Page 8 of Mai Tais and Murder

Abramson’s eyes met hers, and for a moment, she saw something calmer there. “Sometimes the best stories are the ones that don’t want to be told.”

The phone buzzed again, and this time Mel caught a glimpse of the screen in his hand. A generic-looking text message, like it was automated and not an actual person. Looking far less agitated, Abramson gently turned the phone face-down. “I think I need to get back to work,” he said. “Thank you for the gift.”

“Of course,” Helen said with a smile. “Thank you for the coffee.”

“Sure,” Abramson said, already moving toward the door. But then he paused, turning to look at them. “You said you’re right across the courtyard?”

Mel nodded. “We are,” Mel said. “Same floor and everything.”

She noted a mix of fear and calculation in the man’s expression. “Good to know,” he said softly, more to himself than them, before nodding. “Thanks again for the nuts. And the company.”

ChapterFour

The tiki torches cast dancing shadows across the resort’s luau grounds as Helen adjusted the delicate orchid lei around her neck. The sweet scent of plumeria mixed with roasting pork from the underground imu ovencreated an intoxicating blend that epitomized their Hawaiian vacation. “Stop fussing with your lei, my love,” Mel whispered into her ear, reaching to still Helen’s nervous fingers. “You look beautiful.”

Helen felt warmth spread across her cheeks that had nothing to do with the balmy evening air. Even after six months together, Mel’s casual compliments could still make her blush. “I’m just not used to wearing flowers around my neck,” she admitted, though they both knew her restlessness had more to do with their observations of their neighbor that morning. Even though they had spent the rest of the day at Oahu’s famous Aloha Market, Helen knew neither of them could get the mysterious James Abramson out of their mind.

“Well, you wear them well,” Mel replied, guiding them toward their assigned table. The setting sun painted the sky in brilliant oranges and pinks, providing a stunning backdrop for the evening’s entertainment. Traditional Hawaiian music played softly, and the gentle ocean breeze carried the sound of waves mixing with conversation and laughter. They had just settled into their seats when Helen spotted him. James Abramson sat several tables away, looking markedly different from the disheveled man they met earlier. He wore a clean aloha shirt and appeared to have shaved, but tension still radiated from his posture. Beside him sat a young woman Helen didn’t recognize. She was perhaps in her early thirties, with short blonde hair and dressed in a colorful sundress. A lei similar to Helen’s draped around her neck.

Helen felt Mel’s subtle shift beside her. “I see them,” Mel murmured, picking up the Mai Tai a waiter set in front of them. “What do you make of her?”

“Too young to be his wife,” Helen observed, keeping her voice low. “Or at least one would hope.”

“Yeah, the body language is wrong for that,” Mel replied, and Helen heard the detective creeping into her voice. “His right hand hasn’t stopped tapping since we sat down.”

A server appeared with appetizers as the first course of the dinner’s menu, momentarily interrupting their observation. Helen thanked him and then asked Mel, “Should we try to get closer?”

Mel’s lips curved into a small smile. “You’re getting good at this, you know that?”

“I’ve had a good teacher,” Helen replied. “Besides, I think those empty seats at the table by the bar would give us a better view during the show.” They gathered their drinks and food and moved closer to the entertainment area, positioning themselves where they could observe both the upcoming performances and their subjects of interest. The young woman spoke to Abramson, her movements sharp and agitated despite her pleasant expression. Abramson kept shaking his head, his earlier tension visibly mounting.

“Ladies and gentlemen, aloha,” A voice boomed over the speakers, announcing the start of the evening’s production. After a moment, traditional dancers took the stage, their movements graceful and mesmerizing. The dancers’ grass skirts swayed hypnotically as they moved in perfect synchronization, their bare feet sliding across the wooden stage with practiced ease. Tiki torches cast flickering shadows across their faces, highlighting the serene smiles they maintained throughout their performance. The sweet melody of the ukulele mixed with the deeper thrumming of drums, creating a rhythm that seemed to pulse with the ocean waves beyond. Helen found herself drawn into the performance despite their unofficial surveillance mission. Mel’s hand found hers in the growing darkness, their fingers intertwining naturally. For a moment, Helen was able to forget they were watching a potential mystery unfold. The music, the dancing, and the warm night air were exactly the romantic evening she had imagined when they planned this vacation.

“I love you,” Mel whispered, squeezing her hand. “Thank you for understanding this part of me.”

Helen turned to look at her partner, seeing the firelight reflected in Mel’s eyes. “I love all parts of you,” she replied softly. “Even the ones that can’t help solving puzzles on vacation.”

Their moment was interrupted by raised voices from Abramson’s table. The young woman had stood, her face flushed with either anger or embarrassment or possibly both. Abramson reached for her arm, but she jerked away, knocking over her water glass in the process. “It’s only because I care about you,” the woman hissed, her voice carrying despite the music. “You need to—” She cut herself off, apparently remembering their public setting. With one last look at Abramson, she stormed toward the resort’s main building.

“Should we follow her?” Helen asked.

“No,” Mel answered. “Look at Abramson.” Their neighbor had slumped in his chair, his face buried in his hands. After a moment, he pulled out his phone, typed something quickly, then stood to leave. As he passed near their position, Helen caught fragments of muttered words “...should have known...” and “...too late now...”

The fire dancers took the stage then, their flaming batons cutting bright arcs through the twilight. The flashes of fire created an almost theatrical effect as Abramson disappeared into the shadows beyond the luau grounds. “Well,” Helen said, taking a sip of her Mai Tai. “That was certainly dramatic.”

“More than dramatic,” Mel replied. “I wonder who the woman was.”

The fire dancers continued their mesmerizing performance, but Helen’s mind raced with questions. “I suppose this means we’re officially investigating?” Helen asked.

“No. We’re not investigating,” Mel replied with a small smile. “We’re just being very observant tourists who happen to be concerned about our neighbor.”

Helen laughed softly, leaning into Mel’s shoulder. “Of course. Just concerned tourists who might need to do a bit more observing tomorrow?”

“Exactly,” Mel agreed, pressing a kiss to Helen’s temple. “But for now, let’s try to enjoy the rest of our evening. The fire dancers are dang impressive.”

As they watched the rest of the show, Helen found herself reflecting on how naturally they had fallen into a pattern. The retired detective and imaginative author solving mysteries on vacation. It wasn’t the relaxing beach holiday they had planned, but somehow, it felt perfectly right for them. The fire dancers finished their performance with a spectacular flourish, earning enthusiastic applause from the crowd. As the regular lighting came back up, Helen noticed Abramson’s abandoned table had been cleared, leaving no trace of the drama that had unfolded there.

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