Chapter 14
If I’d known detective work in paradise meant interrogating suspects while treading water and tolerating my ex-husband, I would’ve taken up safer hobbies. Like wrestling with sharks.
The Secret Falls create a crystal-clear swimming hole surrounded by moss-covered rocks and tropical vegetation so lush it looks like a movie set designed by people with excellent taste in jungle décor.
The thirty-foot waterfall pounds into the pool with enough force to power a small hydroelectric plant, creating mist that makes everything sparkle as if paradise decided to become a glitter bomb.
Time to make my move.
I swim toward Erwin and Candy like I’m about to engage in a little friendly post-hike conversation. They’re positioned near the falls, still in romantic reconciliation mode after nearly dying together on the trail from hell.
Candy is battling waterfall-destroyed hair, flailing around in the pool so dramatically you’d think someone just announced that social media has been permanently canceled.
“My hair is eating my face,” she cries. “Are you still taping?” she screeches at her poor sister. “This is a follower disaster of epic proportions!”
“Knock it off, Doodle Bop,” Erwin calls out. “I can fix this.”
Did he just call her Doodle Bop?
I’d like to bop them both over the head.
Erwin, displaying a romantic sensitivity that contributed to our divorce and definitely explains his approach to problem-solving, dunks Candy underwater without warning. He brings her up with her hair slicked back like a seal discovering the joys of emergency hair management.
Candy emerges from her unexpected baptism and immediately lets out an ear-piercing belch—a sound that echoes off jungle walls and goes against several social media community standards. Birds in nearby trees fall silent, shocked by this breach of tropical etiquette.
“CUT!” she yells at Della, who immediately stops filming and swims away, understanding that some moments are too authentic for public consumption.
“So,” I say pleasantly, positioning myself within conversation range while treading water like a casual waterfall socializer, “how is wedding planning treating you so far? Besides the hiking disasters and hair emergencies?” I leave out the homicide for now.
“Oh, Jinx,” Erwin says with a condescending tone that makes me understand why some people choose violence as a hobby. “Always showing up where you’re not wanted. Some things never change.”
“Like your charming personality,” I reply sweetly, because I seem to enjoy verbal sparring in nature’s swimming pools. “Speaking of things that don’t change—what did you think of that poor woman who was killed on night one of your festivities?” I look at Candy. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Candy squints at me like she hasn’t a clue as to what I’ve just alluded to.
“Your business manager, Alana?” I say with a nod, hoping to strike a chord, or find a functioning brain cell.
Erwin’s expression shifts to something resembling a man trying to navigate a conversation minefield while treading water. “Alana was a professional. She was very focused on her work. Maybe too focused, if you know what I mean.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” I tell him. “Enlighten me.”
“Let’s just say she had very strong opinions about wedding arrangements,” he goes on. “And business arrangements. And basically, any arrangements that didn’t go exactly her way.”
She sounds an awful lot like the bride. No wonder they got along so well. They did share a brain. And unfortunately, Alana took it with her.
A small gecko appears on a rock near the waterfall and does a few tiny push-ups before settling in to observe human drama in tropical settings.
“Strong opinions about what specifically?” I press, because I’ve committed to this interrogation regardless of aquatic challenges. I can feel a leg cramp coming on, but I try to ignore it.
“Money, mostly,” Erwin offers. “It was always about money with that one. She acted like every dollar spent was coming out of her personal account instead of, you know, being payment for services we’d already agreed to.”
Candy’s expression shifts from post-belch embarrassment to something resembling genuine sadness, which is more emotional range than I’ve seen from her since she arrived.
“She was like, my friend, you know? We had so many plans together. She was going to help me expand my brand into lifestyle consulting.”
“But?” I prompt, recognizing the universal pause that precedes important revelations.
“But lately she’d been so weird about everything. Like, super stressed about money and contracts and all that boring business stuff I don’t understand. She kept talking about financial security and protecting her interests, like she was planning for nuclear warfare instead of wedding planning.”
The gecko nods sagely, agreeing with this assessment of Alana’s recent behavior patterns.
“You know who you should really talk to?” Candy continues, deciding that sharing information is therapeutic. “Halea.” She says the woman’s name like it were an expletive. “She and Alana had this huge fight the night of the murder.”
“What kind of fight?”
“Something about territory and clients and business ethics,” Candy goes on.
“Halea was like, super angry about Alana trying to steal her client base or something. I don’t really understand business drama, but it was totes intense.
Halea used words I’m pretty sure I can’t say on any of my social media accounts. ”
“This sounds totes serious,” I say, and mean it. Funny, Halea didn’t mention any of that when we had our little chat. Or did she? That jungle hike seems to have stolen a few of my brain cells.
Erwin starts making not-so-subtle hand gestures like slitting his throat with his finger, which suggests he’d prefer Candy to stop sharing information with his ex-wife in public swimming facilities.
“And Bertha!” Candy continues, immune to her husband’s nonverbal communication attempts. “Oh my gosh, that battleaxe had it out for Alana from day one. Something about her inappropriate influence on family financial decisions and the fact that she was an outsider with questionable motives.”
I seem to recall her saying those exact things to me just prior to my jaunt down the aisle. I should have taken it for the warning it was.
I clear my throat. “And what do you think she meant by that exactly?” There’s no way I’m wiping Bertha from my suspect list just because she seems to be following her own terroristic protocol.
Candy shrugs. “I have no idea what she meant, but Bertha used her scary voice.”
I know the voice all too well. It’s the one that makes waiters apologize for things they didn’t do and small children hide behind their parents.
A rooster crows from somewhere in the jungle, because obviously, he too isn’t a fan of Bertha’s intimidation techniques.
“Anyway, Erwin was super stressed about the whole thing, too,” Candy adds, not realizing she’s making her new husband sound like a prime suspect in a murder investigation. “He kept having these mysterious phone calls about financial arrangements and handling the situation.”
My mouth falls open as I turn to the dirty rat I once chained myself to legally.
“Candy, honey,” Erwin says with the panicked laugh of a man watching his fiancée accidentally provide evidence against him, “maybe we shouldn’t—”
“And he was like, totally obsessed with making sure Alana understood her boundaries or whatever,” Candy barrels on ahead, digging Erwin’s grave just a little bit deeper. “I thought it was sweet that he was protecting me from business stress, but now...”
“Now what?” Erwin and I say in unison.
“He kept talking about how much money we were spending and whether it was worth it and if certain people deserved to be paid their full fees.”
“That’s a completely normal wedding planning conversation!” Erwin protests at top volume as if his defense strategy involves drowning out inconvenient evidence. “Everyone talks about budgets!”
Candy pulls away to get a better look at the oaf. “But you said Alana was overcharging for minimal services and that someone needed to put her in her place before she got out of hand,” she points out with the helpful precision of a fiancée providing ammunition for her fiancé’s prosecution.
And in this moment right here, I can honestly say, I think I like her.
Erwin’s face turns purple as poi. “I never said—”
“GERONIMO!” someone calls from across the pool, and we look over to see Ruby launching herself from the top of a rock formation with zero regard for physics or the integrity of her hips.
She hits the water with enough force to create waves that temporarily disrupt all serious conversation and probably traumatize local fish populations.
The splash she creates sends water flying in every direction and provides the perfect interruption for Erwin’s increasingly desperate damage control efforts.
Not to be outdone by Ruby’s aquatic theatrics, Bertha appears on a lower rock formation, deciding that dignified poolside observation is overrated.
“I’m going in next. I need to clean this muck off,” she calls out like a threat, then belly flops into the water like she’s got a personal grudge against gravity.
The sound of Bertha hitting the water echoes through the jungle like a very large, very wet slap that registers on seismic equipment across three islands. Birds flee from nearby trees, concluding that natural disasters are imminent and evacuation procedures should commence immediately.
“Okay, everyone!” Candy announces, surfacing from Ruby’s splash zone with a renewed vigor that most likely has to do with a camera. “Time for group photos!” Knew it. “This lighting is absolutely perfect for authentic adventure content!”
“Authentic?” I mutter, watching Candy transform from vulnerable mourner back to social media maven faster than you can say brand management.
“Everyone in the water!” she barks at every soul in the vicinity. “Pretend you’re having the time of your lives! This needs to look spontaneous and joyful! Natural paradise vibes only!”
Despite everyone’s exhaustion, dishevelment, and desire to continue either recovering or drowning, Candy begins orchestrating an elaborate photo session with the efficiency of a drill sergeant.
“Closer together! Smile bigger,” she thunders. “Show those tropical adventure feelings! This is going viral, people! Viral!”
While everyone else attempts to look naturally delighted for Candy’s follower engagement empire, Ruby decides to add her own commentary.
In every single shot, she sticks her tongue out with the dedication of a woman conducting a one-person protest against forced happiness documentation. Okay, fine, I might have done the same.
“Ruby,” Candy says with strained patience, “could you maybe not—”
“Nope,” Ruby replies cheerfully, tongue still extended for maximum photographic disruption. “This is my authentic self. Natural paradise vibes, remember?”
The resulting photos capture this moment in our little Hawaiian paradise forever—a group of muddy, exhausted people pretending to be having fun while one or two rebels provide honest thoughts on the entire hellish experience.
Future social media historians will use these images as evidence of the disconnect between influencer reality and actual human experience.
And I like to think I played a small part in it.
“Perfect!” Candy declares, having achieved whatever aesthetic goal that justifies forcing traumatized hikers into performance art. “These are going to get amazing engagement! Nothing says real island experience like surviving a hike through the jungle!”
She might be right.
A rooster crows from somewhere, agreeing that a real island experience is indeed the goal, though probably not the kind Candy has in mind.
As the impromptu photo session winds down, I float on my back in the crystal-clear water, surrounded by tropical paradise and armed with more information than I had before.
Halea and Alana fighting over business territory. Bertha disapproving of outsiders affecting family finances. Erwin making threatening comments about putting people in their place. Obviously, he just floated to the top of my suspect list, and a part of me hopes he stays there.
And all of it happening in the most beautiful waterfall setting imaginable, because murder mysteries in paradise come with spectacular scenery and excellent swimming facilities.
The gecko does one final push-up and skitters away, having collected enough human drama evidence for whatever reptilian gossip network operates in tropical locations.
Halea might’ve had friction with Alana. Bertha certainly did. And Erwin… well, Erwin might be guilty of existing.
Time to see which of these motives may have led to an actual homicide, and whether anyone can survive Candy’s social media documentation of the investigation process.