Dying for a Daiquiri

by CindySample

  The more important question was what would Tom Hunter say? My inner Laurel warned me to stay far away from bronzed sea captains with bewitching blue eyes.

  I told her to mind her own business. I had a date to watch the sun set over the Pacific.

  * * *

  Four hours later, I sat at a different table in the same restaurant with Mother and Stan, discussing my upcoming boating expedition. The tropical koi swam past our table, their colors so vivid and bright, I almost needed sunglasses to reduce the glare.

  “So you and the sea captain are hooking up tonight, huh?” Stan wiggled his brows.

  “There will be no hooking up.” I scrunched my nose at his comment. “At least for me. I’m only going on board to talk to Timmy from the Sea Jinx crew.”

  My mother dropped today’s edition of the local newspaper next to my plate. An unflattering photo of Regan stared back at me from the front page. “I think it’s an excellent idea. We need to help free Regan. And soon. This kind of publicity,” she scowled and pointed at the paper, “isn’t going to help their restaurant one bit. She might even lose her job.”

  And her freedom, I thought, staring at the black-and-white photo of my sister-in-law.

  The article was relatively brief, mentioning only that the Hawaii police had arrested Regan for Keiki’s murder, and that she and my brother owned Daiquiri Dave’s Lounge, where the victim had also worked.

  “I think Steve is right, Laurel. You’re easy to talk to, and you never know what you can learn from questioning Timmy,” Mother said. “Plus Steve is a nice guy. Handsome, personable, and he owns his own boat.”

  Stan nodded his agreement. “A man with a boat––the ideal man. Well, he would be if he swam in the other direction.”

  “So you haven’t met any hunky Hawaiian hotties yet?” I asked him.

  “The day is young.” He looked at his watch. “And in five hours I have a lesson with some Samoan dancers.”

  “How did you wangle that?”

  “Your brother gave me Walea’s number, and I called her. She was a little reticent at first, but I overwhelmed her with my charm and she referred me to these guys.”

  “Will she be there?”

  “Nah, she and her husband are performing somewhere tonight. She told me I’m a natural though.”

  Walea was right on one count. Stan was a natural. But of what, was the question?

  “Did she say anything about her sister?” I asked.

  He nodded. “She said she was glad the police discovered Keiki’s killer so quickly.”

  “Was she surprised about Regan’s arrest?”

  He shrugged. “If she was, she didn’t mention it to me. She said she was grateful justice had been served, and her family could go on with their lives.”

  “I can sympathize with Walea, and I feel terrible about her loss,” Mother said, “but if we don’t find the killer soon, I’m not sure how my son and daughter-in-law will go on with their lives.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  When I arrived at the boat that evening, I learned that Walea was substituting for the Sea Jinx’s principal performer, Noelani, who was sick once again. On a positive note, Noelani was overjoyed to learn her twenty-four-hour flu bug was in reality twenty-four-hour morning sickness.

  I was thrilled at the opportunity to see Walea. Keiki’s sister might think the killer was behind bars, but I needed to prove otherwise. My empathetic manner would hopefully encourage her to confide in me. Between Walea and Timmy, I could discover some useful facts to help our amateur investigation.

  My focus tonight would be 100% on detecting. No distractions whatsoever, not even hunky blue-eyed ones.

  Even though I was looking forward to talking with Walea, I should have guessed she wouldn’t be happy to see me. Walea and Henry arrived a few minutes after I did, about fifteen minutes before the passengers were to board. She and her husband sent identical glares in my direction. Fortunately, I was standing next to Amanda. The naturalist’s bubbly personality could coax a smile out of Jaws.

  Amanda threw her arms around Walea as she offered condolences. “Honey, how are you doing? I was so sorry to hear about Keiki.”

  “Mahalo, Amanda. We are still in shock.” Walea practically spat at me as she cried out. “What are you doing here? Hasn’t your family brought enough pain to mine?”

  I took a step back. So maybe Walea wasn’t in the mood for condolences from me. Amanda took Walea’s arm, guiding her to the other side of the Sea Jinx. Henry joined Rick in the bow of the boat where the young musician tuned his guitar. I recognized Rick from Liz’s reception. The young man’s muscular biceps boasted dragon tattoos curling down and around each elbow. As his arm moved up and down so did the dragon’s colorful tail.

  Walea and Amanda chatted briefly then Amanda left to welcome the passengers. The dancer walked down the stairs leading to the lower deck, her garment bag and flowered tote in her hands.

  I followed her down, figuring this might be my only opportunity to speak with Walea in private before she began her performance.

  “Can I help you with anything?” I asked.

  Her full lips curled in disgust. “What kind of help can you provide?”

  She turned away and began pulling assorted items from her oversized bag.

  I moved closer. “You can’t honestly believe Regan killed your sister.”

  Walea grabbed a coconut bra out of the enormous tote and flung it at me. I ducked as the hard brown shells narrowly missed my head. The dancer could have doubled as a pitcher for the San Francisco Giants. The bra bounced off a beam then clattered to the floor.

  I picked up the apparel-turned-assault weapon, debating if it was safe to return the item to the owner. Since dancing would be somewhat awkward without the upper half of her costume, I reluctantly handed it back to her.

  Walea’s passionate outburst was short-lived. Her plump body seemed to droop along with her spirit. She muttered a soft mahalo. Tears ran down her plain, sorrowful face.

  “I apologize,” she said. “My family’s tragedy is not your problem. I am only mad at myself for talking your brother into hiring Keiki. I thought a steady job and paycheck might keep my little sister out of trouble. But trouble always managed to find her.”

  “Beautiful women are frequently magnets for trouble,” I responded. “And for men.”

  She nodded in agreement. “Men looked at Keiki like she was their last meal. No matter where we went, they devoured her with their eyes. Once she realized her power over men, especially haoles, it turned into a quest for her.”

  “A quest for money?” I ventured.

  She shrugged, the movement fluffing her mahogany mane around her shoulders. “Money, trinkets, power. Whatever she could squeeze out of them. Sometimes I think Keiki did it for the thrill of the chase. Reel in a big fish, gut him, then drop him back in the ocean.”

  “Someone mentioned she was your stepsister?”

  “My father met her mother, Kiana, eight years ago when Keiki was fourteen.” Walea gracefully donned her grass skirt then modestly removed her capris. “Kiana worked at the same coffee farm as my father before he moved to Koffee Land. The coconut didn’t fall far from the tree when it came to those two women. Kiana went after my father with no holds barred. He left my mother and in less than a year, he and Kiana married. I had a new stepmother and stepsister.”

  “I can sympathize. My ex-husband left me three years ago for one of his clients. It’s tough, especially on the kids.”

  “It was horrible. My mother fell into a depression so there was no one to watch over my three little brothers but me.” A flash of anger surfaced and flared in her eyes. “I hated Kiana for taking my father away from us.”

  “How did you and Keiki get along?”

  “Growing up with three brothers, I always longed for a little sister. All of a sudden, I had one. Whether I wanted her or not.” She laughed, but it was a harsh mirthless sound. “Then I discovered if I hung out with Keiki, there
were boys surrounding me. For the first time ever. They might have been her cast-offs, but they were good enough for me.”

  Interesting family dynamic. Was Walea’s husband one of Keiki’s so-called “cast offs?”

  The man in question suddenly ran down the stairs. He frowned when he noticed us together. In an icy voice, his acne-scarred chin almost touching mine, Henry told me to “Stay away from my wife.”

  I stepped back, relieved when Steve called for me from above deck. I darted up the steps to find a very anxious sea captain holding a tablecloth in his hand. Steve and the crew had waited to cast off because both Timmy and the regular bartender were late. Timmy had finally shown up, but the bartender had called to say his car had been rear-ended.

  Before I knew it, I was serving drinks and yummy pupus while maneuvering between passengers who jumped from their seats every time Amanda spotted a whale. At the rate she kept pointing out marine mammals, it looked like the humpbacks were enjoying far more romance on their Hawaiian vacation than I was on mine.

  Steve had talked me into wearing a makeshift sarong. I wasn’t certain the blue-flowered tablecloth that had morphed into a flowing Hawaiian garment was necessary, but it made me feel somewhat exotic.

  “All I’m missing is a flower,” I complained to Steve as I pointed to the yellow hibiscus clipped over Amanda’s ear.

  Steve smiled and grabbed a tiny orchid from the bar supply. He tucked it behind my ear, apologized for putting me to work, and told me I was the most beautiful woman on board the boat.

  I’m such a sucker for a compliment, especially when an azure-eyed Adonis is the one whispering it in my ear.

  My previous boating experiences consisted of me sitting on my butt and watching the shoreline. Balancing a tray of drinks on deck was like roller-skating on a surfboard. I assumed I’d eventually acclimate to the boat’s movement, but as the shoreline receded, the choppiness increased. My primary goal was to avoid dumping mai tais or daiquiris on the passengers. So far, I’d limited my spills to my own washable garment.

  I’d begun to wonder if I would ever get an opportunity to talk to Timmy when Steve announced the evening’s entertainment would begin.

  A reprieve at last. After promising one Australian matey I would return with refills once the show ended, I set my tray on the bar and told Amanda I was going below deck to talk to Timmy.

  The boat rocked and I teetered on the stairs, grabbing hold of the railing. I finally spied Timmy in the corner, his dark head bent over a small bench. Noise from the ship’s engine must have muffled my footsteps. When I tapped him on the shoulder, he spun around faster than a whirling dervish on speed.

  One muscular arm wrapped around my neck, squeezing off my windpipe. His hot breath burned the hairs on my nape. Choking, I struggled to push his arm away, but I stopped when I felt the prick of something sharp pressed against my tender skin.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  My body shook with fear and my trembling became so violent, my sarong threatened to slip from R-rated territory into an X-rated tell-all.

  “Sorry. You kine spook me.” Timmy removed his arm from my neck and slipped the Swiss army knife back into his pocket. “Why you not upstairs?”

  I gathered a large breath to calm myself down then let it out. Bad idea. Remind me not to wear a garment secured by only one knot the next time I’m assaulted from behind. I snatched the top of my sarong with both hands and hitched it up to its original PG version.

  “I wanted to talk to you,” I said. “Is this a bad time?”

  Timmy turned his back to me. He shoved a brown paper-wrapped parcel into a canvas knapsack. He threw the bag into a small storage locker, attached a silver padlock to the door and clicked it shut.

  He swung around, a tiny crescent-shaped scar on his cheekbone flashing white under his angry gaze.

  “Fo’ what you want with me?”

  I wanted answers. Lots of them. If only I could think of questions that wouldn’t upset this intimidating young man. I knew our time alone together was limited so I decided to barge ahead.

  “I understand you knew Keiki, the girl found dead near Daiquiri Dave’s Lounge.”

  “Yeah, so. She popular girl.” He smirked. “Lotsa guys knew that one.”

  So I was finding out. I just hoped my brother wasn’t a member of Keiki’s fan club.

  “I’m only interested in one guy. Your brother. I heard Keiki used to date him.”

  Timmy’s face darkened and his hands balled into fists. “Ya, dat bitch, she use him den dump him.”

  “Used him how?”

  “She had dis “lolo” crazy idea for making dem both rich. She ask him…” Timmy abruptly stopped.

  “Ask him what?”

  “Nuttin. At least nuttin to do with her dyin.” He raised his voice and shook his fist in the air. “I know she da reason my bruddah kill hisself.”

  “You don’t think it was an accident?”

  Timmy stuck his nose so close to mine I could see the two lone hairs he’d missed when he’d shaved his chin. “My bruddah, he good kid. Careful about his work. Maybe it was accident. But maybe Joey kill hisself cause of dat no good wahine. It none of your business, so don’t go poking your nose where it don’t belong.”

  Footsteps pounded down the stairs. Amanda motioned at us. “It’s getting rougher out. We need both of you up here.”

  I’d been so distracted by our conversation I hadn’t even noticed the ship pitching more than ever. I tightened my sarong and followed Timmy as he raced up the stairs. Earlier the clouds had provided a postcard photo opportunity. Now they dumped rain by the boatload.

  Amanda shoved a pile of orange life vests at me. “Here. Pass these out to the passengers. Be careful not to scare them. Tell them it’s merely a safety measure.”

  Fine. I had no problem reassuring the passengers. But who was going to reassure me?

  Amanda and Walea covered one side of the boat and I took the other. Once they finished, the two women urged the passengers to follow them below deck. I handed out my last orange vest then realized I’d been so generous passing life jackets to the passengers that I’d neglected to don one myself.

  I looked around and thought I saw Steve running down the stairs to the lower deck but it was difficult to tell with the driving rain. Someone better be piloting this boat. Maybe Rafe had taken over for him. Farther up on the starboard side, I noticed Timmy bending over some type of storage chest. I hustled over and tapped him on his shoulder.

  I had to scream above the roaring wind to make myself heard. “Where are the other life jackets located?” He scowled but pointed toward the rear of the boat, so I scurried in that direction.

  By now, my sarong felt like a wet shower curtain was plastered to my skin. The straps of my sandals irritated my bunions so I slipped them off and tucked them under a seat. It would be more comfortable moving around the boat without them. A few seconds later, my bare feet slipped on the wet deck. Comfort came at a price. I inched my way across the slippery surface with a death grip on the railing.

  How quickly this romantic sunset sail had morphed into a nightmare journey. The lights from the hotels and condominiums lining the shoreline were barely visible through the king-size sheets of rain.

  I stumbled on a thick coil of rope and caught myself before I landed on all fours. Whew. That was close. I’d better find those vests and get below to safety.

  The remaining orange jackets hung on a couple of hooks. I sidled over and grabbed one for myself. Getting the vest closed over my double D’s was a struggle. Someone needed to manufacture a version for the full-figured woman. I finally secured both fasteners and let out a sigh of relief.

  I heard a muffled noise behind me just as I grabbed the other two vests. Suddenly I was knocked into the ship’s railing. I released my hold on one of the life jackets and tried to grasp onto the slick metal rail.

  The boat pitched and I felt another jolt.

  Then I was airborne.

  CHAP
TER TWENTY-FOUR

  I hit the ocean with a cannonball splash. Water flew everywhere, including into my nose and mouth.

  “Blech.” I spewed out a magnum’s worth of seawater. I would need a daiquiri the size of a Big Gulp to wash that salty taste away. Good thing I was wearing the life jacket, which kept my tablecloth sarong from slipping off and floating away. Not that it mattered. It was far more likely a shark would turn me into a sushi appetizer than I’d get arrested for indecent exposure.

  I stared at the distant lights. Although they were probably only a few miles away, it could have been a few thousand as far as I was concerned. The odds of me successfully paddling to shore were slimmer than of me winning an Olympic gold medal. I yelled until my vocal cords refused to participate, but the Sea Jinx continued to recede in the distance. No one would hear me now.

  Which made me wonder––did anyone see me go overboard?

  My stomach lurched. Not from the churning waves, but from the terrifying question––how did I end up in the ocean? Did a heavy gust knock me over the railing? Or did someone push me?

  An important question that needed an answer. But it would have to wait until I resolved the more pressing issue.

  How the heck would I get back to shore?

  The Sea Jinx continued to motor toward the bay and away from me. The only people who might notice my absence were Steve, who was undoubtedly intent on getting his passengers safely back to the pier, and the tipsy Australian whom I’d promised a Mai Tai refill.

  My face felt wet from the salt water splashing my chin, combined with the salty tears rolling down my cheeks. I wiped my eyes with my damp fist. This was no time to feel sorry for myself.

  If only I had my cell with me. I could have used my iPhone to call for help and the GPS to find my way. And maybe I’d finally have time to finish the e-book I was reading while I waited for help to arrive.