I sorted through the closet, looking for something nicer than I was wearing and less ridiculous than the red carpet fashion show I'd seen the night before. I packed light. Because I needed to be able to leave at a moment's notice. Not just because the company might ask me to. I just…needed to be ready. I did have a single evening gown in case of hotel events, but there was no way I was breaking it out for this. Alex had already cautioned me that this period of ridiculous dress-up would end on Christmas Eve during the luau when everyone would shimmy out of those slinky dresses and back into flowered shirts and khaki shorts.
Georgie was standing outside my room in the quiet fifth-floor hallway when I emerged, which was an unpleasant shock. I'd made a point of not telling her which room I was in, and this area of the hotel was not occupied. It contained only the manager's suite and several unused offices. Of course someone had told her. Why wouldn't they? She was my identical twin. It wasn't as though anyone would assume I wouldn't want her to have that information.
"Can I talk to you, Charlie?"
I flinched. "Not if you call me 'Charlie.'"
Her head cocked. "Alex does. I just assumed you were cool with it now."
I sighed. There was really no way to explain why I let Alex do it, but the reason wasn't that I was "cool with it." "Alex is the one and only person who is remotely permitted to call me Charlie."
And he was permitted only because I couldn't stop him.
"Hey, you guys make a great couple. Seriously. You can practically see the electricity between you two. Sitting in the same car is like being caught in a thunderstorm." She grinned. "See, that's what you never had with Jared. That's why it didn't work."
There were so many things wrong with her statement that I didn't know where to begin. "Alex and I are not a couple. Not by any definition of the word. Unless you mean a couple of managers forced to work as a unit, and then, yes, I suppose you could use the word couple. And Jared and I didn't work because you had sex with him and filmed it. Oh, and then gave me the tape."
I hadn't really meant to bring it up. It didn't help anyone. But there it was, just floating in the air in a cartoon bubble. Impossible to make it disappear.
She sighed. "So you're still pissed about that."
She said it as though I was still pissed about the time in second grade when she'd borrowed my Garfield shirt without my permission and then gotten paint on it during art camp. Any person, reasonable or otherwise, would still be unhappy about what she'd done.
"You never even apologized," I pointed out, keeping my voice completely even. There was no point in letting her know how much I was still wounded. And no matter what, she probably wouldn't understand that it wasn't about Jared, a man I really hadn't been particularly good with. It was about her. About what she'd done, not what he'd done. Because she was my sister, and she'd really let me down.
Mouth pressed tight, she sighed. "Look, I didn't apologize because…maybe the way I did it was wrong, but Jared was a jerk. And he was a boring jerk, at that. You never would have walked away from him, and it was almost a done deal. I was running out of time, and I had to do something."
She really had justified it in her head. As though it was all perfectly rational to do what she'd done. Like the ends justifying the means didn't make her an emotional terrorist. This was pointless. It would always be. I wasn't even sure she was telling the truth in attributing her actions all to wanting to save me from myself with a little prewedding coitus.
"What do you want, Georgie?"
"I need a job." She blurted out the words without any kind of cushion for the transition from her screwing me over to her begging me for a job.
"Seriously?" She made my head spin. "What happened to Gentry?"
Like me, Georgie had a degree in hospitality, though she hadn't gone on after her bachelor's. For the last three years, since the day she'd walked out after giving me the tape, she'd been working for a cruise company called Gentry Ocean Liners. Doing her own little Julie impersonation, running games aboard the activity deck. Owned by deeply southern American royalty, Gentry was a huge travel empire, owning yachts, hotels, resorts, and even private islands. It was a good job for anyone.
Her tongue stabbed into her cheek, and I could see it pushing out. Georgie only did that when she was literally biting her tongue. Whatever she told me wouldn't be the truth. At least not all of it.
"I had a…problem with Marty. I need a new job. I disembarked in Hawaii, so I just hopped over to Aloha Lagoon. I mean, not to be rude, but you clearly need someone to replace Mallory, and I'm as qualified as she was. More, if you count real-world experience."
That was technically true. But while I hadn't been friends with Mallory, I'd liked her. Georgie wasn't my favorite person at the moment. "That's nepotism," I pointed out.
"It would only be nepotism if you hired me above other applicants because I was your sister, and you and I both know that would never happen." She was right about that. We were silent for a long moment while I debated how to put her off long enough to come up with an excuse to not hire her. Beyond that I didn't want to, of course.
Her sigh was small, nearly silent, mostly manifested through the rise and fall of her bony shoulders. "I have nowhere else to go, Charlotte. At least let me do Mallory's job for a few weeks to save up some money, and then I'll be out of your hair."
What could I say to that? I didn't know Marty, but I knew from a casual conversation with Mom that he was her boss and had been for three years. I had no idea what had happened with him, but after all the years she'd been working for him, if he was going to do something terrible, I would have thought he'd have done it before now.
"Okay, but I work my assistants hard. Are you ready for that?" I would actually be taking it easy on her, because she wasn't really trained, and I just didn't want to fight with her about her lack of work ethic. It wasn't worth it. I was really just giving her a few weeks of pay for doing nothing, instead of just a straight-out donation.
"Absolutely. Marty is a work machine. I've never worked so hard in my life as the last three years."
Her face pinched again, and there was a moment where her shuddering sigh seemed like the biggest thing in the room. What had this Marty guy done to her? Surprisingly, I had a momentary flash of sisterly indignation on her behalf. Maybe I wasn't still that angry after all.
* * *
The rest of the night and the next morning went off as smooth as a new jar of peanut butter. I wasn't sure how the repeat guests were going to accept me as their new "host," but wherever I might have fallen short, Alex took up the slack.
If Alex didn't do the job, surprisingly, Georgie did. Looking shiny and rather modest in her Aloha Lagoon khakis and burgundy polo, Georgie was certainly likeable. I was lucky enough to be surrounded by people able to do the one thing I couldn't—be charming.
She was also up first thing in the morning, waiting for me when I got to the lobby. I was suspicious but grateful. Alex was still bugging me about heading over to Sir Spamalot's for lunch, looking for Squid. I was torn about whether or not I wanted to go, but if we had any chance of breaking up a workday, it would be because we'd already done hours of work in the time before lunch.
I really had no desire to meet with Squid, but the trip to the beach hadn't made me feel any better, and I believed that Alex was right. Maybe I should just ask the police how she died, go to my room and have a good cry, and just be done with the whole thing. But I couldn't embrace weakness to that extent. It was better to act than weep, if those were my only two options.
At noon I left and met with Alex outside. I was worried Georgie would try to come again, but she was nowhere to be found. That was both a blessing and a curse. I didn't want her along, but I wasn't keen on spending any more time alone with Alex than I had to. Especially when he refused to stay inside the box I'd shoved him in. Alex outside of my "nemesis" box was not something that would behoove either one of us.
Alex was standing near the big palm, hands
in the pockets of ridiculous pants, which were either really long shorts or really short pants. Or maybe they were capris for men. Manpris? When he saw me, the left side of his gorgeous mouth cocked, flashing that signature fascinating crease in his cheek and that one raised eyebrow. I looked away, concentrating instead on the sidewalk, a pile of sand, the big palm. Anything that didn't make my pulse kick like an angry rabbit.
Once we were safely in the car—mine again, since it smelled less like him, not that I would tell him that was the reason—he changed radio stations for a few minutes without even asking, settling on the station he'd started with. We could have walked. It wasn't that far, but cutting out time waste, and sand, was always my goal.
"So what's the deal with you and Georgie?"
I glanced at him quickly before darting my eyes back to the road. "There's no deal."
He laughed, which annoyed me. "Well, we both know that's not true. So tell me the story. She steal your boyfriend in sixth grade? Puppy liked her better? Parents compared you two? People accidentally got you confused at really awkward times?"
I sighed. There was really no good answer to this question. A dark part of me that rarely reared her ugly head suddenly wanted to make life awkward for him since he was pressuring for answers. That squirming darkness superseded my desire to keep my business from being his.
"All of the above. Then she had really kinky sex with my fiancé the day before our wedding and taped it. She gave me the data stick right afterwards and then left town. I haven't seen her since."
Alex ran a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry. That sucks. Jeez."
Then I felt bad for making Alex feel bad for me. I had issues. For years I'd refused to tell anyone what had happened between Georgie, Jared, and me. I hadn't even told my parents, who'd happened to be married at the time. I'd just handed the data stick to Jared after I'd watched it, and kicked him out of the apartment. I didn't even make excuses, nor was I remotely interested in hearing his. I sent an email to everyone invited to the wedding stating very matter of factly that the wedding had been canceled. Then I called corporate and asked for the first available position at any resort not in Chicago.
My mother was still trying to get answers about why I'd canceled the wedding, but she wouldn't be getting any, because I wasn't going to tell her that, and oddly, Georgie never had either. There were a couple of reasons for that on my part. She wouldn't have wanted me to walk away. In her mind, life wasn't life unless you were invested in a Tammy Wynette–level of standing by your man. She would have, and in fact had, seen undeniable proof of cheating and simply dismissed it as an older form of "boys will be boys," which was code for "men are bastards, but I'm codependent." The other reason was simply that I didn't want her in my business. She'd be burdening me with her terrible relationship advice from now until forever.
I wouldn't tell anyone. Except, apparently, Alex. Because…who knew why.
I couldn't look at him, so I just kept driving, though we were nearly to Sir Spamalot's. Hawaiian people's obsession with Spam was something I would never understand, and I'd never eaten at Sir Spamalot's, but I still knew where it was. I knew where everything was on every one of the numerous acres of Aloha Lagoon.
"You want me to kick her out of the hotel?"
I did glance at him then. Was he serious? It was clear he liked Georgie. Did that mean…he liked me better? That was both shocking and excruciatingly uncomfortable. I couldn't ferret out the answer in my head. "Are you serious?"
He scowled at me. "Of course I'm serious. How long ago was that?"
"Three years. It's okay. I shouldn't have been planning to marry him anyway. He…"
How could I explain Jared? How could I explain that his anal-retentive perfectionism wasn't a good foil for my serious personality or my need for order and control? You'd think two people like that would have done well together, but we hadn't. All Jared had done was congratulate me on my perfectionism as long as it didn't interfere with his. How could I explain that we were two people who'd fallen into a relationship as college freshmen and then spent the next ten years being too self-satisfied or busy to bother seeking out a relationship that actually would have mattered?
"We weren't a good match. Georgie was right about that much. Maybe she just wasn't right about how she broke us up."
In just less than twenty-four hours, I'd somehow come to accept her explanation. It made sense anyway. Georgie probably didn't like me much, but she liked Jared even less, and she'd always been very vocal about that, right from the moment they'd met. In her convoluted way of thinking, where sex was a solution for anything, it probably did make sense to use it to break up a bothersome relationship when neither party would listen to your advice.
That didn't make it okay though.
"Why is she here now?" Alex asked.
I shrugged, keeping my eyes focused outside the window, even though we'd pulled into a spot. I was not interested in seeing whatever look he might have on his face. I didn't want his sympathy, his umbrage on my behalf, or anything else. I just wanted to pretend I'd never said it.
"She needs a job."
He didn't say anything else, thankfully. I didn't want to talk about Jared anymore, nor did I want to be questioned about why I would elect to hire my sister, who'd done something like that to me.
Sir Spamalot's was just off the main resort road, and as always it was busy. Centered around Spam-inspired food and that boisterous Hawaiian hospitality, Sir Spamalot's was every local's favorite. Personally, I was not a fan of canned meat, but even I had to acknowledge that the place was creative and popular. I realized belatedly that I had no clue what Squid looked like.
"Do you know Squid?" I asked, feeling like an idiot for just saying that name out loud.
Alex shook his head, looking very cheerful for someone who had no idea who we were looking for.
"Then how will we find him?"
Shrugging, Alex opened the door and hopped out. "Look for someone who looks like a squid?"
I scrambled to catch up, doubting the chances of success with his plan. As it turned out, I shouldn't have been. Like everything else Alex touched, the seemingly ridiculous idea was a good one. We approached the tiki-hut-looking outdoor café and immediately set eyes on a man who even I couldn't deny actually looked like a squid. With his very white skin, long face, bulbous eyes, and eight thick dreads—two longer than the rest—if anyone looked like a squid, it was this guy. I was still debating how offensive it would be to ask him if he was Squid—since if he wasn't, he might be slightly peeved by the question—when Alex approached him.
"Squid? Mo and Big Steve said we could find you here."
He nodded. "Ah, hey, bra. 'Sup?" He didn't appear remotely curious as to why we'd approached him or how we'd identified him. However, it was also clear from his glassy eyes, slack mouth, and the overwhelming scent of eau de weed clinging to his clothing that he was so very, very stoned. So it might simply be that those questions never even registered as valid ones.
"They said you're friends with Mallory. From the resort?"
His vague expression spent a slow moment rearranging into raised eyebrows. "Oh, yeah. Sure. Mal. Why?"
If he didn't know she was dead, I certainly didn't want to be the one to tell him. I'd had that privilege too many times already. "Do you know who else she hangs out with a lot? Maybe who she spends the most time with?"
The question seemed to confuse him for a long moment. He reminded me of a sloth as much as a Squid. His reaction times were just so slow. I could only hope that he didn't surf that high, or he'd be living a shortened life too. "She has this boyfriend. Don't remember the dude's name. Bill? Hill? Oh, maybe Phil!"
The fact Mallory had a boyfriend was shocking, and it was news to me. I wasn't even aware she'd spent so much time out. When did she even sleep? However, if we were relying on just Squid for information, it seemed very likely we might never know what the man's name was. But we did certainly seem to know what it rhymed with anyw
ay.
"Do you know where she liked to hang out?" Alex asked.
I let him do the talking since Squid seemed to like him, and if he wanted to talk about anything related to the beach, Alex was the only one who'd be capable of having that conversation. I liked beaches. When I wasn't wearing heels. Alex was the resident expert on all things water sports, and it seemed best to just hang out and let him work. Of course, the subject might never come up, but nevertheless, I liked to err on the side of caution.
Squid suddenly looked suspicious, which surprised me because it suggested he was more with it than I'd thought. What did he have to be suspicious about though? We were the ones with the questions. Actually, maybe that was why he was suspicious.
"She likes Strangler's Cove Beach."
Alex nodded. "That's where we saw Mo, Big Steve, and that other guy. Anywhere else?"
Squid scratched his head very slowly in the blank scalp space between two dreads. "She likes that club Spikers on the other side of the island. Why are you asking? Don't you know where Mal is? I can tell from your clothes that you're from the resort. Aren't you, like, her bosses?"
"We were," Alex said. "She died recently."
The shock on Squid's face was not feigned. He really hadn't known that she'd been killed at all, let alone that she'd been murdered. He clearly wasn't the reason she'd died anyway. That was one person we could take off the suspect list I definitely didn't have brewing in my mind.
"Aww, man. That sucks."
Profound truths from our friend Squid. Alex thanked him, and we headed out toward the car together, blinded by the sunshine when we left the straw covering of the café that shielded us in shade. He blinked for a moment against the sudden light and then turned to me. "Did you know Mallory had a boyfriend?"
I shook my head. "Not a clue."
Mele Kalikimaka Murder Page 7
