Page 16 of Mai Tais and Murder

Returning from their perfect day and wonderful dinner, Mel waited with Helen in the resort lobby for the elevator. Through the large windows, Mel saw the sky already darkening into twilight after a magical day. Helen took her hand and leaned closer. “Thank you again for everything,” she said. “This was the most beautiful vacation day I’ve ever had.”

Before Mel could respond, voices approached from around the corner. One of them Mel recognized as their anxious neighbor, Abramson, but the other voice was new. It sounded female, authoritative, and with an East Coast accent. Mel felt Helen’s hand tighten in hers as their neighbor appeared. After a beat, Mel realized he was accompanied by the red-haired woman they had last seen visiting his apartment. Abramson pulled up short when he saw them, his familiar disheveled appearance seeming to wilt further. In contrast, the woman beside him, dressed impeccably in a lightweight cream linen business suit, maintained perfect composure. When their eyes met, the woman gave Mel a tight smile.

“Oh, hello,” Abramson said, his voice strained. He cleared his throat. “Good evening, neighbors.” The elevator dinged its arrival, doors sliding open to reveal empty space. Mel watched as the red-haired woman gestured for Abramson to enter first, the movement subtle but commanding. Helen followed, gently tugging Mel along, and finally the red-haired woman stepped in, positioning herself between Abramson and the door. “What floor?” she asked with cool politeness, though her finger had already pressed the button for the third floor.

“The third,” Helen replied with equal politeness. “We’re on the same floor as Mr. Abramson.”

The woman’s green eyes sharpened with interest. “How lovely. I’m Felicity Coedy, James’s agent.”

Mel noticed how Abramson flinched at her introduction. “Helen Hardy,” Helen said, then gestured to her companion. “And this is Mel Nelson.”

“Pleasure,” Felicity murmured, though her attention had already shifted back to Abramson. “So, are we clear, James? Our agreed deadline isn’t flexible. Everyone has been more than patient.”

Abramson glanced at Mel and Helen, coloring a little as if embarrassed to be having the conversation in front of them. “It’s not ready,” he muttered. “The story needs more... verification.”

Felicity seemed to have no qualms about having what Mel thought was a rather private discussion for an elevator ride with strangers. “Verification?” The woman’s laugh held no humor. “We’ve been over this,” she said. “The story is fine as it is. Perfect, even. Unless you’re suggesting there’s something you haven’t shared with me?”

The elevator seemed to move slower than usual, the tension making the small space feel airless. Mel watched the floor numbers illuminate one by one, her detective’s instincts recording every detail of the conversation her neighbor and his agent were having. It was almost as if Felicity positioned herself to intimidate Abramson, while the man kept glancing at the emergency stop button. There was a slight tremor in his hands. “I just need more time,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Felicity smoothed an invisible wrinkle from her jacket. “Time isn’t something we have in abundance, and you know it.” Mel felt Helen shift closer to her, clearly trying to appear casual while witnessing a private conversation. The elevator reached their floor, and the doors opened.

With what looked like a forced smile, Felicity gestured for Mel and Helen to exit first. “It was lovely meeting you,” she said. “I do hope you’re enjoying your vacation.”

“Thank you,” Mel said as they stepped out. “Have a nice evening.”

As they walked away, Mel heard Felicity’s voice drop lower, clearly meant only for Abramson, but carrying in the open-air corridor. “Remember what we discussed,” the woman hissed. “Make the right choice.”

The walk to their apartment felt longer than usual. Once inside, Helen immediately moved to the sliding glass doors. “Well,” she said softly. “That was interesting.”

Mel joined her at the window, wrapping an arm around Helen’s waist. “Very. Did you notice how he reacted when she pressed him about time?”

“I noticed how she positioned herself between him and the door,” Helen replied. “Almost like she was preventing him from running when they opened.”

“Exactly.” Mel’s mind was already connecting the dots. “She seemed very interested in his story being finished.”

Helen turned to face her. “But wouldn’t that be normal? Or do you think she’s more than just his agent?”

“I think nothing about this situation is what it seems.” Mel watched as Felicity and Abramson appeared in front of the window. The woman was talking, her gestures sharp and commanding, while Abramson slumped into his chair beside his desk. “First his daughter flies in to convince him to drop the story. Then we see that pale man in the suit checking in with suspicious luggage. Now his agent shows up, clearly here to pressure our poor sportswriter.”

“About deadlines,” Helen added. “Though somehow, I don’t think she was just talking about publishing dates.”

Mel nodded, pulling Helen closer. “No, I don’t think she was either.” They watched as Felicity finally appeared to have left Abramson’s apartment. Abramson immediately slumped forward, burying his face in his hands. “Whatever story he’s working on, it’s big enough to attract some serious attention.”

“Dangerous attention?” Helen asked softly.

“Maybe.” Mel pressed a kiss to Helen’s temple, trying to reassure her. “But we’re just observers right now. No need to get further involved.”

Helen gave a slight laugh. “Says the woman who’s already profiled everyone involved and probably has a pair of theories about what’s really going on.”

“Three theories, actually,” Mel admitted with a small smile. “But who’s counting?”

They stood together, watching as Abramson returned to his laptop, his typing more frantic than ever. The sun had started to set, painting the sky in brilliant oranges and pinks, but their neighbor seemed oblivious to the world outside his window. His focus was entirely on whatever story had people after him.

“I love you,” Helen said suddenly, turning in Mel’s arms. “Even when you can’t help solving mysteries on our vacation.”

Mel felt her heart swell with familiar warmth. “I love you too,” she replied. “Even when you enable my worst habits.”

“They’re not your worst habits,” Helen said, reaching to touch Mel’s cheek. “They’re what make you you.”

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