Sneak Peek!
Tiki Confessions
Book Description:
When a celebrity cooking show rolls into my Hawaiian resort promising tropical vibes and banana bread bliss, I figure the worst thing that could happen is running out of mac salad. Then the producer drops dead mid-filming, and suddenly I’m investigating three charming hosts embroiled in a murder conspiracy that makes my previous cases look simple.
You will LOVE this tropical cozy mystery!
My name is Jinx Julep, and I run a ramshackle resort in paradise where the pools are finally working, the chickens still have attitude, and apparently, cooking show producers drop dead at my luaus.
When The Spice Is Right arrives to film their Paradise Special, I’m thrilled about the publicity and the chance to showcase banana bread. But a homicide takes place and I’m investigating three celebrity chefs who all had reasons to want her gone.
Between going undercover at couples therapy (with Detective Koa Hale pretending to be my boyfriend, which is NOT helping my feelings situation), and kayaking through cow-dotted rivers while gathering clues, I’m discovering that the real recipe for murder involves more conspiracy than I expected and way more betrayal than anyone deserves.
The banana bread competition must go on, my wooden-spoon-wielding cook Lani is somehow a suspect, and somewhere between the shave ice and the sunset showdowns, I may need to catch not one killer, but three—because apparently some problems require shared solutions.
Welcome to paradise, where the cooking shows are deadly, the romance is slow-burn perfection, and sometimes the most helpful people are hiding the darkest crimes.
Includes RECIPE!
Chapter One
It’s Friday evening on Kauai’s North Shore, and the sky is burning a shade of hot pink as if someone set heaven on fire.
The balmy breeze feels like a nice warm hug while the chickens and feral cats happily run amok, reminding every guest exactly which Hawaiian island they’re on—the island where the wildlife runs the show and bills you for the privilege.
Coconut Cove Paradise Resort is buzzing with bodies. The pools sparkle under the fading sun, the ocean shows off in an ethereal shade of blue, and the sand is still warm underfoot from another blissful day in paradise. Thatched umbrellas line our little stretch of beach just this side of Hanalei Bay, and there are still plenty of people swimming and lounging despite the fact the sun is getting ready to clock out for the day.
“Jinx!”
I turn to find Lani and Ruby headed my way, dolled up to the Hawaiian nines in matching baby blue muumuus, covered in bright red hibiscus like tropical confetti.
“Filming starts in five minutes!” Ruby shouts loud enough to send a flock of birds darting out of the nearest palm tree. “Can you believe it? Coconut Cove Paradise Resort is going to be famous!”
Lani nods, her lavender-tipped silver hair catching the sunset. “And so are we!”
Before I can answer, Melanie swoops in on her proverbial broomstick. Melanie would be our resident barista and self-appointed wicked witch. She used to be my boss back when I served java here at the resort for less than five seconds, then the tables turned, and now I manage the place while she serves a mean cup of joe. Scratch that. She’s just plain mean.
Her chestnut hair is pulled back tight, and she’s showing off her perfect figure in a little black dress with a yellow plumeria tucked between her boobs. It’s a look—or a choice, rather. And I’ll admit, it draws attention in all the right places, which is exactly the problem with Melanie. She’s annoyingly effective at everything, including being terrible.
“We’re already famous. As in infamous.” She points an accusing finger my way. “Because of your Grim Reaper shenanigans. Speaking of which, you’d better not arrange for another dead body to show up around here, or I’m billing you for the crime scene cleanup.”
She takes off before I can remind her that I don’t arrange murders. They just happen to happen around me. Frequently.
A whistle blows, and an entire swarm of bodies congregates on the sand where a makeshift stage has been set up. Tonight isn’t just any Friday night here at the resort. It’s the beginning of a week-long special edition taping of one of my favorite cooking shows, The Spice Is Right, which features three feisty middle-aged women swapping hot-off-the-press gossip and a few good hot-out-of-the-oven recipes, too.
“Don’t listen to her,” Ruby says, swatting the air in Melanie’s wake.
Ruby Figgins is somewhere north of eighty with wild red hair streaked with silver. Her gold hoop earrings act like a homing beacon to men of a certain age, and she’s known to wear muumuus that look like a parade exploded on fabric.
She’s officially just a long-term guest around here, but Ruby’s lived at the resort longer than most of the staff has received gainful employment from this place. She’s a wealthy widow and serial divorcee who’s collected more wedding rings than seashells, and she inserts herself into absolutely everything. In a word, she’s pure, unadulterated chaos with a capital everything. And that’s why I love her.
“If the killer mood strikes, you send whoever you want to the big luau in the sky,” Ruby adds with a wink.
Lani swats her. “Don’t encourage her to off anyone else. You saw how hard it was to pin those homicides on other people. Do you really want to go through that again?”
I shoot her a look for even going there. Of course, there’s a modicum of truth to it, but the bottom line is, I’m not a killer. Not yet, anyway. Although the week is young.
Lani’s shoulders hike a notch as she turns my way. “Kidding!”
Ruby makes a face at her fun-loving bestie. “I’m just trying to stay on her good side.”
Ruby would happily stay on my good side, my bad side, or any side that comes with a fresh mystery that involves shaking down hot men.
Leilani “Lani” Mahelona is a senior citizen herself, petite but sturdy, with warm golden-brown skin and short silver hair with lavender tips. She runs the resort kitchen with the authority of a general and the warmth of a grandmother, although she’s not afraid to whack someone with her wooden spoon if they test her patience. And they do just that—so very often.
“You two are hilarious,” I mutter.
I’m about to boot scoot across the sand to see if there’s anything I can do to help with production when a giant orange furball bounces my way. The orange furball in question would be Spam, the resort’s one-eared orange tomcat and self-appointed security chief. He waddles up as if he’s about to clock in for a shift, so I scoop him into my arms and press a kiss to his furry little forehead.
He purrs like a diesel engine and immediately scans the crowd for his next food heist opportunity. And according to the craft services buffet the resort has provided, there will be many and ample opportunities on the foodie front. Spam has never met a buffet he didn’t consider a personal challenge.
“You know I’m not the Grim Reaper,” I tell Spam, who blinks at me with zero concern for my reputation. “Although I can’t help it if he’s got a mean crush on me and is trying to impress me with a body count.” I give a nervous glance around at the ever-darkening night, just in case a disembodied being in a black cloak is out there sharpening his sickle and rehearsing his lethal pickup lines.
My name is Jinx Julep. I’m somewhere in my mid-thirties with auburn hair that has a personal vendetta against Hawaiian humidity, green eyes that have seen a few things, and I happen to have a lifelong talent for attracting absolute chaos.
Months ago, I applied to sling coffee at a cozy Maine inn. Thanks to crying my way through the interview, I failed to notice the job was actually in Kauai. A couple of murders and some epically dicey choices later, I’m now running the Coconut Cove Paradise Resort.
The good news? Paradise is beautiful.
The bad news? It comes with an army of roosters, an alarming number of cats, and a body count that’s putting Cabot Cove to shame.
“Everyone is so excited about tonight’s taping,” Lani practically sings. “This is the biggest thing to happen here since we got that new ice cream machine!”
It’s pretty much true. Also, the last ice cream machine may or may not have been possessed. So in a strange way, it blended right in with the rest of the nefarious nonsense that calls this resort home.
“I’m not just excited about tonight,” Ruby adds, bouncing on her toes. “I’m ecstatic! We get to hang out with Cozette, Doreen, and Bubbles for seven whole days!”
This, too, is true. The trio of besties from Maine, also known as the Spice Girls, gets to hang out with us, the trio of besties from Kauai, for the next solid week. Fate has a funny way of throwing cooking shows and potential disasters together on the same tropical island.
Seven whole days. It’s either going to feel like a vacation or a hostage situation, depending on the chemistry. My money is on the hostage situation, but then, my money usually is.
Studio lights ignite the night, overpowering the army of tiki torches flickering across the sand. Tourists and guests begin migrating toward the stage as much as they’re allowed, drawn like moths to a tropical spotlight. Most of the filming area has already been cordoned off with caution tape.
Ironically, our little seaside resort is all-too-familiar with that yellow ticker-tape parade, seeing that we’ve hosted three homicides in recent months.
What can I say? We’re so hot even the Grim Reaper wants to vacation here—and perhaps set up basecamp.
I’m about to suggest we head toward the stage when three women step out from the resort’s main building, and a collective gasp ignites from the crowd. They file onto the platform where a makeshift kitchen waits, complete with lights, cameras, and enough culinary equipment to outfit a small restaurant. The crowd erupts in applause, and I swear I see Ruby wipe away a tear.
“Jinx!”
A woman with a sharp red bob waves me over. Debbie Lee Rivers, the show’s producer, stands near the stage in a sleek black pantsuit with a clipboard in hand. She’s brisk, efficient, and gives off the unmistakable vibe of someone who eats interns for breakfast and considers it cardio.
“I want you to meet the talent,” she barks.
Lani, Ruby, and I gasp so hard I think we just cleared the beach of any mosquitoes planning to join the taping.
We’re about to meet The Spice Is Right ladies. The actual Spice Girls themselves!
In person.
On our beach.
I should probably warn them about the body count.
My gaze snags on Detective Koa Hale leaning against a nearby palm tree, looking like heat, danger, and bad decisions wrapped up in broad shoulders and sun-bronzed skin. He’s watching the chaos unfold with those gold-flecked brown eyes that miss absolutely nothing. Even from here, I can see the hint of amusement playing at the corner of his mouth, probably because he knows exactly what kind of trouble follows me around. He’s not wrong, but he could at least pretend to be surprised about it once in a while.
I just hope the fact that one of Kauai’s finest has shown up on the scene isn’t a harbinger of homicides to come.
Oh heck, we all know it is.
***I hope you enjoyed this preview! Thank you for reading!****