Chapter 24
The next week passes in a blur of hammering, sawing, and the kind of transformation that makes you believe in magic—or at least in the power of competent construction workers fueled by unlimited cinnamon rolls and the promise of reputational redemption.
The coffee bar now operates with the efficiency of a Swiss timepiece instead of a mechanical device having an asthma attack.
The espresso machine purrs instead of protests, the grinder actually grinds instead of making tragic noises that suggest imminent mechanical death, and I can now produce a latte that doesn’t require a hazmat team for cleanup or an apology to the customer.
The cinnamon rolls are flying off the shelves faster than we can bake them, which is saying something considering Lani and I now start baking at four in the morning just to keep up with demand and also because it seems we hate sleep.
The ice cream machine—miracle of miracles—actually makes ice cream instead of expensive frozen disappointment, and we’re selling out by three o’clock every day.
We’re so close to having enough money for a second machine, I can almost taste the increased profit margins, and they taste like victory and possibly pineapple upside-down ice cream.
The Hale brothers have worked miracles that would make ancient Hawaiian gods envious of their ability to resurrect the dead.
Loco fixed the electrical system so thoroughly that we now have lights that actually light instead of flickering Morse code messages of distress.
Shaka tackled the plumbing with the enthusiasm of a man who genuinely enjoys wrestling with pipes, and we now have water pressure that doesn’t require prayer or sacrifice to achieve.
Even the pools look less like science experiments and more like actual bodies of water where humans might voluntarily place their own bodies.
The morning air carries the scent of fresh paint and possibility as I survey our transformed paradise from the lobby.
Balmy winds rustle through palms that now look like they belong in a tourism ad instead of a disaster documentary, and the sound of actual guest satisfaction floats through the eternally half-open doors.
I’m about to indulge in a cinnamon roll to celebrate when a shrill whistle comes from the left and all eyes fall on Melanie.
“Emergency staff meeting! All employees to the lobby,” she announces over the resort’s newly functional PA system, her voice carrying the enthusiasm usually reserved for announcing terminal illnesses. “Emergency meeting. Now. Everyone gather. Pronto!”
The staff that assembles in the lobby is a sad, scraggly group of about ten people who look like they’ve been through several natural disasters and possibly a small war.
Ruby appears wearing a muumuu dotted with neon pink hibiscus, Lani emerges from the kitchen with flour in her hair and her wooden spoon tucked into her apron like a sidearm, and various housekeeping and maintenance staff shuffle in with the resigned expressions of people who’ve learned to expect bad news as a regular job requirement, me included.
Melanie stands behind the front desk wearing her favorite expression—the one that lets us know she’s about to deliver news that will ruin everyone’s day and possibly their lives.
Her hair is pulled back into its usual aggressive bun, and her lipstick is that shade of red that warns of an incoming catastrophe.
She takes a moment to scowl in my direction before shedding a wicked smile.
“Despite all of Jinx’s silly efforts,” she begins, her voice dripping with a sweetness that comes with a side of arsenic, “the resort is still operating at a significant loss. Therefore, Coconut Cove Paradise Resort will be closing in one week’s time. ”
Ruby gasps like she’s been personally wounded. Lani drops her wooden spoon, which hits the tile floor with a clang that echoes through the lobby like a death knell announcing the end of everything we’ve worked for.
“And I,” Melanie continues with barely concealed glee, “will be enjoying my golden parachute.”
“Hope it doesn’t break midway down,” I’m quick to tell her. “It could be fun to watch.”
Ruby elbows me in the ribs. “Not that kind of parachute. Melanie has something to gain if this place shuts down. Mr. X must have offered one heck of a severance package.”
The pieces click into place with the sound of a tropical puzzle solving itself. “Oh my word,” I gasp. “I bet you’re the one who’s been sabotaging us from the beginning.”
Ruby’s head whips toward me with her eyes wide.
“Think about it,” I continue, my voice getting stronger as the theory solidifies in my mind.
“The oven that spontaneously combusted the first time we tried to make cinnamon rolls. The ice cream machine door that just happened to fall off right when we were planning our grand opening. The pool filter that exploded. The fire alarm that went off at the most perfectly inconvenient moment when lips were about to collide.” I take a step toward Melanie, counting on my fingers.
“Every single malfunction happened right when we were on the verge of success. Right when we were about to turn things around.”
Melanie’s smile doesn’t falter, but something flickers in her eyes—just for a second—that tells me I might be onto something. Honestly, I wasn’t sure I was. Those things were on the brink of disaster all on their own. But then, the woman is wicked.
“You had access to everything,” I press on, the words coming faster now. “The keys to every room, the maintenance schedules, the electrical panels. You knew exactly when we’d be using the equipment, exactly when to make things fail to cause maximum damage and minimum suspicion.”
“That’s quite the imagination you have,” Melanie says, her voice dripping with condescension, but I notice her hand gripping the edge of the desk, and her knuckles have gone white.
“Is it my imagination? Or is it just pattern recognition?” I turn to address the assembled staff, who are watching this confrontation like it’s better than television.
“She wanted this place to fail. Needed it to fail. Because as long as we kept limping along, barely surviving, she kept getting what I’m guessing is a paltry salary.
But the minute Mr. X decided to actually close the doors, she got her golden parachute. Her coincidental big payout.”
Lani steps forward, her wooden spoon pointed at Melanie like an accusation. “The wiring that kept shorting out in the kitchen—you were always the first one to discover it.”
“And Jinx is right. You were always so quick to call repair people who somehow made things worse instead of better,” Ruby adds, her eyes narrowing.
“You can’t prove any of this,” Melanie says, but there’s a slight tremor in her voice now that wasn’t there before.
“Maybe not,” I admit, “but I bet if someone actually investigated—say, a certain detective who’s very good at his job—they’d find some interesting evidence.
Maintenance logs that don’t quite add up.
Repair receipts that seem suspicious. Maybe even security footage of you accessing areas right before mysterious malfunctions occurred. ”
Melanie’s face has gone from confident to slightly panicked, her eyes darting toward the door like she’s calculating escape routes.
“You wanted us to fail so badly you were willing to destroy everything,” I say, and I can hear the anger creeping into my voice now. “Ruby’s home. Lani’s family’s security. All those employees who depend on this place. All so you could cash out and walk away.”
Melanie’s smile could shut down the sunshine. “Prove it.”
Before I can respond, she straightens her shoulders, and she nods to the group with renewed authority.
“Regardless of baseless accusations, the facts remain the same. This resort is hemorrhaging money, and I have my orders.” She offers a short-lived smile my way.
“So, pack it up and ship it out,” she continues, deciding that subtlety is overrated.
“I’ll start telling the guests they need to find greener pastures before I close the doors to Coconut Cove Paradise Resort tonight. Forever.”
“No, you’re not.” The voice comes from the direction of the veranda, deep and familiar, though there’s an authority in it I haven’t heard before. A man steps out of the shadows where the sun radiates around him from behind like he’s been personally lit by a cinematographer with excellent timing.
When he comes into focus, we all gasp.
Lani stands and shakes her head in disbelief. “It’s you?”
Sure enough, there stands Dane “The Smile” Huntington in all his Ken-doll glory, but there’s something different about him now.
The perpetual grin has been replaced by something more serious, more substantial.
He’s still devastatingly handsome in that I probably have my own Instagram filter way, but there’s an edge of actual authority that makes you realize this isn’t just another pretty face with flexible accounting principles.
“I’m the owner,” he says simply. “The mysterious Mr. X.” He nods our way. “I thought I’d come down and see how things were going myself.”
The silence in the lobby is so complete you could hear a gecko sneeze.
“This place was my father’s baby,” Dane continues, his voice carrying a weight I’ve never heard before. “After he passed away, I’ll admit I’ve neglected it.” He turns to face Melanie directly. “And so have you. You’re fired.”
Melanie’s gasp could probably be heard from the neighboring islands. “You can’t fire me! I’m your right-hand gal! You said so yourself!”
“I’m left-handed,” Dane deadpans, then turns my way. “Jinx, I’d like to promote you to the general manager position. Head of everything, really. That is, if you accept the position.”
My brain short-circuits momentarily. “But what about the barista position?”
Lani swats me with her wooden spoon. “Say yes, you magnificent fool.”
“Yes,” I manage. “I mean, yes, I’ll take it.”