by Aysia Amery
“I’d rather not say,” Kat replied. “I’m not sure the owner would appreciate me discussing their health issues.”
There was silence for a moment. Everyone seemed to accept that. Nobody continued to pry on the issue.
A rotund, scholarly-looking man with crow’s-feet eyes and an aloha shirt in need of ironing broke the silence.
“Well, I have to say that your employer promised a splendid meal, and they didn’t disappoint. With a first course like this, I’m looking forward to the rest. This is wonderful!”
When he put his hands over his tummy he reminded me of Wimpy from Popeye the Sailor. I’m sure a cartoon character wouldn’t be his past life, but the imagery my thoughts flashed was similar to my past-life flashes. Too funny.
“This is Chef Ginger Lee. She was responsible for a restaurant receiving their 3-star Michelin status,” Kat said.
Somebody must’ve done their homework on me.
I smiled sheepishly at the group. I might’ve turned a shade of red by the heat flushing my cheeks.
“You were mentioned in the invitation. If the lottery wasn’t enough to get me here, your service this weekend would’ve still done the trick,” someone said.
Oh my, flattery toward my creations was always welcomed. I have to say, my accomplishments in that regard made me tingle.
“Thank you. You’re too kind.” I scuttled off to the kitchen to prepare the next dish.
I hoped by the time I returned they’d have changed the subject. Even though compliments thrilled me, I never knew quite how to act when accepting them. Must’ve been my upbringing. My mom always lectured me on being humble.
“Why do you always run away when people praise you, Ginger?” Jemma scolded.
I didn’t answer her. I busied myself with my task.
Jemma knew when to drop a subject. “Did you hear what they said about this weekend being a lottery?”
I knew that would’ve intrigued her. It intrigued me.
“Yeah. How interesting is that?” I said.
“Who’d give all this beautiful land away for free? Crazy.”
“Well, they didn’t say it was free. Lotteries for property can be for a price, but they get it for a bargain or something of the sort,” I said.
“I dunno. I think this one is free. Some of them don’t look like they could afford it even at a discount. This property has to be worth millions. I’m sure the horses go with it too.”
She could be right about that. The two younger guests and the scholarly-looking man didn’t seem to come from money. Although the clothes people wore weren’t always telling. I’ve known millionaires who preferred beach attire.
“We’d better get these out there,” I told Jemma as I plated the last dish for the second course.
Again I noticed the smiley man. This time he pushed aside the sliced orange peppers from his salad. He left the yellow ones. Did he have an aversion to the color orange?
“I wonder how we got picked to receive an invite,” someone said.
“Except for Representative Winters and Nadine James, does anybody know each other?” another asked.
Most shook their heads as they glanced at each other. Seemed we had a politician among us. Wonder which one was Nadine James.
“I liked your piece on medical marijuana, Nadine,” the crew-cut guy said.
“Thanks,” was all she responded with. She had no interest in continuing a conversation with her fan. She did a nosedive right back into the salad once she acknowledged him.
He took the hint and didn’t pursue it. Even though confidence emanated from his physique, maybe not so much was the case with handling the opposite sex. He reminded me of the boy next door who gulped and became tongue-tied every time the girl he secretly loved looked his way.
“Representative Winters, I have a bone to pick with you about...”
Since the dinner conversation wasn’t anything exciting, and I didn’t care to hear about their politics, I decided to head back into the kitchen and prep the next course.
“I wonder how this group is going to get along by the end of the weekend,” Jemma said when she joined me again. “They seem to be a mixed bag.”
“I don’t know, and I don’t care,” I replied. “The lottery part might prove interesting though. We’ll have to sit in so we can hear about that.”
“Yeah, I wonder if they’re going to have to do something to win it, or if their names will just be pulled out of a hat.” Jemma got my plates ready for the entrée. “Or maybe they’ll have to participate like in Survivor. Wouldn’t that be a blast?”
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never watched that show,” I said, my voice monotone.
“Really?”
“Yeah, Jemma, I’m just not into reality T.V. shows. Sorry.”
She gave me a look that implied I might be the only person on the planet who didn’t watch reality T.V. Well I can attest that I’m not alone because Blaine doesn’t watch them either.
Before Jemma could start in on the reasons I’ve been missing out, I told her, “These are ready to go.”
Once she left with the four plates balanced on her arm, I finished plating the rest.
Dinner seemed to drag on with idle conversation, but afterward when the guests adjourned to the living room things got a lot more interesting.
Kat poured nightcaps for those who wanted them. I had a small glass of port myself.
Jemma was over by the fireplace talking to the beefy crew-cut guy, smiling all gaga-like. Too funny. I’ll leave her to her flirting.
Before I could make up my mind on who I’d sit with to make conversation, the woman with the short brown hair approached me.
“You created a heck of a meal tonight,” she said.
“Thanks,” I replied. “I’m glad you liked it.”
“I’m Sam.”
“Ginger.” Oh wait, she knew that already since Kat had mentioned it at dinner.
“Believe it or not, I wanted to be a chef, but I opted for psychiatry.”
“Big switch there. What made you choose one over the other?”
From stimulating the taste buds to probing the mind—the paths were almost polar opposites. Both were challenging though.
“I figured I could help more people as a psychiatrist than a chef. Also, my parents thought psychiatry a worthier career to support. My father was a doctor, so you know how that is.”
Yes, having your parents’ support was definitely a plus when choosing a career. Financing the education wasn’t easy on your own. Having to work one’s way through college was difficult, but many people do it. I give them a lot of credit.
But still, between choosing something I’d rather do than something my parents would help pay for—I’d pick doing what I enjoyed in the end.
“Do you have your own practice?” I asked her.
“No, I work in a hospital and also a clinic. I handle children’s cases only. I deal mostly with those brought in by the state.” Sam took a sip of her drink.
“What do you mean? Like orphans? Or those taken away from their parents?”
“Yes.”
“What’s the youngest child you’ve treated?”
“I’ve had a patient as young as seven.”
“Oh my god. That’s so young. Something traumatic must’ve happened to them.”
I couldn’t imagine a child having psychological problems without a reason, unless they had a chemical imbalance.
“Yes. A lot of my patients have had some sort of trauma that caused their issues. Sometimes I think treating kids is harder than adults.” She took another swig.
Just then, the short, rotund scholarly-looking man joined us.
“Kids can be a pain in the butt,” he said. “My wife and I never had any of our own, but we took in a couple of them once, and they were a problem. Actually, I had to send one off to the looney bin. That’s why I came over. I overheard you two talking.”
My eyebrows rose.
“What was wrong w
ith your ward?” I was intrigued by his disclosure. Especially right after Sam mentioned about the children she’s treated.
“The hell if I knew. He was psychotic. Took him and his sister in because my wife felt sorry for them, and also because she had always wanted kids. She’d been depressed for years so I gave in to see if this could help her. Worst thing I did in my entire life.”
Wow. Sounds like this guy didn’t like kids.
“The name’s Professor Floyd Gasper, by the way. I’m a professor of English literature. Ph.D.”
After we told him our own names, Sam asked, “How young was your ward? Maybe I treated him.”
“He must’ve been around ten at the time. It was a long time ago, so I don’t remember exactly.”
“What was his name?” she asked.
His eyebrows scrunched. “You know what? I need to use the little boy’s room, so excuse me, ladies.” He left us faster than a steer jabbed by a hot poker.
Hmm, Mr. Professor seemed to wanna avoid Sam’s question. His being perturbed by it was as evident as the pointed nose on his face.
“Well, that was interesting,” Sam said as she lifted both eyebrows.
I did the same but with a smile tacked on, then took a sip of my port.
Sam and I talked for about a half-hour more, and then Kat bellowed an “Excuse me...”
She waited for the buzz in the room to die down.
“Before we all turn in, I’d like to give you a briefing about tomorrow’s event. Also, even though some of you have been introducing yourselves to others, it’ll be good to know everyone’s names. Please state your name, occupation, and anything else you’d like others to know about.”
I scanned the room for Mr. Professor to see if he’d returned to hear the announcement and saw him standing in the corner with the grayed-temple man.
“Let’s start with you and go clockwise,” Kat said to the woman with the long, straight black hair standing next to her. She was the one at dinner the crew-cut guy tried to talk to.
“My name is Nadine James. I’m married to my high school sweetheart, and we have two beautiful children. I’m a reporter for the Orchid Isle Gazette.” She smiled, then turned to Mr. Jovial Man, signaling her introduction was done.
“I’m sure most of you know me. I’m Representative David Withers. If you want to know more about me, you can check out my website. Please vote for me in this next election. I’m running for mayor.”
Oh my, he was quite the promoter. Soliciting for votes never ends, I guess.
“I’m Owen Lloyd. I’m a lawyer specializing in Personal Injury. I have business cards with me, so if anyone has need for a lawyer, let me know.”
Guess he doesn’t want us to know whether he’s married or has kids.
“I’m Professor Floyd Gasper, Ph.D. I teach English Literature at the University of Hawaii at Hilo. I’m currently writing a novel. My wife died many years ago. I have no kids.”
“My name is Chris Lim, and I’m forty years old. I’m a former marine. I work as bartender and bouncer for the Brewin’ Bar in Kona.”
I thought he looked military. I gazed over at Jemma. She was too busy ogling the guy to notice me watching her. Is that drool dripping out of her mouth?
Now everyone looked at Jemma. Her eyes popped. She pointed at herself. “Um, I’m here with the help.”
I wanted to laugh. Jemma could be so cute at times.
“That’s okay. Go ahead and introduce yourself. I’m sure everyone would still like to know about you,” Kat said with a smile.
“Um, okay. I’m Jemma Matelli. I work for that woman over there—” she pointed at me “—as her assistant. I’m thirty-seven and single.” She fluttered her eyelashes at Mr. Muscle Marine and smiled.
Okay, she didn’t really do that flutter part, but I swear, that look she gave him was as bad as that.
I nearly let out a snorted laugh. I wish I could’ve taken a video of her right then.
Mr. Muscle Marine, watch out.
A mind-flash of Jemma taking him over her knee made me silently chuckle. According to some of the stuff she’s told me, she’s a dominatrix in the bedroom and could make that poor guy weep. Uh-huh, in a good way.
Okay, that’s about enough I can take of imagining Ms. Hot-to-Trot and Marine Guy doing who knows what naughtiness. Jemma’s sex antics weren’t where my thoughts cared to go right now. Or ever! Her bedroom (or kitchen table) shenanigans could make Mae West’s ghost blush.
“I’m Jenn Tinker. I’m an office worker at an engineering firm. Have been with them for thirty years. I’m not married.”
Guess she didn’t want to name the firm. If she were the president or CEO, she probably would have. Always good advertising to mention the company you own or work for. You never know who might remember and need your services.
“My name is Heidi Nombu. I’m a pathologist at Kona Community Hospital. I’ve been serving there for about thirty-four years now. I’m married with two kids and four young grandkids. The little ones are a handful, but my husband and I know we can hand them back at any time so it’s a lot different than raising your own.”
Most of us laughed. Not Floyd or the politician though. Funny, because Representative Withers looked like such a jolly man. First time I’ve noticed such a straight face on him. Maybe he didn’t like kids too. Like Floyd.
“My name is Samantha Shuze, but I go by Sam. I’m a children’s psychiatrist. I’m married to a wonderful husband. We have three amazing children and a beautiful granddaughter. We’re hoping for more grandkids, but unfortunately we have no control over that decision.” She laughed.
Some of us laughed too.
Does anybody ever say they have a jerk for a husband or ugly children? Blaine and I have joked that if I ever got on Wheel of Fortune I would say ‘I’m married to a moron’ and see what reaction the audience gave.
Everyone now looked at me.
“I’ve already received an introduction at dinner, so I’m not sure what else I can say about myself. Oh, except I’m married to a moron.”
I watched as their eyebrows hiked up.
“I’m kidding.” I smiled at the group. “My husband is absolutely wonderful and my best friend. No beautiful children, I’m afraid. I mean, not that we have ugly children; we don’t have children, period.”
‘Moron’ was what I felt like at that moment.
The crowd chuckled. Whew. Okay, scrap that idea for Wheel of Fortune. With my luck, they may go to a commercial before I got a chance to say it was a joke.
Now that everyone had been introduced, Kat took the invisible mic back.
“Thanks, everyone. Now that we are all acquainted with each other, I’ll give you a short briefing on what’s ahead.” She looked around at the group, making eye contact with each of the guests. “The lottery will consist of participating in the events we have lined up for you.”
“What events?” David, the politician, asked.
“Tomorrow we’ll be going on a horseback ride into the valley. You’ll be provided all the gear you’ll need. Please wear long pants and covered shoes. Riding helmets will be available. We recommend them for your protection. You’ll need to sign a waiver also.”
“What if we’ve never ridden a horse?” That was Jenn, the office worker.
“Our horses are trained for trail riding, so even beginners will be safe to ride them. They basically follow each other. A couple of them are leaders while the rest just tag along behind.”
I’ve taken a horseback riding tour on a previous Big Island visit in Kohala, so I hope it’s like what they say about bike riding. As long as those horses don’t go hightailing it over any fences, I think I’ll be fine.
“What about this lottery. Can you give us more details about it?” Owen, the lawyer, seemed anxious to get his hands on the prize.
“When we get back from tomorrow’s ride, we’ll discuss the lottery in more detail.”
Yeah, keeping them in suspense was fun, but even I was curio
us as to how one of them would win it.
“Are there any other questions?” Kat asked.
Not a peep from anyone.
“Okay then. Please meet in the dining room for breakfast at seven o’clock. Have a good night.”
Everyone adjourned to their rooms. As Jemma and I followed suit, we noticed a door ajar in a room just before ours. I pushed it open a bit more.
Lined on bookshelves were paperbacks and hardcovers in various sizes. I imagined myself perched on that cushioned window seat with rays of sunlight tingling my skin while a cozy mystery held captive my mind.
I continued my gaze, sweeping past the sofa and two recliners, until a round single-stand pedestal table in the middle of the room caught my eye. Carved wooden chess pieces sat on it. At least that’s what I assumed they were. The only difference was they were configured in a circle.
When we walked further in, I headed straight for the bookshelf while Jemma headed for the table. My eyes zeroed in on the section of Agatha Christie mysteries.
“Ginger, come take a look at this. These are the cutest wooden figurines.”
I turned to see what Jemma was on about.
As I stood on the other side of her, Jemma picked up one of the pieces. “They’re little Menehunes!” she exclaimed.
“You don’t say ‘little’ in front of ‘Menehune’ because that’s like saying ‘little’ dwarfs.”
She rolled her eyes at me and sighed.
“I’m just sayin’,” I said with a chuckle.
But actually, she was probably referring to the size of the figurines, but that didn’t stop me from teasing her. She could’ve corrected me if that’s what was meant, but she didn’t.
As I inspected the pieces with more focus, a thought dawned on me.
“Um, Jemma? Have you ever read the book or seen the movie And Then There Were None by Agatha Christie?”
Jemma stared at me with the widest eyes. I was sure mine mimicked hers. It was as though a coconut struck us on the head at the same time.
After a few seconds of our imagination running wild, we shook our heads and chuckled. But nervously, I might add.
“Thank goodness this is real life and we’re not in one of Agatha’s novels,” Jemma said.
