Page 25 of Mai Tais and Murder

“I had a good teacher,” Helen replied, then paused on her way to the bedroom. “Mel? Thank you for trusting me to do this part.”

“Of course I trust you,” Mel said simply. “You’re the bravest person I know.” As Helen disappeared into the bedroom, Mel felt anxiety churn in her stomach. Whatever was on that thumb drive, they had to know. She tried not to think about how far they’d come from their planned peaceful vacation.

Helen reappeared in a fresh sundress. “Ready?” Mel asked.

Helen nodded, picking up her oversized purse. “Ready,” she said firmly. “Should I bring my tablet?”

After thinking for a beat, Mel nodded. “We never know what we might need.”

“Okay,” Helen said, slipping the device into her purse. “And Mel, another thing. The next time we want to play detective on vacation, maybe we could pick something less stressful? Like missing seashells or stolen beach towels?”

Mel couldn’t help but laugh as she opened their door. “Where would be the fun in that?”

The internet café was quiet for mid-morning, with only a few tourists scattered among the tables. Mel guided Helen toward a corner table with a computer terminal on it. “I’ll find out how to rent this thing and get us some coffee,” Mel said, pulling the thumb drive from her pocket. “You get settled and maybe take a preliminary look if it will let you?” Helen nodded, taking the thumb drive. Mel watched her partner for a moment, struck by how naturally Helen had adapted to their impromptu investigation. Once a middle school teacher and now a successful author, Helen’s hands were steady as she focused on the computer, and all traces of her earlier nervousness were gone.

At the counter, Mel waited anxiously. Finally a young woman joined her. “What can I get you, ma’am?”

“We need to use that computer for a few minutes,” she answered, pointing to where Helen sat engrossed in the screen. “And a plain black coffee and a vanilla latte.”

The young woman nodded. “No problem,” she said. “Those are public workstations. No password, but we charge seven dollars an hour.”

“Perfect,” Mel said, taking out her wallet to pay. “We won’t need more than an hour.” The barista worked with practiced efficiency, giving Mel time to scan the other customers. A young couple absorbed in their phones, a businessman working at a different computer near the entrance, a woman typing on her laptop. Nothing suspicious, but Mel had learned long ago that danger often wore the most innocent faces.

“Here you go,” the barista said, sliding their drinks across the counter. “Anything else?”

“No, thank you,” Mel replied, gathering the cups. As she walked back to their table, she noticed Helen’s expression had changed. “What is it?”

Helen waited until Mel was seated before answering, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s a large document,” she said. “And some video files, but I haven’t opened those yet.”

Mel set their drinks down carefully, positioning herself so she could see the computer screen. “What kind of document?”

“It looks like a novel,” Helen scrolled through the document. “No, more like an exposé. About sports.”

Mel took a sip of her coffee. “That tracks with what we learned about Abramson’s background. Can you tell what it’s about specifically?”

She heard Helen suck in a breath. “Game fixing,” she said quietly, her eyes moving rapidly across the screen. “But not just at the college level. This goes all the way to the pros.” She paused on a particular page. “Mel, these are serious allegations. With names, dates, specific games...”

Mel felt her pulse quicken. If Abramson had proof of games being fixed, it would explain a lot about recent events. The kind of money involved in professional sports could make people do desperate things.

* * *

“What about the video files?”Mel asked, and Helen turned down the computer’s volume to almost nothing and held her breath as she tapped one. They both leaned closer to hear. The video showed a darkened room, with someone speaking from off-camera. Although very faint, Helen could tell the voice was digitally altered, but the content was clear. It was a confession of how certain games had been manipulated. Mel whistled softly “Well, that would certainly explain why someone wanted to stop this story from coming out.”

A server approached their table, and they quickly closed the video file. “Can I get you ladies anything else?” she asked cheerfully.

“No, thank you,” Helen replied with a smile that almost hid her tension. Once the server moved away, Helen leaned closer to Mel. “What do we do with this?” The information they had found was explosive, the kind that could destroy careers and possibly entire organizations. No wonder someone had been willing to resort to violence.

“First,” Mel said, taking another careful look around the coffee shop. “We need to read more of this. Can you make a copy? And save it someplace you can reach with your tablet?

Helen nodded, already logging in to her secure Dropbox account. “And then?”

“And then we need to figure out who to trust with this information,” Mel said while Helen started the copying process. “Someone who can’t be bought off or intimidated.”

As Helen watched the progress bar slowly advance, she couldn’t help but marvel at how quickly life could change. A week ago, her biggest concern had been whether she would be brave enough to try snorkeling. Now here she was, uploading stolen evidence about sports gambling corruption in a Hawaiian internet café. The air conditioning hummed steadily overhead, almost but not quite masking the soothing music playing through the store’s speakers. A few other customers came and went, their flip-flops squeaking against the polished tile floors.

“Almost done,” Helen murmured, watching as the final video file uploaded to the secure cloud storage she had created. Her hands were steady now, though her heart still raced whenever she thought about their morning’s activities. “Should we make physical copies too?”

After a beat, Mel shook her head. “Not yet,” she said. “That might be too hard to keep hidden if anyone comes asking questions.”

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