Malia is just nodding, studying me.
“You said you work in brand strategy,” Priya says.
“Worked,” I say. “Past tense.”
“Right.” She looks at me with those quick, assessing eyes, and I get the very specific feeling she’s already clocked that there’s more to that sentence and has filed it away for later. “Well. The retainer angle is useful.”
“I’m just observing,” I say, and everyone is eating now, staring at the corkboard.
Outside the open window, Oahu hums around us, warm and alive. I glance at the board again.Rebecca Hana.Missing for a year and no one knows where she went, which is awful.
But right now, Priya is balancing her pad on one knee while eating with the focus of a woman who could absolutely win a court case and a knife fight on the same afternoon, and Malia is somehow halfway through her meal, while Clio is hovering near the board like she wants to say something dramatic but is trying, for my benefit, to behave like a normal person. Her sister heads back for a second helping of food.
“So,” Priya says, staring at me now. “How long have you known Clio?”
I smile sweetly. “Since we were in high school.”
Priya nods like she’s confirming a theory. “Ah. So you knew her before she became like this.”
“I was always like this,” Clio adds.
“Sort of,” I tell her. “You used to be less organized about it, but yes, she’s always been like this. She used to make me watch murder mysteries with her, and within ten minutes, she’d pick the killer. It was impressive.”
Malia points at me. “She still does that. It’s incredibly insightful.”
Clio puts a hand to her chest and grins. “Aww. Thanks, babe.”
“But it can be deeply annoying,” I say. “You’d ruin the whole thing by being right.”
“I prefer to think of it as being an intellectual detective.”
I take another bite, trying not to smile too much, because the dangerous thing about this apartment is how easy it is to settle into it. How fast these people are starting to feel familiar. Maybe that part isn’t so surprising.
Clio and I go all the way back to high school in Whispering Grove, which feels like three lifetimes ago now. Chris was always hovering somewhere nearby back then, keeping half an eye on me, and Clio was this bright, lonely girl with no real friends and a talent for getting under the skin of every bully in school just by continuing to exist. We found each other somewhere in the middle of all that. Two girls getting picked on, learning fast how to laugh anyway. We’ve had each other’s backs ever since. Funnily enough, her sister never had issues at school. That might say a lot about Clio and me.
Their parents moved to Hawaii after Aura graduated high school, and then she and Aura followed. We kept in touch through all of it. Calls. Messages. And now her parents are retired, Clio’s built this beautiful, full life for herself here, and I can’t help admiring it a little.
Okay, more than a little.
Compared to her, my life feels more like patchwork. Bits and pieces I stitched together as I went, hoping they’d eventually turn into something that made me appear grown-up.
Priya glances my way. “So you’re from Whispering Grove. Why would anyone live somewhere it snows on purpose?”
I laugh. “That’s such a Hawaii question.”
“It’s a valid question,” she says. “The air hurting your face shouldn’t be seasonal.”
Malia leans in the armchair, going back to knitting. “She’s right. Weather shouldn’t be aggressive.”
“See, now I’m being outnumbered by people who think climate is a personal choice.”
Priya finally sets her legal pad aside. “To be fair, you chose to leave the snow and come here, so your argument is weak.”
“True,” I admit, then I glance between them. “So what do you two do when you’re not solving mysteries and emotionally ambushing guests?”
Clio brightens immediately. “Yes. Good. Interview round.”
Malia gives me a look over the top of her knitting. “I spend an unreasonable amount of time yelling at tourists in my head.”
