Chapter 12
The sunset at the Coconut Cove Paradise Resort is doing that thing where the sky melts from blue to salmon to deep purple, and the whole horizon looks like it was painted by someone who likes to show off. It’s the sort of sunset that makes you forget about the corpses. Almost.
It’s evening, and I’ve planted myself on a wicker lounge chair on the beach, watching the colors shift and trying very hard not to replay that kiss with Koa on an endless loop in my brain. I’m failing spectacularly.
The Pacific stretches out before me in shades of turquoise and sapphire, waves rolling in with the steady rhythm of something that’s been doing its job for many millennia and has no intention of stopping now.
The balmy breeze carries the scent of plumeria and sea salt, and tiki torches flicker to life along the beach as the sun sinks lower.
Moms wrangle children who’ve discovered that sand plus ocean plus no bedtime equals total chaos. Couples stroll hand-in-hand along the shoreline, trying to look romantic while a rooster chases after them with the aggressive determination of a tiny terror who will not be ignored.
Spam is draped across my lap, purring like a chainsaw as I run my fingers aimlessly through his thick, fluffy fur.
Coconut and Pineapple nap at my feet, their furry bodies rising and falling with each breath.
The whole scene is so idyllic it feels like a tropical fever dream, except I’m definitely awake and there’s still sand in my flip-flops.
I can’t believe this is my life. It’s like a fairy tale, but with a higher homicide rate and fewer wicked witches.
“Jinx?”
Melanie’s screech cuts through the peaceful evening, and my shoulders cinch up around my ears.
I spoke too soon.
She marches across the sand in her usual uniform of disapproval—black dress, severe bun, an expression that says she’s personally offended by my existence.
“Do you have any idea what happened at the resort today while you were off gallivanting at some couples retreat?” She plants herself in front of me, hands on hips.
“The toilet in unit twelve backed up. Again. The ice machine is making sounds like a dying walrus. And Mrs. Patterson in unit seven complained that the roosters are plotting against her.”
“Are they?”
“That’s not the point!” Melanie’s voice climbs another octave. “The point is, I’m glad I’m no longer the manager. And look at you, sitting here relaxing while the resort swirls down the toilet. Literally, in the case of unit twelve.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re projecting. That’s exactly what happened while you were the manager. I’m the one who managed to bring it out of the proverbial toilet, remember?”
Halea appears before Melanie can fire back, drifting across the sand in a hot coral number that makes me simultaneously want to borrow it and hide in a muumuu.
Even if I could borrow it, I wouldn’t fill it out in all the right places.
More like all the wrong places. Darn those cinnamon rolls for being so delicious.
“What’s all the sassing about?” Halea asks cheerfully, dropping into the lounge chair next to me. She pats the seat on her other side. “Melanie, sit. We’re a team here. You girls are just going to have to get along.”
Melanie sniffs but obeys the command regardless. “Everyone’s nice to Jinx because they think she’s going to kill them.”
I avert my eyes. “That’s so funny, I forgot to laugh.” And forgot to commit a homicide too.
Okay, so I didn’t laugh because it might be true, but I don’t say a word.
Halea turns to me with a nefarious gleam in her eyes. Halea’s nefarious gleam is usually followed by either trouble or excellent advice. Sometimes both.
“Okay, but seriously,” she starts. “Spill all the red dirt on that red-hot detective. How many bases have you rounded?”
Melanie leans in, suddenly interested herself.
“Only first base has been cleared,” I say with a grunt. “And I’m happy with that. For now.”
“For NOW?” Halea gasps. “Oh honey, what are you wasting time for? I’ve rounded all the bases on opening night a time or two. That detective is H-O-T. He’s got needs—and newsflash, so do you.”
Melanie’s mouth falls open.
“Oh please, little Miss Priss,” Halea waves her off. “I’ve heard stories about some of your midnight hotel visits back when you were working in Honolulu. I may be from Maui, but coconut wireless is a very real thing.”
Melanie lifts her chin. “Nobody can deny the power of a good old-fashioned gossip fest.”
“So it’s true?” Halea grins wickedly.
“It might be,” Melanie says with a growl. “But my well has run dry. I can’t even get a man to do a double take in my direction these days.”
It must be all the negative energy radiating off her like nuclear waste, but I don’t dare say a word.
“Maybe you need to smile more,” Halea suggests. “Men like approachable women.”
“Men like a lot of things that aren’t necessarily good for them,” Melanie counters. “Like whiskey and motorcycles and women who laugh at their jokes even when they’re not funny.”
“Speaking of men,” I say, trying to steer this conversation somewhere less likely to end in bloodshed, “what are we even looking for? Like, what makes a good relationship?”
Halea kicks off her sandals. “Someone who makes you laugh. Someone who looks good without a shirt. Someone who can fix things around the house.”
“That’s three different someones,” I point out.
Halea shrugs. “Ideally they’re all the same person.”
Melanie shifts in her chair. “Honestly? It’s kind of nice being single for a bit. I can watch whatever I want on TV. Eat cereal for dinner. Go to bed whenever I want without someone snoring next to me.”
Halea nearly chokes. “Those are the exact reasons you NEED a man! Someone to fight over the remote with, someone to cook real meals for you, someone whose snoring means you’re not alone—or lonely.”
“I’m not lonely,” Melanie says. “I’m independent.”
“You can be both, you know.”
“Can you, though?”
Something tells me that Melanie could sell being single to a couple on their honeymoon.
Lani and Ruby emerge from the resort carrying trays laden with banana bread slices, and the conversation shifts as they settle into chairs and start distributing samples.
“Take two!” Lani sings. “This one’s got macadamia nuts,” she says as she hands me a slice.
“This one’s chocolate chip,” Ruby says. “This one’s got rum-soaked raisins. Don’t ask how much rum. Just eat it. This one’s coconut, and this one’s plain but with extra vanilla. They’re basically the same recipes from the other day, but Lani spanked them into submission.”
We sample them all, arguing good-naturedly about which is best, and the sun continues its slow descent into tomorrow.
At this point, I’ve eaten more banana bread this week than I’ve had hot meals. And I’m not asking for help.
“This is heaven,” Halea sighs, stretching out on her chair.
“Paradise without the murder would be nice,” Lani adds.
“We can’t have it all.” Melanie is quick to douse our positivity parade.
“But we’ve still got banana bread and sunsets,” Ruby says. “That counts for something.”
Melanie takes another bite, her expression softening slightly. “And we’re enjoying it just the same without a man by our side. We don’t need men after all.”
“Maybe not,” Lani says with a sigh.
Ruby and Halea are suspiciously quiet, and they all turn to look at me.
I’m about to answer when I catch the scent of an all-too-familiar woodsy cologne, and I go rigid in my seat just as Koa steps into view.
“Good evening, ladies.” He nods, looking devastatingly handsome in jeans and a T-shirt doing more work than any cotton blend was ever meant to do. “Jinx, can I steal you for a bit?”
I float out of my chair as if I’ve forgotten how gravity works.
Ruby grins. “And just like that, we got our answer.”
Okay fine. We might need a man or two.
Someone has to open the pickle jars.
And someone has to sweep me right off my feet.