Chapter 17
Saturday night arrives with an electric energy that only comes from combining a luau, a baking competition, and the lingering threat of murder.
The sun is setting over the Coconut Cove Paradise Resort in shades of purple and pink so vivid they look like a crayon box exploded.
A banner strung between two palm trees reads The Spice Is Right: Banana Bread Edition in gold glittery letters that catch the tiki torchlight and announce to everyone within a three-mile radius that we’re either hosting a party or summoning a disco-themed deity. The demon of death, to be exact.
The evening luau is in full swing. The air smells like Kalua pig, pineapple, coconut—and overpowering everything else, banana bread.
Fifteen of the island’s best banana bread bakers are working their magic in makeshift outdoor kitchens, and the scent is so intense I’m pretty sure the planes flying overhead are getting hungry.
Tourists wander the grounds sunburnt, hungry, and each clutching a frozen cocktail in one hand like it’s a prescription for surviving paradise.
Honestly? It just might be.
The buffet table is groaning under the weight of huli huli chicken, teriyaki beef, lomi salmon, haupia, and enough mac salad to clog the arteries of a small nation.
Chickens patrol the perimeter like food critics sizing up the buffet, and at least six cats have claimed strategic positions near the food stations.
They’re no fools. They know exactly where their proverbial bread is buttered.
And they also know I can’t resist their cute, fuzzy little faces.
I always make sure they get the leftovers at the end of the evening.
That might be why we have the largest feral cat population on the island, right here at the resort.
The chicken population isn’t that far behind either.
At this rate, the resort isn’t a hospitality business so much as an unsanctioned wildlife sanctuary with a swim-up bar.
Koa is scouring the grounds with one hand hovering near his concealed weapon as his stormy brown eyes scan the crowd. He basically knows something terrible is coming but can’t quite see it yet.
He’s got a bad feeling about tonight—he’s told me so three times already. And he wants this case closed as much as Lani and I do. Ruby too, by proxy, though she’s mostly just excited about the drama—and maybe seeing her bestie in handcuffs.
But the evidence isn’t conclusive, Koa keeps saying. There’s not enough to arrest anyone.
Tell me something I don’t know.
The law. Can’t live with it, can’t live without it. Except in Lani’s case, where one of those is becoming a real concern. And I have a feeling she’s about to find out which.
The crew of The Spice Is Right somehow garnered enough portable ovens to bake enough banana bread for the entire island, and judging by the turnout tonight, they just might need every single loaf.
The makeshift kitchens are set out on the lawn just above the sandy cove, and the scents of all things delicious compete with one another.
Halea and Melanie are mingling with the male crew members near the bar, and if Halea’s body language has anything to say about it, that cameraman is definitely getting lucky tonight.
I make my way over to where Ruby and Lani are stationed at our resort’s baking table, both of them elbow-deep in banana bread production.
“What are we making?” I ask.
“Classic Hawaiian banana bread,” Lani says, mashing bananas like she’s done this in her sleep. She probably has. In fact, she might be asleep now. It’s been a long week. “And chocolate chip banana bread, because Ruby insisted.”
“Chocolate? You don’t fight fair,” I tell them as the tiki torches flicker and dance above us, casting shadows that make everyone look either mysterious or mildly threatening depending on the angle.
“All’s fair in baking and war,” Ruby declares, dumping an alarming amount of chocolate chips into her batter. “Besides, chocolate makes everything better. It’s basically science.”
“That’s not science,” Lani says with a laugh.
“It’s my science,” Ruby shoots back.
I nod. “Now that’s the kind of science I can get behind.”
Spam appears from under the table and hops up onto the counter, surveying our operation with the critical eye of a health inspector who takes bribes in the form of tuna—or in this case, banana bread.
“Get down,” Lani hisses, shooing him with her wooden spoon. “This is a sanitary food preparation area.”
Spam ignores her completely, settling into that compact pose cats do where their paws disappear and they look like a furry loaf of banana bread, fully prepared to supervise—and we should be grateful for his expertise.
“He’s quality control,” I say in his defense.
“He’s a health code violation with fur,” she shoots back.
I shrug. “He prefers the term culinary consultant.”
“I’ll give him something to consult.” She waves her wooden spoon and Spam leaps off into the netherworld.
Ruby leans my way with a wily gleam in her eye. “So, what’s the plan? We bake, we smile, we catch a killer between appetizers and dessert?”
“Something like that,” I mutter, scanning the crowd for the Spice Girls and their suspiciously supportive husbands. “We can only hope.”
Bubbles appears at our station as if she’s been summoned by banana-scented magic.
She’s wearing a pastel yellow sundress and her trademark goofy grin, though there’s something in her eyes that says the ditzy blonde act is wearing thin.
Or at least that’s what my killer-catching mind wants to believe.
“Good evening!” she chirps. “It smells so good over here! Oh wow, I really hope you win!”
“Mahalo,” Lani says. “Though I’m pretty sure we’re competing against professional bakers, so our chances are up in the air.”
Ruby nods. “So that’s why we need to bribe you for your vote.”
“Oh, I’m judging tonight, and I can’t play favorites!
” Bubbles interrupts. “Well, I can, but I’m not supposed to.
Although if I did, I’d probably pick the one with the most chocolate because that just makes sense, doesn’t it?
” Ruby flashes her bowl full of chocolate chips and Bubbles gasps.
“Oh, you’re already a winner! But then Doreen would say I’m being biased toward dessert, and Cozy would make some comment about my chocolate addiction, and then we’d have a whole thing... ”
“Bubbles,” I say with a laugh. “I can’t tell you enough how much we’ve enjoyed having you ladies at the resort. I’m so glad you can enjoy the luau. Are your husbands here, too?”
“Oh!” She blinks like she forgot they existed. “They’re hanging out at the bar, drinking their weight in mai tais. Bonding over sports or politics or whatever men talk about when they’re avoiding their wives.”
“Ah, when in Rome,” I say.
“Or Kauai,” Ruby adds.
We all laugh, and Bubbles bounces on her toes. “Oh, hey, did you get that shave ice machine installed?”
Her enthusiasm is so genuine I can’t help but smile. “Installed and ready to go. We’ll be firing it up once the competition is over. That way, all the attention is right where it belongs. On all things banana.”
“Perfect! I can’t wait to get my hands on that frozen dessert.”
Lani elbows me hard in the ribs and nods toward the lava rocks near the beach. I follow her gaze and see Doreen and Cozy standing near the tide pools, their body language screaming tense conversation loud enough to be heard over the ukulele music.
Doreen’s arms are crossed while Cozy gestures sharply. Neither of them looks happy.
“If you ladies will excuse me,” I say, already moving. “I think there’s somewhere I need to be.”
Spam leads the way to the lava rocks, where trouble is brewing in paradise, and perhaps two women are discussing how to get away with murder.