The waves provide background music, along with the endless conversation of seabirds who sound like they’re gossiping about us and the distant argument of roosters who never seem to run out of things to disagree about. The water is such an inviting blue, I’m tempted to swim out as far as I can go and never look back.
“Okay, ladies, it’s time for a strategy session regarding all things murder,” I announce, spreading my notebook on the table with the gravity of a girl about to solve a homicide. “Let’s not kid ourselves. Even the chickens had it out for the guy. How about we start with our prime suspect?” I say, clicking my pen like I’m in a detective movie and know what I’m doing. “Melanie Luana.”
“Where do we begin?” Ruby rubs her hands together with glee.
“The woman is stunning,” Lani admits grudgingly, as if it pains her to give Melanie credit for anything. “Early forties, long chestnut hair that never frizzes despite the humidity, which is basically witchcraft, and she’s bronzed to absolute perfection.”
“And those eyes,” Ruby adds. “Cunning brown eyes that glow with a wickedness you don’t want aimed at you, like she’s calculating your weaknesses while you’re still saying hello. Plus, she’s got a scowl that never leaves her face. I bet she came out of the womb looking irritated.”
“Never married,” Lani continues, “which explains the permanent chip on her shoulder the size of a coconut.”
I shrug. “If I had never married, I might have actually smiled more.”
“Touche.” Ruby laughs. “But Melanie is angry at the world,” she continues. “Husband number six used to say there are two types of people—those who blame everyone else for their problems and those who do something about them. Melanie is firmly in camp one with a tent and permanent residence.”
“She’s our Wicked Witch of the West,” Lani concludes. “She makes all the other witches look warm and fuzzy.”
A gecko drops onto our table from the palm tree above and does a tiny push-up that feels like he’s giving his thoughts on the matter before scurrying away. It seems even the wildlife has opinions about the management.
“At least we have one solid suspect,” I say, making notes that probably won’t help solve anything but make me feel productive. “Now let’s see who else we’ve got in our lineup of people who wanted Nolan Nakamura face-down in a pool of green gunk.”
“There’s Dane,” Ruby says immediately, like she’s been waiting to bring him up. “Mr. Perfect Smile with the flexible accounting methods and the enthusiasm that feels like overcompensation. I’d love to see how enthusiastic he can be in the bedroom.”
“There’s Savannah,” Lani adds, ignoring Ruby’s foray into all things naughty. “Sweet as pie on the outside, but I saw her face when Nolan mentioned developing her garden. There was pure murder in those warm grandmotherly eyes.”
“And May,” I finish. “Our spiritual influencer with the mysterious California past and the phone that never stops recording.”
“We all saw them arguing with Nolan,” Ruby points out, counting on her ring-covered fingers. “The man had dirt on everyone.”
“Or he thought he did,” Lani corrects because even our victims need fact-checking. “The man was cocky enough to think he could blackmail half the island and get away with it.”
“So,” I say, tapping my pen against the notebook, “which suspect should we shake down first?”
“Ladies.” A shadow falls across our table, blocking the sun and dropping the temperature by approximately one degree as a deep voice cuts through our planning session with the precision of a scalpel. “That would be my job.”
I look up into the face of Detective Koa Hale, who’s standing there in his perfectly pressed uniform, looking like he slept well and definitely didn’t spend the night in a storage closet. His expression lets me know he’s not particularly thrilled to find us conducting our own investigation over morning coffee, and honestly, I can’t blame him.
“Detective Hale,” I say with as much dignity as I can muster while sitting at a table held together by electrical tape and a prayer. “Beautiful morning, isn’t it?”
“It was,” he says dryly. “Until I discovered the local amateur detective society plotting to interfere with my investigation.”
Ruby waves her hand dismissively. “We’re not interfering. We’reconsulting.”
“Consulting,” he repeats, his tone suggesting he’s familiar with this particular brand of unhelpful civilian assistance.
“I prefer to think of it as community involvement,” I say because I’ve decided to dig this hole deeper. “Very hands-on community involvement.”
“The only hands that should be on this investigation are mine,” he says, pulling out his notebook with an authority that tells me he’s done this before and knows exactly how it’s going to go. “And possibly the medical examiner’s. No one else’s hands belong anywhere near this case.”
“Well,” Ruby says, leaning back in her chair with a grin, “aren’t you just a ray of sexy sunshine this morning?”
Lani snorts into her coffee. “About as sunny as a volcanic eruption.” She looks my way. “I never said he wasn’t sexy.”
Detective Hale’s jaw ticks, and I catch sight of those gold flecks in his brown eyes again, and even irritated—especially irritated—the man could model for tourism brochures. The Come to Kauai: Our Detectives Are Unreasonably Attractive campaign.
“Ladies,” he says, his voice carrying authority that probably makes criminals confess just to avoid disappointing him and possibly makes them volunteer for extra community service. “This is an active murder investigation, not a community sleuthing endeavor.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” I mutter under my breath, then immediately regret it when his laser focus lands on me like a spotlight I didn’t audition for.
