“Don’t feel too bad.” She wrinkles her nose. “I’ve seen more sexual charisma in a bowl of poi. Heck, the man has the romantic appeal of a wet sock. I give it six months before Candy realizes she married a human anxiety disorder with a receding hairline and what I’m pretty sure is a gambling problem based on how he keeps checking his phone and muttering something about covering spreads.”
“This is why we’re going to be best friends,” I announce. “You see through his pathetic charm offensive as if it’s made of cellophane.”
“What about the bride herself?” Lani asks, because apparently, we’ve appointed ourselves the festival’s unofficial character assassination committee.
Halea rolls her eyes. “That woman is so artificial she might actually run on batteries,” she shoots back without missing a beat. “She’s smart enough to build a brand but too stupid to realize that treating people like content props might backfire spectacularly. She’s marrying Erwin for the same reason people buy knockoff designer bags—she wants the status without paying full price for quality.”
“What status?” I ask because I’m genuinely interested in what kind of promise Candy might see in him.
Halea shrugs. “Erwin’s paunch and receding hairline make her look that much better in photos. It’s called strategic contrast.”
I nod at the thought. “It makes perfect sense now.”
“But there’s more,” Halea wiggles her shoulders, and herboobs give a little friendly jiggle too. I think I just heard the vendor sigh at the sight.
“You’ve got some professional insight?” Ruby asks, fascinated by this level of psychological analysis.
“She’s already planning the divorce content,” Halea confides. “She’s asked me twice about post-wedding relationship evolution photo opportunities. The woman takes more selfies than a teenage influencer after getting their firstlike. It’s performance art at this point.”
“It sounds like it,” I say, “And if it is, she’s getting exactly what she deserves in a husband.”
“Poetic justice with a side of public humiliation,” Halea agrees cheerfully. “Very satisfying to watch from a professional distance.”
Two more roosters join our impromptu gathering, conducting their own assessment of the conversation quality, while a tortoiseshell cat with mismatched eyes claims a spot on a nearby display table, appointing herself the official witness to this character demolition session. And with the way she’s licking her paws, I think she approves.
“What about the supporting cast?” I ask. “The sister and the mother-in-law?”
“Oh, Della is very dramatic, very... questionably musical,” Halea says with a wince. “From what I’ve seen of her, she treats life like she’s auditioning for a Broadway show about tropical dysfunction. So-so voice, questionable song choices. Also, questionable timing when it comes to performing ballads about betrayal at wedding events.”
“That’s a lot of questions,” Lani points out.
“And Bertha?” I ask.
“That woman could freeze a salt pond with a single glare,” Halea shudders at the thought of the woman and I involuntarily join her. “She’s got the personality of a stapler.”
“So, youdoknow her.” I couldn’t resist.
“Yup. She moves through life like obstacles are merely inconveniences to eliminate.”
I gasp. “Here’s hoping Bertha is the killer!” My fingers fly up to my lips.
Did I just say that out loud?
Lani nods because she knew exactly what I was thinking.
Halea pauses, searching for the most diplomatic way to phrase her assessment. “Bertha Julep has got enough passive aggression to fire up every tiki torch on the North Shore. It’s very impressive in a terrifying way.”
“Hey,” I announce, “I really like you. You’re well on your way to becoming my new bestie.”
“Finally,” Ruby says, “someone who appreciates a well-placed insult as an art form.”
“Speaking of character assessments,” Lani says as she leans in close to the woman, “what do you think of our hot homicide investigator? Asking for a friend.”
I growl her way. The last thing we needed was to remind Halea about the hottest man on the island. As if she could forget.
Halea’s eyes light up like she’s been asked to evaluate a particularly promising vintage wine. “Detective Delicious?That man is a walking advertisement for law enforcement careers. Those eyes look like they’ve undressed every woman in a five-mile radius.”
I suck in a quick breath.
