Chapter 4 #2
The chaos comes to a boil as guests begin to scream and whisper among themselves all at once. Koa and his crew work quickly to put up the caution tape that glows neon yellow in the night, in an effort to keep the crowd at bay.
I’m about to text the staff to help corral this mass of humanity back to the resort when Halea glides up in her scarlet dress, moving through the crime scene chaos as if she’s working a red carpet event.
She elbows her way to the front until her eyes land on the morbid sight.
And shockingly, she surveys Alana’s body with a detached assessment usually reserved for evaluating catering options.
“How absolutely tragic,” she purrs, somehow managing to make a tragedy sound seductive.
“That poor, beautiful woman, cut down in the prime of her professional career.” She pauses to check her reflection in her phone screen.
“I do hope this doesn’t interfere with the wedding timeline. I have another event next week.”
“Wow, your concern for the deceased is touching,” I say.
Her gaze shifts my way, and she huffs. “Darling, death is part of life. But wedding planning? Now that’s eternal.”
Lani and Ruby gasp, but this time I abstain.
Honestly, after working at the resort for these past few weeks, nothing shocks me anymore.
In fact, I’m thinking about adding the tagline Murders-R-Us under the sign that faces the street.
Or Coconut Cove Paradise Resort: Where the Bodies Are Always Complimentary.
Or how about Coconut Cove Paradise Resort: Stay for the Sunsets, Stay Longer If You’re Dead.
A crime scene photographer shows up and starts snapping pictures as the Grim Reaper’s choice paparazzi. His flash illuminates the scene in stark, quick bursts that make everything look as if reality is glitching.
Two chickens have somehow infiltrated the perimeter and are pecking at something near the evidence markers, while a police officer tries to shoo them away without disturbing potential clues.
“This is like CSI: Gilligan’s Island,” Lani says with a sigh.
Ruby shrugs. “More like Hot Koa P.I.”
I can’t argue with that. Actually, either of them.
A spontaneous applause goes off from our left, and we look over to see Candy clapping up a storm while her ring light blazes like a beacon of inappropriate enthusiasm right along with her.
“Everyone!” she announces with her voice carrying across the beach, sounding far too chipper. “I know this is tragic, but Alana would have wanted us to continue! If she was passionate about anything, it was wedding content!”
“Oh, good grief,” I mutter. “There’s no stopping her. Forget bridezilla—we’re dealing with an algorithm-zilla.”
Erwin blinks at her through his mai tai haze. “Candy, maybe we should postpone—”
“Absolutely not!” She waves her phone like a battle flag. “This is going to be the most authentic, raw, real wedding ever created! Love Conquers All—A Destination Wedding That Survived Tragedy! The engagement metrics will be incredible! The show must go on!”
Ruby gawks at the woman. “Did she just turn a murder into a marketing opportunity?”
“I think she did,” Lani replies, watching Candy adjust her ring light for optimal dead body illumination. “That’s either impressive business instincts or sociopathic behavior.”
“With influencers, is there a difference?” I ask.
The trade winds pick up, sending plumeria blossoms swirling around the crime scene like tropical confetti celebrating our descent into complete madness.
Police officers continue to string caution tape between palm trees while Candy poses for selfies with the ocean backdrop, carefully angling to avoid getting any actual footage of the corpse in her shots. Thankfully.
Koa appears at my side with his notebook in hand, looking like he’s contemplating early retirement. In fact, I’m right there with him.
“So,” he says, “any initial thoughts on which of your charming wedding guests might have decided to redecorate the beach with a dead woman?”
I look around at the suspects at large—Erwin drowning his sorrow in rum, Candy treating murder like the opportunity of a lifetime, Bertha looking smugly satisfied, Della proclaiming cosmic coincidences, and Va-Va-Va-Voom Halea already mentally rearranging the wedding timeline to accommodate police investigations—and maybe sneaking in a hot date with a cop or two.
“Well,” I say, watching a rooster strut through the crime scene and disturbing the evidence, “at least we know it wasn’t the wildlife. They have better sense than this crowd.”
The moon hangs over the ocean like a silver witness to the chaos as police lights strobe across the sand, and somewhere in the distance, the band is still playing—unaware that this tropical wedding kick-off celebration has officially become a murder investigation.
Welcome to paradise, where the mai tais are strong, the motives are stronger, and apparently someone decided that the only good business manager slash spontaneous wedding planner is a dead one.