.
“What do you mean?” he asks.
Doreen hesitates, and Tom’s hand slides from her shoulder. He crosses his arms, and his expression looks unreadable.
“Bubbles,” Doreen says finally. “Debbie Lee had something on Bubbles, too. I don’t know what exactly, but I heard them arguing. Bubbles was almost in tears, begging Debbie Lee not to—” She stops, shaking her head. “I shouldn’t be spreading rumors. It’s not fair to my sweet co-worker.”
“But you heard them arguing?” I press gently.
“The morning we arrived.” Doreen nods. “Bubbles was in Debbie Lee’s room, and the door was open.
As I was walking past it—I seem to make a habit of accidentally overhearing things—I heard Bubbles saying something about permits and inspections.
She kept saying please don’t over and over.
And Debbie Lee just laughed. That cold laugh she had when she knew she had power over someone. ”
Tom shakes his head as he stares out at some invisible horizon. “Bubbles has always struck me as a woman who’s hiding more than she lets on. That whole ditzy blonde act, it’s too unbelievable. Real people aren’t that bubble-headed, pardon the pun.”
Or are they?
Have they met Bubbles?
“Tom’s a great lawyer,” Doreen points out. “He’s good at spotting when people are performing.”
“Everyone performs to some degree,” Tom says. “But Bubbles? She’s playing a character. And the question is, what is she hiding underneath?”
Wow, he’s really doubling down on the fact that he’s determined to pop the pretty blonde bubble. Tom’s lawyer brain is clearly working overtime. I’m not sure if that makes him insightful or paranoid. Possibly both.
I think about Bubbles for a second. Sweet, bubbly, seemingly harmless Bubbles who says things that sound ridiculous but occasionally land with unexpected weight.
Who was alone in the kitchen before the taping, organizing supplies.
Who was overly cheerful even after Debbie Lee’s death, talking about everything happening for a reason.
“Did you see Bubbles near the food before the taping?” Koa asks, his detective instincts kicking into full gear despite the casual setting.
Doreen frowns as she considers this. “Actually, yes. She was fussing with the banana bread ingredients, reorganizing everything. She said the studio crew had set things up wrong, that she needed to fix it. I didn’t think anything of it at the time. Bubbles is always rearranging things.”
“How long was she alone in the kitchen area?” Koa’s tone is still conversational, but I can see the wheels turning.
“Maybe ten minutes?” Doreen looks between us, something clicking in her expression. “Wait. You don’t think Bubbles could have… She’s too sweet to—”
She trails off as doubt creeps into her voice.
Tom’s expression hardens. “Sweet people can do terrible things when they’re desperate. And if Debbie Lee was threatening to expose something that could ruin Bubbles’ reputation, her marriage, or her career...” He lets the implication hang in the air.
“But how would she have gotten peanut butter?” I ask. “The kitchen was clean. We checked.”
“Bubbles brought her own supplies,” Doreen says slowly, like she’s piecing together a puzzle she didn’t know she was solving.
“She always does. Special measuring cups, her grandmother’s recipe cards, things like that.
She had a whole bag of personal items that she unpacked before we started filming. ”
My pulse quickens. “A bag that nobody else looked through?”
A bag, a private bag. A bag full of Bubbles’ grandmother’s recipe cards and possibly something far less wholesome.
“Why would we look through it? It’s Bubbles,” Doreen says with a shrug. “We trust her. She’s part of our family. We have no reason to search her things.”
Koa’s hand finds mine and he gives a gentle squeeze. A silent communication that lets me know we’re onto something, but we need to tread carefully.
And also, he’s really into being my pretend boyfriend. Sure, we’ve made out more than our fair share of times, and I’ve met his parents, but we’ve never done that whole boyfriend-girlfriend declaration. Things really were so much easier in middle school.
“I’m sure there’s an explanation,” I say, keeping my voice light even as my brain catalogs every detail. “Bubbles probably just wanted things organized her way. That’s not suspicious.”
That’s controlling.
“Right.” Doreen doesn’t sound convinced. “Not suspicious at all.”
Although it’s probably suspicious enough to keep me up tonight, which is fine because Spam has already claimed my side of the bed and I wasn’t planning on sleeping anyway.
Tom helps her to her feet. “We should get back. The session will be starting again soon.”
They take off with Tom’s hand on Doreen’s lower back and their heads bent together in conversation. I watch them go, and my mind churns through the possibilities.
“Bubbles had access,” Koa says quietly once they’re out of earshot. “She had opportunity. And according to Doreen, Debbie Lee was threatening her with something.”
“But we still don’t know what,” I point out. “Or how she would have contaminated just one slice of banana bread without anyone noticing.”
He nods. “We need to talk to Bubbles.”
“Agreed. But we need to do so carefully. If she is hiding something, we don’t want to spook her.”
Koa pulls me up with him, and we’re suddenly very close. Close enough to see the gold flecks in his eyes. Close enough that my entire body remembers exactly what his mouth tastes like.
“For the record,” he says in a low voice, “that kiss wasn’t entirely investigative.”
My breath catches. “No?”
“No.” His thumb brushes across my knuckles. “But we can talk about that later. After we catch a killer.”
We head back toward the tent, and I’m trying very hard to focus on murder and motives instead of the way Koa’s hand feels in mine. The motives have left the chat.
Somewhere between fake therapy and real confessions, pretending and reality got tangled into the same knot, and I’m starting to suspect the most dangerous thing in this garden isn’t the killer in our midst. It’s whatever’s brewing between the detective and me, because that has a body count of its own.