Chapter Text
December 21, 2021
When Lucille Mariam Tara was a child, she loved the big holidays. Eid al-Fitr, the Sugar Feast at the end of Ramadan, was her favorite – the whole family coming together, the good food, the pride of being included in something so holy. Lucy remembered the first time her brothers participated in fasting with so much love for years. Everyone was so proud that all four children were allowed to stay up long after bedtime and would share sweets and giggles until the sugar high faded and they passed out in a heap of small, tangled limbs. Those are some of the happiest memories of her childhood. Love. Family. Laughter.
Growing up, things changed in the Tara household. After 2001, no one celebrated any Arabic holiday anymore. Instead, their white mother taught them about Christmas trees and Jesus and Thanksgiving and turkey. Lucy hated it right from the start, how garish and pompous it was, and that her parents invited strangers into their home. Not to spread the festive spirit, or whatever. Oh no, her parents always had an agenda. That particular one was to parade their children around, proving to everyone that they were stellar immigrants. Christmas was also endless screaming matches with her mother over the dead-ass ugly and itchy dresses she forced her to wear and being the only one who would accompany her father to the rehab center where her oldest brother was fighting his cocaine addiction. So, as far as Lucy is concerned, Christmas can suck it.
As an adult in her thirties who lives on an island where it never snows and without a family of her own, Lucy’s feelings for the so-called Happiest Season haven’t changed and, in fact, aren’t happy at all. Mostly, she just wants to get it over with. Maybe spend it together with Ernie, ordering obscene amounts of Chinese food and playing video games all night for the second year in a row. It’s not like she can still go through with the plans she had made in her head a while ago after all. Cautious, romantic plans that included a gorgeous, blonde DIA officer for whom Lucy was ready to give Christmas, in all its white, conservative tradition, another chance.
But now it’s three months later, the twenty-fifth is four days away and Lucy is sick of it. Of making bets and taking chances when the only prize she’s ever won is a broken heart. She’s so over that. Over and done with three exclamation marks. So, this new case could be exactly what she needs to get her mind off another lonely Christmas Day she’ll be spending yearning for Kate Whistler. She could do without the crime scene being located on a beach but, hey beggars can’t be choosers.
Muttering under her breath, Lucy walks up to the cluster of people, a mix of the press and excited bystanders. She must fight her way through to the yellow crime scene tape, past people holding cardboard signs and at least a dozen selfie sticks that threaten to poke one of her eyes out. It’s a lot more buzz than their cases usually get. Figures, since most people come to the Aloha State for fun and relaxation and not gritty murders. After her badge is vetted by three different officers, Lucy’s mood reaches a new low.
“What the hell is going on here?” she grits out in lieu of a greeting as soon as she spots Kai.
“Hey. Morning,” he answers, an unusual, dimpled smile etching across his face.
“What got you so chipper?” Lucy asks and takes a peek around in the hopes of spotting the body.
“Haven’t you heard?” his smile stretches into a full-blown mega-watt grin that is very out of place near a dead body. “The crime scene also happens to be a film set.”
That would explain the eager rubbernecks with the signs. Lucy takes another look around and frowns. Something doesn’t quite add up with Kai’s explanation. “If this is a film set, where is everybody?”
There are barely a dozen people scattered on the beach itself, most of them belonging to CSU or the ME office. Commander Chase is kneeling over something among a small cluster of trees and far away from that she can make out Tennant and Jesse talking to an unfamiliar trio. That’s it.
“They only planned to do a reshoot this morning and the crew was small. Tennant sent them back to the hotel and asked everyone to remain there until one of us has time to question them,” Kai explains.
From the dreamy look in his eyes, Lucy gauges that he’d love to do those interviews. Suits her well. As a teenager, she knew some up-and-coming starlets her brother met in rehab. Lucy learned very quickly that they weren’t her type of people. Kai can have those interviews if he wants to. She’s much more interested in something else.
“So, who’s the victim? Why are we here?”
“Victim was a Navy cadet. Thomas Sutton. He worked night shifts on set as a security guy,” Kai says as the grin slowly falls from his face.
Lucy’s gaze shifts between Tennant and Commander Chase, wondering where she should go first. “Do we have a COD?”, she asks and watches Chase roll the dead cadet into a body bag with the help of an assistant.
“Gunshot wound to the chest. At first glance, it looks like a .22…” His sentence trails off as if he wants to say more. “Are you really not going to ask?”
Lucy tears her eyes away from Tennant who’s still interviewing the three people across the beach. “Not gonna ask what?”
“What they are filming,” it bursts out of Kai.
For someone who must have witnessed Hawai’i’s Hollywood boom firsthand and should be used to film sets popping up all over the islands, he’s way too excited.
“If it’s not relevant for the case…,” Lucy lets the sentence hang in the air. “Wait. Is it something I should know?”
She sincerely doubts it because nothing she likes is ever shot in Hawai’i. It’s only rom-coms and procedurals and the occasional action movie and some Elvis movies back in the day. Of course, it would help with keeping her mind off Whistler if this movie turned out to be worth Kai’s beaming face. A clever murder-mystery with a reborn post-Bond Daniel Craig as the protagonist – now that is Lucy’s cup of tea. Not that those movies are ever produced in such a sunny, happy place as Honolulu or Waikiki. Her suspicions are proven correct when Kai says, “It’s the newest Hallmark movie.”
“Hallmark, like the greeting card company?” Lucy tilts her head to the side.
Kai gapes at her. “You’re telling me you never watched a Hallmark movie? Falling for Vermont ? Valentine Ever After ? Christmas Wishes and Mistletoe Kisses ?”
Lucy can’t help that it’s a bit morbid to do so at a crime scene and bursts into a fit of giggles. “Are you sure that last one is a movie title? Sounds more like the whitest tongue twister ever to me.”
“Ha ha, very funny,” Kai glares at her with crossed arms, “I’m surprised that you’ve never watched one. There’s this one actress that totally looks like…”
Lucy freezes in the middle of wiping her happy tears away and growls, “Whistler.”
It’s not some famous actress that might or might not resemble Whistler that just stepped onto the beach, but the real deal in all her almost six foot, blonde glory. Lucy stares after her, watching with something hot churning in her stomach, how Whistler crosses the sand in long and sure strides toward Tennant and Jesse. She’s dressed for a field day in boots and an FBI windbreaker and Lucy would have much preferred to see her struggle in the uneven terrain in a pair of heels. More annoying than Whistler’s presence is the fact that she doesn’t pay any attention to Lucy at all. No wistful glance. No awkward little wave. Nada. Zilch.
To be fair, Lucy hasn’t given her any reason to do so recently. Since Kate’s apology in the bullpen, they’re both making an effort at work to be less acerbic, to be friends even. Or so she thought. In her opinion, it’s not going very well. Lucy can’t hold a five-minute conversation with her without remembering the words ‘ I’m Whistler’s girlfriend from DC ’. She’s not there yet, at this imaginary point where she can talk to Whistler without yearning for everything they could have been. Maybe she only needs a little more space. What she definitely doesn’t need this morning is that Whistler pops up to crap all over Lucy’s case – the one she was ready to burrow herself in to forget that Whistler existed – to start a petty fight over jurisdictions.
“Sorry, Kai, gotta go. You can tell me about that actress later,” she says without another look at him and stalks over to Whistler.
She reaches her a handful of steps away from Tennant, yanking her to an abrupt stop with a hand on her elbow. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Oh, good morning to you, too, Special Agent Tara,” Whistler says in her cutting DIA voice, the one Lucy hasn’t missed at all and that never fails to annoy and turn her on in equal parts.
“Cut the pleasantries,” Lucy huffs and concentrates very hard on being annoyed. “It’s a valid question since this is not an FBI case. So…” She gestures wildly with her hands.
Whistler quickly glances around and lowers her voice into an angry hiss, “First of all, I saw you arrive five minutes before me, so don’t pretend you know that much about the case already. And secondly, some network executive apparently went to college with Curtis and called in a favor. So, please believe me when I’m saying that I have better things to do than babysitting an NCIS investigation.”
With a last withering glare, Whistler walks away. Lucy is left to fume in silence for a moment until she can’t quite feel vindicated about it. Okay, maybe she shouldn’t have yelled at Whistler like that. Especially for doing her job. It’s just that Lucy doesn’t know anymore how to behave around her and fighting – well, they were always good at fighting.
“For fuck’s sake…,” Lucy mutters, kicks at the sand and hurries after Whistler.
She steps into the middle of a round of introductions.
“Ah, and this is Special Agent Tara. She’s also with NCIS and one of our best,” Tennant says immediately and claps a hand on Lucy’s shoulder.
The three people in front of her narrow their eyes in suspicion. Lucy has a pretty good idea of who they are based on the fact that they are here at the crime scene and how they’re dressed. Tennant goes on to confirm each of her guesses.
“Special Agent Tara, this is David Winning,” Tennant says and motions to the tall man on the right. His shoulder-length hair is slicked back, and a cotton scarf is draped around his neck in a way that’s supposed to be casual but that he probably arranged for ten minutes in front of a mirror. On his feet is an expensive pair of smooth leather slip-ons. No socks. Lucy shudders. Her father used to have meetings with men like this. They all thought they were God’s gift and some of the biggest douches Lucy ever met. David Winning seems to be no exception.
“When can we be back on set? We already told you everything and time is money in this business. We can’t afford that you waste ours,” he complains.
Tennant gives him a saccharine smile and ignores him. She motions to the second man of the trio, smaller and older than Winning, who reminds Lucy of an accounting professor she had at Columbia.
“This is Howard Kalan, the executive producer.”
He keeps pressing his hand against a spot on his head where the hair is thin and speaks very accentuated. Definitely like Lucy’s old professor. “David is correct. Production must not be halted for too long. We’re on a schedule after-”
He’s interrupted by the only woman in the trio, who’s been scrolling on her phone for the past five minutes. She’s harder to read than the other two, her expression steeled behind a thick layer of make-up.
“Oh, don’t be so dramatic, Howie. It’s not like you’re the one financing this project.” Then she settles one perfectly manicured hand on Whistler’s arm and a pair of glacier-blue eyes on the rest of her. “Now that the FBI is here, I’m sure this whole misunderstanding will be taken care of in no time.”
That must be the Hallmark representative. Lucy already hates her guts.
Whistler clears her throat and shifts away from the woman’s touch. “Please, Ms. Keene. As I already said – I’m only here as a courtesy. Jurisdiction lies entirely with NCIS.”
“And NCIS really doubts that this was a misunderstanding.” Lucy goes all out on the sarcasm of that last word and thrusts her chin out. She would have liked to say more, like how it’s inappropriate to get handsy with law enforcement officers. It’s Tennant squeezing her shoulder a little bit too hard that makes her reconsider.
“Which is why we will work very hard to solve Cadet Sutton’s murder and get you back to filming,” Tennant says before giving Lucy a meaningful look. “Starting by talking to the crew members at the hotel. Agent Tara and Agent Whistler will go there, right now.”
Lucy stiffens. Her stomach is flipping so hard that her mouth tastes like the protein pancakes she had for breakfast.
Whistler begins to point hectically between them. “You want me and… To do…”
Tennant’s meaningful look is extended by the rise of a sharp eyebrow. “We’re showing Ms. Keene and the network our full cooperation. Or is that a problem?”
“No, not at all Agent Tennant,” Whistler says quickly.
“Nope, no problem for me,” Lucy adds.
She can work with her ex on a case without letting her emotions get in the way. Easy-peasy. Poor Kai, though, was robbed of his chance to fanboy.
***
News of the murder traveled fast in the loyal Hallmark community and there’s an even bigger crowd of fans in front of the swanky beachside hotel where the crew is staying. For Whistler’s windbreaker, the masses part like the Red Sea for which Lucy is grateful. She doesn’t need another near accident with a selfie stick. It also makes her wish she was wearing her own windbreaker with the white NCIS letters emblazoned on the back. This is her goddamn case, after all. People should make room for her.
While they wait for an elevator in the lobby, Lucy subtly moves her badge around, so it’s extra visible. Whistler gives her a curious side-glance that Lucy pretends to not have noticed. She is glad they were spared an awkward car ride by arriving separately. If only they could take separate elevators, too. She pressed the button several times already with no apparent result and scowls at the glowing numbers.
“Seriously, what is wrong with you this morning?”
“Huh?”
Whistler casts a quick glance through the busy lobby and lowers her voice. “First at the beach and now you look like you’re trying to set the elevator on fire. Do you really hate working with me that much?”
The truth is that Lucy doesn’t hate her and that’s the problem, isn’t it? Whistler used her to cheat on her secret girlfriend and broke Lucy’s heart. So, Lucy should be really fucking mad. Which she was. For some time right after. Now, she’s only sad all the time and misses Whistler like crazy while she fully knows that she shouldn’t. So no, Lucy doesn’t hate Whistler or hates working with her. She just can’t stand Whistler’s large, yearning eyes and the smell of her perfume. But it’s not like she’s going to share any of that.
She presses the button to call the elevator again and huffs. “It’s not you. It’s the people in this case and this stupid movie and this stupid time of the year.”
Whistler’s eyebrows lift and she tilts her head. “You’re not a fan of rom-coms?”
“Not particularly and those Hallmark movies…” Lucy recalls her quick Google search in the car and all those white faces staring back at her. “They’re boring and not made for people like me.”
Finally, the elevator arrives, and Lucy suppresses any reaction when Whistler’s hand hovers over the small of her back as they step inside. She presses the button for the 12 th floor and leans back against the mirrored wall.
“What do you mean with people like you?”
Annoyance prickles in the back of Lucy’s neck. “Come on, Whistler. Those movies are for bored and lonely suburban housewives. Not for brown lesbians.”
Whistler lets out a small laugh and Lucy’s heart aches. “Well, I can’t argue with that. But don’t you think they’re romantic?”
Lucy snorts. “I don’t know what’s romantic about having amnesia or breaking up with your fiancé after spending three days with an ex. I mean… how often does that really happen?”
“I think they have something reassuring,” Whistler says with eyes too soft for this conversation. “To know that the couple that’s destined for each other will end up together no matter what.”
Lucy isn’t a big fan of destiny. It’s so fatalistic. Makes it too easy to put blame where it doesn’t belong. If it’s destiny, it cannot be your fault that someone took a plane to Vermont or Alabama or O’ahu just to get broken up with. Yeah, right.
At that moment, the elevator dings and Lucy pushes off the wall. “Let’s just get this over with.”
According to the touchy-feely network executive everyone has gathered in a conference room where Lucy and Whistler will be able to conduct the interviews. Finding that room doesn’t take long. It’s the one with the bulky men outside who look like they permanently removed the muscles needed to smile. Lucy is determined to make things quick, and she won’t let the people inside or outside of this conference room deter her from that. No matter that a dense atmosphere of mistrust, fear, and boredom greets them as soon as they enter.
During a quick introduction, Lucy takes everyone in. The actors are easy to tell apart from the assistants not only because Lucy recognizes some faces from her internet search before. They’re a small group, five or six in total, all seemingly as cliché as the characters they’re portraying. It’s quickly decided that everyone will be interviewed one by one at the conference table that dominates one side of the room. A round of groans and complaints starts and Lucy finds herself glad that Whistler is by her side. A relief that doesn’t last. What a surprise.
It starts with the first interviewee sitting down across from Lucy and Whistler at the large table. Young, honey blonde, pretty in that conventional American way, and giving off major diva vibes. Lucy checks her notepad. “You are Amelia Hughes, is that correct? One of the actresses?”
“I’m the lead actress, yes,” Amelia answers without looking at her. “But whatever reason you have for cooping us all in here like cattle, I assure you I have nothing to do with it.”
Whistler gives her a charming good-cop-smile, “Since the reason is the murder of one of your security guards, I believe our actions are justified, Ms. Hughes. And whether or not you had something to do with it, is what Agent Tara and I are trying to find out.”
Lucy clears her throat in a vain attempt to win back the actress’ attention. “Exactly, so could you please tell us where you were last night between ten pm and six in the morning? And when have you last seen Cadet Sutton?”
Amelia waves her hand dismissively – the highest acknowledgment she’s granting Lucy – and says, “My assistant will give you everything you need but now…” She leans forward and points one long finger at Whistler. “Do we know each other? I feel like I saw you on set a couple of years ago… What project was that… Return to Schitt’s Creek ? No, no… Return to Easter Creek ?”
“Uhm… you must confuse me with someone else. I’ve never acted a day in my life,” Whistler laughs thinly.
“What a shame, darling. You should consider it. Don’t let that jawline go to waste.” Then Amelia Hughes winks at Whistler and stands up.
Lucy is pretty sure she can feel her blood curdle.
After that, it just keeps happening. The male lead, Chris Ruggles, tells Whistler she should audition for his upcoming movie. He uses words like sizzling and electrifying to describe what he thinks their screen test would be like. Lucy wants to gag. Whistler smiles politely and asks him the same questions as Amelia before.
Their next two interviews follow a similar routine. The best friend, Sage Kitchen, has obvious first-time jitters and seems legit scared after hearing about the murder. She’s not scared enough, though, to stop blushing furiously whenever Whistler merely looks at her. The male lead’s mother, played by Cora Applewhite, compliments Whistler’s toned arms and asks for her personal trainer.
By the time the last actor slumps into his seat, Lucy is ready to explode. She tells herself it’s due to the incredible rudeness she’s been treated with, but that’s a hard lie to sell to herself when yet another wannabe Hollywood star makes eyes at Whistler and Lucy grabs her pen hard enough to crack it. This time, she doesn’t even bother to ask the questions. She’s too busy glaring daggers at the man.
Whistler gives her a funny look and starts. “You are Zach Webber, the rival love interest?”
“That’s me, the guy who gets dumped at the end of the movie.” He rubs his neck and gives Whistler a crooked grin. He probably thinks it’s charming.
Lucy can barely hold in a massive eye roll. While Whistler asks him about his whereabouts, Lucy shoves her personal animosities aside and takes him in with a more professional eye. It’s immediately clear that he’s different from the others. His eyes are a bit puffy and the shadow of a beard spreads over his cheeks. He seems worn out despite the small role he has in the movie and his lethargy has something unnatural about it. As if a substance helped it along. He reminds Lucy of the former child actors her brother sought out in rehab – people corroded by their fame who had been fed so many drugs there was hardly anything left of them. Surprisingly, he’s the first one who actually talks to them.
“Yeah, I know Sutton… or well, guess I should say knew now,” Webber chuckles with an air of self-deprecation.
“What was the nature of your relationship with him?” Whistler asks.
“Whoa, lady,” Webber throws his hands up, “there was no relationship. I’m not gay or something. Actually, you are-”
Lucy’s fuse finally and truly runs out. “It’s Agent Whistler for you, Mr. Webber, and we would really appreciate it if you could just answer our questions,” she says through gritted teeth.
At least he has the decency to show some remorse and shrugs, “Yeah sure… uh… Don’t tell the others and especially not Linda Keene but… oh man… Sutton would sometimes sneak off-set with me for something… a little illegal.”
Lucy and Whistler exchange a quick glance. “Sutton was a cadet for the Navy, I’m surprised to hear that he was involved in illegal activities,” Lucy says and scribbles down some notes.
“No, not illegal for him. Well, not really illegal anyway. He’d just go with me. For protection, you know? He always said, you never know where a creepy fan might jump out from. He was a good kid and I hate to think that one of them got the better of him.”
“Is there reason to believe that a fan might have murdered him?” Whistler asks in a rush of excitement.
Webber shrugs again, “I mean, we all have our occasional stalker, but I don’t know of any particular one, right now.”
Whistler visibly deflates and Lucy rubs at her temple. God, this is worse than pulling teeth. “Okay, Mr. Webber, you said you had to sneak off set because of Linda Keene. Why?”
He throws a quick glance over his shoulder, then leans forward across the table and beckons with one finger. “Come here.”
Lucy stays resolutely where she is. “I don’t think that’s necessary.”
“Come. Here.” Webber presses out in a low hiss. “I don’t want the others to hear what I’m about to say.”
She is ready to smack his head against the table but after one intense glare from Whistler, she gives in. “Fine… I’m listening,” she grumbles and tries not to inhale a whiff of Whistler’s perfume as they all put their heads together.
“Okay. So. Linda Keene has everyone on a tight leash on set. The other day she yelled at Sage Kitchen, the girl playing Chris’ best friend, for having a muffin. She says she’s only acting on orders from the network but honestly… I think she’s just a bitch. If she finds out that I went out for a burger and a milkshake she’ll sue me or something…”
Lucy’s eyebrows rise into her hairline. “She’d sue you over a burger and a milkshake?”
Webber briefly buries his head in his hands and continues in an even quieter voice. “You don’t understand, I have several shirtless scenes in this movie and the studio demands abs. I’ve been training like a maniac for six months and all I’ve been eating are protein shakes and steamed chicken! For! Six! Months!”
Something is bothering Lucy about his answer. It tickles the back of her mind like a bad case of Where-do-I-know-that-face-from. It’s incredibly annoying. For now, she keeps quiet about it because it’s not more than a hunch.
“Thank you, Mr. Webber, that is actually quite helpful,” Whistler says then. Her smile is grateful, Lucy would even go as far as calling it friendly. In her opinion, it’s more than Webber deserves. Especially when he sends Whistler a smarmy douche smile in return.
“I’m just glad I could help,” he says, and his chest puffs out despite the humble tone he attempted. “And you know, if I can ever help you out more by giving you a tour of one of our sets, you let me know, Agent Whistler.”
Lucy is grinding her teeth so hard she might crack a molar and there’s a vein throbbing on her forehead she didn’t even know existed. It’d be extremely unprofessional to lunge over the table and punch Zach Webber in the face. It’s still satisfying to imagine it.
“Thanks, but we will not be needing that,” Lucy grunts and demonstratively flips her notepad shut.
***
After the interviews, there’s not much more to do. Everyone’s alibi has to be vetted, Ernie will dig into their past, financials, and recent travel history and they have to regroup with the others. Lucy really hopes that Kai has had more success with interviewing the remaining crew members. Right now, they have nothing. No motive, no suspect, no leads. The only thing Lucy got from the past two hours was a potential aneurysm. Currently, she’s letting off some steam by smashing the lobby button in the elevator with extra force.
“I thought that after the interviews you’d be in a better mood, but you seem to be even worse,” Whistler comments from the opposite corner. Little worry crinkles appear between her brows, and her gaze is gently probing. Lucy wouldn’t admit it if anyone asked but it’s nice that Whistler cares. And since they’re trying this whole friend thing Lucy doesn’t joke about how pissed she is.
“I’m just angry because these interviews were a waste of time. No one told us anything helpful and was a huge asshole while doing so.”
The crinkle between Whistler’s brows deepens. “Sure, they all pretended not to know anything, but I thought they were nice.”
Lucy scoffs, “Yeah, maybe to you.”
“What do you mean?” The edge of a whine snuck into Whistler’s voice.
In the past, it used to be a telltale sign that she was struggling to catch up with certain parts of a conversation. Nothing has changed on that front except maybe that Whistler tries to hide a frustrated pout. Were it anyone else, Lucy would think there’s a joke in the making that she’s the butt of. But Whistler must be the most oblivious person she knows when it comes to flirting. Lucy herself had to use her whole repertoire the night they first met after all. And it’s unfair because like this she can’t even be mad at her.
“They were flirting with you,” she says dryly.
Whistler starts laughing.
Lucy’s nostrils flare.
“Oh my God, you’re serious,” Whistler says and slaps a hand over her mouth.
“Dead serious. Even that Cora Applewhite, the male lead’s mother. And she’s well into her fifties,” Lucy huffs and flips her hair over her shoulder.
Whistler still hasn’t quite stopped laughing and chuckles now and again. “If it happens again, I’ll talk to them… Since it makes you this upset.”
Lucy snaps her head to Whistler and narrows her eyes. Heat prickles in her neck. “I’m not upset. I’m offended. We were in the middle of an interrogation, and they barely deigned to speak to me. It was rude.”
“Sure, if that is what you want to call it,” Whistler says. The little smirk pulling at her lips is absolutely infuriating and Lucy is ready to screw any attempt at being friends. She’s ready for a full-blown, nuclear screaming match.
“What would you call it?” Lucy asks and her voice is trembling from holding back her anger.
As if on cue, the elevator dings and the doors open to reveal the entrance lobby.
Whistler grins some more, all smug and overly pleased with herself. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re jealous.”
Without another word, she saunters out of the elevator.
Lucy catches herself a moment too late staring at Whistler’s butt. Feeling a little green around the edges, she mutters, “Shit…”