Chapter 23
The night air wraps around me like warm silk, thick with the scent of plumeria and the sound of the pineapple express rustling through palm fronds as if whispering.
Tiki torches flicker along the beach, their flames dancing in rhythm with Loco’s and Shaka’s ukuleles, while our guests feast on Lani’s magical spread under a canopy of stars so bright they look like someone scattered diamonds across black velvet just to show off.
It should be perfect. It is perfect. Except for the fact that I’m standing on the beach in a coconut shell bikini, realizing that all my suspicions about the killer are about to be confirmed, and I have no idea how to handle confronting a murderer who’s spent the last week being genuinely kind to me.
The silhouette by the water’s edge moves slightly, and I catch a glimpse of silver-streaked hair and the gentle posture of a woman who spends her days nurturing growing things.
Someone who’s been here all evening, helping serve food, complementing our hula performance, playing the role of beloved community member as if she’s been perfecting that performance for years.
Savannah Cross, beloved community garden coordinator. Savannah Cross, who knew everyone’s secrets and protected those she cared about. Savannah Cross, who had more knowledge about plant toxicity than anyone else on the island.
Savannah Cross, who loved that garden enough to kill anyone who threatened to destroy it.
My heart is pounding so hard I’m pretty sure everyone at the party can hear it, but I start walking toward the water anyway, my flip-flops silent on the sand that’s still warm from the day’s heat.
Behind me, the party continues with Ruby working the kinks out of her hip while flirting shamelessly with Loco, Lani is directing Shaka toward the proper serving techniques for haupia like it’s a military operation, and Melanie is actually smiling as she samples a cinnamon roll that’s large enough to require its own rental unit at the resort.
None of them notices as I slip away from the lights and music toward the woman standing alone at the tide line, and I briefly wonder if this is how people die in horror movies—walking toward danger while everyone else is distracted by food.
“Beautiful evening,” I say, stopping a few feet behind Savannah because getting too close to a murderer seems like poor life planning. It was for Nolan.
She doesn’t turn around, just continues staring out at the moonlight dancing on the waves. “It is,” she says, her voice carrying the same warm tone she uses when teaching others about growing things. “This is what your resort could be, you know. What it should have been all along.”
“Instead of what Nolan wanted to turn it into.”
“Nolan.” Her voice carries something sharp now, like the sound of pruning shears cutting through dead wood, and I feel my skin prickle with awareness that I’m alone with someone dangerous.
She finally turns to face me, her silver-streaked hair catching the moonlight in a way that should be beautiful but now just feels ominous.
“That man saw dollar signs where other people see beauty. Profit margins where others see homes. Development opportunities where others see sacred spaces.”
“He threatened your garden,” I say, stepping closer to her on the packed sand even though every survival instinct I have is screaming at me to run.
“He threatened everything I’ve spent thirty years building,” she replies, her hands clenching at her sides. “The garden, the community, the students I’ve taught to understand that some things are more valuable than money.”
I move another step closer, close enough to catch the scent of jasmine that always seems to surround her, mixed now with something else—a tension that comes from carrying secrets too heavy for one person to bear, the weight of having crossed a line you can never uncross.
“You killed him.”
She tilts her head slightly, studying me with those warm brown eyes that now look sad rather than surprised, like she’s been expecting this conversation and dreading it.
“Did I?” she asks quietly, and there’s something almost vulnerable in her voice.
“With oleander,” I say, my voice steady despite my racing heart. “You knew he’d be drinking that night, knew he’d have his guard down. It was easy enough to slip something toxic into his drink, wait for the poison to take effect—maybe even help him into the pool when he became disoriented.”
“That’s quite a theory,” she says, brushing an imaginary speck of sand from her muumuu.
“It’s not a theory. It’s what happened.”
Savannah sighs, the sound mixing with the gentle lapping of waves against the shore, and for a moment she looks older than her years, tired in a way that goes beyond physical exhaustion.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about, Jinx,” she says, but there’s resignation in her voice now, as if she’s too tired to keep pretending.
“Then explain it to me.”
“Explain what?” She gestures toward the party behind us, where laughter mingles with ukulele music and people are having the time of their lives, completely unaware that they’re fifty yards from what could be a murder confession.
“That sometimes bad things happen to bad people? That sometimes the universe has a way of protecting what needs protecting?”
“Explain how you could kill someone and then spend the next week acting like the grieving community member, helping with investigations, pointing suspicion toward other people.”
“Other people?” Savannah laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “You mean May? That poor girl who’s been running from her past since the day she got here? Or Dane, who’s just trying to make a living in a place where tourism is the only game in town?”
“You tried to frame them,” I say, my voice getting stronger. “In fact, you spread rumors about them.”
“I tried to protect them,” she replies firmly. “Just like I protect everyone in this community who deserves to be protected. May needed someone to vouch for her, so I did. Dane needed work, so I sent tourists his way. I take care of my people, Jinx. That’s what community means.”
The warm breeze gusts across the water, carrying the sound of ukuleles and laughter from the party behind us.
“Nolan Nakamura was going to destroy everything,” Savannah continues, her voice taking on the passionate quality I’ve heard when she talks about her garden.
“Not just the land, but the community. The families who’ve been here for generations.
The children who learn about their heritage in that garden. ”
“So you decided he had to die,” I say.
“I decided he had to be stopped,” she corrects, stepping closer to me in a way that makes my heart rate spike. “There’s a difference.”
“Same thing.”
“Is it?” She moves another step my way and closes the distance between us, and even now, even knowing what she’s done, there’s something genuinely caring in her expression.
“Tell me, Jinx, what would you do if someone threatened to destroy everything you’d built?
Everything you loved? Would you just stand by and let it happen? ”
“I wouldn’t commit murder,” I say firmly.
“Wouldn’t you?” she asks softly, and the question feels like a trap.
The question hangs in the air between us like humidity, heavy and impossible to ignore. Because the truth is, looking at this woman who’s spent decades nurturing a community, teaching people, protecting the vulnerable—I wouldn’t suspect her of hurting a fly, let alone a human.
Which is exactly what makes her so dangerous.
“You need to turn yourself in,” I say.
“Do I?” she asks, taking a step backward.
“Detective Hale will figure it out eventually. He’s already suspicious about the oleander. It’s only a matter of time before he comes knocking at your door.” Like tonight, but I leave that time-sensitive information out of the conversation for now.
“Time.” Savannah nods thoughtfully, continuing to back away from me.
“Yes, time is the important thing, isn’t it?
Time for the garden to establish deeper roots.
Time for the community to organize against future development threats.
Time for people like May to build new lives and people like you to save places that deserve saving. ”
“Savannah—” I start, but she’s already turning away.
“You’re a good person, Jinx,” she says over her shoulder, and there’s genuine warmth in her voice that makes this whole thing even worse. “You see the best in broken things, try to fix what others would throw away. That’s a rare gift. Don’t lose it.”
“Like how you saw the best in May?” I call after her, my voice sharper than I intended. “Helping her build a new life while you were planning to use her as a scapegoat if anyone figured out what you’d done?”
Savannah stops walking. Her shoulders tense like I’ve struck a nerve.
“You protected her just enough to make her look guilty,” I continue, the pieces finally clicking into place with sickening clarity.
“You helped her get settled so people would know she had secrets, spread just enough rumors to make her look suspicious, and made sure everyone knew she had a motive. But you never actually gave Nolan anything concrete he could use against her because you needed her scared enough to look guilty, but not desperate enough to run. You were setting her up from the beginning, weren’t you?
She was your insurance policy in case the investigation got too close.
I bet if we do a little more digging, we’d find out there was nothing wrong with your plumbing the night you came to stay at the resort. ”
She turns to face me, and the warm, nurturing expression is gone, replaced by something harder, colder.
“Okay, fine,” she says, her voice tight with barely controlled anger.
“I killed him. But he deserved everything he got! That man was pond scum. It was only fitting he ended up in a puddle of it, too.”