He tilts his head my way and frowns. “Tell me exactly what you saw when you found the body,” he says, deciding to redirect this conversation toward actual police business.
“I followed our resident cat committee toward the rocky crags because they were acting like they’d discovered the holy grail of tuna cans. Instead, I found what I initially mistook for dried beach grass, which turned out to be Coraline’s hair spread across the lava rock in a way that suggested she wasn’t planning to get up and critique anyone else’s cocktail technique.”
Koa scribbles notes while the rooster inches closer, clearly fascinated by the investigation process. Spam begins grooming himself with a thorough attention that suggests he’s planning to be here for the long haul, enough time to acquire a hairball or two.
“Did you see anything before that? Any confrontations or arguments?”
“Actually, yes. Coraline had quite the evening of social interaction. First, she got into it with Giselle behind the thatched bar huts—and by ‘got into it,’ I mean she slapped the French out of her. The sound echoed across the water enough to make seabirds fly all the way to the Eiffel Tower.”
“And then?”
“Breezy showed up and played peacekeeper, said something sharp to Coraline, and escorted Giselle away from the conflict zone. Very chivalrous, if you’re into the whole protective surfer guy thing.”
Koa’s pen stops moving. “What did he say to her?”
“I couldn’t hear the exact words, but his body language suggested it wasn’t a compliment on her judging technique. More along the lines of telling her to back off or face consequences that probably wouldn’t involve positive Yelp reviews.”
A plumeria blossom drifts down and lands directly on Koa’s notebook, and he brushes it away with a gentle precision that makes me wonder what those hands would feel like brushing petals off other things—like, say, me.
“Was there anything else?”
I clear my throat. “There was the mystery woman incident. Someone in a flowing maxi dress and oversized sunglasses—because nighttime beach anonymity requires full costume commitment. She approached Coraline for what started as a quiet conversation and escalated into the type of heated argument that makes tourists pause their drinking. Although last night, no one seemed to pause but me.”
“How did it end?”
“With Coraline getting a pineapple juice facial courtesy of a well-aimed mai tai. There was premium rum and tropical fruit dripping from her platinum blonde hair while she sputtered outrage that could probably be heard in Maui.”
Koa looks up from his notes, those gold-flecked brown eyes focusing on me with an intensity that makes the tropical heat feel like air conditioning. “And you have no idea who this mystery woman was?”
“None whatsoever. She vanished into the night faster than my last relationship—completely and without explanation.”
The rooster decides our conversation needs his input and lets out a crow that echoes across the beach, sending several tourists reaching for their cameras to document the authentic island atmosphere. Spam opens one judgmental amber eye, annoyed by the interruption of his grooming schedule.
Koa closes his notebook and leans back in his chair, studying me with the sort of expression that says he’s trying to decide whether I’m a valuable witness or a dangerous complication to his investigation.
“Jinx,” he says, and my name in his voice sounds different than it did yesterday—less like a professional courtesy and more like something that could lead to very unprofessional complications. “You realize you’re probably the only person who witnessed all the key confrontations before the murder.”
“Lucky me,” I say, though the way he’s looking at me makes me feel like luck might have nothing to do with what’s happening between us under this plumeria tree, surrounded by curious cats and judgmental poultry.
Koa’s phone buzzes with an insistent ringing that implies someone important is calling with news that’s either very good or very bad. He glances at the number, and his expression shifts into something that could freeze tropical air.
“I need to take this,” he says, standing with a fluid grace that assures me he’s never met an awkward movement. “Steer clear of danger. If that’s possible for you.”
“Hey, I resent that implication! I don’t go looking for trouble—trouble just has excellent GPS and the resort address programmed into its navigation system.”
“We’ll talk,” he grunts, already moving away as he answers his phone with a professional voice that lets me know whatever he’s hearing isn’t going to make his day any easier.
I watch him walk back through the lobby, and I’m definitely not admiring the way his uniform fits or wondering what kind of emergency could make a man that composed look genuinely concerned.
Ruby and Lani materialize beside me as if they’ve been lurking behind plumeria trees waiting for their moment to pounce.
“So,” Ruby says, settling into the chair Koa just vacated with obvious glee, “did you two recreate that hot and steamy kiss yet, or are you still pretending this is purely professional?”
“We’re in the middle of a cozy mystery, not a romance novel,” I say dryly. “Though I admit the plumeria petals are a nice touch. All we need is a shirtless man with questionable decision-making skills, and we’d have a bestseller on our hands. And maybe a talking cat. Talking cats always seem prominent in the cozy mysteries I read.”
Lani elbows Ruby in that aggressive way as only a best friend can do without getting leveled with assault charges. “Go ahead and tell her.”
“Tell me what?” I sit up a notch, my internal radar starting to ping with the same intensity it had right before I found Coraline’s body. Either that, or the kalua pig from last night’s dinner is staging a revolt.
