Chapter 12
The beach behind Coconut Cove Paradise Resort proves that Mother Nature has a sense of humor, as if she made this stretch of coastline absolutely gorgeous just to mock the falling apart resort that sits on it, like she wanted to make sure we all knew what we were missing out on.
I’m planted on a piece of driftwood that’s probably older than my marriage was and definitely more stable, waiting for Detective Hale to finish whatever important police business called him away after our attic rescue that I’m still trying not to think about.
“Give me twenty minutes,” he’d said, his hand still warm on my elbow as he helped me down the ladder. “I need to make a call, then we’ll have that chat.”
That was forty-five minutes ago, and I’m starting to think he’s stood me up, which would be a new low even for my track record with men.
The waves roll in with a steady rhythm as if to say they’ve got all the time in the world and no murder investigations to solve, and a warm breeze carries the scent of salt, plumeria, and my own lingering embarrassment from this morning’s food truck disaster that I’m pretty sure is now permanently documented on the internet.
The sun is starting its slow descent toward the horizon, painting everything in warm golden light that makes even our decrepit resort look almost romantic.
My shirt finally stopped sticking to my back like a desperate ex, and I’ve managed to get most of the powdered sugar out of my hair, though I’m pretty sure I’ll be finding it in weird places for weeks.
“Sorry, I’m late.”
I don’t turn around, even though that voice makes my spine straighten in ways that should probably concern me and possibly require a chiropractor.
“Let me guess,” I say. “Important detective business that couldn’t wait? Someone needed urgent help with their parking tickets?”
“Something like that.” Detective Koa Hale’s footsteps crunch on the sand as he approaches, and I can hear the smile in his voice even though I’m determinedly staring at the ocean. “Mind if I sit?”
“It’s a free beach. Technically. And you did promise me a chat.”
He settles onto the sand beside my driftwood throne with an ease that lets me know he’s comfortable in his own fit body, and I catch that scent again—soap, ocean air, and something indefinably masculine that makes my brain forget how to form complete sentences or remember why I was annoyed about the wait to begin with.
He’s changed out of his uniform into fresh jeans and a simple gray t-shirt that does absolutely nothing to hide the fact that he’s built like someone who takes physical fitness seriously and possibly has a gym membership that actually gets used.
“Nice view,” he says, gesturing toward the water with a hand that I’m trying very hard not to stare at.
“It’s the one thing Mr. X got right. Hard to mess up an ocean, although I’m sure he tried.”
“From what I’ve seen of this place, he might have found a way if given enough time.”
I snort. “Given time, indeed. I’m sure there’s a plan to drain it for parking spaces or fill it with concrete for guest safety.”
We sit in companionable silence for a moment, watching a sea turtle surface about fifty yards out, its shell catching the light as it comes up for air before diving back down into the blue.
The sun is painting the sky in shades of orange and pink that would make a sunset photographer charge extra for prints.
“So,” he says eventually, “want to tell me what you were really looking for in that attic?”
“I told you. Air conditioning manuals. Very important documents. Essential reading.”
“Try again.”
I sigh, digging my toes into the sand and feeling it squish between them in a way that’s oddly satisfying.
“Information about Mr. X. The mysterious owner who hired me sight unseen, threatened to close the resort in thirty days if we don’t turn a profit, and then vanished into thin air like some kind of tropical ghost. Don’t you think that’s a little suspicious? ”
“Everything about this place is suspicious,” he says, picking up a handful of sand and letting it run through his fingers like he’s contemplating the nature of decay and entropy. “The question is whether it’s suspicious enough to be connected to a recent death on the property.”
He says recent like there have been many. And for all I know, there have been.
“You think Nolan’s death was connected to the resort?” I turn to look at him, and the setting sun catches his profile in a way that makes me forget what we’re talking about for a second.
“I think a man with Nolan’s background doesn’t just accidentally drown in a pool that looks as if it contains a few boogeymen. Especially when half the people at the resort had reasons to want him dead.”
The waves crash against the lava rock outcropping to our left, sending spray into the air that catches the light like scattered diamonds. A pale white bird circles overhead, shifting position like it’s making an important decision.
“What kind of background?” I ask. Evidently, I’m fully committed to this amateur detective thing now.
“The kind that makes enemies.” He picks up another handful of sand and this time chucks it.
“Nolan Nakamura specialized in acquiring properties through, let’s just say, creative means.
Environmental reports that conveniently overlooked certain issues like toxic waste or endangered species.
Zoning variance applications that mysteriously got fast-tracked through city councils.
Pressure applied to the right people at the right time. That sort of thing.”
“Sounds charming. A real upstanding citizen.”
“He was very good at finding people’s pressure points and pushing them just enough. But not enough to break them immediately, just enough to make them desperate.”
A wave larger than the others rolls in, and I have to lift my feet as the water rushes up the beach toward us with more enthusiasm than necessary. The cold shock of it makes me gasp. “So, someone finally pushed back?”
“Looks that way. Question is who, and whether they planned it or just saw an opportunity.”
The sun is getting lower, painting everything in warm golden light that makes even Detective Hale’s perpetual scowl look almost approachable. Almost like he might be a person and not just a badge with excellent cheekbones.
“Can I ask you something?” I say because the sunset and the sound of the waves have made me brave or possibly stupid.
“You can ask.” He turns to look at me, and I notice he doesn’t say he’ll answer, which is very on-brand for him.
“Why are you being nice to me? This morning, you were ready to arrest me for breathing wrong, and now you’re sitting on a beach making actual conversation like we’re friends or something.”
He’s quiet for so long, I think he’s not going to answer, and I’m mentally preparing my exit strategy when he finally speaks. “You remind me of someone.”
“Someone you liked, or someone you wanted to throw off a cliff?”
“The jury is still out,” he says, but there’s the tiniest hint of warmth in his voice.
I laugh despite myself, and the sound carries across the water. “Gee, thanks. You’re really building my confidence here, Detective.”
“You want honesty?” He turns to face me fully, and the intensity in his gaze makes my breath catch.
“You’re stubborn, reckless, and you have absolutely no sense of self-preservation.
You’ve been on this island for exactly two days, and you’ve already managed to get yourself tangled up in Christmas lights, banned from the best food truck on the North Shore, involved in a murder investigation, and probably created a few safety hazards I haven’t discovered yet. ”
“When you put it like that, I sound like a real catch. Very employable. Also, excellent dating material.”
“But,” he continues, and there’s something in his voice that makes me look at him properly, really look, “you’re also trying to save a place that most people would have given up on already.
You care about Ruby and Lani enough to get covered in powdered sugar and banned from food trucks.
And you make the best coffee I’ve had since moving back to the island. ”
I blink, trying to process this unexpected compliment that feels more intimate than it should. “You’ve had my coffee?”
“Yesterday. After the body turned up and everything went to hell.”
“And?”
“And it was good coffee. Really good. The kind that makes you reconsider your entire relationship with caffeine.”
Coming from him, this feels like the highest praise possible, like he’s just told me I hung the moon and also fixed all the world’s problems with a French press.
The waves are getting bigger as the tide comes in, and I have to scoot back on my driftwood seat to avoid getting soaked, which would be the perfect ending to this already perfect day of disasters. “So, what happens now? With the investigation, I mean.”
“Now I do my job, and you stay out of my way, and preferably out of attics.”
“What if I don’t want to stay out of your way?”
He turns to look at me, and there’s something in those gold-rimmed eyes that makes my breath catch in my throat, and my heart do things that should probably require medical supervision. “Ms. Julep—”
“Jinx.”
“Jinx.” My name in his mouth sounds different, softer. “This is a murder investigation, not a romantic comedy.”
“Who says it can’t be both? I’ve seen movies. Sometimes people solve crimes and fall in love. It’s a whole genre.”
“The dead body in your pool says so, for starters. That’s usually a deal breaker in the romance department.”
“Fair point.” I stand up and brush sand off my shorts, suddenly needing to move before I say something I can’t take back. “Do you want to take a walk with me?”
“I should get back—” he starts, but there’s hesitation in his voice.
“Come on, Detective. Live a little. It’s just a walk on the beach. I promise not to get tangled in any seaweed, or discover any more bodies, or create any international incidents. Scout’s honor.”
“Were you a scout?”
“No, but the principle stands.”
He stares at me for a long moment, and I can practically see him weighing his options. Professional duty versus... whatever this is that’s happening between us. I’d like to think that romantic comedy is still in play.
“Ten minutes,” he says, standing and brushing sand off his jeans in a way that absolutely should not be as attractive as it is.
“I’ll take it.”
We start walking along the water’s edge, our footsteps creating temporary impressions in the wet sand that the waves immediately start erasing, like the ocean is making sure no one can track our path.
The sun is almost touching the horizon now, turning the sky into a masterpiece of orange and purple and pink that looks like someone spilled paint across heaven.
“So,” I say because I can’t let silence be, “do you always interrogate suspects on romantic beaches at sunset?”
“Only the ones who get themselves trapped in Christmas decorations.”
“Lucky me.”
“Lucky is one word for it,” he says, and I catch the smile in his voice.
A wave rolls in and soaks my ankles without warning, and I jump back with a squeal that sends a nearby crab scuttling for cover and probably alerts half the island to my location. Detective Hale—Koa—doesn’t even flinch as the water swirls around his feet like it knows better than to surprise him.
“Not a beach person?” he asks, amused.
“I’m more of an appreciate the ocean from a safe distance person. The ocean is beautiful, but it’s also full of things that want to eat me. And things with tentacles. And also, sharks. Definitely sharks.”
“Most of them are smaller than you.”
“Most of them have better survival instincts and also teeth. So many teeth.”
We reach the end of the sandy stretch where the lava rock takes over, creating tide pools that reflect the sky like natural mirrors, each one holding its own tiny universe.
Koa stops and turns to face me, and suddenly we’re standing very close, close enough that I can see the gold flecks in his eyes and the way the sunset light catches in his dark hair and makes it look almost bronze.
“Jinx,” he says, and my name in his voice sounds different from the way it did this morning. Less like an accusation, more like a question, maybe even a promise.
“Yeah?” My voice comes out breathier than I intended.
“Be careful. This investigation... It’s going to get complicated. And people who get in the way of complicated investigations sometimes get hurt. I don’t want you to be one of them.”
“Is that your professional opinion or your personal concern?”
“Both.”
The sun touches the horizon, sending a path of gold across the water that leads directly to where we’re standing. It’s so beautiful it almost hurts to look at, and I’m suddenly very aware that I’m sharing this moment with a man who makes my heart do things that could cause permanent damage.
“I can take care of myself,” I say because it’s true and also because I need to believe it.
“I’m starting to figure that out.”
“Good. Because I’m not going anywhere.”
“I was afraid you’d say that.” But he’s smiling when he says it—a real smile this time, not the ghost of one or the hint of one, but an actual smile that transforms his entire face and makes me forget about murders and mysteries and everything except the way he’s looking at me right now.
And for the first time since I arrived in paradise, I think maybe getting lost was exactly what I needed to do.
Maybe the universe’s sense of humor isn’t so bad after all.