I growl—actually growl—with a sound that belongs to either a territorial predator or someone whose ex is marrying an idiot. The chicken backs up, recognizing the vocal signature of a woman at her limit. Come to think of it, my ex is an idiot, too. So, in that respect, they’re the perfect couple.
Pineapple sits up straighter, looking from the cacklingcouple to me like she were a spectator at a tennis match. Coconut and Mango position themselves like furry referees preparing to officiate what might become the first recorded case of ex-husband homicide in a tropical resort lobby. And how I’d love to set that record.
“You’re welcome to tag along, of course,” Erwin says with the cruelty of a man delivering what he thinks is a devastating blow. “It might be good for you to witness what actual happiness looks like. You know, for future reference.” He takes a moment to rub his nose against Candy’s.
The silence that follows is tangible. Even the trade winds seem to pause, waiting to see if I’m going to commit acts of violence that would require police intervention and possibly a hazmat cleanup.
“Oh, heck no,” Ruby declares with the righteous indignation of a woman whose best friend has just been insulted by a man wearing socks with sandals in paradise. “Nobody talks to our Jinx like that and gets away with it.”
“However,” Lani whispers my way while holding up her trusty wooden spoon, “if they’re all going to be alone at a secluded waterfall, this might be the perfect opportunity for a serious fact-finding mission.”
“A fact-finding mission, you say?” I sigh at the thought. It’s as if the universe is giving me no choice.
The wedding party files out to a waiting tour bus that looks like it was designed by luxury vacation planners with unlimited budgets and excellent taste in transportation. I bet it has air conditioning that actually works, leather seats thathaven’t been gnawed by tropical wildlife, and a mini-bar stocked with beverages that don’t require emergency medical intervention after consumption.
“Look at that,” I mutter, watching them board their climate-controlled paradise on wheels. “Even their transportation has more class than my entire existence.”
“Don’t worry,” Ruby says, patting my shoulder with the comfort that comes from decades of managing disappointment in men. “We have our own transportation solution.”
She points toward Pele, the resort’s van, which sits in the parking lot like a testament to optimism over mechanical reality. Rust spots decorate her sides like abstract art celebrating tropical decay. The air conditioning consists of roll down the windows and praying for trade winds, and the engine makes sounds that suggest Pele’s held together by determination, hope, and possibly the divine intervention of her namesake goddess.
It takes less than two seconds for me to put Melanie and Spam in charge of the resort while we’re gone.
“Do you think Pele has it in her to make it to the secret falls?” I ask as we head out, and I pat the van’s hood with the cautious affection usually reserved for elderly relatives with questionable life expectancy. We’ve already tested her limits once this week. Twice seems like we’re tempting fate.
“She’s made it this far,” Ruby says with the optimism that comes from ignoring mechanical challenges through sheer willpower. “Besides, how secret can these falls be if they’re taking a tour bus full of tourists wearing matching t-shirts?”
The resort cats assemble to witness our departure. Spam supervises from the steps, Pineapple perches on the hood, radiating judgment, and Coconut and Mango inspect the tires like concerned mechanics.
A rooster crows from his perch on a fence post, offering his professional opinion on the wisdom of pursuing ex-husbands and wedding parties to remote waterfalls in vehicles that may or may not survive the journey.
“So, we’re really doing this?” I ask, sliding into the driver’s seat of a van that’s seen better decades and better drivers.
“Absolutely,” Lani confirms, buckling a seatbelt that may or may not provide actual safety benefits but definitely provides emotional reassurance. “Those people are hiding something, and waterfalls make people confess things.”
“It’s the negative ions,” Ruby adds helpfully from the back seat. “They’re very conducive to truth-telling and emotional breakthroughs. Plus,” she continues, rattling a paper bag in my direction, “I packed cinnamon rolls for the road. Nothing says tropical adventure like a sugar-fueled investigation.”
“And if we happen to extract a few secrets while we’re enjoying the scenic beauty,” Lani says with the innocent expression of a woman planning absolutely nothing suspicious, “well, that’s just efficient multitasking.”
Pele starts with reluctant cooperation, coughing and sputtering before settling into a rhythm that sounds like she’s politely requesting retirement to a climate-controlled garage. Not that she’s ever seen one.
“Off we go,” I announce, pulling out of the parking lot while three cats wave goodbye with their tails, and a rooster crows what might be encouragement or might be a warning about the dangers of pursuing romantic revenge in questionable vehicles.
The tour bus disappears around a curve ahead of us, leaving a trail of diesel exhaust and wedding party laughter that drifts back on the trade winds like auditory salt in emotional wounds.
“Here’s hoping we can extract a few secrets,” I mutter, wrestling with a steering wheel that has developed its own thoughts about proper road navigation.
“Here’s hoping we extract anything other than ourselves from a roadside ditch,” Ruby adds with a laugh, immune to Pele’s mechanical uncertainty.
“Here’s hoping those falls are worth whatever bruises we’re about to collect,” Lani concludes, gripping her door handle with a determination that says she’s ready for adventure regardless of Pele’s cooperation.
Pele chugs forward into whatever tropical chaos awaits us at the secret falls, while behind us, the resort cats settle in for their afternoon naps and the roosters continue their thoughts on human decision-making capabilities.
Paradise has a way of hiding secrets. I intend to drag this one into the light—even if it takes my ex down with it.
Okay, fine, that would be a bonus.
CHAPTER 13
