Melanie makes a sound that might be a snort or might be her soul leaving her body through sheer force of resentment before stalking off toward her office as if she were personally offended by the concept of fun and also possibly by Dane’s entire existence.
“She’s delightful,” Dane says once she’s out of earshot.
“Like a root canal,” Lani agrees.
“So,” I say, watching Melanie disappear into her lair. “Six o’clock it is.”
“Perfect,” Dane says, clapping his hands together. “You ladies are in for a treat. Best sunset cruise on the island, guaranteed. I’ve been doing this for five years, and I’ve never had an unhappy customer.”
As we watch him bound away toward the beach like he’s never met a problem he couldn’t charm his way out of, I can’t help but wonder if we’re about to spend the evening with a killer or just a really enthusiastic tour guide with flexible accounting principles.
Accepting a sunset cruise invitation from your prime murder suspect while your boss threatens financial retaliation is either brilliant detective work or a master class in poor decision-making.
Either way, at least the scenery will be spectacular.
And if Dane does turn out to be a murderer, at least I’ll die with a good tan and an ocean view.
CHAPTER 17
Six o’clock near the Hanalei Pier finds me suddenly understanding every decision that led to this moment, starting with my choice to answer a job posting that was written in invisible ink and possibly by someone who knew exactly what they were doing when they lured me to paradise.
The evening light turns everything golden—the beach, the mountains, the tourists milling around the pier taking photos of everything that doesn’t move fast enough to escape. The balmy wind gives off the scent of plumeria and sunscreen mixed with that particular aroma of vacation excitement. Hanalei Bay stretches before us like a postcard that’s trying too hard to be perfect with its turquoise water and dramatic mountain backdrop. The shoreline opens up in a half circle like a pair of loving arms as tourists and islanders alike dot the dreamy shoreline.
“There’s our chariot,” Lani says, pointing toward a boat that looks like it’s seen better decades but still manages to maintain a certain rakish charm.
Dane waves from the bow, wearing the signature uniform of the island, shorts, a tank top, and a lei made of dark brown kukui nuts.
“Ladies! Aloha! Welcome aboard theIsland Dreams!” he calls out. “Ready for the most beautiful sunset of your lives?”
“It depends,” I tease, eyeing the boat’s questionable paint job and what might be rust or might be decorative patina, it’s hard to tell. “How attached are you to all your passengers arriving back alive?”
“Very attached.” He laughs. “It’s bad for business otherwise. It leads to terrible Yelp reviews.”
Ruby appears from behind a group of tourists, and I have to grab Lani’s arm to keep her from falling into the bay out of sheer shock. Our fearless friend is wearing a coconut bra that she’s “borrowed” from the resort’s lost and found—which raises so many questions I don’t want answers to—paired with a sarong that defies several laws of physics and possibly some local decency ordinances.
“Ruby,” Lani hisses, her voice strangled with horror and possibly admiration. “What in the name of sweet mother of pearl are you wearing?”
“Appropriate cruise attire,” Ruby says, adjusting her coconut shells with the confidence that she could make any outfit work and has probably worn worse to weddings. “When in paradise, dress the part.”
“You look like a tourist trap came to life,” I say with a shrug.
“Thank you! That’s exactly the look I was going for. Authentic island charm with a hint ofI make interesting wardrobe choices.”
Dane’s eyes widen as Ruby sashays up the gangplank, her coconut bra catching the golden evening light in ways that would make the stars jealous. “Ruby! You look... wow. It’s as if the island itself has styled you.”
“Why, thank you, handsome.” She winks his way. “I mean, mahalo. I like a man who appreciates traditional Pacific Island fashion.” She pauses. “Even if this particular ensemble is from a Halloween party in 2003.”
The other passengers—a mix of tourists ranging from honeymooners to retirees with expensive cameras—stare at Ruby with expressions that range from admiration to concern for her structural engineering choices and perhaps her mental health.
“All aboard!” Dane announces, and we climb onto what I sincerely hope is a seaworthy vessel rather than an elaborate suicide pact disguised as entertainment.
The boat pulls out of Hanalei Bay with the confidence of something that’s made this trip a thousand times and lived to tell about it, though the engine makes sounds that suggest it’s doing this under protest.
The North Shore mountains rise behind us like ancient cathedral spires, their ridges sharp enough to cut the sky, emerald slopes catching the evening light in ways that make my chest tight with a beauty that feels almost painful.
Waterfalls cascade down those cliffs in silver ribbons, and the whole scene is so devastatingly beautiful that it makes meunderstand why people leave everything behind to live in places like this, even when those places have failing infrastructure and mysterious resort owners.
“First time on a sunset cruise?” Dane asks, appearing beside me and offering up a mai tai that’s approximately the size of my head.
