The trail continues its assault on human agility and appropriate footwear. Stream crossings require leaping between slippery stones that clearly enjoy watching tourists question their medical coverage, while steep sections makeyou understand why some people choose careers that don’t require leaving air-conditioned buildings.
Red mud covers everything like it has a personal vendetta against clean clothing. My hair has achieved a texture that resembles steel wool, while my clothes have that red dirt look that tourists pay a mint for in all the local shops.
“Never again,” Lani declares as the mud claims what might be her last remaining shoe. “The next time anyone suggests adventure tourism, I’m suggesting they adventure themselves to the nearest exit.”
Forty-five minutes later, the guide’s twenty-minute warning, it seems, was calculated using advanced mathematical formulas involving wishful thinking and the delusions of tourists—our bedraggled group finally reaches the Secret Falls.
And what glorious falls they are.
I think I can hear a choir of angels singing—which is impressive given how loudly my calves are screaming.
The waterfall is legitimately spectacular, which makes me forgive the trail from hell and understand why people risk life and limb, and perfectly good footwear to visit this stunning destination. A thirty-foot cascade of crystal-clear water tumbles into a natural pool surrounded by an emerald jungle so beautiful it looks too perfect to be real.
The entire lot of us stagger forward,oohingandahhing, looking like we’ve been attacked by a red dirt monster with personal vendettas—hair plastered down, clothes stained beyond recognition, and shoes, for those who still havethem, caked with enough mud to start our own pottery business.
Despite our disheveled state, the group begins entering the water without hesitation as if we’ve crossed the finish line in the dirtiest race ever. The blue pool is blissfully cool and clear, washing away approximately half the evidence of our hiking catastrophe.
Erwin and Candy decide that nearly dying on a jungle trail is tantamount to couples therapy, because they’re suddenly all over each other as they swim toward the waterfall for romantic reconciliation. The near-death experience has either bonded them or made them both temporarily insane.
“And finally, we see love conquering adversity,” Della continues narrating while somehow keeping her camera equipment dry. “Nothing says romance like surviving a tropical hike together.”
Candy positions herself under the falls for what’s clearly intended to be the perfect social media shot with her hair flowing and her makeup intact. Unfortunately, the waterfall has different plans.
Within seconds, Candy is sucked into the flow, and the water pressure proves more powerful than industrial-strength hair products. Candy’s carefully styled blonde locks get absolutely demolished, falling across her face like wet seaweed that’s given up on life. Her makeup runs in colorful streams that gives her a clownish appeal, creating a look that’s more drowned mermaid than tropical influencer.
Erwin plucks her out of the fray, and she emerges coughing and sputtering, looking like she’s been attacked by a stylist with some serious anger management issues.
“Don’t worry, Candy,” Della shouts. “You’ve got some serious island goddess vibes happening!” she announces with the dedication of a documentarian willing to spin a disaster into positive content. She really is good at this, I’ll give her that. “You’re just embracing the natural beauty of Hawaiian waterfalls!”
Candy stares at her reflection in the pool water, and once she realizes this is something her ring light can’t fix, she belts out a hearty scream.
I nod to Lani and Ruby. “Honestly? Her follower count might actually increase because of this.”
While everyone recovers from their hiking ordeal in the cool, sparkling waters, I realize this is the perfect opportunity for strategic information gathering. Guards are down, energy is depleted, and Candy might need some serious emotional support after discovering that nature doesn’t care about her personal brand.
“This is my chance,” I whisper to Ruby and Lani as we recover on the rocks surrounding the pool.
“Your chance for what?” Ruby asks, wringing out her hair like a tropical mop with attitude problems.
“To make my move,” I say, eyeing the scattered wedding party like an amateur sleuth spotting opportunity in chaos. “Everyone is exhausted, emotionally vulnerable, and Candylooks as if she’s cursing every decision that led to this hair catastrophe.”
“Go get ‘em, tiger,” Lani says as she shoves me in the direction of the wedding party.
Time to see what secrets a waterfall can wash out of people when their defenses are as demolished as their hairstyles.
CHAPTER 14
If I’d known detective work in paradise meant interrogating suspects while treading water and tolerating my ex-husband, I would’ve taken up safer hobbies. Like wrestling with sharks.
The Secret Falls create a crystal-clear swimming hole surrounded by moss-covered rocks and tropical vegetation so lush it looks like a movie set designed by people with excellent taste in jungle décor. The thirty-foot waterfall pounds into the pool with enough force to power a small hydroelectric plant, creating mist that makes everything sparkle as if paradise decided to become a glitter bomb.
Time to make my move.
I swim toward Erwin and Candy like I’m about to engage in a little friendly post-hike conversation. They’re positionednear the falls, still in romantic reconciliation mode after nearly dying together on the trail from hell.
Candy is battling waterfall-destroyed hair, flailing around in the pool so dramatically you’d think someone just announced that social media has been permanently canceled.
“My hair is eating my face,” she cries. “Are you still taping?” she screeches at her poor sister. “This is a follower disaster of epic proportions!”
