Ukulele Murder: A Nani Johnson Aloha Lagoon Mystery (Aloha Lagoon Mysteries Book 1)

by Leslie Langtry

  "Did you do all this?" he asks. "Because this is one of the best private gardens I've ever seen. And that's saying something for the Garden Island."

  I shake my head. "No, I can't claim credit for that either. A lot of it was already here when we moved. I added the things I like, but that's it. This is my favorite place."

  He nods. "You've done a great job. No weeds. Everything is healthy and lush. Maybe I should hire you as my assistant."

  "I don't really know much about plants," I confess. "I love them, but I could never do more than maintenance."

  "I guess I'll have to come over in the daytime and give you some helpful hints." Nick smiles.

  Is he asking me out? Okay, so it is to my own yard, but still…that counts, right?

  "It's a deal," I say. "I could use some expert input."

  Nick smiles again. Even in the darkness I can see the sincerity and warmth there. "No, it's not a deal." He laughs at my expression of confusion. "It's a date."

  CHAPTER THREE

  Not bad, I think as I unload the dishwasher. We sent the Woodfields home with leftovers, and Mom has long since gone to bed, so I'm alone with my thoughts. I went from alleged murderer to potential girlfriend in just a couple of hours. Life is getting interesting. Stuff like this never happened to me back in Kansas.

  My cell rings, and I answer it. It's my friend, Binny Finau. Probably my only friend here, except for the handsome Nick Woodfield, who I hope will be a friend—at the very least—or more.

  Binny is a local. Half Hawaiian like Leilani, her grandmother on her mother's side was from Alaska—which seems to be about as far from local as you can get. Her father, on the other hand, can trace his ancestry back to King Kamehameha. She was the first friend I made when I moved here, and she and her family treat me like one of their own. Her mother is great—not even a little crazy.

  "I just heard!" Binny says breathlessly. I can picture her eyes wide, teeth biting her lip.

  How did news get out so fast?

  "It's just a fix-up," I say. "But it went well, I think. We actually have a date planned."

  There's silence on the other end for a few moments.

  "What are you talking about? You have a date?" Binny asks.

  "What were you talking about?" I'm a little confused. What could Binny be referring to?

  "Kua's murder!" Binny squeals. "It's all over the island! And my cousin's best friend works at the police department. He mentioned you were being interviewed."

  I deflate. "Oh that. I'm not sure really. A detective came by and asked me questions, but that's all I know." I'd rather she asked about Nick.

  "Are you a suspect?" my friend asks. "Wow."

  "I didn't do it, Binny," I say with a bit of annoyance. "He just asked a couple of questions." And asked me not to leave the island—so, yes, I guess that really does make me a suspect.

  "I know you didn't. It's kind of fascinating that they think you did."

  I could hear her smiling on the other end. Binny is the happiest person I know. It takes a lot to depress her. In fact, I've never seen her upset. Never.

  "Any buzz on who really killed him?"

  This is a small island. Only about 65,000-plus people. Rumors have to be swirling around by now. If Binny has any ideas, soon everyone will. She isn't a gossip, but she is plugged in. When you live in a small town, bad news is something to chew on. Makes the place a little less dull.

  "I'll be right over," my friend says before hanging up.

  Great. I was just about to go to bed. Oh well. Binny won't rest until she milks me for all the information I know—which honestly, isn't much. The doorbell rings immediately. The woman only lives a block away. She probably ran here.

  "Tell me everything," she insists breathlessly as I open the door. Definitely ran here. And yet there isn't even a hint of perspiration on her face. How does she do that?

  I fill her in on what the detective told me. There's not much. Just that I was the last known person to see Kua before he was bludgeoned (by someone who is not me, of course) somewhere on the beach. There's been no mention of the murder weapon, I realize. That's weird. Either the detective is hoping I'll confess or he just doesn't know.

  "I think Leilani did it," Binny says as she stuffs some of the leftover laulau into her mouth. Too bad she was eating the last of it. The pork was perfect—it fell apart nicely and melted in my mouth. Oh well. I know where I can get more. I pour us both a glass of wine and we move out to the lanai to avoid being overheard. I don't need Mom waking up and getting involved.

  "That's possible." I nod. "They did have a huge fight at the concert. It would be just like that crazy woman to try to eliminate her competition."

  "So she might come after you next!" Binny cries, "How exciting!"

  I hadn't thought of that. That is all I need. I just find what might be the right guy and then get killed by a psycho ukulele player. How poetic.

  "There have to be other suspects," I think out loud.

  My friend shrugs. "He was a competitive surfer too. It's possible he was killed because he took someone else's wave."

  That idea gives me a little hope. Please be a surfer, I pray silently.

  "There's no way to know until we hear more, I guess."

  Truth be told—I don't really like the thought that it might be one of the other musicians on the island. If Leilani is coming for me, I want to be ready. I'd have to give that some thought. There are no weapons in my cottage. I wouldn't know how to use one if I did have something. I am athletic, however. So maybe I could outrun a killer. That's something to consider.

  "So who's the dude?" Binny grins. There's no way she's going to leave until she gets all the juicy details.

  I tell her everything, getting a little more excited as I babble. The idea of Nick Woodfield as a boyfriend has a lot of potential. He seems like the total package—smart, funny, talented, and hot to boot. And like me, he has a crazy mother. We might as well get married right now.

  Binny hangs on every word. She's a very pretty girl with a silky black bob and the largest brown eyes I've ever seen. Seriously, they could make one of those Blythe dolls weep with shame. Add a killer bod, and she could be a model. But that's not her style. Binny is the nicest, kindest person I've ever met. Modest as the day is long, the girl would never consider herself gorgeous. And I've never felt threatened being with her. She can put anyone at ease and make them feel like the most important person she's ever met. Every time I see my friend, I consider it lucky that we met.

  "I can't believe it! You, going out with a Woodfield!" Binny actually giggles.

  I stare at her. "What? What's so funny?"

  Binny sets her wineglass down gently. "They are one of the wealthiest families on Kauai! They've been here since the first missionaries set foot on the island in the 1800s. Didn't you know that?"

  Ah. That's what I was missing. I knew I'd heard that name before. The Woodfields live in a huge house about ten miles from Aloha Lagoon. I've driven past that property hundreds of times. They keep to themselves mostly and own a lot of land here on the island. It's controversial because the Hawaiian sovereignty movement has tried repeatedly to get them to release their property to the natives of Kauai. You're surprised I know that? I'm kind of a history geek.

  "He's not like that," I protest. "His mom's a little flaky, but she's very nice."

  How on earth did my mom meet this woman? I doubt that Perseverance Woodfield slummed it with the mah jong crowd at the community center. And we certainly didn't move in the same social circles. We didn't move in any social circles here.

  "If you say so." Binny gets up from her chair. "I'm looking forward to meeting him if it works out. And I hope it does. He's hot."

  I throw a dish towel at someone for the second time today and make a face. "I'll let you know."

  Binny hugs me and leaves. I slump against the front door, feeling defeated. There's no way it will work out with someone like Nick Woodfield. Once again, I find myself out of
my league here in this beautiful place. I turn out the lights and go to bed.

  "Hoalohanani!" Mom is standing over my bed. Uh-oh. She used my full name. That's usually bad.

  I sit up, rubbing my face. "What is it?"

  Mom is wearing her best muumuu. The white one with pineapples on it. That's not good. Something's up.

  "There's a man here to see you." She frowns. "He's too old for you. Why would you be interested in anyone other than Nick?"

  I get out of bed and stagger into my bathroom, shouting, "Nick and I aren't a couple." Yet. "I'll brush my teeth and be right out."

  Mom leaves, and I throw on some shorts and a T-shirt. As I walk into the living room, I'm surprised to see Detective Ray sitting on the sofa, notebook out, looking around at the dozens of coconuts with googly eyes my mother has now arranged around the room. She even has grass skirts on some of them.

  "Mom," I say. "Please get the detective some iced tea."

  My mother's face pales a little, but she nods. I should've told her last night. However, if it makes her worry that the neighbors have complained about her singing loudly in the yard again, maybe it will be the wake-up call she needs.

  I sit in a chair next to the sofa. "Detective Ray, what a pleasant surprise."

  The policeman frowns, as if he'd hoped his appearance would make me shake in my shoes. But this is Hawaii. We don't wear shoes inside.

  "A few things have come up, and I need to ask you some more questions." He says it slowly, as if choosing each word for the first time.

  I nod. "Okay, shoot."

  He looks at me, startled. Poor choice of words when being investigated for murder.

  "Please," I say. "Go ahead."

  "Miss Johnson," the detective says slowly. "Some new facts have come to light in my investigation of the murder of Kahelemeakua Lui. Could we go into your garden please?"

  I'm not sure what to make of this. Maybe he just likes being outside? Maybe the googly-eyed, grass-skirted coconuts are making him nervous. I can understand that because I'm starting to feel creeped out too.

  "Of course." I stand and indicate that he follow me. "This way."

  We cross through the kitchen, where Mom hands off the iced tea to the detective, and soon find ourselves in my backyard. I sit on the lanai, but to my surprise, the policeman starts to wander.

  "Are you looking for something in particular?" I ask as I catch up.

  Detective Ray stops and looks at me. "The coroner found splinters of kauwila wood in the victim's scalp. She says Kua was struck by something heavy. Something made out of kauwila."

  I freeze to the spot. I have something made out of kauwila. It's the hardest wood in Hawaii and native to Kauai. So hard and dense that the ancient indigenous people used it in place of metal. It's one of the few woods that sinks in water. How do I know this? Because I once asked a local woodworker to make me a ukulele out of it. He told me he'd never heard of an instrument being made from that particular tree. And then he made me one.

  "Do you have anything made of kauwila?" the detective asks.

  I nod and begin to babble. "I do. One of my ukuleles is made of that wood. But that can't be the weapon. It's stored in my room. I haven't taken it out to play it in months." In fact, I rarely ever take it out. The wood, it turns out, is too heavy to hold for very long.

  "Could you get it for me?" he asks, taking a long sip of iced tea.

  "What's this all about?" Mom makes an appearance, startling both of us. Great.

  I can hear Detective Ray explain to my mother as I go inside to fetch the ukulele. My ears are buzzing, and I start to sweat. It couldn't be my instrument. I didn't kill Kua. I wasn't even there. Panic rises in my throat, causing me to gag.

  Calm down, I tell myself. This is ridiculous. Just get the ukulele so you can prove to the detective once and for all that you are innocent. This is all just a mistake. Mistakes happen all the time. At least, they do on TV.

  I store my instruments inside their cases, on shelves in my room. There are six soprano ukuleles that I use in performance, two baritones I have just for my personal use, and one travel ukulele. Each uke has its own case. The kauwila ukulele is one of the sopranos and sits on the bottom shelf because it's so heavy.

  I count, one…two…three…four…five…six (including the travel uke) and two baritones. Wait! That's not right! There should be seven here! With shaking hands, I open each case and set each instrument on my bed. The other ukuleles are there. But the kauwila uke is not.

  Opening the two baritone cases, I find only baritones. My eyes grow wide, and I sweep the room, pulling everything out of the closet. I still can't find it. Running out to my car does no good either—the ukulele isn't there.

  Oh no! Where's the kauwila uke?

  I have no choice but to rejoin my mother and the detective in the yard. What am I going to do? Go on the lam? Where exactly can you go on the lam on an island? Wait—I didn't do anything wrong. I sure as hell didn't kill anyone. There had to be some mistake.

  "I…I can't find it…" I stammer, feeling my cheeks reddening. "It's gone…maybe stolen." I look to my mother for help. "You didn't take one of my instruments, did you, Mom?"

  Please let the answer be yes. Even though I'd be furious, I hope she did take it.

  "Why on earth would I do that?" Mom asks, her face twisted with disgust. "I wouldn't touch your instruments after the fit you threw last time."

  She's right. I caught her once out on the lanai, strumming my $2,000 concert soprano ukulele and let her have it. Mom wouldn't have touched my instruments after that.

  "Maybe you took it out to be cleaned?" Mom asked hopefully.

  I grimace. She knows so little about my job it's pathetic. "You don't take a ukulele anywhere to be cleaned."

  "Repaired then? Maybe you broke a string?" Mom is trying to help, and I get that.

  Shaking my head I insist, "I do all my own stringing and repairs."

  "So," Detective Ray says slowly. "You have an instrument made of kauwila wood, but it is missing?"

  Nothing gets past this guy.

  "I'll find it. It has to be misplaced, or maybe it was stolen," I say "Are you sure it was a ukulele that killed Kua? Maybe he was beaned by a branch from a kauwila tree? They're all over Kauai."

  The detective looks at me. "You mean like this tree?" He points to a tree in my yard.

  Mom and I follow the path of his finger. Sure enough, in my backyard, there stands a kauwila tree.

  "I can't help it that I have a kauwila tree in my backyard. A lot of people do. Right, Mom?

  She shrugs and shakes her head. "I don't do yard work." Mom turns to the detective and smiles. "I do, however, do all my own decorating. What did you think of the coconuts in the living room?"

  I can't hear his reply because my heart is hammering as if it wants to burst out through my rib cage. How could this happen? How could I not notice that the ukulele was missing? It doesn't look good.

  "So," the detective says. "The murder weapon could have come from your house."

  I close my eyes, waiting for the other shoe to drop. He is going to accuse me now in the murder of Kahelemeakua Lui. This is bad. I'm going to jail. Have I been framed?

  "Huh," I hear Detective Ray say. "I'll have to look into that." He hands my mother the empty glass, and I wait for him to cuff me.

  "I'll be back. Do not leave the island, please," he says as he walks to the house. "I'll let myself out. The tea was good. Mahalo."

  Mom and I watch as the man leaves us standing there, jaws on the ground. We turn to each other.

  "He didn't arrest you," Mom says. "I wonder why? It seems like he should have."

  "Seriously?" I ask. "You think he should arrest me?"

  She shakes her head. "No. It's just that the evidence against you looks pretty bad. He told me that you were the last one to see that poor man alive and that you'd been seen having a big argument with him earlier."

  I want to yell at her. Shout that she's not being very s
upportive. But she's right. It does look bad. In fact, if I were the detective, I would've arrested me.

  "He liked the coconuts." Mom puffs up with pride. "Is he single?"

  This is the first time my mother has shown an interest in another man. I'm guessing it's because Detective Ray is Hawaiian. That would be a feather in her cultural stalking cap.

  My cell rings. I don't recognize the number. "Hello?" I ask, wondering if once he got to his car, the detective changed his mind and is calling me to turn myself in.

  "Nani?" It sounds like Nick Woodfield. "It's Nick. I was wondering if I could come over this afternoon—take you up on your offer of a date in your yard? I'd love to see the foliage in the daylight."

  Nick. Nick's a botanist. He might just be what I need. "Nick! I'm so glad you called! Yes! That would be great! How soon can you get here?'

  He laughs. "Boy are you eager or what?"

  I blush, grateful he can't see me. "Sorry, I mean, yes, drop by. Now's great."

  We hang up, and I see my mother grinning at me.

  "I knew you two would hit it off!" She nods. "I knew it. But try not to appear so desperate, Nani! Really! You practically threw yourself at him!"

  I watch as my mother trots toward the house. "I'll go over to Vera's and leave you two alone," she shouts over her shoulder.

  So now she hangs out with Vera at the Woodfield mansion? When did that start happening?

  A few seconds later, I hear the door slam and my mother's little car backing down the drive. Racing inside, I freshen up before Nick arrives. He probably won't want to see me ever again after discovering the damning evidence against me. But I should still look nice. Just in case.

  The doorbell rings, and I answer it. Nick stands there looking like the best Christmas present ever. He's carrying two takeout containers from the Loco Moco Café.

  "I brought a couple of Hale's Hawaiian Hamburger Platters for a picnic. Hope you don't mind."

  I pull him into the house and slam the door behind him. "That's awesome. But before we eat, I really think we should do something."