The youngest officer glanced at the camera and then pulled Louie aside.
“The less people we have in here the better, Uncle. Maybe talk about the drinks later, yeah?”
“But, if folks come by to see what’s up, they need to know about the specials,” Louie said.
“This isn’t live, remember? We’re taping,” Randy Rich reminded him. “This stuff won’t air for a couple months.”
Marilyn stepped up and took Louie’s arm. “Come on, sweetie. I’ll go out to greet the crowds with you.” She glanced over her shoulder at the camera crew. “My experience as owner of Lockhart’s Luxury Events has taught me how to handle any last minute crisis, large or small.”
Em pulled out her cell phone and turned her back on the camera crew. She punched in Kimo’s number, but his voicemail picked up.
“Don’t use your cell, Em,” Louie advised. “We should keep all lines of communication open for the ransom call.”
2
Kiki Barely Hangs On
SWEATING WORSE than the day she’d gotten naked and wrapped herself in Saran Wrap to surprise Kimo at the front door, Kiki tugged at the plunging neckline of her spandex cat suit. She was dripping wet, fighting to maintain her sanity. Trapped in such close proximity to Marilyn Lockhart only added to her stress.
Looking far too smug and put together in a tropical silk ensemble, Marilyn paused on her way out the door and pointed at Kiki. “That’s her husband’s sashimi knife.” She smiled up at young police office.
Silence thudded around the kitchen.
“Someone stole Kimo’s kn-n-knife!” Kiki finally managed. “You don’t think he did it, do you, Marilyn?” Kiki longed to close her hands around the woman’s throat and squeeze.
Em stepped between them.
“I saw him get in his pickup and drive off a few minutes before Sophie walked in and found the body,” Em said. “He was probably headed into Hanalei on an errand.”
“Well, that’s certainly odd for this time of day,” Marilyn chirped.
“Shut up, Marilyn.” Kiki opened and closed her fists. “Shut up now, or I swear . . .”
Glancing up at the boom mic suspended on a pole above her head, Kiki was suddenly aware of the camera again as Joe angled in on them. If she didn’t get a grip on herself, someday in the very near future, the whole world would be watching her strangle the Black Widow.
Censoring herself had never been one of her many talents, but for Kimo’s sake, Kiki clammed up and took a deep breath. She needed to get out of the spandex. She needed a four-olive vodka martini. It was only ten in the morning, but somehow her life had just careened off the rails.
“I’ve got to go,” she decided. “Now.”
“You can’t,” Louie reminded her. “The police have ordered everyone to stay put. They have to—”
“Interview us all. I know the drill. By now we all know it,” Kiki said.
A small whimper escaped Marilyn. She batted her eyelashes at the camera. “I certainly hope this doesn’t delay our wedding.”
Kiki leaned in closer. “Working up some fake tears to go with those eyelashes, Marilyn? I can’t imagine you letting a little thing like a murder stand in the way of your wedding. Besides, you’re not holding the reception here anyway.”
Kiki was still miffed that Louie had given into his fiancée and let her throw the wedding and reception at the St. Lexus, the ultra-swanky five star hotel in nearby Princeville, and not on the beach behind the Goddess.
Then again, the Goddess had been founded by Louie’s late wife, Irene Kakaulanipuakaulani Hickam Marshall. As far as the locals were concerned, Louie getting married to a woman like Marilyn Lockhart in Irene’s beloved establishment would have added insult to injury.
Kiki had suspected the Black Widow’s motives ever since Marilyn started dating Louie. Kiki could never trust someone who could defect from the Hula Maidens in order to join a more highly regarded hula troupe.
Kiki turned to the officer. “I have to be the first one interviewed,” she said. “I can’t sit around. I have a million and one things to do.”
Like find Kimo and find him fast. She was headed toward the door when a middle aged, heavy-set officer walked up to her. He was one of the musicians who jammed at the Wednesday afternoon ukulele sessions at the dump.
“You’re married to Kimo Godwin, right?” the patrolman asked.
Kiki warned herself to stay calm. Last time she lost her cool in an emergency, she wound up speaking gibberish and nearly had a stroke. She opened her mouth, and nothing came out. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and tried again.
“Yes-s. I am . . . and I c-can assure you he didn’t do this.”
3
Em’s Private Detective Shows Up
By the time Em escaped into the shady interior of the bar, the sun was blazing down outside, and the air was thick with humidity. Kimo still hadn’t returned. Looking worried and frazzled, her hair sticking out in all directions, Kiki had retreated to a table across the room. Nat was still outside with the officers.
Randy Rich and his PA were huddled at a table in the corner, frantically revamping their storyboards. One of the assistant directors was outside with Joe the cameraman taping individual interviews of the Maidens, calling the women out of the bar one by one. The uniformed officers had finally convinced Louie to shut down the Goddess.
Em hung the CLOSED sign out on the front lanai. She was turning away rental cars full of tourists, but they just kept coming. The highway was jam-packed.
The kitchen was just as crowded now that it was swarming with officers, a forensic specialist, and the coroner’s crew. With the parking lot closed to all but official traffic, the highway in front of the Goddess was full. They may not have been able to get close, but everyone on the North Shore had to drive by and have a look anyway.
The Maidens were scattered around the bar in their dance costumes awaiting their turn for an interview with a police officer or in front of the camera. Some lounged with their feet up on the long banquette seats. Others were seated at tables. Danny and the Tiki Tones were still working out a new number. Pat Boggs was snoring with her head on a table by the front door.
Little Estelle Huntington had slept through the earlier commotion, but now she was wide awake. After parking her motorized Gadabout directly under a fan, she had propped her laptop on a tray attached to the front of the steering bar and was busy answering emails she received on various dating sites she had joined after the pilot aired.
Every few minutes the former Rockette would pump her fist over her head and yell, “Whoohoo! Another hit. Call me Cougar!”
“Disgusting,” Sophie said as Em joined her behind the bar.
“The fact that she’s getting online match ups? Or the way she growls after she yells ‘cougar’?” Em asked.
“I’ve seen photos of some of her prospective dates,” Sophie said.
“Bad?”
“Let’s just say scary.”
The Maidens waiting for turns to be interviewed were growing restless. Flora Carillo, on the light side of two hundred and fifty pounds, was a mountain encased in neon yellow. She had stripped off her cellophane grass skirt.
Since her sudden fame on cable TV, tourists were flocking into the trinket shop Flora had owned in Hanalei for years. She’d convinced Louie to go into producing a line of Tiki Goddess paraphernalia with her. The barware, cocktail napkins, coasters, and T-shirts were flying out the door faster than free bags of rice at the Walmart opening.
Big Estelle was one of the only Maidens who hadn’t taken advantage of their sudden stardom. She spent all her time fending off her mother’s online predators.
“We bettah get to leave soon. It’s like a sauna in here.” Flora fanned herself with a drink menu. “An’ I gotta pick up an order of mugs at
the post office.”
Big Estelle turned to Flora. “Mugs?”
“Tiki Goddess mugs. I’m betting they sell better than the T-shirts and beer bottle openers.” Flora called out to Em, “Is it okay if I use your Wifi? I wanna see how many new friends I got on Facebook today. Too bad I didn’t take a picture of the dead guy to post.”
“Can’t anyone stop them?” Sophie arched her right brow. It was pierced with a row of silver rings. She turned away from the Maidens in disgust and filled a glass of ice water for herself.
“Overnight fame is ugly,” Em whispered. “Dog ugly.”
“Well, there’s one thing that’s not ugly.” Sophie nodded toward the front door. “Your detective is here.”
Sophie had started calling Roland Sharpe “Em’s detective” the night they discovered their neighbor’s body smoldering in the luau pit and the handsome hapa detective had showed up.
Em admired Roland as he crossed the room. If the heat bothered him, it didn’t show. He was cool, somber, and all business as he slipped his sunglasses into his Aloha shirt pocket and pulled a small black notebook out of his back pocket. She watched him scan the room until his gaze stopped on her. Spark time.
Naturally a guy like Roland gave off sparks; he moonlighted as a fire knife dancer. Few men could compete with somebody who stripped down, oiled up, and twirled blazing knives.
He walked straight to the bar, nodded at Sophie, but kept never took his focus off of Em. She tried not to blush and give herself away.
“Really, Em? Again?” he asked.
“You think I like this?”
Suddenly Randy and the crew were headed toward them. The detective held up his hand like a traffic cop.
“Stop right there, and shut that thing off.”
Randy kept coming. Joe kept filming.
Roland didn’t take a step. Nor did he raise his voice. He didn’t have to. His expression spoke volumes.
“Turn it off.”
The camera light went off. No one moved.
Roland turned to Em. “Where’s Kimo? Anyone seen or heard from him?”
“No. What have you heard?”
“Officer Shun briefed me. One victim. Stabbed to death. The weapon allegedly belonged to Kimo Godwin, and Kimo isn’t around to explain.”
Kiki was suddenly on her feet, pounding across the room.
“That doesn’t mean anything, Roland,” she said. “Someone obviously stole Kimo’s knife.”
“Not that obvious.” The small black notebook Roland always carried was suddenly open, and he had a pen in hand. “Where did he go?”
“I have no idea.” Kiki hiked her chin.
Roland turned to Em.
“Me, either,” she shrugged.
“When did he leave?”
“No idea. We were almost on stage ready to rehearse for tonight’s dance off,” Kiki began.
“Dance off?” The pen in Roland’s hand paused above the notebook.
“That was his idea.” Kiki pointed at Randy Rich.
Roland glanced at the Maidens scattered around the room and shook his head at Randy. “A dance off? Between these ladies? You should be ashamed.”
Roland turned to Em. “Did you see Kimo leave?”
Reluctantly, she nodded. “Yes.”
“When?”
“Around nine thirty. I was at the bar setting up when I saw him walk across the side lot. He drove off in his truck.”
“You’re sure of the time?”
“I looked at my watch because he’s usually busy prepping for the lunch crowd in the morning. I wondered where he was going.”
“Thanks a lot, Em.” Kiki glared.
“I figured he needed something from the store.” Em shrugged.
“So is that usual?” Roland asked. “For him to take off while he’s working?”
Kiki answered before Em. “If he ran out of something, of course. Why not?”
Roland waited for Em to respond. She wanted to help Kimo but pictured herself wired to a polygraph.
“Usually he just makes do. He’s really creative.” When she realized she might have incriminated Kimo, she added, “He’s the nicest man alive, Roland. He didn’t do this.”
“Of course not,” Kiki snapped. “Why would he?”
Em had nearly forgotten Sophie was there until the girl spoke up.
“For one thing, he hates the cameramen invading his space.”
Kiki turned on Sophie. “Not enough to kill one, for heaven’s sake!”
“Did Kimo have a beef with the guy?” Roland asked Randy Rich.
The producer shoved his thick glasses up the bridge of his nose.
“All the time. He didn’t want us in the kitchen. Said it was too small for the crew. He couldn’t work. Yesterday I told him we have the right to film, and if he locked us out he was violating the contract.”
Em watched Roland make a note and wondered exactly what he was writing in his precise handwriting.
“So Kimo specifically had a beef with the cameramen?”
Joe Piscoli nodded. “Yeah, with both of us. He didn’t exactly make it easy to film in the kitchen.”
“What was the victim filming this morning?” Roland asked.
Joe shrugged. “All the action was in the bar. I have no idea what he was doing in there.”
Randy Rich said, “I sent Bobby in to find out what the lunch special was going to be. It was taking a while, so I figured he’d gone to the john.”
Kiki shook her head distractedly. “J-John who?”
“Not John. The john,” Roland said. “The lua.”
“Ah, the john,” she nodded.
Em tried to come up with something to say in Kimo’s defense when Kimo himself suddenly came strolling in carrying a box of mangoes. He was accompanied by a handsome young uniformed patrolman who was busy checking out Sophie. The word Shun was printed on his bronze nametag.
“What’s going on?” Kimo asked Kiki. He gazed at the somber assembly. “How come we’re closed?”
“Where have you been?” Kiki grabbed hold of his Tiki Goddess T-shirt sleeve. “Why didn’t you answer your cell? I’ve been trying to call you.”
“It’s outta juice.” He turned toward Roland. “What’s up, bra?”
“Let’s sit.” Roland nodded toward an empty table in the corner near the front lanai. “I need to ask you a few questions.”
“Sure.” Kimo shrugged his beefy shoulders.
Kiki yelled, “No! Don’t say anything. Not without a lawyer present.”
Kimo’s forehead creased with more rows of lines than a winter swell rolling over the ocean.
“What are you talking about?”
“Somebody killed the new cameraman,” Kiki blurted. “Everybody thinks you did it.”
“I don’t,” Em protested.
“Nobody does, Kiki,” Sophie added.
Roland looked to Em for help.
“Come on, Kiki.” She tried to pry the woman’s fingers off Kimo’s shirt. “Let Roland talk to Kimo alone.”
Kimo started to hand the heavy box of mangoes over to Sophie. As she reached for the box, the young patrolman moved toward her.
“I’ll take those,” he offered.
Em couldn’t help but notice the way the patrolman was smiling at Sophie.
“Thanks. You can set them on the bar,” she told him.
As the young officer walked away, Sophie winked at Em and whispered, “Maybe I’ll have my own policeman, just like you.”
“I’m not leaving him alone,” Kiki told Roland. “Surely you don’t mind. I mean, we’re all family, aren’t we?”
Roland looked to Em. “You have somewhere we can all talk in private? How about Lou
ie’s office?”
“Sure.” She led them into the office.
“Roland?” Kiki crossed her arms and tapped her foot.
“You can stay as long as you don’t say a word. One word, and you’re out,” he told her.
Em started to leave, but Roland’s expression all but shouted for her to stay and manage Kiki. Randy and the crew appeared on the threshold.
“Hold it right there. This is official police business.” Roland closed the door in their faces. Em expected to hear sounds of protest, but none came.
“Anyone want to sit?” Roland waited. No one did. He turned to Kimo, ready to take notes.
“Tell me about your morning.”
“All of it?”
“Right up until now.”
Kimo rubbed his close-cropped dark hair. “I got up, came to work. Around eight this guy from some new vegetable supplier showed up. Gave me his card.” Kimo pulled a creased business card out of his front pocket. “His name’s on the back. You can keep it,” Kimo said.
Roland glanced down at the card.
“How long was he here?”
“I don’t know, a few minutes maybe. Brought in some samples, kale and Chinese parsley.” Kimo shrugged. “I told him we like our current supplier just fine, but I promised to keep his card.”
“What was he driving?”
“I dunno. I didn’t see. Probably a van. They all drive vans.”
“Did you see it in the lot?”
Kimo shook his head no. “Probably around the side of the building. Guys with big delivery trucks don’t like to try to turn around or back out of the parking lot. The fish guy pulled in, and the vegetable guy left when I went out to pick up the fish order from the guy.”
“You know him? The fish guy?”
“Who doesn’t?” Kimo shrugged. “His company supplies all the restaurants on this side.”
Roland asked for the fish distributor’s driver’s name and number and wrote them down.
“No one else went in and out of the kitchen this morning?”
Three to Get Lei'd Page 3
