Page 56 of The Wrong Fiancée

Leilani came rushing down the path, her face full of concern and confusion. "What's going on here?" she demanded, her voice shaking with both anger and fear.

When the officer told her why I was being arrested, she glared at him. "Elika would never steal."

One of the officers glanced at her dismissively. "We're just doing our job, ma'am."

"I…I don't know what's going on,” I cried out to Leilani.

"I'll take care of things," she yelled.

They led me to the car, every step feeling like a public execution, and shoved me into the backseat. The drive to the precinct was a blur of fear, my heart pounding in my chest, my wrists aching from the cuffs that were too tight.

Kauai was a small island, and you could pretty much get anywhere within thirty minutes max. But our ten-minute drive to the police station felt like an eternity.

When we got to the station, they brought me into a cold, sterile interrogation room. I sat there, hands still cuffed, my legs trembling beneath the table. Two detectives entered, their faces grim, and dropped a file on the table with a thud.

The woman removed my cuffs.

"I'm Detective Akina, and this is my partner, Detective Palakiko." She nodded to the man and took a seat in front of me.

I rubbed my fingers over one wrist, soothing the chaffed skin.

Detective Akina was a petite Native Hawaiian woman dressed in jeans, a crisp white button-up, and a holster snugly strapped to her side. I guessed she was in her late twenties, a few years olderthan me. Detective Palakiko, like me, was mixed race—half white, half Native Hawaiian. His features reflected both sides of his heritage: a sharp jawline that spoke to hishaoleroots, softened by the warm, sun-kissed tones of the islands. I pegged him to be in his late forties, maybe early fifties.

I waited for them to speak, remaining silent. I'd watched enough television shows to know that shutting up was the best policy in these cases. I needed a lawyer. I had zero money for one, but I knew if I asked for one, they'd have to get me a public defender.

"Do you know Felicity and Ginny Thatcher?" Detective Akina asked, her face stern.

I nodded.

"Can you not speak, Miss Hamlet?" the female detective snapped.

I cleared my throat. "I know them."

"Who are they to you?"

"Guests at Hale Moana, where I work."

Detective Palakiko smiled. I deduced that he was the good cop. I couldn't believe this was happening to me. I watched the scene as if out of my body.

"We spoke to your supervisor, Desmond Rykes," he said softly.

I didn't even nod this time.

Detective Palakiko narrowed his eyes. "Would you like to know what he said about you?"

I shrugged and then shook my head. "No, thank you."

I could imagine what that prick said about me. Had he accused me of stealing? What did he think I stole? Spoons? Bags of Stevia? What?

Detective Akina opened a file and slipped some photos of jewelry in front of me. Did they think I stole these? I'd never even seen them.

"Can you recognize these?"

I shook my head and, for good measure, added, "No."

She pulled out another photo, and my throat tightened. Thejewelry—that jewelry—was in my dresser, tucked away beside my T-shirts and shorts.

"Mrs. Ginny Thatcher's diamond necklace, a tennis bracelet, and Miss Felicity Thatcher's Cartier watch were found in your cottage."

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