We all fell silent, absorbing this.
Finally, Scott said to me, "We've had our ups and downs, but I have a suggestion. Let's start over. Will you go out with me? I'll pick you up, open the car door, pay for dinner…all of that. Please say yes."
Looking back at him, seeing in his eyes just how much he cared for me, I was struck by a flash of clarity. I knew for a certainty that I'd resisted a relationship with him because I didn't want to lose him like I'd lost Jamie. Maybe he would die, or maybe he would just leave me, the way my father had left my mother and me.
More than that, I'd been reluctant to get involved with him because a part of me had always felt I should have been able to save Jamie. What if Scott needed me and I couldn't save him? But I had saved him. Just as I'd saved Dinah and Donna and Charlie too.
I would always love Jamie, and I would never stop missing him. But I understood it was all right to love Scott too. The best way to honor Jamie was to keep my heart open, ready to love anyone who wanted to come inside.
The answer to Scott's question was clear. I kissed him squarely on the mouth. "Yes!"
* * *
The next afternoon, Brittany and Cameron came into the office, arms around each other's waist. I did a major double take. Brittany grabbed her change fund for the entrance, kissed Cameron on the lips, and scampered out the door. Cameron watched after her, eyes glazing over.
"Cameron?" I asked. "Um. What exactly were you and Brittany doing there?"
"Oh, don't worry, boss. Katie and I broke it off. We realized it wasn't going to work out. We're just too young."
"Yeah. Right. Okay. So you and Brittany?"
"Yeah. Isn't she great?"
I only hoped Katie felt the same.
After Cameron left, Joaquin and Katie came in, in an almost identical posture to Cameron and Brittany.
"Hi, Ashling," Katie said with a Mona Lisa smile.
"Hi, Katie." The two grabbed their ride keys and left. As the door closed behind them, I caught sight of Joaquin grazing Katie's cheek with a kiss.
I needed a scorecard for these people.
* * *
As promised, Scott picked me up at my cottage on the occasion of our next date, opened the car door for me, and drove us to the restaurant at The Bay Hotel. I'd decided on The Magical Miracle Dress, and he complimented me profusely. Once again, I considered wearing it every day of my life.
After we ordered, Scott reached across the table to take my hand. "Do you remember at Luigi's when I started to say something about being in a relationship?"
"Yes." I also remembered I'd stopped him from completing the thought and flounced off.
"Do you have any idea what I was going to say?"
"Not really."
"Well, I believe that when you're in a relationship with someone, you need to consider how your actions, the actions that you take on your own, affect the other person. So ever since we became involved, I've been taking better care of myself."
"How so?"
"Like eating better and driving more carefully. Going to the doctor. That kind of thing. Especially because of what you went through with Jamie, I don't want you to have to deal with losing me. It's why I was upset that you were putting yourself in danger. I felt you weren't doing the same."
I waited a few beats, considering this. "I'm sorry. I should have thought of you. That was wrong of me."
"Well, I don't blame you anymore. You were certainly in danger, and I don't like that, but I understand you needed to help your friend. But you never told me, Ashling. At least you could have run it by me."
"You're right. I should have."
"Now, I have a surprise for you."
"Really? Did you order one of the chocolate soufflés ahead of time?"
Scott laughed. "No, even better."
"What?"
"What you told me about Katrina's fans really got to me. About how much she inspired them and how they loved her. So ThrillsLand is going to invite a number of children's charities and any fan who can show a receipt for Katrina Irvine merchandise to come for free to one of our parks on Labor Day."
"Really? Scott, you really arranged that?"
"Yep."
"That's so nice. You're incredibly great, you know that?"
He ran a hand through his hair, preening, making me laugh. It reminded me of Dinah putting her beloved ebony leg forward to be admired.
I grew serious. "I do care about you, Scott. I was afraid of getting involved with you, for a few reasons. But I'm not anymore."
Scott got up, leaned across the table, and gave me a long kiss. It was electrifying and toe-curling, and not at all nauseating. In that moment, I had never felt so alive, as if I'd just been awakened from a hundred years' sleep. Maybe I could really get behind this whole fairy-tale, happily-ever-after thing after all.
EPILOGUE
Laura, Julie, and even shy Bradley gave me grief for the notes I left them. They eventually forgave me—Julie not so much—as did Ryan, who was just happy the real killer had finally been caught. I never did see Mariana, Sondra, or Hayley again, but I hoped they also would be understanding.
Since our original Evil Queen was now behind bars, Cynthia from the Older but Wiser Seniors' troupe took over the role and did a fine job for the remaining two performances of Snow White.
Julie always had the last word when it came to the scripts for Sleeping Beauty, Snow White, and Cinderella. She made changes up until the day of each premiere. Sleeping Beauty ended up being fairly faithful to the Grimm Brothers' version. As Bradley had said, some versions of the fairy tale don't include a kiss, but Julie felt it was important. Unfortunately, in our production, the kiss never did wake Sleeping Beauty.
Julie didn't write in a kiss for Snow White. It wasn't a part of the Grimm version anyway. She substituted a brush of the prince's hand against Snow White's cheek, which wasn't in any version of the story I'd read but was a nice touch.
Cinderella premiered on Saturday, August 7, with Cynthia in the role of the stepmother. Aside from a few kinks with the props that never did get ironed out for the play's run, it proved to be the fan favorite. Julie's adaptation really played up the ugliness and mean-spiritedness of the stepsisters, played by Jenny and Kiara, and it made for some nice comic relief.
Despite Katrina's murder, the play series proved a resounding success, profitable for all involved, including the Children's Literacy League of California.
On Labor Day, the same day thousands of Katrina's fans attended ThrillsLand for free, thanks to Scott, I wrote out a check to the CLLC in a special presentation at the Geppetto Stage. Even Dinah made an appearance, rolling around on her back in the middle of the stage. While everyone in the audience oohed and aahed over Dinah, I spied Professor Smith in the front row, not at all amused. I had the feeling I'd be dealing with him for a long time to come.
* * * * *
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* * * * *
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Carol E. Ayer has wanted to be a writer since she first taught herself to read at age four. She memorized the typewriter keyboard at age eight, knowing that writers had to learn how to type. Her first rejection slips came in around the same time, when she submitted short stories and a novel to various publications. Rather than dampen her enthusiasm, the rejections fueled her desire to continue writing. She's had better luck as an adult. (Even though she still gets rejected!) Some of her successes include short stories published by Woman's World, I Love Cats, and True Story. The Princess and the Poison is her first published full-length novel.
Carol is a lifelong fan of storybook parks, a love that originated when she visited Children's Fairyland in Oakland, California countless times as a child. She worked at Fairyland in the 1980s and is proud to say that the park later inspired several works of fi
ction, including The Princess and the Poison. Carol currently lives in Northern California with her cat, Sammie.
To learn more about Carol E. Ayer, visit her online at: http://www.carolayer.com/
* * * * *
BOOKS BY CAROL E. AYER
Storybook Park Mysteries:
The Princess and the Poison
* * * * *
SNEAK PEEK
If you enjoyed this Storybook Park mystery, check out this sneak peek of another exciting novel from Gemma Halliday Publishing:
UKULELE MURDER
ALOHA LAGOON MYSTERIES BOOK #1
by
LESLIE LANGTRY
CHAPTER ONE
If anyone requests "Ukulele Lady," I'm out of here. I'm not going to do it. Not again. Not for the millionth time. Is that the only song tourists know? Yeesh. Please, tiki god of the Ukulele, don't let me kill a tourist today.
"'Ukulele Lady!'" a dumpy, middle-aged man in a Frankie Goes to Hollywood T-shirt screams. He gives me a knowing nod with his balding head to indicate he's the only one in the room who knows true Hawaiian culture.
I hate him. I imagine bludgeoning him with my koa wood uke.
But I don't. Do you know how hard it is to get blood out of koa wood? Well…I don't know either, but I'd guess it isn't easy.
Instead, I play the damn song—smiling as I imagine shoving his pineapple drink up his…
The crowd cheers as I perform. I know—it's not so bad having an adoring audience. But this isn't the audience I want. This is Judah Horowitz's bar mitzvah. One of the few gigs I could get in Aloha Lagoon.
My name is Hoalohanani Johnson. My mother, Harriet Jones Johnson, is a bit of a Hawaiian-obsessed nut. It's so bad that it's to the point where she believes she is the reincarnation of a Hawaiian princess and says that my name came from a dream from an ancestor god. In reality, it probably came from the bottom of a rum bottle.
To her endless annoyance, my redheaded, green-eyed mom comes from a long line of English ancestors and grew up in Kansas. Dad was a third-generation blond, brown-eyed German whose name was shortened to Johnson due to the inability to pronounce whatever the name really was. Neither of my parents had ever been to Hawaii until Mom and I moved here after Dad died.
I go by Nani. And I now live in Aloha Lagoon on the Hawaiian island of Kauai, with my mother, who now calls herself Haliaka and dyes her hair and eyebrows a ridiculous shade of black that does not look natural. I've never understood where my dark-brown hair comes from, but I look more native than she does. Always dressed in a muumuu, Mom wears hibiscus flowers in her hair and hangs out on my lanai, singing island songs all day and night, much to my neighbors' dismay. Sigh.
I finish my set, tell the crowd "aloha," and am cut off by the DJ who decides suddenly to play a gangsta rap song.
"Thank you!" Gladys Horowitz of Trenton, New Jersey, and Judah's mother, slips an envelope into my hands before running to the dance floor to shimmy disturbingly. Thirteen-year-old Judah hangs his head in shame.
I make my way through the crowd to the bar and order a decidedly un-Hawaiian vodka tonic.
"Here's the ten bucks I owe you." The bartender smiles, handing me money.
I gulp my drink, slapping an empty glass on the bar. "I told you, someone requests it every time." I take his money and head to my car. My shift in hell is over.
I did not study music at Julliard for this. And no, Julliard doesn’t have a ukulele program. I started with classical guitar, but once I discovered the ukulele, I developed an independent study program for the diminutive instrument.
And yet, here I am in paradise, playing gigs like this bar mitzvah and teaching fingerstyle ukulele to kids. My dream of being a ukulele virtuoso, hailed by critics and in demand as a performer, was rudely interrupted by reality.
Which means I'm a white outsider from Kansas in a state full of true, native Hawaiian musicians. They call me malihini—which means newcomer. Things are different from the mainland. Hawaii has many words to remind you that you don't really belong here.
I can't complain, because I get by. I have ten students—all from a local military base—play parties like today's or in a few bars on weekends, and am the regular musician at the Elvis-inspired Blue Hawaii Wedding Chapel. And my inheritance from Dad helps me keep Mom flush with hibiscus-flower leis and mai tais. But this is not the way I pictured my life.
My biggest problem is my competition. There are three native Hawaiian ukulele musicians on this island. They play the big luaus at the huge resort in this town. They teach and lecture at the local community college. And they play at all the holidays, official commemoration events, and in the two concert halls on Kauai.
They're good—real good. Alohalani Kealoha is a 50-year-old professor at Aloha Lagoon Community College. I probably know him better than I know the others—but even that qualifies as barely. As the only one of the Terrible Trio who's somewhat nice, he is actually fairly complimentary. His exact words? "Doesn't suck."
Then there's Kahelemeakua Lui, or Kua, as he's known locally. He's young—in his 20’s, I think. A serious child prodigy, Kua travels all over the world performing when he's not surfing here at home. He's a lot more open in his hatred of me—I've heard murmurs that he's afraid I'm better than him—something I'm pretty sure he wouldn't want me to know. I don't know him very well, but I've heard he calls me "that mainland pretender." Nice.
Last but not least is Leilani O'Flanagan. Only half Hawaiian, or hapa, she's a cutthroat 30-year-old musician who has a killer instinct and brutal temperament. I avoid her socially. If she thinks you're competition, she'll do anything in her power to destroy you. In fact, I've never heard anything nice about her. Rumor is she was raised by rabid badgers. The only nice thing she ever said about me had three expletives and an exclamation point. I have no idea if Kua and Alohalani hang out with her. I wouldn't.
Don't get me wrong. I've seen all three perform, and they're all brilliant. It would be beneath me (and 100 percent true) to say I wish they'd move away or die peacefully in their sleep of natural causes. Okay, so maybe Leilani could get eaten by a shark. That would be okay.
It's late afternoon when I toss my ukulele on the front seat of my car and head to the Aloha Lagoon Resort for a concert on Polynesian music. The bar mitzvah made me a little late, but I'm hoping I'll be there in time to see most of it.
Leaving my instrument in the car, I race into the concert just in time to see Alohalani performing with a group of visiting dancers from Tahiti. I grab a bottle of beer from the bar and settle in to watch. He's good. Better than good—Alohalani is probably the best I've seen since I'd moved here. Even so, I wish it was me up there playing the ukulele.
"Hey, haole." Kua sidles up as Alohalani plays "Aloha O'e," my favorite piece—it was written by Hawaii's last queen. "Bet you wish that was you up there," he snickers. Great. The fun begins. I was kind of hoping to be off the radar here so I could relax and enjoy it. I guess that's not happening.
I turn to him. "And I'd be willing to bet you wish the same thing." I smile. "I wonder why they didn't ask you to play?"
Kua turns into a beet-red tower of volcanic rage. "I'm sure it's a 'respect for your elders' thing." He doesn't look like he meant that. Apparently, I've hit a nerve. "You mainlanders have no respect for our ways!"
To my dismay, Leilani joins us. She'd apparently seen Kua get pissed and decided to come rub it in.
"I miss all the fun." She grins meanly. "Both of you upset they went with Alohalani?" She sips from a huge daiquiri that looks like it has more umbrellas than alcohol. Not that I mind. But I have heard that Leilani is even worse when she drinks.
"Don't put me in the same league as her!" Kua thunders. This guy has a serious temper.
"Oh?" Leilani's eyebrows go up, as if she's surprised by his reaction. "And why's that?"
I know she just asked that question because once again she wants to hear how unqualified I am to be playing a traditional Hawaiian instrument. She lives for momen
ts like that.
"Because she's not Hawaiian! Not even a local," Kua growls. "She can't understand the nuances of the music because she didn't grow up here!" He shoves an index finger in her face. "And you! You're half haole! And don't you forget it!" He gives us one last sneer before storming away.
Leaving me with the worst of the Terrible Trio. Great.
Leilani bridles, nostrils flaring. "That bastard. He's just jealous that a woman can play better than a man!"
"I agree," I say, even though I know she isn't taking a stand for female musicians everywhere. Leilani does not mean me. She means herself.
She gives me a sharp look. "Why don't you just go back home and quit stirring up trouble?" Leilani O'Flanagan curses under her breath. "Things were fine until you showed up!" She stalks off in the direction of the bar.
Yes, that's right, they all blame me for just about everything bad, even though I know that before I arrived, those two, Kua and Leilani, had duked it out many times over who should get what gig. I turn back to the stage to see the performers are taking a break.
"Nice job!" I say brightly to Alohalani as he sits at a table, nursing a glass of water. Why not be civil to one of them? Someday he might want to do a duet, and I would be the lesser of two evils. Maybe.
The older man looks up at me. Alohalani is still fairly attractive. He's stayed in shape through the years, with only a little gray at the temples.
"Mahalo." He motions for me to take a seat. I jump at the chance and obey immediately. "It is too bad you weren't born here," he says softly.
I flinch. Yes, I know I'm an outsider. These three fling it in my face every chance they can. Other natives and locals had been warm, welcoming, and wonderful when I'd moved here. Like my friend Binny. She comes from several generations of Hawaiians. She isn't like these three. Her family is practically my 'ohana. Which, by the way, means family.
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