Mean Girl Murder

by Leslie Langtry

  Poor Darlene. She'd been Didi's first victim, in a way. And now she was going off to a mental hospital to get her act together. It probably didn't help that I'd suspected her. Maybe I could send her some flowers.

  "Was Victoria the person in the hoodie who ran away from us?"

  I nodded. "I think so. She's dead, so we won't know for sure. But I'd be willing to bet she was looking for the coins and we interrupted her." I felt a small stab of shame that the older woman could outrun me like that. Shame, but not surprise. I really sucked at running.

  "What I really don't get," Kelly pressed, "is why Stan seemed so shaken when we discovered he'd replaced Kaitlyn on the float. I really believed he'd been kidnapped."

  "I suspect," I said, "that Stan was terrified of what I'd do to him."

  Stan had confessed to Rex that the kidnapping had been his idea and that he really thought Robert would do what I asked and rip his arms off. That made me smile.

  Kelly rolled her eyes. "Of course you'd think that."

  Little did she know. If he wasn't charged with murder, just theft and kidnapping, Stan might get out of prison someday. And I'd be there, waiting, with a rusty car battery and a couple of jumper cables that wouldn't be used on his car.

  * * *

  The doorbell rang bright and early the next morning. I answered to find Ava standing there and invited her in.

  "Why aren't you in school?" I asked before I realized what I'd said.

  "I'm helping with the funeral," Ava said simply.

  "I'm really sorry about your dad. He died saving my life, you know." I led her to the couch, and we sat down.

  She nodded. "I know. It's okay."

  I stared at the little girl.

  "I don't know about that," I mumbled. Then I bribed her with ice cream and cats. She accepted both.

  "Why did you stop by?" I asked.

  "I just wanted to say I was sorry for what happened to Kaitlyn at the parade."

  She was sorry? Her father died, and she was sorry?

  "You don't have to apologize. I know you knew your dad had her. Kaitlyn is okay." I remembered the look on her face when we were asking the girls about Kaitlyn's disappearance.

  The little girl looked at me curiously. "You did?"

  I nodded. "I figured it out. Later."

  "Mommy is sad," Ava said.

  I put my arm around the girl. "I'm sorry she's sad. And I'm really sorry you're sad."

  She looked up at me. "It's okay. Daddy and I weren't close."

  This confused me. "Yes, but he was your daddy. I know you'll miss him."

  Ava shrugged. "He was my stepfather. I didn't like him much. But the best part is that he saved you."

  I had no idea how to respond to that. These girls were amazing. Sometimes, they were mature beyond their years. Other times, they wanted to set fires where they weren't supposed to. It just depended on the day.

  Ava and I chatted aimlessly for a few more minutes. She put in a request that we have a meeting at the local gun range, but I suspected one or two other Scouts put her up to that. Finally, her mother pulled up out front, and she left.

  I shelved the idea of arming a bunch of trigger-happy little girls and steeled myself for a trip across the street. It was time to talk to Rex.

  Dealing with armed little girls would be a cinch compared to this.

  * * *

  Rex opened the door and ushered me inside before I had a chance to knock. Leonard was taking up the whole couch and wagged his tail so hard he knocked over a lamp on an end table.

  "I really need to do something about that." Rex sighed. "It's the third lamp he's broken this week."

  So far, things were looking up. He'd let me into his house without complaint and was talking amiably. I took that as a good sign.

  Leonard came over and shoved me onto the couch with his nose before climbing into my lap. He was so large, I couldn't see around him. Rex began to laugh, and I relaxed. Okay. This was going way better than I'd thought.

  "Leonard, down." Rex pointed at the floor

  The dog dutifully jumped down and proceeded to sit on my feet with his head in my lap. I started scratching behind his ears.

  "You're training him," I murmured.

  "He already had some training." Rex sat down next to me and ruffled Leonard's fur. "This is a smart dog."

  Leonard belched in agreement.

  "By the way," he said. "I got a call to pick up a dining table and chairs today. Apparently, you've been shopping for things you don't need?"

  "I…uh…thought we could…" What could I say? He had me dead to rights. "Okay, I bought it to get info from Victoria."

  Rex said nothing. He just stood there with his eyebrows raised, which made me feel terrible.

  "I'm so sorry about all of this," I blurted out. So much for being smooth. "I didn't mean to mess things up."

  My fiancé leaned back and studied me. "You didn't exactly mess things up. But you don't seem to have much respect for my job."

  That hit me like a cannonball to the chest. "I do! I really do. It's just that I get so caught up in all the excitement."

  He nodded. "I know. I've been thinking about that. I understand that it was hard for you to leave your job. But you're a civilian now. I'm the detective. And unless you want to go to the academy and study to become a policeman…"

  "I can do that?" I jumped in before he could finish. "That might be fun! Then we can work together! I've got lots of ideas! Hey, we can be a husband and wife crime fighting duo!"

  Rex raised his hands. "Merry, stop. If you'd let me finish, I'd have said that there's only one detective job here in town. We couldn't work together."

  "Oh." That kind of knocked the wind out of my sails.

  "If we're going to get married…" he said.

  If?

  "…you're going to have to let me do my job," Rex said.

  "I do want to get married," I grumbled.

  "And I know that Riley has offered you a job as a private investigator," he continued, "but I don't want you to take it."

  "Why not?" I had no intention of taking Riley's offer, but I wasn't sure I wanted my husband telling me what I could or could not do.

  He ran his hands through his dark hair. He looked frustrated. "First of all, you probably won't be investigating anything other than cheating spouses and insurance fraud claims. I'm not sure you'd like that."

  Hmmm…that did sound creepy.

  "Secondly, I don't want you working against me if we did investigate the same thing."

  I sighed. Leonard took this as an invitation to climb into my lap again. For a smart dog, he didn't seem to realize that he wasn't the right size to be a lap dog. Rex ordered him down, and with a whimper, he turned around on the rug forty or fifty times before lying down and falling asleep. Too bad I couldn't teach the cats to do that.

  "Okay," I said at last.

  "Okay?" He frowned.

  I nodded. "Okay. I won't take Riley up on his offer."

  Rex's right eyebrow went up, but he said nothing.

  "And," I continued, "I won't get involved in your cases." That hurt to say. "But I'm not sure about the Historical Society job."

  At long last, my fiancé nodded. "It won't come open until after the first of the year anyway."

  I thought about my conversation with Susan. "But I won't rule it out."

  Rex smiled and pulled me against his chest. Relief flooded over me.

  "I still need to do something, though," I mumbled. "Maybe I could apprentice with your sisters. Think I'd make a good taxidermist?"

  Laughter rumbled in his chest. "No. I don't. We'll find something for you. I promise."

  As my fears drifted away, I realized how lucky I was. I had a wonderful fiancé, two weird cats, an amazing best friend, and ten precocious little girls who were literally up for anything.

  My life was close to perfect. Now I just had to fight my nature and stop investigating murders.

  I was 99% (well, maybe more like
89%) positive I could do that. After all, it wasn't like murder happened in this small town every day.

  Okay, so maybe it did. But odds were things would be quiet from here on out. It wasn't like Who's There was the murder capital of Iowa.

  Right?

  * * * * *

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  * * * * *

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Leslie Langtry is the USA Today bestselling author of the Greatest Hits Mysteries series, Sex, Lies, & Family Vacations, The Hanging Tree Tales as Max Deimos, the Merry Wrath Mysteries, the Aloha Lagoon Mysteries and several books she hasn't finished yet, because she's very lazy.

  Leslie loves puppies and cake (but she will not share her cake with puppies) and thinks praying mantids make everything better. She lives with her family and assorted animals in the Midwest, where she is currently working on her next book and trying to learn to play the ukulele.

  To learn more about Leslie, visit her online at: http://www.leslielangtry.com

  * * * * *

  BOOKS BY LESLIE LANGTRY

  Merry Wrath Mysteries

  Merit Badge Murder

  Mint Cookie Murder

  Scout Camp Murder (short story in the Killer Beach Reads collection)

  Marshmallow S'More Murder

  Movie Night Murder

  Mud Run Murder

  Fishing Badge Murder (short story in the Pushing Up Daisies collection)

  Motto for Murder

  Map Skills Murder

  Mean Girl Murder

  Aloha Lagoon Mysteries:

  Ukulele Murder

  Ukulele Deadly

  Greatest Hits Mysteries:

  'Scuse Me While I Kill This Guy

  Guns Will Keep Us Together

  Stand By Your Hitman

  I Shot You Babe

  Paradise By The Rifle Sights

  Snuff the Magic Dragon

  My Heroes Have Always Been Hitmen

  Have Yourself a Deadly Little Christmas (a holiday short story)

  Other Works:

  Sex, Lies, & Family Vacations

  * * * * *

  SNEAK PEEK

  of the first Aloha Lagoon Mystery:

  UKULELE MURDER

  by

  LESLIE LANGTRY

  CHAPTER ONE

  If anyone requests "Ukulele Lady," I'm out of here. I'm not going to do it. Not again. Not for the millionth time. Is that the only song tourists know? Yeesh. Please, tiki god of the Ukulele, don't let me kill a tourist today.

  "'Ukulele Lady!'" a dumpy, middle-aged man in a Frankie Goes to Hollywood T-shirt screams. He gives me a knowing nod with his balding head to indicate he's the only one in the room who knows true Hawaiian culture.

  I hate him. I imagine bludgeoning him with my koa wood uke.

  But I don't. Do you know how hard it is to get blood out of koa wood? Well…I don't know either, but I'd guess it isn't easy.

  Instead, I play the damn song—smiling as I imagine shoving his pineapple drink up his…

  The crowd cheers as I perform. I know—it's not so bad having an adoring audience. But this isn't the audience I want. This is Judah Horowitz's bar mitzvah. One of the few gigs I could get in Aloha Lagoon.

  My name is Hoalohanani Johnson. My mother, Harriet Jones Johnson, is a bit of a Hawaiian-obsessed nut. It's so bad that it's to the point where she believes she is the reincarnation of a Hawaiian princess and says that my name came from a dream from an ancestor god. In reality, it probably came from the bottom of a rum bottle.

  To her endless annoyance, my redheaded, green-eyed mom comes from a long line of English ancestors and grew up in Kansas. Dad was a third-generation blond, brown-eyed German whose name was shortened to Johnson due to the inability to pronounce whatever the name really was. Neither of my parents had ever been to Hawaii until Mom and I moved here after Dad died.

  I go by Nani. And I now live in Aloha Lagoon on the Hawaiian island of Kauai, with my mother, who now calls herself Haliaka and dyes her hair and eyebrows a ridiculous shade of black that does not look natural. I've never understood where my dark-brown hair comes from, but I look more native than she does. Always dressed in a muumuu, Mom wears hibiscus flowers in her hair and hangs out on my lanai, singing island songs all day and night, much to my neighbors' dismay. Sigh.

  I finish my set, tell the crowd "aloha," and am cut off by the DJ who decides suddenly to play a gangsta rap song.

  "Thank you!" Gladys Horowitz of Trenton, New Jersey, and Judah's mother, slips an envelope into my hands before running to the dance floor to shimmy disturbingly. Thirteen-year-old Judah hangs his head in shame.

  I make my way through the crowd to the bar and order a decidedly un-Hawaiian vodka tonic.

  "Here's the ten bucks I owe you." The bartender smiles, handing me money.

  I gulp my drink, slapping an empty glass on the bar. "I told you, someone requests it every time." I take his money and head to my car. My shift in hell is over.

  I did not study music at Juilliard for this. And no, Juilliard doesn’t have a ukulele program. I started with classical guitar, but once I discovered the ukulele, I developed an independent study program for the diminutive instrument.

  And yet, here I am in paradise, playing gigs like this bar mitzvah and teaching fingerstyle ukulele to kids. My dream of being a ukulele virtuoso, hailed by critics and in demand as a performer, was rudely interrupted by reality.

  Which means I'm a white outsider from Kansas in a state full of true, native Hawaiian musicians. They call me malihini—which means newcomer. Things are different from the mainland. Hawaii has many words to remind you that you don't really belong here.

  I can't complain, because I get by. I have ten students—all from a local military base—play parties like today's or in a few bars on weekends, and am the regular musician at the Elvis-inspired Blue Hawaii Wedding Chapel. And my inheritance from Dad helps me keep Mom flush with hibiscus-flower leis and mai tais. But this is not the way I pictured my life.

  My biggest problem is my competition. There are three native Hawaiian ukulele musicians on this island. They play the big luaus at the huge resort in this town. They teach and lecture at the local community college. And they play at all the holidays, official commemoration events, and in the two concert halls on Kauai.

  They're good—real good. Alohalani Kealoha is a 50-year-old professor at Aloha Lagoon Community College. I probably know him better than I know the others—but even that qualifies as barely. As the only one of the Terrible Trio who's somewhat nice, he is actually fairly complimentary. His exact words? "Doesn't suck."

  Then there's Kahelemeakua Lui, or Kua, as he's known locally. He's young—in his 20’s, I think. A serious child prodigy, Kua travels all over the world performing when he's not surfing here at home. He's a lot more open in his hatred of me—I've heard murmurs that he's afraid I'm better than him—something I'm pretty sure he wouldn't want me to know. I don't know him very well, but I've heard he calls me "that mainland pretender." Nice.

  Last but not least is Leilani O'Flanagan. Only half Hawaiian, or hapa, she's a cutthroat 30-year-old musician who has a killer instinct and brutal temperament. I avoid her socially. If she thinks you're competition, she'll do anything in her power to destroy you. In fact, I've never heard anything nice about her. Rumor is she was raised by rabid badgers. The only nice thing she ever said about me had three expletives and an exclamation point. I have no idea if Kua and Alohalani hang out with her. I wouldn't.

  Don't get me wrong. I've seen all three perform, and they're all brilliant. It would be beneath me (and 100 percent true) to say I wish they'd move away or die peacefully in their sleep of natural causes. Okay, so maybe Leilani could get eaten by a shark. That would be okay.

  It's late afternoon when I toss my ukulele on the front seat o
f my car and head to the Aloha Lagoon Resort for a concert on Polynesian music. The bar mitzvah made me a little late, but I'm hoping I'll be there in time to see most of it.

  Leaving my instrument in the car, I race into the concert just in time to see Alohalani performing with a group of visiting dancers from Tahiti. I grab a bottle of beer from the bar and settle in to watch. He's good. Better than good—Alohalani is probably the best I've seen since I'd moved here. Even so, I wish it was me up there playing the ukulele.

  "Hey, haole." Kua sidles up as Alohalani plays "Aloha O'e," my favorite piece—it was written by Hawaii's last queen. "Bet you wish that was you up there," he snickers. Great. The fun begins. I was kind of hoping to be off the radar here so I could relax and enjoy it. I guess that's not happening.

  I turn to him. "And I'd be willing to bet you wish the same thing." I smile. "I wonder why they didn't ask you to play?"

  Kua turns into a beet-red tower of volcanic rage. "I'm sure it's a 'respect for your elders' thing." He doesn't look like he meant that. Apparently, I've hit a nerve. "You mainlanders have no respect for our ways!"

  To my dismay, Leilani joins us. She'd apparently seen Kua get pissed and decided to come rub it in.

  "I miss all the fun." She grins meanly. "Both of you upset they went with Alohalani?" She sips from a huge daiquiri that looks like it has more umbrellas than alcohol. Not that I mind. But I have heard that Leilani is even worse when she drinks.

  "Don't put me in the same league as her!" Kua thunders. This guy has a serious temper.

  "Oh?" Leilani's eyebrows go up, as if she's surprised by his reaction. "And why's that?"

  I know she just asked that question because once again she wants to hear how unqualified I am to be playing a traditional Hawaiian instrument. She lives for moments like that.