Her lopsided eyebrows—the result of a botched plastic surgery a few years back—rose ever higher. So high, in fact, it seemed to defy gravity. Or so Hector thought as he eyed his lukewarm mother, nearing five feet, stood blocking the giant doorway. A pixie in a giant's house!

He tried to smile, shooing away the image of his mother as a sparkling being. One needed character, pizzazz, he decided, not a dead rich husband and a flaccid, lifeless face to be deemed sparkling. His mother didn't know how to sparkle. The bling on her fingers, each digit to be precise—enough to pay someone's entire mortgage—were the only things to sparkle in the wretched woman who reminded him of a dragon, the jewels and riches hoarding kind.

"Mum," he squeaked out the syllable as if he'd forgotten how to sound it. "You look well."

That one lopsided brow became one with her hairline as Eve Marie Martinez, once Eve Smith—a name that could fit any John Doe—eyed her son with suspicion. "I'm alive."

Hector gave another tight-lipped smile, kissing his mother's cheek the only way he knew how, double-air kisses, just the way she taught him. "Then all is right with the world." With that, he entered her less-than-humble-abode, hoping she'd be as courteous as he was.

"What brings you?" she asked, snakelike, as she closed the door. "Come to check if I've met my fate too like Abuela?"

"Mum! How many times do you need me to apologise?" Hector turned, almost catching himself thinking: it's easier to deal with Ms Dhungel than her! "I miss Abuela as much as you do. I am sorry she's gone, but unlike you, I can't cry in public, all right? Or on cue. Can't we drop it?"

Eve Martinez folded her arms across her chest and thrust her hips sideways, clearly telling her son what she thought. Not a single tear?! You couldn't conjure one measly little tear? "So? What do you want?"

I wish nothing. "I need to use your internet." He waited for a snarky comment, something like, 'Why? What's wrong with your itty-bitty station's itty-bitty internet you're proud of?' It was no hidden secret that Eve Martinez thought her vibrant young son was wasting his time in a town the time and often-times the world forgot.

Instead, his mother said, "It's a little spotty today because of the storm last night. Maybe you can fix it." Eve strode away from her boy, back through the large house towards her favourite room. The cosy family room was an original part of the old three-bedroom house they inherited from Great Grandpa Smith. A house they extended into its current amalgamation of modern vs. old country charm. The room and its fireplace, currently hosting a crackling fire despite the warm temperature outside, was one that reminded his mother of her folks. After Papi died, she spent most of her time in the old parts, away from memories of his death that were still too fresh even after ten years.

Hector followed her, loosening his tie a little and unbuttoning the top button. He could feel the sweat beads beginning to seed across his hairline with each step.

"You want tea?" Eve turned.

"Iced, please." Hector wiped his forehead and bounded down the corridor towards the new section of the house at the fork in the road, with a fresh spring in his step. The 'new' parts reminded him of his forward-thinking Papi. It breathed his signature. The man had been a renowned architect in his lifetime.

This part of the house was a lot cooler too and Hector breathed a sigh of relief, glad to get away from the furnace Mum was trying to turn the old house into. One of these days, he wouldn't be shocked if he was called out there by the fire department because Ma's house lay in a pile of ashes along with her, a point he often argued with her about.

He strutted through the tempered and triple-glazed glass corridor with its full view of the ocean shimmering in the midday sun on one side and the wide expanse of their hectares sprouting cane sugar on the other, barely caring for the view. His mum had decided to rent out the land to cane farmers after Papi passed. It had done her good, being able to help that way and take care of the land.

Hector waltzed into what used to be his dad's office, now preserved for all times just the way he left it, except the custom-built bookshelf was chock-a-block with novels his mother hoarded. No more were they alphabetised in genres and groupings. That had been his dad. The organiser.

Hector pulled in a long steady breath, hoping to still catch the musty smell of Old Spice his dad used to wear. Alas, long enough time had passed that no spice remained in the air, or the leather chair. A part of him broke at that thought. His dad was gone. Long gone.

Alas, he pulled the high-back chair and impatiently waited for the old CPU tower to turn on. Minutes later, once the desktop loaded, Hector punched in the password for the internet in the small pop-up window and tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair waiting for the next to connect. Another thing about Mystery Cove he hated – how backward and forgotten in time it was. Who still had dial-up internet these days except them?

The distinct dial tone was no music to his ear as he bounced his leg, unable to wait quietly. "Come on, you piece of shit!" he mumbled as his mother walked into the room carrying a large tumbler of iced tea then. The dribbles of condensation on the glass surface made Hector realise how parched he was. He hadn't had a drop of liquid since his coffee this morning.

"Thank you, Ma." He reached for it.

"What do you need the internet for?" She held it out of reach a little.

Hector narrowed his eyes. Nosy much? "Police business."

"Do you have any of those there in Mystery Cove?!" Eve suddenly laughed, near snorting. "Other than that Moriarty boy who's always been after you, and you really should put in for a restraining order after last Christmas ... stalking you all the way home—"

"He was drunk, Ma."

"Drunk or not, stalking is stalking. Black is black and white is white."

"Go away. I need to work." Hector groaned in annoyance. "And can I get my tea now? One will die of dehydration in this house."

His mother passed him the drink. "Talk."

Hector ignored her as the internet connected and he snapped his attention back on the screen, quickly—or as quickly—opening the browser as was possible on the ancient device. "Maybe you can spend some of that money on a new computer? Next time I go to town, remind me."

His mother hovered over his shoulder as he began typing: Who is Devi...

"Is that a missing person?" His mother's voice was right at his ear and it made Hector jump.

"Ma! Will you leave me alone? I'm being serious. I have some work to do and you know how I hate it when you hover!" Hector sighed.

"Talk to me!" She moaned, sitting down on a settee buried under books. It seemed the only thing his mum used dad's half of the house was for hoarding her books. She loved reading so. "I get lonely here, and you rarely visit. Tell me what's going on and maybe I can help. You look a little stressed out, more than usual."

"Am not."

"Pfft. You look like you're sucking on a lemon right now." She sipped her iced tea and smacked her lips. "So, what's going on in your life, son?"

Hector felt his pulse thrum on his neck as his mother settled into a nice little nook on the settee. She could sniff trouble like his old German Shepard could smell treats a mile away and she wasn't going away. "I may have landed a big case ... and I need to get to the truth before Brady turns it into a tabloid piece. If I can—"

"If what?"

He chewed on his bottom lip, debating whether he should tell his mother everything or nothing at all. However, if anyone in Mystery Cove was going to know an author named Devi Dhungel existed, it would be his mother, not only because she was a voracious reader, but she came from a family that dealt with publishing before she sought the quiet life with his shy father. Anyway, she'd be faster than the dial-up, seeing how the toggle on the screen was still turning and he hadn't even finished writing the whole question yet. "Have you ever heard of someone called Devi Dhungel?" He watched his mum carefully.

"Devi Dhungel?" his mother repeated the name. "Is he one of your dad's old friends?"

See! I knew it. I knew it. The woman is lying. There is no one famous by that name or Ma would've known it.

Happy with his discovery, he pressed the disconnect button as the net continued to buffer, the connection spotty. "Famous author my ass."

"An author?" Eve Martinez pouted, slurping her drink. "Devi Dhungel?"

"Don't worry about it. She's probably some hack trying to drum up attention ... " Hector shut the computer down and rose, sipping his iced tea thirstily. "I'm gonna head back to work now and close this whole thing up."

"Devi ... ?" His mother continued playing the name on hers. "Devi. Dhungel ... D. Dhungel? Could it be?"

"Could it be what?" Hector paused at the door.

His mother held a finger in the air—wait—and scrambled ahead of him, down the glass corridor. "Does she write domestic thrillers?"

"How would I know? Why do you ask?" He followed her through the house, back into the old part that smelled like too many books and not enough fresh air. The ceiling here also seemed too low in comparison and Hector felt like the walls were closing in.

He found his mum in her old library, filled floor-to-ceiling with books of all shapes and sizes. He watched as she went straight towards a precariously balanced tower and softly grunted, scouring the many spines.

The stack stacked it behind her, falling like dominoes at her feet, but his mother cried, "Ah-ha!" before turning to him a moment later, holding a book up at him.

The words, 'Murder on the Calm Seas, by D. Dhungel' stared at him with the intensity of a thousand scorching suns from its cover. Golden and bright. So bright it singed his ego.

Devi Dhungel was real. Fuck!

"Holy shit. She's real?"

"As real as this book!" Eve strutted to his side and opened the back of the hardcover to reveal a familiar face staring at him from an unfamiliar photo. Devi Dhungel. Smiling. "I read this book years ago. She's a great writer. Anyway, why are you asking about her?"

His mother peered up at him, half expecting him to say something menial. Instead, Hector blurted, "Someone tried to kill her last night." And just like that, his day turned from possibly exciting yet mildly annoying to positively promising yet mildly annoying. So much so that it made his stomach drop and made him queasy with excitement.

Eve laughed, snapping the book in front of his face. "How would you even know that?"

"Because she's in the hospital right now."

"What hospital?"

"Ours."

Eve Martinez's eyes widened. "Ours? As in, our tiny little hovel in the cove?"

"The very one." Hector could all but laugh at how absurd that sounded. Devi Dhungel, an actual author—and possibly quite famous—was lying in their hospital, as swollen as a seal and as broken as a rag doll. "How famous is she?" he asked, eyeing the computer with regret. He shouldn't have turned it off, or he could have searched her up.

"She's won a few prestigious awards. What do you think?"

Famous! He thrust the empty tumbler into his mother's hand. He sat back down at the desk and flicked the computer on wanting to know all about Devi Dhungel so he had ammo the next time he met the woman.

"What are you doing?" Eve asked.

"Research. Now, if you really want me to make something of myself in life, I need you to leave me alone for an hour, Ma."

"Want another tea?"

"Heck yeah!" he said as that familiar, sweet dial tone screeched again. He still couldn't believe it. Devi Dhungel was real. And she's my ticket out of Shitsville!