“AHHHHHHH!” Ruby hits frequencies that could shatter champagne flutes and probably communicate with dolphins.
“Oh my word!” Lani adds her voice to our impromptu Greek chorus of terror. “Someone really did not appreciate her judging technique!”
A dark shadow emerges from the beach path, and all three of us ramp up our vocal performance to levels that could trigger avalanches if we had any mountains made of actual snow instead of tropical vegetation.
“IT’S THE KILLER!” Ruby shrieks, grabbing onto my arm with claws that could rival our resident cats.
“MURDERER!” Lani yells, brandishing her wooden spoon as if she’s been waiting all night for a reason.
The shadow materializes into Detective Koa Hale, who manages to look devastatingly handsome even when being mistaken for a homicidal maniac. His dark, wavy hair catches the moonlight filtering through palm fronds, while his bronze skin gleams against his perfectly pressed uniform that clingsto a body built for both protection and serious distraction. His molten lava dark eyes sweep the crime scene with professional intensity, though his perpetually serious expression suggests he’s carved from the same volcanic rock he’s now navigating with effortless ease.
Despite humidity that turns most clothing into damp surrender flags, he looks like he just stepped off the pages of a “Hot Cops of Hawaii” calendar, moving across the uneven lava with the sure-footed confidence of a man who grew up treating tide pools and tourist disasters as his personal playground.
He frowns my way. The long and short of it is, he doesn’t look impressed.
“Ladies,” he says calmly, as if finding hysterical women screaming over dead bodies is just another balmy night in paradise.
He quickly kneels beside Coraline to check for vitals that we all know aren’t there, and I take advantage of his distraction to conduct some rapid evidence assessment. My eyes sweep the crime scene with a focused intensity because I know for a fact that clues have a tendency to disappear faster than mai tais at happy hour.
A small glass object catches moonlight near the rocks—an expensive perfume bottle cap, gold-trimmed and unmistakably upscale. It’s nestled between two chunks of lava rock like someone either dropped it accidentally or placed it there very deliberately. I head that way, and the scent of French sophistication still clings to it, which narrows down our suspect pool considerably.
A piece of torn fabric flutters from a sharp edge of volcanic rock, tropical print in vibrant colors that could belong to half the party guests or one mystery woman who made a dramatic exit after redecorating Coraline’s face with beverage accessories.
Wet sand footprints lead away from the scene toward the parking area, but the incoming tide is already erasing them with the efficiency of an accomplice destroying evidence. Nature is not going to make this easy for me.
Koa pulls out his phone. “This is Detective Hale,” he sighs into it. “I need the medical examiner and a full crime scene unit at Coconut Cove Paradise Resort. We have a homicide.”
The word “homicide” hangs in the tropical air like humidity, heavy and inescapable.
“Are any of you ladies hurt?” he asks, moving toward me with concerned brown eyes that catch the tiki torch light flickering from the distant party. Before I can answer, he pulls me into arms that feel like the safest place in the world, which is saying something considering we’re standing three feet from a woman who just got turned into a human cocktail display.
I sink into his embrace with the boneless relief of a woman who’s just discovered she’s not going to become the next victim in what’s clearly becoming a pattern of paradise-related homicides. Let’s hope it stays that way.
“Did Jinx really have to resort to murder just to get you to show up at her party?” Ruby demands, swatting Koa’s shoulder with a righteous indignation only a true friend can show. “What’s the matter with you? A simple RSVP would have been sufficient!”
Lani swats Ruby in turn. “The woman isn’t even cold yet, and you’re making cracks about dating. Have some respect for the recently deceased!”
“I can’t help it. Death brings out my best inappropriate coping mechanisms,” Ruby says defensively. “It’s either dark humor, or I start stress-eating everything in the kitchen, and we all know how that ends.”
“With empty pantries and regret,” Lani confirms.
“I didn’t plan this,” I protest, staying right where I am in Koa’s arms because pulling away feels impossible and wildly wrong. “I was just following the cats when I found her!”
“Your investigative methods are definitely getting more creative,” Koa observes, but there’s warmth in his voice instead of the exasperation I probably deserve.
“Next time, just send the guy a text message like a normal person,” Lani says. “There’s much less paperwork involved.”
“Though you have to admit,” Ruby adds, “this is way more memorable than dinner invitations. It really shows commitment to getting his attention.”
I shoot them both a look for even going there.
Sirens wail in the distance, growing louder as they navigate the winding coastal road toward our little slice of homicidal paradise. Red and blue lights begin strobing through the palm trees like a very ominous dance club, and I can already hear the sound of official vehicles crunching across the gravel parking area.
The Mai Tai Madness Mix-Off crowd starts gravitating toward our end of the beach with the magnetic pull of people who smell drama and free entertainment. Tourists clutch their drinks and phones, probably already composing social media posts about their authentic Hawaiian murder experience, while local bartenders and restaurant staff exchange the type of looks that suggest this isn’t their first rodeo with dead celebrities.
“Oh no! Poor Coraline!” Breezy’s voice carries across the rocks as he approaches quickly. His face holds genuine shock and concern—either real or practiced well enough to pass.
“Who could have done such a terrible thing?” he continues, running a hand through salt-styled hair. “She was just trying to judge a cocktail competition. Sure, she had strong opinions, but murder? That’s crazy.”
