Page 18 of Mai Tais and Murder

“Just trying to piece it together,” Mel admitted. “I’m kind of thinking Felicity doesn’t fit the profile of a typical literary agent. Her bearing, and how she talked to Abramson, plus the fact she is here in Hawaii anyway... It feels all wrong.”

Helen shifted to look up at her. “Well, then, what do you think she is?”

“That’s just it,” Mel said, feeling frustrated. “She reminds me of people I’ve encountered before, but I can’t quite place it.”

Across the courtyard, Abramson had stopped typing. He sat with his head in his hands, occasionally glancing at his phone as if waiting for something. Or dreading something. “Could she be representing someone else?” Helen asked. “Someone else with an interest in the story he’s writing?”

Mel shrugged. “Impossible to know,” she said. “But she clearly wants the story published. Which makes sense because as his agent, she would get a huge cut in the royalties.” Suddenly, Mel’s mind went back to the pale man in the dark suit. A part of her knew he had to be involved somehow too. She blinked a second before a chill went down her spine. “Shit,” she said softly. “I think I know why the pale man from the lobby is here.”

“Why?” Helen asked. “Why is he here?”

“He’s here because he’s a fixer.”

“A fixer?”

“Someone wealthy people or organizations hire to make problems go away quietly.” Mel straightened slightly, her mind racing. “Someone powerful must want to stop whatever story Abramson’s working on.”

Helen tensed beside her. “Make problems go away quietly? That sounds ominous.”

“It can be,” Mel admitted, tightening her arm around Helen protectively. “But usually fixers prefer legal methods like bribes, threats of lawsuits, that sort of thing. Violence tends to attract attention they want to avoid.”

“Usually?” Helen’s voice held a note of concern that made Mel’s heart ache.

Conversation like they were having wasn’t how their vacation was supposed to go. “Hey,” Mel said softly, turning to face Helen fully. “We’re still just outsiders, remember? If things get dangerous, we’ll call the police and let them handle it.”

Helen gave her a weak smile. “Do you promise?”

“Yes,” Mel insisted, though in her heart she knew her protective instincts might override that promise if pushed. “Besides, Abramson seems more scared than threatened right now. Like he’s trying to decide something.”

As if on cue, their neighbor stood and began pacing, his shadow moving back and forth across the lit window. His movements were sharp, agitated, like a caged animal seeking escape.

“What would you do” Helen asked. “if you were in his position?”

Mel considered the question carefully. “If I had evidence of something big enough to attract this kind of attention? I’d be really careful but still make sure the story gets out even if something happens to me.”

“You think that’s what he’s doing?”

“Maybe.” Mel watched as Abramson looked at his watch and then returned to his laptop, He seemed to fiddle with something and focus on his desk. “But something’s holding him back. Fear maybe, or loyalty to someone involved.”

The night had deepened around them, the resort’s grounds quieter now. Only the sound of palm fronds rustling in the courtyard broke the silence. Mel found herself cataloging every detail of their situation, old cop habits refusing to die: Abramson’s increasing paranoia, Felicity’s intimidation to publish soon, Brigitte’s arrival to get her dad to kill the story, not to mention the pale man’s presence. All pieces of a puzzle she couldn’t quite solve yet.

Helen stifled a yawn. “We should probably head inside,” Helen suggested. “It’s getting late.”

Mel nodded, but her eyes remained fixed on Abramson’s window. “You go ahead. I think I’ll stay out here a bit longer.”

“Mel,” Helen’s voice was gentle but firm. “You need rest too. Whatever’s happening will still be there tomorrow.” Looking at Helen’s concerned face, Mel felt a familiar surge of love and gratitude.

She didn’t take for granted how lucky she was to find someone who understood her so completely. “You’re right,” Mel conceded, pressing a kiss to Helen’s forehead. “As usual.” They stood together, taking one last look at their neighbor’s apartment. Abramson had finally stopped typing and stared at his screen, his expression unreadable in the harsh desk lamp light.

ChapterEight

As Helen moved to open the sliding glass door, she noticed Mel still watched Abramson’s apartment. She was about to prod the woman again when suddenly, a shadow of movement through Abramson’s window caught her attention. At first, she thought it might be a reflection from the courtyard lights, but then she saw it again. A dark figure moving behind Abramson, who remained oblivious, focused on his screen. She covered her mouth with her hand. “Mel,” she whispered. “Do you see that? Someone’s in his apartment.”

Before Mel responded, the figure stepped fully into view. Dressed in black from head to toe, face obscured by a ski mask, the intruder moved with practiced stealth toward Abramson’s desk. Helen’s heart pounded as she realized what she was witnessing. She wanted to shout a warning, to do something, but her voice was trapped in her throat. Time seemed to slow as the masked figure raised what looked like a heavy object. Helen’s fingers clutched Mel’s shoulder, trying to find some reassurance that what she witnessed wasn’t real. “No,” Helen breathed, but it was too late. The blow came swift and brutal. Abramson slumped forward, his head hitting the keyboard of his laptop before his body slipped from his office chair and crumpled to the floor. Helen heard herself gasp as Mel surged to her feet beside her.

“I’m going over there,” Mel said, already moving toward their sliding door.

“No,” Helen held Mel’s arm, surprising herself with the strength of her grip. “We need to call the police first.”

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