Page 38 of Mai Tais and Murder

“Damn right you do,” Mel said, her voice was tight with anger.

Abramson held up his hands in a placating gesture. “I know you’re angry,” he said. “You have every right to be. But everything I did, including letting you think I’d been attacked, was necessary.”

“Necessary?” Mel asked. “We thought you’d been murdered. We investigated, put ourselves at risk—”

“Which is exactly what I needed,” Abramson interrupted. “I needed witnesses I could trust. People with the skills to understand what was happening but who weren’t connected to anyone involved.”

Helen felt understanding dawn. “You were watching us too, weren’t you? From the beginning?”

Abramson nodded. “Once I saw Mel’s detective instincts kick in that first day on the balcony. Coupled with your intelligence, Helen, and well, you were perfect.”

“Perfect for what?” Helen asked though she was beginning to understand. “To be your unwitting investigators?”

“To be credible witnesses,” he explained. “When you reported my ‘attack’ to the police, it created an official record of my disappearance. When you discovered the thumb drive and ensured the manuscript would be published, it came from sources no one could trace back to me.”

A plane passed overhead, and Helen used the moment to process what he was saying. All their amateur detective work, their genuine concern and fear, had been orchestrated. She should have felt manipulated, angry even. Instead, she felt a strange sort of admiration for the intricacy of his plan.

“The pale man with the suitcases,” Mel said. “Was he part of your plan too?”

“No,” Abramson’s expression darkened. “He was very real. A fixer who was sent by people who want my story buried. That’s why I had to move when I did, stage my disappearance before they could make me actually disappear.”

Helen thought about all the pieces falling into place—Brigitte’s conflicted behavior, Felicity’s aggressive pursuit of the manuscript, the threatening phone call they’d received. “But your daughter,” she said. “Brigitte seemed genuinely worried.”

“She was. Is.” Abramson’s face softened. “She knew I was planning something but not what. It was safer for her that way. Just like it was safer for you not to know the full truth until now.”

“So, you hired someone to attack you,” Mel said.

“Yes,” Abramson said, suddenly looking tired. “He’s an actor friend of a friend. Someone who could help make it look convincing.”

“But why?” Helen leaned forward. “I still can’t quite see why you needed to go through all this elaborate staging?”

“Because they killed my wife.” The words hung in the air between them. “Three years ago, when I was investigating college basketball corruption. It wasn’t an accident. They made that clear afterward. Said next time it would be Brigitte.”

Helen felt her throat tighten. “So you needed to appear dead to protect her.”

“And to ensure the story got out.” He looked at Mel. “I knew you were a detective the moment I met you. Retired LAPD, you said. I hoped you’d be curious enough to investigate, smart enough to find the thumb drive.”

“You left your wallet on purpose,” Mel said. “So we’d have the key.”

Abramson nodded. “I needed someone trustworthy to find the story, someone who would know what to do with it, but I didn’t know how. But when I saw you watching from your balcony that first day…” He gave them a small smile. “I knew you were perfect.”

“You used us,” Mel said, but her tone had shifted so that it held more admiration than anger.

“Yes,” he admitted. “But for a good cause. The story needed to come out, but I couldn’t risk anyone tracking it back to me. This way, it appears I was killed to prevent publication, which makes the story more credible, not less.”

A distant announcement reminded them of where they were. Abramson checked his watch again, and Helen noticed how his movements betrayed an underlying anxiety despite his composed explanation. “Your flight to Singapore,” Helen said. “Is that also part of your misdirection?”

Abramson smiled slightly. “You really don’t miss much, do you? Yes, I needed people to think I was planning to run. It made my disappearance more believable.”

“And now?” Mel asked. “What’s your real plan?”

“Now I disappear for real,” he said. “But I won’t be staying in Singapore. Just passing through. This morning I saw hints that the story was breaking, so thanks to you, the manuscript is out there and spreading through channels no one can stop. My story will be told, but I’ll be safely away before anyone realizes I’m still alive.”

Helen felt Mel shift beside her, and she knew the woman was struggling with the ethics of letting him go. “The people behind the game-fixing,” Helen said carefully. “They’ll still look for you.”

“Yes, but they’ll be busy dealing with the fallout from the manuscript first,” Abramson said. “By the time they realize what really happened, I’ll be long gone.” He checked his watch again. “Which needs to happen soon.”

A family’s laughter echoed to them from the main terminal. Helen studied Abramson’s face, seeing both fear and determination there. “Was it worth it?” she asked softly. “All this deception?”

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