“But?” he prompts, and I notice he’s actually taking notes,which means this embarrassing story is now part of an official police record.
“But I must have misread the job posting, or the universe has a twisted sense of humor. Next thing I know, I’m getting a call from Mr. X—the mysterious owner of this charming establishment—offering me a job in paradise.”
The heat is starting to make my shirt stick to my back in a way that’s distinctly unromantic, and I can see tiny beads of sweat forming at Detective Hale’s collar. Even he’s not immune to Kauai’s commitment to making everyone feel like they’re slowly melting into puddles of their former selves.
“I figured, why not? Paradise was calling with its siren song, and I’ve always been terrible at resisting sirens—ask any of my exes. Plus, my savings account was looking pretty pathetic after the divorce lawyer took his cut, and the idea of serving coffee at a tropical resort sounded way better than serving coffee to tourists in Maine who complain about everything being too hot, too cold, too expensive, or not Instagrammable enough.”
“Hence, the luggage incident yesterday,” he says, and I swear there’s almost warmth in his voice.
“Hence, the luggage incident. Though in my defense, your suitcase really did have a pink flamingo tag.”
“My cousin,” he explains, and this time I’m sure I catch the ghost of a smile. “As I said, she thinks she’s hilarious.”
“She’s not wrong. Your cousin has excellent taste in chaos.”
He makes a note in his book, and I can’t help but notice the way his fingers grip the pen—strong and capable, with hands that look like they could handle anything from paperwork to... other things I should definitely not be thinking about while being questioned in a murder investigation.
“Ms. Julep?”
“Sorry, what?” I realize I’ve been staring at his hands as if they’re performing magic tricks. And how I’d love to see them perform a trick or two.
His eyes narrow slightly, and there’s definitely amusement lurking behind the professional detective mask. “You were staring.”
“Was I? I was thinking about...” I gesture vaguely at his torso, then realize what I’m doing and drop my hand like it’s just been burned. “About whether you work out. For purely professional reasons. Like, do all detectives have to maintain a certain level of fitness, or is it just a personal choice, or is there like a gym at the station, or?—”
“Can I see your notes?” he interrupts, nodding at the legal pad in front of me.
I slide it across the table, grateful for the change of subject and the chance to stop talking before I embarrass myself further. He flips through the pages, and I watch his expression shift from mild interest to something approaching concern, possibly alarm.
“What’s this?” He points to my repair list with a focus usually reserved for crime scene evidence.
“That is perhaps the true killer. Lani, Ruby, and I are going to save the resort. Mr. X—the owner—said he’s shutting the place down at the end of the month if we can’t turn a profit, so we’re making a list of everything that needs fixing before this place collapses into the ocean or gets condemned by the health department, whichever comes first.”
Detective Hale stares at the page like it’s written in hieroglyphics. “Broken windows, cracked foundation, failing electrical,roof damage...” He looks up at me, and his expression is almost gentle, which somehow feels worse than the scowl. “Ms. Julep, this is going to cost hundreds of thousands of dollars. You may as well give up now and save yourself the heartbreak.”
“Excuse me?” I feel my spine straighten, which is impressive given the structural integrity of my chair and my general posture when confronted with attractive authority figures. “I don’t give up on things just because they’re a little rough around the edges. If I did that, I would have given up on all my exes way sooner than I did, and think of all the character-building experiences I would have missed out on. Like learning that cheating is bad, or that some secretaries shouldn’t be trusted, or that ignoring red flags doesn’t make them go away.”
He doesn’t laugh. Not even a chuckle. Tough crowd. The man has a sense of humor somewhere in there, I’m sure of it, but evidently, it’s on lockdown during official police business.
He turns the page and stops, his expression shifting to something I can’t quite read but definitely involves judgment. “What’s this?”
I crane my neck to see what he’s looking at and immediately regret my transparency and also my entire approach to detective work. “Oh. That.”
“Suspect list,” he reads aloud, and I swear his voice gets drier with each word. “Melanie Luana—angry, never married, possible severance package motive. May Leilani—fake spiritual guru, California secrets. Dane Huntington—financial irregularities, too much charm. Savannah Cross—community garden threatened, possible hidden depths.”
He tears the page out of my notebook with a sound likeripping silk, and I feel weirdly violated, like he just confiscated my homework.
“Mahalo for the heads-up,” he says, folding the paper and tucking it into his shirt pocket. “Although there is one person you conveniently left off that list—you. Now stay out of my case. You have your hands full here.”
He stands and walks away, and I can’t help but notice how those well-worn jeans fit him in all the right places. The man has clearly been blessed by whatever force governs excellent denim fit. It’s honestly unfair.
Ruby and Lani materialize beside me with the speed of gossip spreading through a small town.
“Well?” Ruby demands, sliding into the chair Detective Hale just vacated. “How hot is he on a scale of one to spontaneous combustion?”
“Eleven,” I say, still staring at his retreating figure and the way he moves like he owns the beach, the resort, and possibly the entire island. “Maybe twelve. He’s annoyingly perfect.”
“And just plain annoying,” Lani adds, settling into the third chair with her wooden spoon still in hand like a security blanket.
