Mele Kalikimaka Murder

by Aimee Gilchrist

  I needed to get out of Hawaii. I did. It wasn't safe for me here. And I didn't want to live forever like this. Aching for a man my own neuroses wouldn't let me be with. Georgie was right. I was controlled by fear. We aren't Mom. Every man isn't Dad. But what if I was? What if he was? Then how would I live? My only hope of getting over it was to get away from Alex.

  "Being the manager of one resort isn't my job. I work at resorts in flux. You know that. I was never meant to be here even this long."

  He stared at me for a long second then licked his lips. "Yeah. Okay. I get it."

  He reached around me and opened the door to the room, and I nearly fell out. I would have, if he hadn't grabbed my arm. He released it very quickly, as though it burned. This was a different man than the one I'd had in my arms five minutes before.

  I tried to tell myself it was better, while he straightened his disheveled clothing. I tried to tell myself it should have been this way all along, while he nodded in my direction, trying so hard to look like he wasn't something that looked a lot like heartbroken. I tried to convince myself I didn't care, while he walked away down the hall. Then I went to my office and tried to pretend I wasn't crying.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  I spent the rest of the day in a daze, praying that my release from Aloha Lagoon would come soon. I couldn't do this anymore. I had to do what I'd always accused Georgie of doing every time times got tough. I had to run. If I didn't, I'd be sorry. I had to run before I couldn't deny my feelings. And I could not do that. I left multiple messages for both Nadine Rivers and Mr. Kowalski at corporate, begging for a reassignment. I tried to be professional, but heaven only knew if they could hear the agony and desperation in my voice.

  I avoided Alex. If I saw he was already in a room, I turned at the door and fled like the coward I was. I got through the rest of the day and the night before Christmas Eve by focusing completely on work. I was really good at using work to squelch my feelings. I would do it now. And when my feelings—sadness, anger with myself, desperation—tried to surface, I pushed them down brutally. Work. It had to be about work.

  The DEA was no help when I called them from my desk in the afternoon. They said they didn't know a Seth Peterson. When I asked to talk to a manager, they also told me they didn't know a Seth Peterson. He didn't show up for work at seven, and Detective Ray refused to give me any information on him.

  I wanted to stay up late again and scout the town, trying to find Seth. I wanted to do something, anything, to feel like I was moving our investigation forward. But I couldn't do that. Because time was up for resort business, and I knew I had to get some sleep.

  I was up at four thirty on Christmas Eve morning, on the beach, checking on the underground ovens roasting pigs, monitoring the dozens of dishes coming in and out of the kitchen, watching Ikaika repair more lights burnt out on the big palm. From taro to turkey, caterers and citizens alike were bringing their dishes to the resort. Because people in Hawaii just couldn't resist one more chance to revel in the spectacular and over the top, every car that rolled up was ridiculously decorated, parading up the drive covered in decorations and blaring Christmas music. Many had thousands of lights draped off their cars, honking their horns at the delighted residents and guests.

  To tell the truth, I didn't mind it. A sliver of a nasty urge to love this place was trying to push its way up in my throat, and I wouldn't have it. By noon, guitar and ukulele players wearing Hawaiian shirts and Santa hats had rolled up on the resort, ready to entertain guests. Excitement was in the air, everyone in town was arriving, and the guests were having the time of their lives. I ignored Alex, who was working just as hard as I was. If he was disappointed in my behavior, it wasn't amiss. I was disappointed in me. But that didn't mean I could change.

  The outdoor tables began to fill with everything from haupia, a coconut and chocolate pie, to the finished pigs, now glazed and sitting on the tables in all their disconcerting giant pigness. Several bowls of a chicken noodle soup–like substance with added raw fish peppered the table. Mashed potatoes and cranberries rested between spring rolls and sushi.

  I had to admit I was delighted, and I was doing everything in my power not to be. There was nothing I wanted to love about Hawaii, because apparently Georgie was right. I could call it responsibility, but the truth was I was like a shark emotionally. If I didn't keep moving, I would die.

  The party just kept building until I was very sure every single person in AL and possibly in every small burg nearby was on the Aloha Lagoon grounds. I saw Detective Ray, his men, and Silas all roving the beach, keeping an eye on the visitors in between bites. I didn't expect any problems, and it was clear they didn't either, but crowd control was never useless, just in case something went wrong.

  Dinner started right on time. Though I felt incredibly awkward with him, Alex and I took the floor and welcomed everyone. Just like the first night, we spoke our holiday sentiments in English and then in Hawaiian. Parents ate and danced. Children darted between tables, laughing and screaming. "Mele Kalikimaka" floated in the air, and my agony pressed at my throat, trying to sneak out as tears.

  Mallory would have delighted in this spectacle. The thought was sobering. If only I could have saved her. If only she'd chosen to confide in me. Not that I would have known if she had, because I'd never been listening. Not to her unimportant ramblings nor to anything that might have been an important clue. I simply hadn't cared. That I did now, well, that didn't help anyone. Not Mallory, not me.

  I kept busy as long as I could, and when I couldn't anymore, I had no choice. I would have to seek out Alex. I could tell myself it was because we still had to work together, but it wasn't that. I didn't want him to be angry at me, though he had every right to be. The kids watched with delight as Santa arrived on his surfboard, no outrigger or dolphins this time, sadly, and followed him inside like he was the Pied Piper. The parents were close behind, aiming for photo ops. The childless people were hitting the alcohol hard.

  I followed Alex into the building. "Can I talk to you for a minute? Please."

  I watched a sigh move through his frame. "Do we really need to? You don't have to justify yourself whether you do or don't want me."

  I shook my head. "I think we both know me not wanting you is not the issue."

  He finally looked at me. "Then what is?"

  I ran a hand through my hair and then regretted it when it mussed my careful style. Presentation still mattered, no matter how upset I was. "I just…can't. I…really like you, Alex. And no matter what, I still have to go. And if I'm weak and I let this happen the way we want it to happen, later maybe you won't be sorry, but…I will. I'll be sorry in a way that I can't even explain right now. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

  Maybe he did, because I wasn't sure I did. At the very least, I wasn't sure I was making sense or doing anything to articulate how I felt at the moment. I couldn't put it in plain words. If I slept with Alex, I'd be a goner. And I couldn't do that. Because I couldn't stay here.

  He evaluated me for a long moment under drawn eyebrows. "I don't know. I don't know if I understand you or if I'm trying to read something into your words because I want to hear them."

  I swallowed hard. "You aren't reading anything into my words," I whispered, telling the truth cutting me hard. "I'm sure you understand me."

  Even if I wasn't capable of properly articulating my feelings, maybe he understood anyway. Hell, he probably understood my feelings better than I did. I was going to leave, because I always left, and when I left, it was going to hurt. And if I let myself fall in love with him, it would hurt even worse.

  His slow, deep sigh hurt me. "It doesn't have to be like this, Charlie. We can work something out."

  "It does. Please don't be angry or hurt. It isn't you. It's me. Lord knows that's such a cliché, but it's true. It isn't you. It's all me."

  He met my eyes. "I know. And I can't change that for you. And for that, I'm sorry too."

  I nodded, praying I d
idn't start trying to tear up again, because I wasn't doing that. Feeling sure he understood what I was trying to say, I turned and sought out Georgie. Who would have guessed a couple of weeks ago that she would ever be a balm for my wounded heart?

  She was handing out bags to the kids as they left the door, carefully prepared gift bags full of gift cards for childcentric activities all over the island, not just in AL. I found another employee to replace her and dragged her off to the main lobby.

  "Are you enjoying Christmas in Hawaii?"

  I hoped she was. It would make up for the fact I really wasn't, even though I enjoyed the elements.

  Georgie laughed. "It's insane. I've never seen anything like it. I…"

  Her voice trailed off, her expression dropping to total blankness. She stared at the front door. Her eyes turned haunted. I turned. What else was there to do? There was something in that doorway that had acted as a nuclear bomb to Georgie's brain.

  There were only two people in the doorway; a middle-aged dad hauling a screaming toddler back to their room and a man who wasn't too much older than us—mid to late thirties at my best guess. I knew it wasn't doting Dad, because that didn't make sense. So it had to be the other man. He looked innocuous. Actually, he looked a lot like British actor Martin Freeman, with his blondish hair touched with premature gray, tired eyes, and open, approachable face. And that comparison made me think. What if he didn't just look like a man named Martin? Maybe he really was a man named Martin. I glanced back to Georgie again.

  The agony in her eyes was unmistakable, though she kept her expression indifferent. I was right. There was no one else he could be. This man was Marty Gentry. If I was shocked to see him here, I could only imagine how Georgie felt about his sudden appearance. He saw me first. I could see the short moment of surprise cross his features. It wasn't extreme surprise, so it was clear he'd known of my existence. What wasn't clear was whether he hadn't expected her to join me or he was merely taken aback at how different I could look for being Georgie's identical twin.

  His eyes moved from me to Georgie, and she underwent a sudden transformation that I found rather alarming. She went from agony to a flip wave of her hand and an easy smile. How did she do that?

  I turned my eyes back to Marty Gentry again, trying to wrap my mind around the fact that this was the man who had finally captured the wild heart of Georgiana Conner, the person who had broken hearts the world over. The one who wouldn't even commit to planning a monthly delivery of a magazine, because that tied her down too much, was now so in love with this man that she couldn't work with him anymore. He wasn't that tall, maybe 5'9", with the body of runner—wiry and graceful but not heavily muscled. Adorably awkward, he looked more like someone's dad that you would have secretly thought was kind of hot in high school, than any kind of heartbreaker.

  I remembered Georgie's offhand comment that Marty only dated supermodels and actresses. It might have been his multimillion-dollar Gentry family price tag that brought some of those bleached blondes into his range, but that wouldn't be a motivator for Georgie. I knew that was true. She was flippant and partied hard, but she didn't care about money. If she needed some, she found some. And it couldn't be true of every woman who entered the sphere of Martin Gentry. There was something about this man that encompassed far more than his boyish face, mussed-up hair, rolled-up blue jeans, superhero T-shirt, and green dock shoes without socks. I just didn't know what it was yet.

  He crossed to us, returning Georgie's offered fist bump with the impatient twist of his mouth that suggested irritation at having to go through the motions of a customary greeting. He looked so much like a younger Martin Freeman that I sincerely expected him to have an English accent when he spoke, but alas, he didn't. The heavy twang of someone who only could have originated from the deep, deep South didn't fit his appearance at all. I hoped I schooled my expression enough that he couldn't tell how surprising everything about him was to me.

  "What the hell, George? You just walk out on me without a word? That's BS."

  The no-nonsense tone of voice he used didn't leave a lot of room for her to dodge around the question the way she might have done had I asked. Or anyone else who didn't quite know how to handle the hurricane that was Georgie. I glanced at her, unsure if she was okay with this abrupt way of speaking, like he was challenging her. Not that I had a clue what I could do besides give him the boot if he was making her uncomfortable.

  She waved him off with a flippant flick of her hand. "You know me, Marty. I knew something I wanted was close by, and so I went for it." She flashed him a smile I could tell was weak around the edges. Honestly, from the body language tells that managed to sneak past her front of indifference, I suspected she was hard pressed not to cry.

  He shook his head, lips twisting. "And I would have been totally cool with that. Totally cool, and you know it. Instead I wake up with a crappy note, and you're just gone? It was two words, George." He held up one finger at the first word and then a second for the next word. "I. Quit."

  She shrugged, some of her discomfort starting to show through. "You were passed out. What did you want?"

  He cocked his head. From his inscrutable expression, I wasn't sure what he'd say next, but he was clearly pissed and not afraid to challenge Georgie like the rest of the world, so who knew. If he got too aggressive though, I'd make sure someone saw him out.

  "I wanted you to give me the respect I deserve. You and I are way beyond that piece-of-crap note. If you wanted to visit your sister, you didn't have to quit. You know I don't care what you do. And if there's any advantage to being best friends with the boss, it's that I won't even make you kiss my ass to get all the time off you want."

  I was beginning to see why Georgie and Marty were two of a kind. And I was also starting to like him. There was something about his frank honesty and up-front dialogue that was hugely refreshing. I glanced at Georgie again, monitoring her unconscious tells, trying to gauge when I'd need to push the conversation to an ending. I frankly wasn't sure what Georgie would do at this point. She was so hard to read when the subject was Marty.

  "I'm sorry." She didn't sound completely sorry, but there was an edge of repentance in her words. "I just didn't want to have a huge discussion about it, and anyway, we were about to leave the dock. It was then or never."

  I noticed Alex approaching, sensing there was some kind of problem. When he got close enough, I held up a hand behind Georgie's back, hinting he shouldn't get involved. Not yet anyway. I didn't know where this was going, but I was pretty sure they just needed to work it out.

  Marty ran a hand through his already badly disheveled hair. "Are you seriously going to quit on me?" There was desperation behind the question, but I didn't see barely restrained passion or secret love.

  It seemed that Georgie was right. Marty Gentry clearly loved Georgie, but maybe he didn't view her as a potential partner. Maybe not even as a woman at all. I wasn't sure how I'd feel about being the one with an unrequited passion for my boss, but I was fairly certain it wasn't an experience I'd enjoy. I was badly mussing up a completely requited passion for my equal around the office. It must have been so difficult for her.

  She swallowed. "I don't know." I could barely hear the words right next to her. I wasn't sure Marty could at all. "I'm not ready to leave. I want to be with Charlotte. For a long time. Maybe years. That's a lot of vacation time." The second half was spoken with more force, like she regaining herself from the surprise of his arrival.

  He stared her down for a long minute, eyebrows pulled together, mouth tight. So long I started to feel uncomfortable, so heaven only knew how she felt. His tongue darted out, licking his lips.

  Then he looked at me. I was shocked by the sudden eye contact, feeling slightly electrocuted, though I wasn't the one with feelings for him. There was a bizarre intensity about meeting his eyes that had nothing to do with my feelings for him as a stranger and everything to do with his personal electricity, the force of his…aliveness. I under
stood it, then. Why Georgie loved him. He came off like a little boy, but he was clearly a man, maybe too much for anyone who wasn't as full of sass and attitude as Georgie.

  He offered a hand, flashing a dimpled smile that was completely, disarmingly charming. "Hi. I'm Martin Gentry, of the Mississippi Gentrys. I don't have a résumé on hand, but I've been working at hotels, motels, yachts, dinghies, and rental shacks since I was old enough to toddle. Now I run an entire cruise line, though that could be blatant nepotism as much as it's a sign of my proficiency in the hospitality field. George should vouch for me, considering that I've saved her ass from being thrown in prison in just about every continent in this world, but given she isn't in for doing that, I can write you up a list of references. I'm particularly good at tending bar, throwing out annoying people, and delivering mail, although I know about everything about hospitality. Are you hiring?"

  I stared at him, completely flummoxed. A request for a job from a man worth dozens of times my material wealth wasn't something I'd expected. I blinked at him for a couple of awkward seconds, until Alex stepped forward, shaking Marty's hand too.

  "Hi. I'm Alex Cho, one of the managers here. I take it you're a friend of Georgiana?"

  Marty snorted, either at the appellation of "friend" after Georgie's sudden departure, or at the use of her full name. "Guilty as charged, of that and so many other things that might, or might not, be illegal in our last port of call."

  Alex smiled. "So you want a job?"

  He shrugged. "If George is here, I guess I'm here, too. I'm really good at hospitality, and I'm also a very hard worker. To let you know up front, I like to spend my weekends drunk off my ass, so something Monday to Friday would definitely be best."

  It was the frank way he said it, as though it was simply a given, the way another person might say they left town on weekends to care for an ailing parent, that surprised a laugh out of me.