The dessert table glows under the twinkle lights like an altar to sugar and temptation, laden with cinnamon rolls that could double as dinner plates and haupia pudding that wobbles like edible pillows of fluffiness.
May Leilani stands beside it with a cup of kava in one hand and what appears to be her third malasada in the other, looking like someone who’s decided to throw caution and her wellness brand to the tropical winds in favor of fried dough and maybe a little regret.
“May,” I say, approaching with the casual confidence of a barista who definitely doesn’t have murder accusations on her mind and is totally not about to ruin this woman’s evening. “Great party, right?”
“It’s amazing,” she says, though her smile seems forced around the edges. “This is a very authentic island experience.”
“Speaking of authentic experiences,” I continue, movingcloser so we’re not overheard above the sound of Loco and Shaka’s ukuleles and the general party noise, “I hope you don’t mind if I ask you a question, but I heard you went back to Savannah’s garden the night Nolan died. Is that true?”
May’s cup stops halfway to her lips, freezing mid-sip like someone hit pause on her entire body. “Who told you that?”
“Does it matter? The point is, you were there after hours. After sunset. Why?”
“I left my water bottle during the class. Came back to get it,” she says it quickly, as if she’s already rehearsed this answer.
“In the dark?”
“I had my phone flashlight.” May takes a large bite of malasada, powdered sugar dusting her designer athleisure like evidence of poor nutritional choices. “I don’t know where you’re going with this, but I didn’t have anything to do with Nolan landing toes up in the morgue.”
“You had motive. Nolan was threatening to expose your past, to destroy everything you’d built here.”
“Of course, he was.” May laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “That man collected secrets like some people collect seashells. But killing him? That would have been the stupidest thing I could possibly do.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve already got enough trouble as it is, Jinx. You think I want to add murder to my list of problems? You think I want to give the police even more reason to dig into my past?” Her fingers rise to her lips as she says that last bit.
She doesn’t realize I’ve heard the rumors, or that the Kauai Police Department is aware of them, too. I’m sure Koa is already digging into her past.
But she has made a point. A very good point.
The warm breeze carries the scent of night-blooming jasmine across the beach, mixing with the aroma of grilled fish and the sound of our guests actually enjoying themselves for once instead of complaining about green pools and broken amenities. Even Melanie looks almost human as she helps Ruby work the kinks out of her frozen hip, which might be the most miraculous thing that’s happened all evening.
“Look,” May says, setting down her kava and facing me directly. “I know you think I’m some kind of criminal mastermind, but the truth is, I’m barely keeping my head above water here. Every day I wake up terrified that someone’s going to figure out what I’m really doing here. The last thing I’d do is draw more attention to myself by committing murder.”
“But you were scared of what Nolan might reveal.”
“Terrified. Absolutely paralyzed with fear some days. But not scared enough to kill him. Know why?”
“Why?”
“Because killing him wouldn’t have solved anything. You think he was the only one who knew? You think he didn’t have backup plans, other people he’d told, evidence stored somewhere safe in case something happened to him? Men like that always have insurance policies.”
She’s right. Dangerously, frustratingly right in a way that just might make my entire theory fall apart like a sandcastle at high tide.
“The night he died,” May continues, and I can hear the exhaustion in her voice, “I went to the garden, got my water bottle, and went straight home. Spent the rest of the evening stress-eating ice cream and watching cooking shows.”
“Can anyone verify that?”
May’s face flushes slightly, and she glances around to make sure no one’s listening. “Dane was there when I got home,” she says quietly. “We’ve been sort of seeing each other. We’re keeping it quiet for now because, you know, it’s a small island, and my brand is all about spiritual wellness and being centered, not hooking up with the local tour guide who may or may not have his own legal problems.”
“Dane?” I try to keep the surprise out of my voice, but I’m pretty sure I fail.
“I know, I know. Not exactly on-brand for the zen yoga instructor. But he’s sweet, and he makes me laugh, and honestly, after everything with Nolan threatening to destroy my life, I needed someone who didn’t care about my past or my Instagram following.” She takes another bite of malasada. “He came over that night after I got back from the garden. We watched the cooking shows together and ate way too much ice cream. It was all very romantic and very pathetic.”
“Does anyone know about you two?”
“Just you now. And please keep it that way. We both decided to keep things undercover for now. And I do mean underthecovers.” She gives a throaty laugh and wiggles her shoulders with that last comment, and I give a nervous laugh right along with her.
