Chapter 20
“So, what do you think?” Loco asks, stepping back from the newest addition to the Coconut Cove Paradise Resort, beaming like he’s just hand-carved Mount Rushmore out of a single coconut.
“Be honest,” Shaka adds, crossing his arms over his bare chest, because shirts are apparently optional when you’re a Hawaiian construction god who makes a living building things with your hands.
I’m already lounging in one of the four new beachfront cabanas with Koa, Ruby, and Lani, all of us sprawled across cushions in the universal posture of people who have done enough this week and are not getting up for anyone.
The thatched hut has some serious glamping appeal with its woven palm walls that let the breeze through, a bamboo frame that looks sturdy enough to survive hurricane season, and an open side that faces the blue Pacific like it’s beckoning us to jump in and forget all of our troubles.
The sun is shining with an intensity that has the potential to turn tourists into lobsters, the breeze is balmy and perfect, and about ten chickens and cats have all come around to inspect the handiwork of the Hale brothers.
A rooster is currently challenging his reflection in the polished bamboo pole, and Spam has claimed the highest cushion as his royal throne. As he should.
“I love it!” I announce. “Except I regret only agreeing to four of these money-making machines. I’ve already got them rented out for the rest of the month!”
“Told you,” Shaka says to his brother with a grin.
“You told me nothing,” Loco counters. “I was the one who said she’d love them.”
“You both told me,” I clarify. “Multiple times. While shirtless. It was very persuasive marketing.”
Koa raises a brow my way, and I shrug.
Ruby fans herself with all the drama she can afford. “Those two brothers could sell ice to penguins if they kept their shirts off while doing it.”
“Isn’t that the truth,” Lani says.
“What about the third? I’m sitting right here,” Koa adds, though he sounds more amused than offended.
“You’re all attractive,” Ruby says with a wink. “It’s exhausting being surrounded by such genetic excellence. Someone should really warn tourists before they arrive. Caution: Resort Staff May Cause Spontaneous Swooning.”
“After those men last night,” Lani mutters, “I’m glad I’m single.”
Last night.
Right. The part where I almost got murdered by three conspiracy-committing husbands who thought drowning me in the Pacific was a reasonable solution to their problems. And it probably would have been, had I not survived.
Less than twenty-four hours later, the three husbands are in a holding tank, the case is officially closed, and I’m still figuring out how to wash sand out of places sand was never meant to go.
They’re all in custody now, facing charges that include conspiracy to commit murder, actual murder, attempted murder of yours truly, and probably a few other felonies the prosecutor is gleefully adding to the list.
They confessed to Koa at the precinct last night, too.
Tom stopped off to purchase the peanut butter after they left the airport the day of the murder.
Gary put it on the banana bread, and Cam handed it to Debbie Lee.
All three of them were well aware of Debbie Lee’s life-threatening allergy to peanuts.
Cozy, Doreen, and Bubbles were genuinely, devastatingly shocked in a way that made me feel awful for even suspecting them, but they followed the police cruisers to the precinct nonetheless, because decades of marriage create obligations that survive even murder conspiracies.
“You’re a great shot, Detective,” I say to Koa, shifting to look at him.
“I’m just glad you weren’t hurt.” He pulls me into his lap, wrapping his arms around me in a way that makes my heart do impossible gymnastics.
“I had backup,” I point out. “Spam saved my life.”
The cat in question opens one eye from his cushion throne, acknowledges his heroism with a slow blink, and goes back to napping. Priorities.
“A cat saved you,” Koa says.
“A very brave cat.”
“Who steals banana bread and sits on evidence.”
“Nobody’s perfect.”
Koa’s laugh rumbles through his chest, and I settle against him, breathing in his woodsy cologne and the salt air and the distinct scent of triumph that comes from solving a murder without becoming the next victim.
A shadow falls over our cabana, and we all look up to see Cozy, Doreen, and Bubbles standing at the entrance, looking exhausted but somehow lighter, like they’ve shed something heavy they didn’t know they were carrying.
“We’re sorry to interrupt,” Doreen says quietly.
“You’re not interrupting,” I assure them, sitting up slightly but staying in Koa’s lap because I’m comfortable and also because almost dying gives you permission to be clingy.
“We wanted to apologize,” Cozy says, her Southern accent subdued. “For everything. For our husbands, for what they did, for putting you all through this nightmare.”
“You didn’t do anything,” Ruby points out. “Your husbands did.”
“Soon-to-be ex-husbands,” Bubbles adds. “We’re all filing for divorce as soon as we get back to Maine. It’s something we should have done a long time ago.”
“Before the murder conspiracy?” Lani asks.
“Way before the murder conspiracy,” Doreen confirms.
They settle onto a lounger near our cabana, and Coconut immediately claims Bubbles’ lap while Pineapple investigates Doreen’s tote bag for snacks.
“How are you holding up?” I ask.
“Honestly?” Cozy laughs, but it’s not her usual flirtatious sound. It’s something far more real. “I feel free. Is that awful? My husband conspired to commit murder, and I feel free.”
“Not awful,” Ruby says. “Understandable. He was blackmailing you emotionally for years and cheating on you. You’re allowed to feel relief that it’s over.”
“The show is over too,” Doreen adds. “Without Debbie Lee and with all the trouble our husbands are in, there is no The Spice Is Right. The network already called. They’re pulling the plug.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say, and I mean it.
“Don’t be.” Doreen smiles, and it feels like the first real one since she arrived on the island. “It was Debbie Lee’s show. She created it, controlled it, and used it to manipulate all of us. Maybe it’s time for something new.”
“A fresh start,” Bubbles agrees. “Without husbands who commit murder, without producers who blackmail us, without any of the toxic mess we’ve been swimming in for years.”
“Speaking of fresh starts,” Ruby says, eyeing Cozy with the unmistakable gleam of imminent meddling, “once the dust settles and you’re ready to get back out there, I know some excellent men.
Husband-quality men. Well, my track record isn’t great, but statistically at least one of them has to be decent. ”
Cozy laughs, and the sound is bright and genuine. “Oh honey, I’m going to enjoy the single life for a good long while. No men, no commitments, no one to answer to but myself.”
“Hear, hear.” Doreen raises an imaginary glass.
“I might get a cat,” Bubbles says thoughtfully. “Or twelve cats. Is twelve too many?”
“There’s no such thing as too many cats,” I assure her, gesturing to the feline army currently occupying various positions around the cabana.
“Oh!” Doreen straightens suddenly. “I almost forgot. I officially declared everyone who participated in last night’s competition a winner. So you can all put up official signs that say Winner of The Spice Is Right Bake-Off.”
Everyone cheers. Even the chickens seem to cluck approvingly.
“First place for everyone!” Ruby declares. “That’s my kind of competition.”
“Participation trophies for all,” Lani adds dryly. “But I’ll take it!”
The three women stand, brushing sand off their clothes, and alohas and goodbyes are exchanged with a warmth that says this isn’t really the end.
“You’re always welcome back,” I tell them. “Minus the murder, obviously.”
“We just might take you up on that,” Cozy says. “A girls’ trip. No husbands, no cameras, no drama. Just the beach, and banana bread, and whatever trouble we can get into. I might even rent out one of these cabanas for us.”
“Please,” Doreen says. “If I come back, I want peace. We’ll rent out all the cabanas.”
“That sounds perfect,” Bubbles agrees. “I’ve always wanted to wake up to the ocean. It’s like an alarm clock made of water, except it never lets you press snooze.”
They leave, and we watch them walk across the beach toward the parking lot. Three women who came to paradise as suspects and are leaving as survivors, free from the men who tried to control them and the producer who tried to destroy them.
“We’re officially adding banana bread to the menu!” Lani announces once they’re out of earshot.
“And my chocolate banana bread, too!” Ruby adds.
Whoops and cheers break out among us. Spam opens one eye, decides this celebration doesn’t require his participation, and goes back to sleep.
“Speaking of the menu,” Loco says, “how about we break in that shave ice machine? I’ve been dying to try it since it got installed.”
“Best idea you’ve had all day,” I say.
We all head to the outdoor café, where Halea and Melanie are already stationed behind the counter looking excited to operate new equipment. The shave ice machine gleams in the afternoon sun with nothing but chrome and promise, and soon we’re all placing orders like kids at a carnival.
“What do you want?” Koa asks me.
“Everything,” I say. “Surprise me.”
He orders something with ten flavors that makes Melanie work overtime, and when he hands it to me it’s a glorious rainbow catastrophe that tastes like every tropical fruit had a party in my mouth and invited their friends.
“You really do know me,” I tell him. “This is perfect.”
“You’re perfect,” he says, and the way he’s looking at me makes my stomach flip for reasons that have nothing to do with a sugar rush.
“Smooth, Detective.”
“I have my moments.”