Page 34 of Mai Tais and Murder

ChapterFourteen

After the dismissive treatment from the police detective, a knot formed in Helen’s stomach as she followed Mel toward the resort’s side gate, trying to process everything that had happened. Just as they reached the gate, movement caught her eye. Brigitte Abramson walked purposefully toward the beach path, her blonde hair reflecting the subtle overhead lights. “Mel,” Helen whispered, touching her partner’s arm. “Look.”

Mel turned, and her eyes widened. “Let’s see where she’s going,” she said quietly. “But stay back a bit.”

They followed Brigitte at a discrete distance, using the shadows as cover. Helen noticed how Brigitte kept checking her phone, her movements growing more agitated with each glance at the screen.

“She’s meeting someone,” Mel murmured as Brigitte veered off the main path toward a more secluded area near a cluster of hibiscus bushes. “Quick, behind here.” Mel guided them behind some dense foliage just as another figure appeared.

It was Felicity Coedy, her red hair vivid even in the moonlight. “Where is he?” Felicity’s voice carried clearly in the humid air. “What did you do?”

Brigitte’s laugh held no humor. “Me? I thought you were the one who made him disappear,” she said. “Or isn’t that what literary agents do when their clients won’t cooperate?”

Helen felt Mel tense beside her as they listened. The accusation in both women’s voices seemed genuine, not performed. “Don’t be ridiculous,” Felicity snapped. “I needed him to publish the story, not vanish. My entire career is riding on this book.”

“Your career?” Brigitte’s voice rose. “What about my father’s life? He was going to expose everything, ruin people who don’t like being ruined. And now he’s gone, and you expect me to believe you had nothing to do with it?”

Felicity stepped closer. “If I wanted to stop him from publishing,” Felicity said. “I would have used legal channels. Contracts, injunctions. Not whatever this is.”

“Then who?” Brigitte demanded. “Who else knew what he was writing about?”

Helen’s heart raced as she processed the implications. Neither woman seemed to know what actually happened to Abramson. They assumed one or both were involved, but watching them now, she wasn’t so sure. “The pale man,” Helen whispered to Mel. “Could he be working for someone else entirely?”

Mel nodded slowly, her eyes never leaving the two arguing women. “Someone with more to lose than either of them,” she whispered back.

“He was going to run,” Brigitte said suddenly, her voice cracking. “Did you know that? He had a ticket to Singapore. He was scared.”

“Singapore?” Felicity’s composure slipped. “He never told me... When?”

“Tomorrow morning. But now...” Brigitte’s voice trailed off, and Helen saw genuine fear in the young woman’s face. The women’s argument ended abruptly at the sound of approaching voices from tourists on the path. They separated quickly, Felicity heading toward the beach while Brigitte took the path back to the resort.

Once they were alone, Helen turned to Mel. “What do you think?”

Mel’s jaw had that familiar set that meant she was processing information. “I think we’ve been looking at this wrong,” she said slowly. “Both women had motives to pressure Abramson, but neither seems to know what actually happened to him.”

“Which means someone else is involved,” Helen finished. They emerged from their hiding spot. Helen checked her watch. It was less than twenty-four hours before their flight home.

“I’m not sure,” Mel said. “We need to figure out who else knew about the book.” They walked back toward the resort. “Someone powerful enough to send a professional to handle the situation.”

* * *

Mel kepther eyes on Brigitte’s retreating form while her mind raced through the new information. Years of detective work had taught her to trust her instincts, and they were screaming that Brigitte knew more than she had revealed in that heated exchange. “We need to talk to her,” Mel said quietly. “Now, while she’s rattled.”

Helen nodded. “I agree,” she said, falling into step beside her as they followed Brigitte at a careful distance.

They caught up with her near the resort’s back entrance, where the path opened into a small courtyard dotted with empty lounge chairs. “Ms. Abramson,” Mel called, keeping her voice firm but non-threatening. “We need to discuss your father.”

Brigitte spun around, her face flushing when she recognized them. “Were you following me?”

“We saw your conversation with Felicity Coedy,” Helen said, her gentle tone balancing Mel’s more authoritative approach. “We know you’re both worried about your father.”

Something shifted in Brigitte’s expression—fear, maybe, or resignation. She glanced around the empty courtyard before sinking into one of the lounge chairs. “You don’t understand,” she said, running a hand through her hair. “None of this was supposed to happen.”

Mel took a seat across from her, studying the younger woman’s body language. “Then help us understand,” she said. “What exactly wasn’t supposed to happen?”

Brigitte’s laugh was hollow. “All of it. The book, the threats, the...” she swallowed hard. “I was supposed to convince him to kill the story. That’s all. Just talk him out of it.”

“Who hired you?” Mel pressed, watching Brigitte’s hands twisting nervously in her lap.

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