Chapter 2 #3
A familiar woodsy cologne drifts over my shoulder, and I don’t need to turn around to know who’s standing behind me. Detective Koa Hale’s presence does things to my nervous system that no over-the-counter remedy can fix.
“Enjoying the show?” His voice is low and meant just for me as he steps in close.
“Trying to,” I say, biting back a smile. “But someone is blocking my view with his bullet-stopping body. His ridiculously distracting hot body.”
I turn, wrapping my arms around his waist and, his gun rubs against my arm, reminding me what he’s capable of.
“Funny.” He tips his head and wraps his arms around me, too. “I was about to say the same thing about you.”
A tiny laugh escapes me. “I do not have a bullet-stopping body.”
“That’s debatable.” His mouth twitches. “You’ve stopped plenty of other things. Common sense. Self-preservation. My ability to have a quiet week.”
“That’s called job security for you.”
“That’s called a migraine.”
“I’m flattered. Most women only aspire to be a man’s mild headache.”
He smiles but just enough. And it’s a smile that makes every woman within a three-island radius sigh in his wake. I think I even hear Debbie Lee give a dreamy sigh from across the beach. I can’t hold it against her. I can’t hold it against anyone. But I can certainly hold him against me.
“Steer clear of any dead bodies this time,” Koa says, dotting a kiss on my lips. “I’d like to enjoy one event at this resort that doesn’t end with a crime scene.”
“I make no promises.”
“That’s what worries me.”
The segment wraps with enthusiastic applause, and within seconds, Debbie Lee’s staff swarms out with trays of sliced banana bread for one and all. Even the husbands and the Spice Girls help distribute slices to the crew, tourists, and guests alike.
I’ll admit it smells like we all just died and went to banana bread heaven.
Bubbles passes a slice to her boss, and Debbie Lee examines it suspiciously.
“This better not have peanuts in it,” she grouses.
“No peanuts in this batch,” Bubbles says with a laugh. “We’re not through with you yet.” She winks at the woman. “Just a walnut or two.”
“I can handle those,” Debbie Lee says before taking a bite.
Bubbles hands a slice to me, Doreen gives one to Koa, and Cozy delivers one to Ruby.
Soon everyone is partaking, ooh-ing and ahh-ing over the moist and perfectly spiced yummy treat.
It really is some of the best banana bread I’ve had, despite the fact that banana bread is basically one of Kauai’s basic food groups, right under shave ice, poke, and malasadas.
Ukulele music drifts from somewhere down the beach, mingling with the sound of waves and happy chatter. The air is filled with the scents of banana bread, plumeria, and the tangy hint of sea salt.
For a moment, everything feels exactly right. And I’m sort of hoping this moment can drag out forever. But let’s face it, when everything feels exactly right, at Coconut Cove, that’s usually how you know something’s about to go sideways.
Debbie Lee calls everyone to attention, clapping her hands.
“Thank you, I mean, mahalo to you all for a fantastic first taping! We’ve got a few more episodes planned this week, and then the grand finale next Saturday night, an island-wide banana bread bake-off right here at the resort, with our very own Spice Girls as the official judges! ”
Everyone applauds.
“And it just so happens to take place during the resort’s luau, so a great time will be had by all,” she adds.
More cheers.
Note to self: order more tiki torches, more poi, and a fire extinguisher Ruby is not allowed to operate. Also, warn the fire dancer that a film crew, two Spice Girls, and Bubbles will all be in his vicinity. Pray for him.
“And let’s not forget what our viewers come for,” Debbie Lee continues. “Great food and even better—” She coughs a few times, hard and spastic. And for some reason, she can’t seem to stop.
Ruby plucks a drink from a tourist’s hand and offers Debbie Lee a coconut with a straw, but the woman shakes her head.
Not my first line of defense, but it might work in a pinch.
“Even better,” Debbie Lee coughs some more, her face reddening a disconcerting shade of crimson. “Even better gossip.” Her voice is so strained that she can hardly get the words out. “And I might even share a little gossip of my own.”
She starts to laugh, then gags. The next thing we know, the poor woman is gagging and choking, clawing at her throat and hopping up and down. Everything happens so fast. She spins, she flails, her eyes grow wide with panic. She claws at her throat once again, gasping and stumbling forward.
“Debbie Lee,” I cry out, taking a step in her direction. The woman’s enlarged bloodshot eyes shift my way just before she latches onto me with a death grip. She lifts a finger like she’s about to tell me a thing or two before collapsing at my feet.
Koa is here in an instant, kneeling and checking for a pulse. His fingers press against her neck, once, then twice. His jaw tightens as he looks up at me and shakes his head.
Debbie Lee won’t have to worry about taping another episode of The Spice Is Right. She won’t be taping anything anymore.
Debbie Lee Rivers is dead.