I took it and discovered that it was indeed interesting, though I had no idea what it meant. "We've seen this before."
I handed Alex another copy of Seth Peterson's customer card, this one folded. Not only had she been holding one when she died, she'd had another copy on hand in her room. Why? What did it mean?
Alex flipped it over. "But we haven't seen this."
On the other side, there was a series of numbers, twenty in all, written in a long line. No spaces. The handwriting wasn't Mallory's.
"What does that mean?" Georgie asked, staring at the number string as though it held the answers to the universe.
Alex shrugged. "I don't know. But as far as I can tell, it's the only useful thing we found today."
The radios we had clipped to our clothes went off simultaneously, causing an angry squeal. It was Ginger from accounting, asking where Alex was. He identified and said he would join her momentarily. Shoving the card into his pocket, he stood. "We'll stare at it later, see if it means anything when we look at it for longer."
When he was gone, Georgie and I glanced at each other. "You want to tell me what's been wrong with you lately? Or do I have to find some way to manipulate it out of you? I know it's related to Alex, so just give over."
She was right. She'd find some way to manipulate it out of me. She always did. I bit my tongue but then blurted out, "I can't stop kissing Alex."
She laughed delightedly. "Ha. I knew it! Man, that does suck."
Scowling, I sat back in my chair. "I'm serious. It's highly inappropriate. Freemont frowns on employee fraternization, even though it isn't outright banned. I'm supposed to be an example. What kind of example goes around tonguing her coworker in every empty room they come across?"
She leaned toward me. "One who recognizes that there are more important things in the world than work and rules?" she suggested gently.
I rubbed my gritty eyes. "I have a job. Then I'll be gone. Just like every other time. To some other resort, in some other town. Maybe in some other country."
She cocked her head. "So now we get to the real reason. Your fear of commitment."
"I'm not afraid of commitment," I argued instantly.
Her hysterical laughter was slightly offensive. She was actually struggling to breathe. She wiped her eyes. "Oh Lord, Charlotte, you're too funny."
"I'm not!" I objected. "I've been working for Freemont over a decade. I'm very committed."
She shook her head. "Charlotte, listen to yourself. You realize that you use your commitment to Freemont to avoid real commitment, right?"
"I…don't…" I actually wasn't sure about that. I'd never even given it thought. I never gave anything thought except resort business. "I don't."
She licked her lips and leaned across my desk. "Take it from someone who has made avoidance an Olympic sport. I've avoided every entanglement in every possible way for my entire life. I've avoided so hard I've spent years landing in a new port every couple of days, let alone every few months like you. I know what running away looks like. However you try to dress it up, you and I are two of a kind."
I wanted to object, but my breath was caught, trapped in my angry lungs.
She continued. "You just wear your reticence as respectability, instead of irresponsibility like me. You were engaged to Jared because you thought that was the responsible and proper thing, and you always do the responsible and proper thing. That was a relationship you could have because he didn't care about you. That meant you were protected from having to care about him. You're Freemont's best little power employee because traveling to every stupid resort on the freaking planet lets you live in your little box."
I opened my mouth and shut it again. I had no clue what to say. I had no desire to face her words. I didn't even want to think about them.
"You know that loving someone, or even needing another person in your life, that doesn't make you codependent."
The words buzzed around my brain. I hated the idea of loving anything. And needing someone—that was totally out of the question.
"You're so far gone that you won't even love objects or places. Loving doesn't always immediately make you weak, and it won't necessarily turn us into Mom. You can be someone's and still be your own. It's really true—I swear."
She stood. "I have to go clean out the lint traps in the linen room before someone misses me. Good times for everyone." She went to the door and turned back while I still stared at her, my brain rejecting any attempt at all to consider her words. "You know we aren't Mom. Neither of us. We won't ever be. And you know not every man is Dad, right? Not every man is Jared either." The door closed softly behind her.
We aren't Mom. Not every man is Dad.
I sat there, stunned for a long time. Could it be true? Could I be just as commitment phobic as Georgie? Did it just wear different pajamas? I stood, grabbing my abandoned clipboard and heading to the South Ballroom, where the Christmas tree would be set up and the guests would be offered special presents on Christmas Eve. The luau would be outside, but Santa would be inside, and everything needed to be perfect for the jolly old man with the bag. I wasn't going to think about Georgie's words. I was just going to work.
I stopped, frozen in my tracks. Even I could read the writing on the wall this time. I was going to avoid Georgie's unpleasant words by working. Dear Lord, she was right. She was right, and I was phobic. I was sick with the knowledge.
I shook my head hard. It didn't matter whether she was right or not. I really did need to work. This was no time to give in to an existential crisis. Christmas Eve was the day after the next, and that was when all the big festivities happened in Hawaii. The real day of Christmas would be spent relaxing on the beach by the majority of the population. Time was fleeting, and my to-do list was long.
I struggled to keep my focus all day, and Georgie's horrible words kept sneaking back. You're so far gone, you won't even love objects or places. Every time I pushed the thought away, but progress was slow. When I was done, I headed for the Lava Pot, desperate for Georgie's second-favorite avoidance technique—alcohol, and lots of it. Well, not lots of it for most people. For me two drinks was a lot. Three was way too much.
I slammed my drink, the Lava Pot's specialty, the incredibly potent Lava Flow Cocktail, as a nice alternative to losing my sanity, and ordered up another. Georgie slid onto the stool next to mine, shocking me for a second. "Two," she told the bartender, who was taking my order as she held up two fingers. Then she turned my way. "I'm sorry I'm not nicer, Charlotte. I do try. I'm just not very good at not taking care of business, no matter how rude I seem."
I waved the words away, sipping my new glass. "Really, who cares? Who cares about anything? Let's get drunk."
She stared at me. "You suck at being drunk."
I pointed at her. "Get drunk, or get lost."
She laughed. "Okay, look. Let's get buzzed. You won't be nearly as angry in the morning. And let's call Alex and get him over here with that card."
I lifted my glass. "I'll drink to that." At this point though, I would probably drink to anything.
She saluted me with her glass and glanced out over the gently lapping water. She made a face. "Wow, that's strong."
I shot the entire glass again, gesturing for the return of the bartender.
Like with all hot men, Georgie was immediately interested in him, though I was starting to understand her better. If he responded aggressively, I was honestly suspicious that she'd simply go back to her room. For a long time I'd believed Georgie would sleep with anyone at any time. I'd been wrong. Just like I was about a lot of things.
She put her hand over my glass. "We'll take two orange juices, one tiny shot of vodka. No more of this. And…" She reached up and slid the pen out of his shirt pocket, making sure to stroke his bulging pec underneath his supertight shirt. "Can I borrow your pen?"
He grinned and nodded, leaving to get our new drinks. She pulled a napkin closer and yanked off the pen cap. While she was doodling, I ca
lled Alex and told him to bring the card. It was dark in here, and if anyone even bothered to look at us, they wouldn't know what we were doing.
Georgie made a swirl in the corner of the napkin. "Okay, while we wait, let's write down everyone we talked about yesterday."
"Okay." I wanted to be annoyed at her for thwarting my mission to be drunk, but she was right. I'd be sorry tomorrow, the day before the big day, if I was hung over. "Mo, No Name, and Big Steve from Strangler's Cove Beach."
"Got them," she said, scrawling on the napkin.
"Squid. Henry, and Niall. Poncho, Keanu, and Autumn. Darcy Collins with the creepy nails is the one who told me about Joel Sugarbaker, the dead guy on the beach who was also Mallory's surfing instructor. Although she didn't mentioned he was dead, so I'm not sure she even knew. Though you'd think she did, considering everyone in town has been talking about it."
Georgie wrote everyone's name. "Okay, have any of these guys given you any indication they might be involved in drugs?"
I pointed to Niall's name. "Well, he had opium in two forms tattooed on his back, and he ended up dead facedown in a decimated field of opium poppies, so I'm going to say yes on him."
She laughed. "Yes, he's probably a good guess."
I shook my head. "The rest, I don't know. I don't know if they even know each other."
She pointed the pen in my direction. "Well, after we figure out what is written on the back of that card, that's our first order of business. Well, actually, our first order of business is to find out what No Name's name really is. Without that, it won't be real helpful to ask anyone about him."
"Maybe. Maybe not." I waited until the bartender came back and looked at his tag. "Hey, Casey." He had a quick smile and was likely the type who got big tips from men for making great drinks and big tips from women for being a beautiful display of manhood. "Do you know Mo and Big Steve? The surfers who seem to be at Strangler's Cove Beach no matter what time of day it is?"
He nodded. "Sure, yeah. Everyone knows those guys."
"Okay, do you know the name of that third guy? The one who's always with them?"
Casey seemed perplexed by the question, just the same as Alex had been. "We've only spoken once. But he said his name was…Johnny. That's what it was."
"Does he have a last name?"
He shrugged. "I remember the impression it gave me, and I'd know it if I heard it, but it was something improbable like palace. Some kind of big house."
Georgie and I glanced at each other and then back to him. "Castle?" Georgie suggested.
"Hey, yeah. That's it."
"Johnny Castle is Patrick Swayze's character in Dirty Dancing," I felt compelled to point out.
Casey shrugged again. "That's what he said. I only remember because I thought it was so weird to have that particular last name."
I nodded. "Okay, thanks. We really appreciate it."
I waited until Casey was gone. "So are we just going to assume that Johnny Castle is a fake name or give this guy the benefit of the doubt?"
"I don't know. It's a weird coincidence. So let's assume that we don't know what No Name's name actually is but refer to him as Johnny Castle when we ask other people."
She drew a sort of bubble diagram like our teachers used to make us use when drawing a map of an essay we planned to write. She circled Big Steve, Mo, and Johnny No Name. "We can be absolutely sure that these guys know each other. We also know they know Squid at least a little because they mentioned him by name. As it were." She drew a dotted line around Squid's name. "We don't know how well they know each other, which is the next thing to check. So tell me who knows everyone in town the best."
I shrugged. "I don't know. I live in my office." It was kind of embarrassing to admit that I didn't know anyone who didn't work directly for me. The problem was, half the staff was either on personal leave for Christmas or just plain out of town for the holidays. The people I could have asked for this kind of information were long gone.
"I hope Alex gets here soon," Georgie mused, chewing on the edge of her pen. "Knowing if these people know each other might help us figure out if there's a drug 'cartel' or three dudes in their mother's basement."
I nodded, my head feeling vaguely like it was rolling around on my neck. Perhaps two of the Lava Pot's strongest drink followed by a couple shots of vodka wasn't the best choice I'd ever made.
It was seven minutes later when Alex finally showed up, clad in a fitted brown V-neck tee and old tattered jeans. Clearly, he hadn't felt the need to dress up for the likes of us. He sat down next to Georgie, eyeing our drinks.
"Did you bring the card?" I asked?
He nodded and slid it across the bar, facing down so only the numbers were showing, in case someone bothered to look. I spent a long moment staring at the numbers, as though I were Sherlock Holmes and could reason it out by doing nothing.
Georgie handed him the napkin. "Hey, we're trying to figure out how all these people know each other. If nothing else, it could only help to know if they're possibly connected, even if it's not drug related."
He slid the napkin across the counter and silently read the names. He circled Niall and Henry and connected them to Mallory. Then he circled Darcy Collins and connected her to Mallory. He didn't darken in Squid's circle but did connect him to Mallory as well. By the time he was finished, everyone but Henry was directly connected to Mallory, and even Henry had a dotted line.
"Well, here's what we do know. Every one of these people is connected to Mallory. So she knew half the town of Aloha Lagoon. What does that mean?"
I had no idea what the answer to that was, but I was nearly certain it didn't mean she was a drug kingpin and the real head of any kind of operation that might have existed here. I refused to believe it. "Look, we know someone is growing drugs. We know that they have at least two friends willing to try to kill us for coming upon those drugs. We know multiple people are dead, though we don't specifically know these people killed them. We know that Mallory dated a man with multiple opium-related tattoos who later showed up dead in a cove where someone was growing opium. To me, that spells out his involvement. He might even have been one of the three who attacked us. He's dead now though, and we still don't know anything. The only solid lead we have is Seth Peterson, and he doesn't seem to have anything to do with anything."
Alex stared at the numbers. "Mallory didn't write this. From the square, cramped appearance, I'd guess a man did. Maybe Seth himself. So let's figure out what it means, and barring that, let's find Seth and just simply ask him."
We spent at least half an hour trying different orders and combinations of the numbers, trying to make them make sense, but none of it meant anything to me. Finally, Georgie gasped and grabbed the card, writing the numbers on our napkin note. She crossed out every other number, until what was left was two very different sequences of ten numbers. She drew a line between the first three numbers, the second three numbers, and the last four, leaving us staring at two potential phone numbers.
Alex grabbed his phone, obviously a replacement for the one he'd lost. "Georgie, you're a genius." He called the first number and held it away from his ear. "Number not in service. Let's try the second one."
He called the next number, and evidently it was answered. He listened in silence, though I wasn't sure how much he could hear with all the noise in the bar. He didn't respond to whatever he was listening to, even with a hello, leaving me to believe he was listening to a recording.
Finally, he hung up the phone. "Let's go. We need to find Seth Peterson. Immediately."
* * *
Seth wasn't at the hotel. The bars and restaurants around the resort were hopping. I was way too drunk to drive with the two cocktails and the vodka orange juices. Alex drove, and I tripped a lot trying to traverse the sandy walks of the buildings. When I asked what the phone number was, Alex handed me the phone, leaving me to listen in silence to the recorded message that I had reached the Drug Enforcement Agency and if I knew the party
I wanted to reach, I was free to dial their extension at any time. Sadly, I didn't know Seth Peterson's extension, but I was fairly certain I knew why he and Mallory had really been spending time together.
Our search of the local hot spots, as they were, also didn't produce Seth Peterson, and I wasn't ready to ask Detective Ray, in case he wasn't aware that it was very possible Seth was a DEA agent. And it was very possible Mallory had grabbed his card to call him, and accidentally grabbed the wrong one, the one that he gave everyone, not the one with his number coded on the back. It struck me as unbearably sad she'd planned to reach out for help, had depended on the card in her hand, and had died holding it. We really needed to find Seth.
We searched every place we could think of, short of showing up at Seth Peterson's house, the address of which would be in his personnel file. It wouldn't be an immediate leap to him being a federal agent if we showed up at his house, but if someone in the drug business suspected him already, if they were watching him, we didn't know what kind of trouble we could get him in. Our last stop of the night was Ramada Pier, where Squid sat, smoking pot where anyone could see him, which I found somewhat mystifying, though maybe I shouldn't have considering he'd been stoned at lunchtime on the day we'd talked to him. That required a certain level of commitment.
We headed to approach him, when suddenly Johnny No Name, Mo, and Big Steve crossed to him, not speaking loudly enough to be heard over the din of people on vacation making double meaning of the words holiday spirits all over the island. Alex indicated with his head that we should follow him, and we approached the group in time to hear Big Steve say, "Where'd you get those shoes, bra?"
It was certainly not as exciting as I might have hoped. Alex approached and fist-bumped or shook hands with all four men. I glanced at Squid's shoes, trying hard to see what was so special about a pair of neon high-top sneakers that looked a bit like Nike knockoffs to me.
Mele Kalikimaka Murder Page 18
