"Lady, this drama is a big deal to you. To me, it's a typical Tuesday," the guard said before releasing a big yawn.
Elliott shook his head at me as he exhaled, pulled out his phone, and began to text.
No doubt his next squeeze would fly here to bail him out. How many women did he have on the line? Not marrying this jerk was the best thing that ever happened to me.
I took out my phone and scrolled through my emails. Nothing but boring stuff related to Deborah's upcoming trip to Texas. Then an abrupt message saying the trip was canceled due to a family emergency. Her name was Martha Trip-the-Scandal-Alarm Lawler. Elliott had messed with the wrong little princess. I set my phone on the table and smiled to myself. The grim line forming on Elliott's face made me very happy.
After an hour of tense silence and me hissing every time Elliott attempted to speak to me, there was a knock on the door. The expressionless guard opened it. A petite thirty-something woman with long dark hair and an authoritative bearing strolled in with a handful of papers and stared at us.
"Miss Ryan and Mr. Wilkes," she said.
"It's Mr. Smythe-Wilkes," Elliott interrupted her in a snooty way and set down his phone.
Time for me to go all prim and proper and keep this girl on my side.
"I'm Rachel Wein, assistant manager here at the resort. What Miss Ryan announced in the bar about Miss Lawler is true—she is underage—and her family is on their way here."
Oh snap, Elliott, you were about to be served a double whammy. George probably had ways of making guys like you disappear. Martha was the sacred prop of George's family values. Deborah trooped her out for photo ops, trying to make herself more likable. Let's hear it for the Congresswoman's renowned overreactions.
"According to her statement, Mr. Smythe-Wilkes, Miss Lawler met you on the plane. You offered to share a cab to the Blue Island Motel, where you are both staying, and then you asked her to dinner," Rachel said. "Unfortunately, after talking to me, Miss Lawler is currently hiding somewhere. If you have any clues as to where she might be, please let me know."
"She seemed overwhelmed and a bit lost. I tried to help. Martha was probably frightened by Simone's comments and the mob," Elliott said, dripping with fake compassion and possibly other bodily fluids.
Rachel's expression looked like she'd sucked a lemon dry. Distasteful to say the least, and I spoke from experience. I'd kissed the guy who was spewing forth his hollow compassion.
This was my male problem. I'd been too quick to believe in him. Love, but verify. The journalist’s code: if your mother said she loved you, get two independent sources to corroborate it applied here. Was I more furious with him or myself? I should thank Elliott for standing me up at the courthouse. How many other Marthas and mes had there been in his life—or even the past six months? I needed to schedule blood work and a brain scan to make sure mine was functioning.
"I haven't called the police, but I advise both of you to stay on the island. Miss Lawler hasn't resurfaced, and if anything should happen to her…" Rachel trailed off.
"It won't be my fault. Martha's a big girl and more than capable of caring for herself. Can I leave now?" Elliott asked as he checked his watch.
One more throw-me-under-the-bus moment courtesy of Elliott Cheater Smythe Jackass Wilkes.
"Yes," Rachel said as she motioned for the guard to open the door.
Elliott offered me his hand, and I slapped it away.
"Simone, please talk to me," he said as he leaned over the table and passed me my phone.
I took it, careful not to touch him, and dropped it into my purse.
"Okay. I'm sorry I ever met you. I'm glad you'll never be my husband. And I hope you get what you deserve," I said as I hugged myself and hurried out.
"Simone," he said as I started to speed down the hall.
The tears started and refused to stop all the way to the hotel elevator. I rode up to my floor in a puddle. I got off, wiped my nose on my shirt, and almost tripped over something in the hall.
"Are you okay?" Liam asked as I stood over him sitting in front of my door.
"How did you know which room was mine?"
"It's the only bridal suite, and I know the staff," he said, straightening up and taking my hand. "Do you want company?"
Yes, and if he stayed, I'd hate myself even more tomorrow but with a big smile on my face.
"No. Too much has happened today. I need to dissect it all. I planned to leave in the morning, but the assistant manager asked us to stay put until they find Martha," I said, cursing myself for coming here.
I should have stayed home and snarfed down a few gallons of rocky road ice cream. After the brain freeze cleared my mind of Elliott, I would have had a brighter view on life and marshmallows stuck between my teeth.
"You don't have any worries with Rachel. She deals with unhappy couples every day. You're not the first woman to let loose on a guy at the bar," he said as he leaned his hand on the wall.
I soaked him into every pore like a soothing balm. I wondered if they sold him bottled in the gift shop.
"Lucky me, and I thought I was special," I said after I exhaled.
"Honeymooners are a volatile group. Weddings frazzle nerve endings, build up astronomical expectations, and letdown is inevitable," he said as he shrugged.
How many times had he been engaged or married or divorced or spayed? I had to start hanging out with more stunning strangers.
"Sage advice, Obi-Wan. You should preach it from the volcano tops. Why didn't you warn me three months ago?" I asked, calling on my mai tai intake for courage.
Or trust my own gut reaction to all the warnings? Was I desperate for love and attention or too stupid to care? Pretending everything would be fine proved that I'd flunked a major adulthood test. Never forget to include a dab of logic with a love match.
"No friend or family member questioned your choice of Elliott?" Liam asked as he tilted his face toward me. "I can't believe all his flaws stayed hidden."
Leave my brother, mother, friends, their pets, coworkers, and anyone strolling down the sidewalk out of this discussion.
"Everybody has an opinion," I said, offering no elaboration.
All united as negative, but my heart had led me down a darkened path. It had a split personality, crossed the streams, and kicked me in the teeth.
"The staff here is made up of pros at diffusing potent breakups. This is an island that heals. Let the ocean steady you. I'm sure Martha's parents will show up and kick Elliott's butt," Liam said as he shifted back to his full height.
He said something, but it didn't matter. My focus never left his mouth. It twitched up at the corners into a smile. This lovely moment chilled when I remembered Deborah's wrath would be aimed at me too.
"Martha's stepmother is my boss. I have a feeling I won't be exempt from the blame."
"You didn't invite Martha to join your honeymoon. If I were Elliott and had your undivided attention, nothing would have kept me from that courthouse. It's time to reassess your love life and employment choice," Liam said.
His sexy voice lulled me. I closed my eyes and swayed. Exhaustion, alcohol residual, and an all-around horrible day crashed into me. I wrapped my arms around his waist.
"Simone," he said very close to my ear.
Piercing, ocean-blue eyes, body molded to my specifications. So easy to forget the world, drop my resolve, and have a romp. Or seven.
"You need to get some sleep. I'll see you in the morning," Liam said as he untangled himself and set me against my hotel room door.
My eyes opened and whipped me back to reality. This was Reject Simone Ryan Day.
"Sure, what do I owe you for dinner? Also, I owe your grandmother an apology for dining and dashing," I said as I fumbled with my purse for money and my room key.
"Dinner was my treat. A gentleman never expects a lady to pay, or so I've been trained. Gran enjoyed the show and hoped you got a chance to kick Elliott in the shriveled family jewels."
&nb
sp; "No such luck, but I hold out hope. Thanks for the meal and your help," I said as I turned to open the door.
"After the sun comes up and you've had time to think more clearly, call me. I'll be working at our bakery until ten. It's down the street from the resort," he said as he gave my shoulder a quick rub.
And he made donuts? I was in love.
He handed me his business card. A little human kindness went a long way with me today. Plus, he was polite and honest. Rushing into a vacation fling spelled disaster or the best sex ever for me.
"Okay," I said, trying to match his calmness so that my heart wouldn't beat out of my chest.
"Dream about me," he said as he left.
Not a command, more of an unnecessary request. All five of my senses hummed at the thought of him. If I had a sixth sense, it would have predicted our future or seen dead people. I was glad I didn't have one as I got ready to go to bed.
My night visions filled me with longing, angst, and a craving for buttercream frosting. The lulling fog dissipated as someone banged on my door. My crusty eyes refused to focus, and my dry lips stuck together. I stumbled to the bathroom and tried to make myself look decent.
Simone Ryan, always a vision of loveliness.
"Who is it?" I asked.
"Police. Please open the door."
My cell phone rang in my purse.
My dreams included Liam sporting many outfits and stripping out of them. A police uniform had made an appearance, but a fireman's red helmet had dominated my thoughts. I dragged myself to the door and peeked out the hole. Two men dressed as policemen stood in the hall with my new assistant manager buddy, Rachel Wein.
If Elliott had dispatched these three musketeers to harass me, I'd sue him for lack of character and sound mind.
My cell phone rang again.
I opened the door dressed in a T-shirt, sports bra, and gym shorts—also known as my workout clothes. My sexy honeymoon lingerie sat in a pile on the floor. The two men stared at it, and Rachel cleared her throat.
"Miss Ryan, where were you from ten last night to five this morning?" the taller cop asked.
"In bed, sleeping," I said as I pointed to the bedroom.
My cell phone rang yet again.
"Any contact with Elliott Wilkes?" the other cop asked.
"Smythe-Wilkes," Rachel and I said in unison. I smiled at her. "No, and if he's accusing me of anything, he'd better have proof."
"He isn't saying much anymore. His dead body was found washed up on the beach this morning," the tall one said.
Body? Elliott's dead?
I couldn't breathe as I sank to the floor, and all conversation muffled around me. My body trembled, and I rolled into a ball to keep myself warm and in one piece. Someone tucked a blanket around me and rushed out of the room. A flurry of activity with people in and out, and then I was lifted onto a gurney. Wheeled into the elevator and then out into the lobby. I saw Ellen push through the onlookers. She joined me in the ambulance, clutched my hand, and tried to keep me grounded as I floated away.
Was this Elliott's one last kick to my head, framing me for his suicide? No, he was too vain to take his own life. He'd threaten to jump off a ledge once but only to get the media attention. Elliott being murdered made more sense, but by who or whom? I could never keep those words straight. If I was dying, grammar no longer mattered. And if I saw Elliott sneaking through the pearly gates before me, I'd be so pissed. I had become pretty coldhearted in just a few hours and found, much to my sorrow, that it suited me. Pushover Simone had died yesterday too. Long live the frozen queen, the real and movie versions.
One last thing—did anyone answer my phone?
CHAPTER TWO
I woke up in a hospital room, machines beeping overhead and a knot growing in my chest. A nurse walked in, and I saw two armed police officers in silhouette guarding my door.
"Hi, I'm Becca. How are you feeling?" she asked as she unfurled the blood pressure cuff.
"Accused," I said as I offered my arm.
"The story hit the newspaper this morning. The big question is how a small woman like you lugged an unconscious man down the stairs and tossed him into the ocean without being seen. Many people in the bar were quoted as saying you'd be justified since he was cheating on you with a coed. Was he your fiancé?" the chatty nurse asked as she wrapped my arm.
I couldn't bring myself to answer. All I could think was: Where was Martha last night?
The door bounced off the wall as it was forced open. Becca and I both jumped and stared at the empty, illuminated space. I leaned over sideways to get a better view.
"Simone, don't answer any questions without a solicitor present. The nurse could be an undercover policewoman or the murderess," Ellen said from the hall, the guards on either side of her.
"Is she referring to me? I've worked here for five years and got employee of the month in January," Becca said as she straightened up.
"Unhand me this instant. I'm here to visit my friend," Ellen said to the guards.
"Lady, we're not touching you," one said.
"See that you don't," Ellen said, running one hand down her hair and holding a white paper bag and flowers in the other.
They stepped back as Ellen swept into my room with a flourish. She stared at Becca.
"My dear, these are for you," Ellen said as she handed the flowers to Becca.
"Thank you," Becca said a bit warily but with a touch of a smile.
"Nurses are the front line of superior health care and underrated by all," Ellen said as she set the bag on my tray table.
"Thanks for noticing. I'll get these into some water and be back later," Becca said as she left.
Ellen smiled as she closed the door and leaned her back on it.
"It's always good to keep the spies bribed. Now, tell me everything to help me keep the bobbies at bay," she said with too much glee.
"You know more than I do since I blacked out. How long have I been here?" I asked as I sat up straighter.
"Three hours. You were groggy and incoherent in the ambulance. Too bad you weren't yourself because the paramedic was stunning. What is it about emergency workers in this country?" she asked as she looked out the window from behind the closed curtains.
"The ability to project hotness must be a fitness requirement for them," I said, shaking my head at my lame joke.
Dizziness washed over me, and I gripped the bed to stay upright.
"Careful, love. You've had a shock," Ellen said as she sat on my bed and offered me the bag. "Here, have one."
I opened it, and the aroma made my mouth water. I dipped my hand in and pulled out a buttery scone. One bite melted on my tongue, and the rest of it filled me with joy.
"Feel better?" Ellen asked as she patted my hand. I nodded as I selected another one. "Liam's a baking genius. The lightness and delicacy are art forms. Believe me, I can't duplicate these gems, and I've been rolling out scones for forty years."
Ellen produced a pink thermos from her purse.
"Not the best device for a strongly brewed hot tea toddy, but it's all I could smuggle in," she said as she offered it to me.
I unscrewed the top and breathed in the soothing heat with a touch of brandy.
"Ellen, is there alcohol in this drink?" I asked after I took a deep inhale.
"Of course. It's the only way I can tolerate tea. Don't worry. There's honey in it too."
That made it healthier. I poured a cup and savored it. The next one I downed in two swallows.
"Thank you for coming and bringing me food. I'm sorry if you've been pulled into this seedy drama. I won't take it personally if you skip out now. I run from trouble myself, but I seem to be stuck in this rut."
"Don't be silly. I know a frame-up when I see one," Ellen said as she patted my shoulder. "Now we must track Elliott's every step from yesterday morning to his arrival in Kauai to being dumped on the beach."
"Thanks for the help, but this is a matter for the police. Elliott's life is a
mystery to me now more than ever," I said after a healthy slug of tea-flavored brandy.
I shook the near empty thermos above my open mouth to get every last drop.
"The game's afoot, my dear, and we must make haste in our chase," Ellen said as she whipped the bedsheet off of me. "I'll be Sherlock Holmes, and you're Dr. John Watson. We'll solve the crime and clear your name. Now get dressed. We'll make a grid from Starlight at the Lagoon's bar to the Blue Island Motel to the ocean, leaving no seashell unturned."
"Ellen, this is a job for the professionals, and I'm sure they don't want anyone messing with evidence," I said as I pulled the hospital gown down to my ankles.
Alcohol offered me no false or real bravado today. Cowardice, drunk or sober, defined my character.
"Nonsense. You knew Elliott and his failings. You could anticipate his every move."
"I didn't see him standing me up at the courthouse or flying here with Martha," I said after I finished my second scone.
"Who says they traveled together. Maybe our scarlet lady waited outside for Elliott to return to the hotel. She enticed him to drop his defenses, as women do. Then together with her minions, they did the deadly deed," Ellen said, clasping her hands together. "For lack of a better word, elementary."
She was a tad too thrilled about a murder.
"Ellen, what season is this Sherlock episode from? The one where the second wronged woman pins the murder on the first wronged woman?" I asked with a droopy smile.
The brandy made my toes tingle and my mind whirl.
Wait a minute. That entrapment scenario made warped sense. Martha may have known I'd be here and planned the whole thing to nail me. My logical self must be hibernating because I was running with this wacko bird theory.
There was a knock at the door. It opened, and a short, thin man walked in wearing glasses and hospital scrubs.
"Ms. Ryan, I'm Dr. Hayden," he said as he offered me his hand. "I have your test results, and all came back normal. I heard you had a bit of troubling news and fainted, a temporary condition with no lasting effects. I'm signing your release, and the nurse will be in with the paperwork. Any questions?"
Deadly Bubbles in the Wine (Aloha Lagoon Mysteries Book 4) Page 3
