chocolate, which is really important because she’s got a big order to ship out to California—so you’re meeting her tomorrow morning for breakfast.”
“For someone so upset, it seems she’s got her priorities a little reversed.” In his line of work, that was definitely a red flag.
“She’s already gone to the police,” Lani said, the lack of conviction in her voice revealing she shared his misgivings, but wasn’t prepared to admit it. “And got them to notify the Coast Guard to watch out for his boat. But she also has an interview to appear on Shark Tank, so it’s vital that the order go out on time and sell well so she’ll impress the investors enough to make a deal that will allow her to continue to expand her company off the island.”
“I imagine appearing on that program is quite a coup.”
“There’s a lot of competition,” she agreed.
“I don’t suppose you had anything to do with her beating the contestant odds.”
“I may have made a few calls,” she said, with a vague wag of her hand. “I do still have friends in the business. But I wouldn’t have contacted them solely for friendship. Her chocolate really is that good. Wait until you taste her Macadamia dark chocolate truffles. They’re to die for.”
From Lani’s description, and the brief meeting, Taylor Young didn’t sound like the type of black widow who ended up on all those court television shows on trial for murdering a lover, fiancé, or husband. But the situation, which wasn’t yet a case, had Donovan’s spidey senses tingling. Still, FBI study books aside, he was supposed to be here on vacation, this wasn’t his jurisdiction, it would probably turn out to be nothing, and the idea of an evening alone with Lani trumped talking to a bride-to-be who appeared more concerned about growing her business than finding her missing fiancé.
“While you were walking on the beach, I got a text from my grandmother,” Lani said. “She’s sorry she missed dinner last night and wants to see you.”
He glanced down at his rain-rumpled clothing. “I’m not sure I’m properly dressed to visit island royalty.”
He’d learned the story of how a Breslin woman several generations back had married a distant cousin of the former queen of Hawaii. Which, since Orchid Island had managed to remain independent of the other islands during their civil war, essentially made Lani and Nate’s father the king of Orchid Island and Lani’s grandmother the queen mother.
Lani glanced over at him. “No problem.” She turned the key to start the Jeep’s engine. “We can stop on the way.”
8
After a stop at the island clothing store, which involved a great deal of compromise (mostly on Donovan’s part, he felt), he left wearing a dark blue polo shirt with a magenta tribal design across his chest, khaki board shorts, and mesh canvas Vans. Having finally been declared suitably attired, ten minutes later he was following Lani through a winding maze of overgrown hibiscus bushes toward a house that was an oddly eclectic mishmash of architectural styles.
Although he’d met Lani and Nate’s grandmother when he’d originally visited several years ago, he’d never been to her home. Constructed of red brick, it might have been New England in feeling had there not been huge white marble columns out front, and a wide porch, which gave it an antebellum air. A series of Victorian cupolas rose from a Spanish tile roof. It was as if the house had changed hands several times in the construction process, each new owner adding his own imprint, rather than scrapping previous plans and starting fresh.
They were led into a screened solarium, filled to abundance with tropical plants. The atmosphere in the room was humid enough, Donovan was certain, to grow mushrooms through the bleached plank flooring. His head was swimming with the sweet scent of the vivid hothouse flowers when his attention was drawn past a towering banana plant to a ninety-something
“For someone so upset, it seems she’s got her priorities a little reversed.” In his line of work, that was definitely a red flag.
“She’s already gone to the police,” Lani said, the lack of conviction in her voice revealing she shared his misgivings, but wasn’t prepared to admit it. “And got them to notify the Coast Guard to watch out for his boat. But she also has an interview to appear on Shark Tank, so it’s vital that the order go out on time and sell well so she’ll impress the investors enough to make a deal that will allow her to continue to expand her company off the island.”
“I imagine appearing on that program is quite a coup.”
“There’s a lot of competition,” she agreed.
“I don’t suppose you had anything to do with her beating the contestant odds.”
“I may have made a few calls,” she said, with a vague wag of her hand. “I do still have friends in the business. But I wouldn’t have contacted them solely for friendship. Her chocolate really is that good. Wait until you taste her Macadamia dark chocolate truffles. They’re to die for.”
From Lani’s description, and the brief meeting, Taylor Young didn’t sound like the type of black widow who ended up on all those court television shows on trial for murdering a lover, fiancé, or husband. But the situation, which wasn’t yet a case, had Donovan’s spidey senses tingling. Still, FBI study books aside, he was supposed to be here on vacation, this wasn’t his jurisdiction, it would probably turn out to be nothing, and the idea of an evening alone with Lani trumped talking to a bride-to-be who appeared more concerned about growing her business than finding her missing fiancé.
“While you were walking on the beach, I got a text from my grandmother,” Lani said. “She’s sorry she missed dinner last night and wants to see you.”
He glanced down at his rain-rumpled clothing. “I’m not sure I’m properly dressed to visit island royalty.”
He’d learned the story of how a Breslin woman several generations back had married a distant cousin of the former queen of Hawaii. Which, since Orchid Island had managed to remain independent of the other islands during their civil war, essentially made Lani and Nate’s father the king of Orchid Island and Lani’s grandmother the queen mother.
Lani glanced over at him. “No problem.” She turned the key to start the Jeep’s engine. “We can stop on the way.”
8
After a stop at the island clothing store, which involved a great deal of compromise (mostly on Donovan’s part, he felt), he left wearing a dark blue polo shirt with a magenta tribal design across his chest, khaki board shorts, and mesh canvas Vans. Having finally been declared suitably attired, ten minutes later he was following Lani through a winding maze of overgrown hibiscus bushes toward a house that was an oddly eclectic mishmash of architectural styles.
Although he’d met Lani and Nate’s grandmother when he’d originally visited several years ago, he’d never been to her home. Constructed of red brick, it might have been New England in feeling had there not been huge white marble columns out front, and a wide porch, which gave it an antebellum air. A series of Victorian cupolas rose from a Spanish tile roof. It was as if the house had changed hands several times in the construction process, each new owner adding his own imprint, rather than scrapping previous plans and starting fresh.
They were led into a screened solarium, filled to abundance with tropical plants. The atmosphere in the room was humid enough, Donovan was certain, to grow mushrooms through the bleached plank flooring. His head was swimming with the sweet scent of the vivid hothouse flowers when his attention was drawn past a towering banana plant to a ninety-something
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