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

by Leslie Langtry

  He stood and stretched, arms over his head, his lean torso extended, his shirt riding up above the low-slung waistband of his jeans, and then he ruffled his hair with one hand. His voice wasn't unkind. "I think maybe you're the one who doesn't understand. The 'here' you're talking about is paradise. Schedules have a way of disintegrating when the aloha spirit beckons."

  "I still have to try." I held up a copy of the Tokyo group's itinerary. "Here this might be helpful to you."

  He took it and saluted. "The big question is: will it be helpful to them?"

  CHAPTER TWO

  My gorgeous little shuttle, which I'd recently purchased on a five-year payment plan (my first-ever business loan), seated up to twenty passengers, the driver (today that was Koma), and a tour escort (today that was me).

  Koma had run it through the car wash then brought it around to the front of the resort, all shiny and clean.

  "She's all set to go, Miss LeClair." He took one last swipe at the windshield with a polishing rag as I walked up.

  "I'm so glad you're available today," I said.

  "Lihue Framers is kinda slow this month. No hammering nails for me so far." He shrugged. Koma was working toward being a journeyman carpenter, but as slowly as he'd been progressing that would be sometime in the unforeseen future. He didn't seem to mind. Koma had a lot of things going on in his young life.

  "How's the girlfriend?" I teased.

  He flushed and ducked his head. "Which one, Miss LeClair?"

  "Never mind, Koma," I said. "Too many girls, too little time."

  I stood by the open shuttle door, while Koma stepped in and cranked up the AC to cool it off. The hot August day would have been uncomfortable if not for the cooling tradewinds that swept under the portico. I finger-combed my hair back into place, grateful for the decision to go short with it when I moved to the islands. There was no time in my day to spend fussing over my hair. Carefree was what I'd went with, and it worked on more than one level.

  At ten minutes after one—already late—David Sherwin walked out through the front entrance to Aloha Lagoon Resort with several people trailing along behind him.

  "Gabby," Sherwin said. "Here we are, all ready for our jungle cruise." He winked at me.

  Those coming behind him stopped and waited. He turned around to them. "Let's not stand around, people. Time to get this show on the road. Paradise awaits." He climbed on board the bus.

  I lifted my clipboard to begin checking names off my guest list.

  "Hello, I'm Thomas Wesley, Junior." The first man stepped up to me and leaned over for a look at my list. "Call me TJ."

  "I'm Gabby, TJ," I said.

  He offered his hand, and we shook.

  He was kind of a heartthrob—blond, blue-eyed, fit, in his early thirties.

  He helped a long-legged brunette up the steps. "This is Melissa, my wife." She nodded and smiled.

  The guy who came along behind them looked like he'd arrived straight from an Iowa cornfield, big and brawny with a crew cut and a huge smile. He wore a ball cap that said Sun Your Buns in Hawaii, a shirt with surfboards all over it, and swim trunks at least one size too small. I tried not to notice—the tight trunks.

  He touched the brim of the ball cap. "Well, aloooha."

  "And you are?" I asked.

  "I'm Bernie, sweetheart. Bernie Anderson not Wesley. I'm not officially part of the family. TJ and me went to college together. I work for him now."

  A young woman with big dark, doe eyes, alabaster skin, and unruly chestnut hair walked up and stood quietly beside me. She seemed to be waiting for me to speak, so I did. "And you are…?"

  "All is fair."

  "Pardon me?" I could barely hear her.

  "Alice Olivier." She spoke more loudly and clearly this time.

  "Oh." I crossed her name off the list.

  "I'm legal staff," she said. "Mr. Sherwin's associate."

  I should have guessed it. Not dressed in loose, flowery prints like the other women in the group, she had opted instead for a white blouse, navy-blue skirt, and flats.

  After Alice came twelve other assorted men and women, some young, some older. These were the aunts, uncles, cousins, nieces, and nephews of Thomas Wesley, Senior—theoretically heirs to his estate or they wouldn't have been invited along on the trip.

  My eighteenth passenger and the last person to board was a lady in her late fifties or early sixties. She lumbered up and looked down at me from a semi-lofty perch. "Nina Wesley." Her voice was low pitched, maybe even baritone. "Aunt Nina," she continued. "The late Tommy's sister. My poor, poor Tommy." She had a sweet smile, which went a long way toward neutralizing her saggy horseface and astounding height—six-foot-one if an inch. "Hey, there," she quipped, leaning over and watching as I checked her name off my list. "I'm looking forward to a real pipperoony of a day here."

  "Of course," I said, mourning the old days of handling six simple first-class round-trip tickets to London for the board of directors of some financial investment firm. A few strokes of the computer and the outrageously priced tickets added a nice commission to the CWT coffers and profit shares. I never had to actually deal with the clients. But that was then, and this was now. "Pipperoony," I said. "That's exactly what I have in mind too."

  * * *

  The Wailua River was the only real navigable river in the islands. Its slow current meandered along lush tropical landscapes, ferns, and flora. The sweet, floral perfume verged on overpowering. The indigenous island vegetation was stunning, but the humidity would curl even Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson's hair. If he had any.

  On arrival at the boarding point for the cruise, Koma, I, and all eighteen members of the Wesley group piled out of the shuttle, our sunglasses immediately fogging up at the drastic change in temperature.

  We boarded a flat-bottom, canopied riverboat to make the two-mile journey to the Fern Grotto. While we waited for other passengers to board, I kept the group together and began my spiel. I wasn't half as good at it as Lana, but I'd listened to her often enough that I knew it pretty well. Still, glad-handing and schmoozing just wasn't in my DNA, and the effort made me self-conscious.

  "River cruises along the Wailua have been operating for decades. We're going to travel to the famous Fern Grotto for a little exploration. The cave and rock formations there create a natural amphitheater with nearly perfect acoustics."

  After only about ten minutes, we pulled away from the dock, and an announcer basically repeated what I'd just told my group, only the PA system garbled it so badly, no one could actually understand what he was saying, which was the reason Lana and I always took the time to describe the tour.

  Once we rounded the bend and the grotto came into view, I continued my liturgy. "The fern grotto is situated by a dormant cave formed when rivers of molten lava flowed from the volcano to the sea." I tried the little joke that always made the guests laugh when Lana said it. "But don't worry. The cave is extinct now—at least we hope it is. Heh-heh." No one even cracked a smile. In fact a couple of the older women looked downright concerned. "All right then. Back in 2006, the grotto cave was closed when heavy rains washed down rocks and boulders from the ceiling. It was re-opened in 2007, but access is now restricted to the observation deck. You'll need to stay together and not wander into restricted areas, please. We'll meet back at the boarding area at 3:30. When we disembark, please watch your step."

  Koma offered up a special island warning. "Please don't pick up or even move any of the volcanic rocks. There are laws that forbid it. Kapu. Some say the laws were made to protect mainlanders." He had everyone's attention.

  It was our standard script, and I continued, taking Lana's line. "That would be protecting you from the Goddess Pele who considers the soil and rocks of the volcanoes to be her children. It's said people who have taken rocks send them back because terrible bad luck assaults them." There were a few oohs and aahs from the cousins. "Me? I don't know if I believe it or not, but I always say better safe than sorry." I snuck another
look at Koma who frowned now. His island heritage made him, like many islanders, a strong believer in the lore and legend surrounding the mystical archipelago, and he probably figured Pele would come after me for even suggesting it wasn't all true.

  I led the group from the boat out onto the observation deck with Koma bringing up the rear. At the end of the deck, a wedding ceremony was being held, so the hula and choral performance would be delayed until the ceremony was over. The bride wore a long white, cotton dress with ruffles at the hem and shoulders and a crown lei of delicate white flowers, and the groom wore a pale blue embroidered shirt with a ti-leaf garland over his shoulders. The singers and musicians performed "Hawaiian Wedding Song." All the members of my group pulled out their cameras and phones and hurried over to take photos.

  Aunt Nina approached David Sherwin, the probate attorney, and whispered in his ear.

  He looked up at her and frowned.

  She laid one of her big awkward hands on his arm, and looked into his eyes flirtatiously, grinning down at him open-mouthed like an affectionate golden retriever. She backed away from the group, pulling him along with her. What was she up to?

  I watched her head for the closed-off area and lope along the footpath, stepping off into the bushes where every so often a small placard named one of the protected plants—plumeria, hibiscus, hapu'u fern, and others with too many vowels for me to even think about trying to pronounce out loud. If I lived to be a hundred, I'd never be able to decipher the Hawaiian language.

  The lawyer just stood on the old path, watching her.

  I followed, staying back, but couldn't figure out where they were going or why.

  Nina bent down, and when she straightened, she showed David something in her hand. He raised both his hands as if he didn't want to touch whatever it was. Nina looked up, saw me, and thrust behind her whatever she was holding.

  I walked closer to them. "Miss Wesley," I said. "What's that in your hand?"

  She shook her head. "Nothing. It's nothing."

  "May I see?"

  She tried to move past me back toward the boat, and I could see she was, in fact, holding something that looked like…"Miss Wesley," I said. "That's not a lava rock, is it?"

  "I…I…" She looked around and then took off running—well, in her case, more like galloping.

  I stared a moment, trying to figure out what the heck was going on before saying to David, "Come back to the observation deck, please," then I followed Nina.

  She went straight to the boat and climbed on. I was right behind her, and Koma was right behind me.

  She sat hunched over in the back of the boat, her hands in her lap, the lava rock, cradled there. She looked up at us with frightened eyes. "I'm sorry. I just wanted a memento, and I thought it might bring me luck. I read somewhere if you pray to Pele she might grant your wish—even for a lover."

  Koma was beside himself. "Oh, no, lady. Didn't you hear what Miss LeClair said about Pele and how mad she gets? You better let us put that back, sistah, or you're going to be really bad sorry."

  She sighed and offered up the rock. Koma gently took it from her, holding it between two fingers, and left.

  Nina huffed and curled her hands into fists and laid them in her lap.

  I sat down beside her. "You thought Pele might give you a man if you prayed to her?"

  She nodded, pulled some breath spray from her purple-and-yellow polka-dot fanny pack. She spritzed it into her mouth. "No lava rock? No problem. I can reel this one in on my own."

  I patted her hand, noticing that mine looked like a child's on top of hers. "You might want to think about praying for something else besides a man anyway, Miss Wesley. I've had a man, a good one by most standards, and believe me when I tell you they're not all they're cracked up to be."

  I sat with her quite a while longer, listening to her plan for seducing the lawyer, which included dressing in seductive island wear, getting him to her room under false pretenses, ordering champagne and strawberries, and then performing her own special hula for him.

  Somehow, David Sherwin didn't really seem to me to be worth all that effort.

  I nodded a lot but didn't comment. Then I climbed out onto the planked observation deck to see Koma leading my tour group back up the path.

  They all got on the boat, and I spent a few minutes taking questions about the grotto, any great places to eat near the resort, whether the food served at luaus was "normal or funky," tee times, and, of course, possible strip joints to visit.

  When they were done giving me the third degree, I walked from the front to the back of the boat, silently counting heads. Hmm. I walked back up to the front and began again. I had not been wrong the first time. I only had seventeen passengers. After a quick assessment, I knew David Sherwin was missing.

  Had he gotten lost on the path and not heard Koma rounding everyone up? Had he fallen down? Had his bladder called him aside to relieve himself in some out-of-the-way spot? Or was he just so fascinated with the Dolby quality acoustics that he wasn't ready to leave yet?

  I went forward and clicked on the PA mike, tapping it so the group would know I meant business. "Okay, Gabby's tour group," I said so there was no doubt whom I addressed among the boat's passengers. "I'm told several of you have dinner reservations at Starlight on the Lagoon. I'm missing Mr. Sherwin, and I need to go find him. You all should wait right here, please, because anyone else who goes wandering about will cause another delay in getting back to the resort, and you don't want to miss out on the fabulous cocktails at The Lava Pot happy hour."

  I motioned to Koma, who followed, and we went back to the footpath where I'd left the lawyer.

  David was nowhere to be seen.

  "David?" I called out. "Mr. Sherwin?"

  We stood and listened, but there was no answer except for the mating call of a nearby nene bird looking for a little female companionship.

  Koma and I looked at each other, heading farther back along the path, ultimately entering the cave side-by-side.

  I never liked it in there. Even considering the occasional low-level ground lighting that had been installed, it was pretty dark, moist, and smelly. "It sort of reminds me of the fumes from underground manhole tunnels back home," I said. "So not cool."

  He laughed. "City girl."

  But the grotto cave was more like an alien landscape, not like the city at all. Desolate, echoing, cold, creepy.

  I had the weird feeling that when I emerged from within the cave, I'd find myself in a time warp, and it would either be thousands of years in the future or thousands of years in the past. A girl could never be too sure about these things, and the knowledge my fully-charged cell phone was in my pocket was reassuring—in case I had to call in a dinosaur alert or notify NASA of a spaceship from Mars. But there was probably no signal in the cavern, so the phone was mostly useless.

  We must have walked for eight or ten minutes when we came to an area where the lights seemed to malfunction. It was quite dim, and I could barely tell where I was going but not so dark I couldn't see the crumpled form lying a few feet away. I stopped suddenly. Koma stopped too and reached for the flashlight hung on his belt. He switched it on and shined it down into the recesses of the cave.

  "Oh my God," I said.

  Koma took hold of my arm above the elbow, his fingers digging in. The beam from his flashlight began to waiver. He moaned.

  We didn't move any closer. We didn't need to. I could tell by the atrocious red, yellow, and orange volcano shirt illuminated in the flashlight beam that we were looking at David Sherwin.

  He was twisted in an unnatural way, and he was awfully still. Beneath his head was a dark puddle, and his scalp looked odd. I felt sure he'd sustained a head injury.

  "You think he's dead?" Koma asked.

  "Maybe." I took another look but didn't go any closer. "Probably."

  He shook his head. "I told you it was kapu to mess with the lava rocks. That Pele, man, she's one mean bitch."

  MURDER ON THE
ALOHA EXPRESS

  available August 16, 2016!