Dying for a Daiquiri (10 page)

“Your wife is worth far more than a million dollars.” My mother raised her voice as she addressed her only son. “Let me know what you need. I’m sure Robert would agree to help.”

I didn’t recall my mother offering to provide any collateral when I was almost arrested. All I could remember her telling the detectives was that I was
too
disorganized to commit murder.

Some witness for the defense!

“How did you find an attorney so quickly?” I asked Steve. “You don’t hang out with the criminal element, do you?” I snatched another onion ring, expecting him to smile in response.

Steve’s gaze drifted out the window and he paused a few seconds before he answered.

“Hawaii may be the Big Island, but it’s a relatively small community. You meet people from many walks of life, never knowing if there’s a particular reason why you crossed paths with one another.”

Steve stretched out his palm and his fingertips grazed mine. His touch startled me, and I inadvertently shoved my chair into the unlucky server standing behind me. Seconds later, waves of molten heat rolled down my body, all the way to the tips of my toes.

My very clammy toes.

Was this what Regan meant by paradise being rife with pitfalls?

There is nothing less romantic than having a bowl of clam chowder dumped on you. The creamy soup coated every inch of my body. I could feel a couple of clams nestled in the frizzy curls just above my left ear.

On a positive note, Dave smiled for the first time that evening. Steve proved to be a perfect gentleman. He not only refrained from laughing, but he dabbed his napkin in his water glass and slowly, almost sensuously, wiped the creamy chowder off my thighs and calves.

If you’ve never had a hot guy clean hot soup off your legs, you’ve really missed out. It was difficult to distinguish whose cheeks burned brighter––mine, or the server who accidentally dumped dinner on me when I bumped into her.

Mother, Liz, and I retired to the ladies’ room to determine if there was any permanent damage from my soup shampoo. The two women circled me like hawks assessing their prey.

“I don’t know, luv, you’re going to need some extra powerful conditioner. Assuming we get it all out.” Liz wrinkled her nose. “You may have every feral cat on the island following you down the sidewalk.”

My mother scrambled around in her straw tote. She pulled out a pair of scissors and pointed them at me.

My eyes widened. “Where did those come from?”

She shrugged. “I always keep a pair in my purse, along with duct tape. It’s my Realtor first-aid kit. I was kind of surprised they missed them at the airport.”

I was kind of surprised my mother hadn’t been classified as a terrorist.

Between the two of them, they managed to remove most of the chowder without me losing too many strands of hair. I discovered a stray clam and popped it in my mouth. Yummy.

“So where do we go from here?” Liz snipped off a few locks of hair so thick with goop they resembled string cheese.

My mother, head cocked, leaned against a wall papered in a palm tree motif.

“More to the right,” she directed my new hair stylist. “What’s your plan, honey? We need to prove Regan didn’t do it, and we only have three more days on the island.”

I whipped my head to the left. Not a good idea. My sudden movement surprised Liz.

“Whoopsie, daisy.” She quickly dumped something in the trash that looked like a big chunk of my hair.

“Enough with the trimming. I’d rather have birds pecking at my head than leave myself in your lethal clutches. Mom, do you really expect us to find the killer in your time frame?”

“Robert says the first forty-eight hours are the most important. By tomorrow morning it will be,” she peeked at her watch, “seventy-two hours give or take. You have your whole team here to assist you. I’m sure the local police will welcome our input.”

Somehow, I doubted that.

“We certainly can’t fly home with Regan stuck in jail and a killer still on the loose.” Liz handed the scissors back to Mother. “And Brian has a big trial starting on Monday so we can’t miss our Sunday flight. C’mon, Laurel, get a move on it.”

I rolled my eyes. My team was such a bunch of amateurs. As was I. But I knew just the professional who could help us out. There was nothing like a dead body to get Detective Tom Hunter’s attention.

Two hours later, I perched on the rim of the hotel’s oversized marble-covered bathtub, cell phone in hand. My mother was already in bed, worn out from the day’s activities and the stress of worrying about her son and his wife. It was close to midnight in California so there was a possibility I would wake up Tom, especially if he had his cell sitting close to his bed. Knowing him, he probably slept right next to it.

I would love to switch places with that phone.

The shrill ring of my cell made me jump. “Tom?” I was thrilled the detective was intuitive enough to call me when I needed him most.

“Mom?”

“Jenna, what are you doing up so late. Is everything okay?”

Everything was fine. In fact, it was excellent. One of her classmates invited her to the Winter Ball, which entailed the purchase of not only a new dress, but also shoes, a manicure and a pedicure. She guaranteed she would not let any pre-party planning interfere with her SAT test the same day.

Knowing how goal-oriented my daughter could be, I never worried her social life would interfere with her concentration. Jenna could shop and formulate mathematical theorems simultaneously. She could also calculate every discount combination imaginable long before the register finished totaling her purchases.

My daughter’s analytical abilities would have been a huge plus in the Mortgage Underwriting department at Hangtown Bank where I work, but for some odd reason, her current career choice was aeronautical engineering. Not mortgage banking.

Go figure!

By the time Jenna and I hung up, it was close to one in the morning West Coast time. Too late to call Tom. I washed and moisturized my face and covered every inch of my body with the lotion provided by the hotel. The blurb on the bottle guaranteed the silky lotion would caress my skin. I slid under the covers, closed my eyes and let the scent of the fragrant macadamia nut oil lull me to sleep. At this point, I’d take whatever caressing I could get.

The melodic tones of my cell woke me from a rapturous slumber. I could still feel Tom Hunter’s arms wrapped around me, his lingering kisses working their way up and down my oiled body, which in my dream was now a svelte size six.

I grabbed my phone before the caller could wake my mother. “Hi, honey,” I said in a husky voice.

“Hi, yourself,” replied a deep baritone. “You sure know how to make a guy’s morning.”

Oops. I focused my near-sighted eyes on my phone and noticed the call was from the local area code.

“Who is this?”

“It’s Steve. I apologize if I woke you.” His tone indicated he was disappointed, not so much that he woke me, but because there was already a “honey” in my life.

“Oh, sorry, I was still in dreamland.” I stretched across the bed to see what time it was. Six-thirty? These ship captains are early risers. “I thought you were my daughter calling. Is anything wrong? Is Dave okay?”

“Oh, I’m sure he’s as good as he can be in this situation.”

“I can’t believe they may set Regan’s bail at a million dollars. It’s not like someone can sneak off this island. You’d need a plane to do that.”

“Or a boat,” said the
Sea Jinx
captain. “It wouldn’t be the first time a suspect used amphibious means for an escape.”

Good seafaring point.

“You’re probably wondering why I called so early. I’m privy to some information regarding Keiki, but I’m not sure what to do with it. I thought you might be able to give me some advice. Can we meet at your hotel?”

“Sure, when?”

“How about now?”

Men! They have zero concept of how long it takes a woman to make herself presentable. I flung on a pair of khaki shorts and a sleeveless coral top. A swipe of blush, mascara and lipstick, and I was ready. Mother was still asleep so I left the DO NOT DISTURB sign on the door and headed for the elevator.

Even this early, the elevators were crowded with parents, kids, collapsible strollers, and filled-to-the-brim beach bags. When my children were young, Hank and I didn’t have the means to take our kids to a five-star hotel like this one. They were lucky to stay at a campground with a flushable potty and running water.

I squeezed into an elevator filled wall-to-wall with toddlers. The lit-up array of numbers indicated the little ones had engaged in their favorite elevator game. After stopping at all twenty-nine floors, the doors opened and I made a dash for it.

Steve talked on his cell next to an ornate stone pedestal table topped by an enormous tropical flower arrangement. He wore his blue
Sea Jinx
polo shirt and khaki shorts that displayed trim, muscular legs.

I sighed. I hate when a man’s calves look better than my own. As soon as he noticed me, he finished his conversation and walked over to meet me. Before I could say “Aloha,” Steve engulfed me in a welcoming hug that made my nerves tingle all the way down to my pink-tipped toenails. I was still blushing as he led me to the hotel’s Island Café where the host seated us at a corner table overlooking a tropical garden. A tiny brook meandered through the lush foliage. Flashes of orange and yellow indicated the koi fish were enjoying a morning swim.

“Thanks for meeting me so early,” Steve said. “Our snorkel cruise leaves at nine, and that’s followed by an afternoon outing. This was the only time I had available.”

“Anything that will help Regan is my first priority. No matter how early.”

After our server poured our coffee and scribbled down our breakfast orders, Steve stared at his cup, deep in thought.

I nudged his foot with my sandal.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’m struggling with the best way to share this information.”

“How about just the facts for now. We can proceed from there.”

My goodness, didn’t I sound official? I was a regular Nikki Heat!

“Okay. Our brochures advertise that the
Sea Jinx
provides Hawaiian entertainment for the guests on the sunset cruise. The boat isn’t big enough for a full troupe, but the guests enjoy the music and dancing along with their drinks and pupus.”

I grinned. The thought of those Hawaiian appetizers always brings a smile to my face.

“About a week ago, Noelani, the principal dancer, called in sick. Both Keiki and Walea had covered for Noelani a couple of times in the past. This time Keiki was available and she agreed to perform. As usual, she was amazing. Had the male guests eating right out of her hand. In fact, the tip jar almost wasn’t big enough; it overflowed with ten and twenty-dollar bills.”

“Sounds like a profitable evening for her,” I said.

“Therein lay the problem. The crew and the entertainers normally split the money in the tip jar. You might remember one of my crew, Timmy Soong, from your snorkel cruise. Since Keiki wasn’t a regular, he said she didn’t deserve as big of a share of the tips. She claimed the jar was full because of her performance. The two of them got into a huge argument. One minute she was yelling at him; the next minute he was shouting at her. From the water.”

My eyes widened. “He fell in?”

“She pushed him in. That girl was in great shape.” He looked off to the distance and smiled.

Interesting.

The server chose that moment to bring our orders. I was attempting to be good so I’d only ordered the
small
stack of macadamia-nut pancakes. It would be back to boring bran flakes soon enough. Steve dug into his bacon-and-cheese omelet and for a few minutes, we were content eating our excellent entrees.

“So then what happened?” I asked.

“The guys and I pulled Timmy out of the water. Rick, one of the musicians, and Rafe, the other member of my crew, thought it was hilarious. The more they ribbed Timmy, the madder he got. I finally pulled him aside and told him to dry off and cool off. I grabbed some extra cash from my wallet and gave it to Keiki. I figured that was the end of that. As the guys walked away from the boat, their conversation drifted up to us. Timmy yelled a parting remark.”

“What did he say?” I asked, stabbing a piece of pancake with my fork.

“You gonna die, bitch.”

My hand shook and my pancake flipped on to the table. “Do you think Timmy killed Keiki? Over something so petty?”

“I didn’t even remember the incident until they arrested Regan. But now that the police have definitely declared it was murder, I wonder.”

“How did Keiki respond to Timmy’s threat?”

“She was real shook up. I didn’t want her walking back to her car alone and thought she might like some company. We ended up going over to Hugo’s Hula bar and had a couple of drinks. At the bar, she explained that she’d dated Timmy’s younger brother for a few years then suddenly ended it two months ago.”

“Regan mentioned something about Keiki dumping her former boyfriend and then him tragically dying. Did Keiki say why she broke up with him?”

Steve shrugged. “She didn’t elaborate. Said it wasn’t meant to be. That it wasn’t,” he made air quotes, “the direction she intended to go. She had bigger plans.”

“Do you think those plans had anything to do with her murder?”

Steve’s face paled beneath his tan. “At the time, I didn’t give much thought to her comment. Keiki was an attractive woman and she seemed driven. I don’t know if she wanted fame, fortune or both. I guess being one of the most gorgeous dancers around wasn’t enough for her.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Were you interested in Keiki?”

Steve’s eyes clouded over, and he appeared distracted for a moment. “Let’s say I wasn’t completely immune to her charms and leave it at that.”