Page 26 of Mai Tais and Murder

Mel’s answer worried Helen. If she thought they needed to be this careful, the situation was probably more dangerous than Helen had initially realized. The thought made her stomach tighten, but she pushed the anxiety aside. They were committed now.

“There,” Helen said as the final upload was completed. “Everything’s backed up.” She carefully ejected the thumb drive, slipping it into her purse. “What next?”

“Now we need to read through that document properly,” Mel said. “Figure out exactly who might have the most to lose if this gets published.”

Helen stood, gathering their things. “Back to the apartment?”

Scratching the back of her neck, Mel was quiet for a moment. “Let’s not go there yet. I just don’t know who, if anyone, might be watching it. I need some time to think as well as read this.”

The gravity of their situation hit Helen anew. They weren’t just playing at being detectives anymore. This was real, with potentially dangerous consequences. “The library then?” she suggested. “I would imagine the one we passed yesterday has private study rooms.”

Mel’s face lit up with that smile that still made Helen’s heart skip. “This is another reason why I love you,” she said softly. “Always thinking of the perfect solution.”

The library was cool and quiet when they entered. Helen felt some of her tension ease in the familiar environment. Taking her students to the library was one of her favorite activities. Libraries she understood. She loved the hushed atmosphere, the orderly shelves, and the sense of knowledge waiting to be discovered. She led them to the reference desk, where a librarian sat typing on a computer. “Excuse me,” Helen said, slipping easily into her former professional manner. “We’d like to use one of the private study rooms, please.”

The librarian smiled, reaching for a sign-out sheet. “Of course. How long do you think you’ll need it?”

“A couple of hours?” Helen glanced at Mel, who nodded.

“Room four is available,” the librarian said, handing them a key. “Just return it when you’re finished.” The study room was small but well-lit, with a table, four chairs, and no windows. Helen set up her tablet and logged into Dropbox. It was time to start getting to the bottom of things.

ChapterEleven

The library’s study room had a hushed atmosphere and soft lighting, creating an illusion of calm that was at odds with what they had found on the thumb drive. Mel glanced at Helen’s face as they read through Abramson’s manuscript together on Helen’s tablet. She couldn’t miss how the woman’s expression shifted from general interest to deeper concentration, and then to shock as the scope of the corruption became clear.

“This goes beyond just college sports,” Helen whispered, her finger tracing a line of text. “Look at these names—team owners, league officials, even politicians.”

Mel nodded, her mind already connecting the dots. “It’s incredible,” she said. “Somehow, Abramson found the paper trail and then, amazingly, talked people into giving videoed confessions.”

Helen leaned closer, her shoulder brushing Mel’s. “There’s something else,” she said. “The timing of these games and the way the fixes were coordinated. I think it’s too sophisticated for small-time criminals.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look here,” Helen said, pointing to a particular paragraph. “The pattern suggests someone with intimate knowledge of both the gambling industry and professional sports. Someone who could manipulate multiple games simultaneously without raising suspicion.”

Mel felt a surge of pride mixed with concern. Helen’s analytical skills continued to amaze her, but the implications of what they were uncovering made her increasingly uneasy. “You’re right,” she said. “This is organized crime level coordination, but with white-collar sophistication.”

They read in silence for a few moments, the only sound the gentle hum of the library’s air conditioning and the occasional tap of Helen’s finger advancing to the next page. “Mel,” Helen said, “remember what Brigitte said about her mother’s death? The car accident?”

“Yes, why?”

“Because according to this, it confirms what we guessed before,” Helen said. “Abramson was investigating similar corruption in college basketball when his wife died.” Helen’s voice dropped even lower. “He mentions here that he was close to exposing key figures when the ‘accident’ happened.”

The implication hung heavy in the air between them. Mel felt her jaw tighten. “So either Brigitte doesn’t know the truth about her mother’s death...”

“Or she was trying to protect her father from the same fate?” Helen finished. “And possibly failed? Then why isn’t she more concerned that he is missing?”

“But then there’s Felicity,” Mel said. “An agent who travels to Hawaii to show up in person to pressure him about publishing.”

Helen nodded. “This is such a hot story. I am sure she could sell it to the highest bidder for a lot of money,” she said. “I mean, we are probably talking millions, even if the book is never published.” She paused, then added softly, “And let’s not forget our pale friend with the large suitcases. The man you think is the fixer.”

The mention of the suitcases sent a chill down Mel’s spine. She glanced at her watch, noting they had been in the library for over two hours. “We should go,” she said. “We have enough information to know what’s going on. At least a little more.”

“Where to?”

Mel considered their options. “Back to the resort. Now that I’ve had time to think about it, I can’t see how anyone could connect us with what we’ve found. We are just a couple of busybody neighbors, remember? A harmless pair of old ladies,” she said. “And I need to make a call. I know someone from my LAPD days who might be able to trace some of these financial connections.”

They packed up, Helen sliding the tablet into her bag while Mel tried to convince herself not to start getting paranoid. The walk back to the resort would leave them exposed if she was wrong, but they couldn’t very well hide forever.

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