“Worse. She blocked me, then posted a series of stories about removing toxic energy from your social media space and choosing peace over drama. Three hundred thousand followers liked her inspirational approach to homewrecking.”
Mabel laughs—a genuine sound that makes her seem less like a potential murder suspect and more like someone I’d actually want to be friends with under different circumstances and stronger liquor.
“Do you know what the really crazy part is?” I ask. “I still catch myself missing the routine. Not him, just the predictability of having someone around who remembered to take out the garbage and knew how I liked my coffee.”
“Even when that someone was systematically destroying your faith in human decency?”
“Especially then. At least betrayal is consistent behavior you can plan around.”
A black cat appears from under a nearby tent and begins rubbing against our ankles until we each offer the cutie pie a quick pat. Two baby chicks wander past, separated from their mother and peeping with the distressed urgency of tourists who’ve lost their tour group.
“Divorce is fun,” Mabel says lifting her drink to mine, and I do the same.
“Speaking of dead things,” I say, because transitions in undercover work are really not my strongest suit, “I have to tell you about the most excitement my quiet little resort job has provided so far.”
“More excitement than managing a failing business in paradise?”
“Way more. I stumbled upon a dead body last Sunday at this event that my resort was hosting. Talk about adding drama to your workplace environment.”
Mabel’s daiquiri stops halfway to her lips. “You’re kidding.”
“I wish I were. There I was, thinking my biggest challenge would be learning to work the espresso machine, and instead I’m finding celebrity food judges turned into cocktail garnish displays.”
“Wait,” Mabel says, her voice taking on a different quality. “Which place are you managing?”
“Coconut Cove Paradise Resort. We hosted the competition—at least until it turned into a crime scene.”
“I’m leading that event,” she says, genuine surprise replacing her amusement. “Or at least, I’m the one who arranged for your resort to host it. I was the event coordinator.”
I feign surprise with what I hope looks like genuine shock rather than the satisfaction of a plan working perfectly. “You must have spoken to Melanie, our former manager. Was she as delightful to you as she is to everyone else?”
“Was she rude enough to make you question your faith in customer service as a concept?” she shoots back.
“As rude as rude can get,” I confirm.
“Then that’s definitely the one I spoke to. Charming woman. Really made me feel welcome and valued as a business partner.”
“Melanie has that effect on people. It’s like a superpower, but for making enemies instead of friends.” I lean forward a notch. “You must have known Coraline then, since she was the judge. She’s the deceased—they found her with a crystal mixer stirrer in her throat and a knife in her chest.”
Mabel winces, her face contorting with genuine distaste. “That’s horrible. And yes, I knew her. Coraline Starling, celebrity food critic turned competition judge turned nightmare client.” She sighs hard.
“Nightmare how?”
“Picture the most demanding, unreasonable person you’ve ever dealt with, then multiply that by ten and add a camera crew.” Mabel sets down her drink on a haybale next to her and stares into the crowd like she’s reliving unpleasant memories. “She wanted everything perfect—and I mean everything. The lighting, the sound system, the angle of the tiki torches, and the exact temperature of the cocktail ingredients. But here’s the thing—her definition of perfect changed every five minutes.”
“Sounds challenging for an event coordinator.”
“Challenging doesn’t begin to cover it. She demanded organic, locally-sourced ingredients but complained when they weren’t available in the exact quantities she wanted. She insisted on authentic Hawaiian cultural elements but criticized everything as either too touristy or not accessible enough for her mainland audience.”
Mabel’s voice takes on a frustrated edge that suggests she’s had this conversation multiple times, probably with herselfwhile drinking something significantly stronger than virgin daiquiris.
“And the worst part,” she continues, “was how she treated the local vendors. Like they were props in her personal show instead of actual people running businesses. She made this one elderly woman who makes traditional lei cry because the plumeria wasn’tcamera-readyenough.”
“That’s awful.”
“She was awful. Coraline built her entire career on tearing other people down and calling it professional standards. The woman could find fault with paradise itself if you gave her five minutes and a microphone.”
I file this character assassination away while trying to look sympathetic rather than like someone taking mental notes for a murder investigation. Although, is it really a character assassination if it’s true?
