“And I have yours.” He pulls out a notebook that’s seen better decades, possibly better centuries. “It’s currently sitting in my truck if you want it back.”
“Oh.” My face heats up. “That would explain why all my clothes smell like men’s cologne and disappointment.” Not that I opened it, but the scent has been radiating from it ever since. And here I thought my ex was mocking me.
Two officers wade into the pool—I guess they drew the short straws—and confirm what we already know. Nolan Nakamura is very dead, very wet, and very much ruining everyone’s evening.
Detective Hale turns his laser focus on me, and I suddenly understand why suspects confess. He’s looking at me as if I personally ruined his night, his week, and possibly his faith in humanity.
“State your name,” he says, pen poised over his notebook like he’s preparing to document my descent into madness.
“Jinx Julep. Well, Jinx is actually a nickname. You won’t believe how I got it?—”
“I know how nicknames work.” His tone suggests I will not enjoy how this ends. “Somehow, I think I’ll believe it. In fact, I’m starting to think ‘Jinx’ might be the understatement of the century.”
Before I can defend my playful yet accurate moniker, or explain that I’m usually only mildly catastrophic rather than murder-adjacent, Melanie appears at Detective Hale’s elbow in full swoon.
Somewhere between calling the police and now, she’s managed to undo an extra button on her blouse and apply enough lip gloss to blind and seduce every officer here, whichis either impressive multitasking or deeply concerning priorities.
“Detective,” she purrs, her voice dropping an octave and gaining a breathy quality that wasn’t there five minutes ago. “I’m Melanie Luana, the resort manager. I’m so grateful for strong men like you, who protect and serve.”
She positions herself between the good detective and me, her shoulders angled and hair flipped in a way that suggests she’s done this before and won.
“Well, well…” Ruby leans my way, her voice barely above a whisper. “Looks like we’ve got our killer.”
Lani gasps and nearly drops her spoon. “You don’t think Melanie did this, do you?”
“You bet your purple hair she did,” Ruby hisses with the confidence of someone solving a murder with zero evidence. “That woman murdered a guest so she could land beneath the hottest detective this side of Hawaii Five-0.”
Sounds plausible. And honestly? You have to admire the strategy. Women far and wide would kill for a chance to be near Detective Hot Stuff, let alone under him. So, there’s that.
Lani rolls her eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t fall out and need to be retrieved from the pool deck. “Don’t listen to her, Jinx. All Ruby thinks about is landing under any man.”
“Hey!” Ruby protests, looking genuinely offended. “I have standards. He has to have all his teeth and at least half his hair.”
“And a pulse,” Lani adds dryly.
“That’s negotiable,” Ruby shoots back without missing a beat.
And just like that, Nolan Nakamura stands a chance at love again.
Detective Hale tries to take notes while Melanie shadows him, pointing out resort features and grazing his arm on a strict three-second schedule that suggests practice, persistence, and zero shame. Her performance is so over-the-top that even the cats look embarrassed for her, and I catch one orange tabby actually covering his eyes with his paw.
“The deceased was staying in room twelve,” she’s saying, her voice honey-sweet and about as subtle as a hurricane. “I handle all guest relations personally.Verypersonally.”
Has her voice suddenly taken on a country twang?
Detective Hale’s gaze slides past Melanie like she’s background noise and lands on me instead. For a heartbeat, the entire North Shore ceases to exist.
Before we know it, bright yellow caution tape starts going up around the pool area, transforming our little slice of paradise into a crime scene that looks like it belongs on a TV show I’d watch but never want to star in. The other guests begin to gather—drawn by the sirens and the promise of drama, and it comes with the added bonus of being able to tell people about it later.
Savannah appears first, her flower arrangement forgotten as she hurries over in a cotton nightgown that makes her look like a worried grandmother. “Oh my goodness, what’s happened?”
Dane bounds up next, his perpetual smile finally showing some cracks. “Is everyone okay? I heard screaming and—” He spots the body and his smile disappears entirely. “Oh. Oh no.”
May glides over in designer pajamas that don’t forgive wrinkles. Her phone is already out and recording the scene. “My, oh my, this is all so tragic,” she says, but she’s angling for the bestshot of the crime scene, which feels deeply inappropriate but also very in character for her.
The crowd grows—staff, guests, and what looks like half the neighborhood, all drawn by the flashing lights and the promise of gossip that’ll last until the next hurricane or celebrity scandal, whichever comes first. They cluster around the yellow tape like tropical birds around a feeder, their faces a mix of shock, concern, and barely concealed excitement that makes me feel slightly better about humanity and simultaneously worse.
Detective Hale surveys the growing crowd with the expression of a man who’s just realized his quiet evening is officially shot, possibly with a cannon, and there’s no getting it back.
