“Only my hair.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I wish. But that was a long time ago.”
He still made no move to leave, which was fine by her. Looking up into Roland’s dark, exotic eyes, she recalled telling her uncle earlier that she was picky. Roland was employed, honorable, responsible, educated, well spoken, and to top it off, handsome. Not just good looking, but show stopping handsome.
The same could be said of Nat Clark, but even though Roland had never said or done anything to give her any indication that he was more than a little attracted, she was drawn to Roland in a way she wasn’t to Nat.
She took a deep breath and quickly scanned the parking lot. There was no one else in sight. She took a step toward him, rested her hand on his forearm but couldn’t think of a thing to say.
A second later when he kissed her, it didn’t matter.
14
Bad News Comes in Threes
An hour after Louie stopped passing out drinks, they finally cleared the bar. It was close to one thirty a.m. The stench of melted, mildewed carpet lingered on the air. Em wished they could leave the windows open, but with all the liquor inside they battened down everything and headed home.
She was ready to collapse from exhaustion, but Louie was whistling like a man without a care in the world. Her uncle’s effervescence and love of life was a rare gift. Em figured some of it was programed in her DNA, and she hoped it kicked in soon.
She bid him goodnight, changed into some knit shorts and a hot pink Goddess tank top and fell into a deep sleep only to be awakened by flashing blue and white lights spinning reflections around the walls of her bedroom.
Em sat up and shoved her hair back out of her eyes. She glanced at the old clock on the bedside table. It was a little after three in the morning. She accidentally kicked the table leg when she got out of bed and hopped a few steps to the window.
She tugged the bark cloth curtain aside and squinted into the pulsing lights atop an unmarked police cruiser. Just as she left her room, she heard a knock at the screen door.
Em unlocked the door into the house and then crossed the screened lanai to a second door. The beach house was oriented so that it faced the ocean with the Goddess parking lot behind it. The sound of the surf echoed in the stillness of the moonless night. She saw the dark shadow of a tall man silhouetted against the starry sky.
“Hello?”
“Em, it’s me.”
She recognized Roland’s voice, quickly unlatched the door, and ushered him in.
“I take it since you brought a squad car with lights flashing this isn’t a social call.”
“I wish.” He looked over her shoulder into the main part of the house.
She was about to ask who died when he said, “Is your uncle here?”
“He’s asleep.”
“I need to talk to him.”
“What’s going on?”
“I’ll tell you together.”
“But . . .”
“Please, get your uncle, Em.”
She hurried through the house and tapped on Louie’s door. When he didn’t answer, she opened it. His snores filled the room.
“Uncle Louie,” she called from the doorway.
The snoring abruptly turned to a sputter, and then he sat straight up in bed. “I’m awake.”
“Roland’s here to see you.”
There was rustling in the darkness as he threw off the sheet.
“Roland? What the heck time is it? What’s going on?”
“It’s after three. I think it’s urgent.”
Louie moved toward her through the shadows, pulling on a yukata, a long, cotton Japanese robe with wide sleeves, over his floral print baggies.
“Must have found the murderer,” he mumbled. “Did we say we wanted to know the minute the guy was caught? Couldn’t this have waited until morning?”
Roland was waiting for them on the front lanai. As Louie poured himself a glass of water, Em ushered Roland into the open living/dining/kitchen area.
“Would you like something?” she asked. “I can make you some tea or coffee.”
Roland shook his head. “Nothing.”
“Have a seat.” Em waved him toward the rattan sofa.
Roland remained standing in the middle of the room. Louie walked in with a tall glass of water.
“Did you get the guy?” He sat down on the sofa and ran his fingers through his thatch of white hair. “Kimo in the clear?”
Roland turned back to Em. “Have a seat,” he said.
“You are scaring me,” she said.
A carved wooden tiki had more facial expression than Roland in that moment. She tried to read behind his dark eyes and found herself automatically taking a seat beside her uncle on the sofa. Whatever Roland had come to say, it wasn’t good.
“Is this about Kimo? Please don’t tell me he murdered Bobby Quinn.”
Roland sank into a rattan chair across the coffee table from where they were seated.
“This is one of the things I hate about my job,” he said. “Every now and again I have to deliver bad news. I’m afraid I’ve got some for you tonight.”
Em realized she was twisting a lock of hair around her finger and stopped.
Roland looked at them both in turn and then said, “Marilyn Lockhart has had an accident.”
“No. Oh, no.” Louie sat up and leaned forward. “Is she going to make it? Is she at Wilcox? How bad is it, Roland?”
Em tried to swallow around the lump in her throat. She didn’t realize she knew Roland as well as she did until she was convinced by his expression that he was here with the worst kind of news. The kind of news no one ever wants to hear in light of day, let alone the middle of the night.
“Her car went off the road at the curve above Wainiha Bay and plunged into the ocean. She’s dead.”
Em knew the spot well. There was already one roadside memorial at the top of the hill for a local surfer who had tragically lost his life in the bay. Friends and family still studded the concrete guard rail with flowers in remembrance. Just past the guardrail there was a section where there was nothing to stop a careless driver from plunging over the side of the cliff.
Whenever Em drove around the curve, she found herself clutching the steering wheel and reminding herself not to look over the edge.
“Dead? Marilyn’s dead?” Louie appeared to age before their eyes. His skin paled beneath his tan, leaving him a jaundiced yellow. He looked over at Em in confusion. “But the wedding is tomorrow.”
She took both of his hands in hers. “I’m so sorry, Uncle Louie.”
“So am I, sir,” Roland said.
“I should have made her stay over.”
Em said, “You had no way of knowing this would happen.” She felt her uncle’s hands begin to shake beneath hers.
“She’s a great driver,” Louie went on. “She was so proud of her new car.” He shook his head. “Maybe she fell asleep at the wheel.”
“Possibly,” Roland said. “There will be an autopsy, and the toxicology reports will tell us whether or not her blood alcohol level was over the limit.”
“I know she wasn’t drunk. Marilyn hardly ever has more than a glass or two of champagne.”
“I’m going to get you a drink,” Em told Louie. She got up and skirted the coffee table, heading for the tiki bar in the corner of the room. David Letterman’s cage was covered with a sheet for the night, but she heard the big bird rustling around.
She grabbed a rocks glass, poured her uncle two fingers of gold rum, and carried it back across the room. Roland had his little black notebook in hand.
“Did Ms. Lockhart have any next of kin? Anyone we should notify?”
Louie nodded and took a long sw
allow of rum.
“She has a nephew, but he’s in India on business,” Em said.
“Do you know how to get a hold of him?”
“She gave me his number.” Louie’s expression was pained. “Said since we were all going to be family I should have it.”
“Would you like me to call him?” Roland offered.
“It’s probably better coming from us,” Em said.
“I’m not sure where I put the number right now.” Louie stared into the bottom of his glass as if the answer was hidden beneath the ice. “What if I can’t find it?”
“If we recover Ms. Lockhart’s phone, it may still work. He’s probably one of her contacts.”
“My cell phone went through an entire wash machine cycle once.” Louie shook his head. “It still worked once it dried out.”
“If we find her phone, we’ll see if his number is on it. What’s his name?”
“Tom Benton,” Louie said. “How are we going to let everyone know the wedding’s off?” he wondered aloud. He turned to Em, his expression one of complete loss.
“First thing in the morning I’ll have the Hula Maidens start spreading the word, and then I’ll alert the hotel. It won’t be long before everyone knows.”
Roland got up and slipped his notebook into his pocket. “I’m sorry I had to bring you such bad news.”
Em stood to walk him to the door. Louie appeared to have sunken deeper into the sofa. He sat there in his yukata staring between his knees at the lauhala mat on the floor and didn’t say another word to Roland.
“I’m sorry, Em,” Roland said again.
“I can’t believe Marilyn’s gone.” She rubbed her arms and shivered as the slightest breeze blew in off the water and gave her chicken skin. “Just like that. Here one minute, gone the next.”
Roland crossed the lanai and was on the steps outside the front door before he turned to face her again. She saw him glance through the open windows into the living room and watch her uncle for a moment.
When he spoke again, his voice was so low she barely heard it.
“I’ll call you tomorrow. Sooner if we find anything suspicious.”
“I thought it was an accident,” she said.
“More than likely it was. There was another vehicle traveling behind hers, but it was at the bottom of the hill as Ms. Lockhart reached the curve, so they only saw her tail lights. According to the witness, her brake lights went on, but she drove straight across the road without slowing down, and then the Mercedes launched into the air. They were at the top of the hill in seconds, but by the time they got there, her car was about twenty-five feet off shore and submerged upside down. There was no way they could climb down the cliff, so they called 911 and waited until the firemen and a fire boat got there.”
“What about Marilyn?” Em didn’t want to think about her still trapped in the car underwater.
“Divers retrieved the body. Soon as it’s light, they’ll out hoist the car, and we’ll know more.”
“Who would want to kill her?” The minute she’d voiced the thought she was sorry.
“Did she have any enemies?” he asked.
“But no one hated her enough to kill her,” she said.
“I can think of one person who’s had it out for her for a long time.”
“Kiki,” she whispered.
“Right. Kiki. She nearly burned the bar down just to get back at Marilyn.”
“Kiki would never burn down the Goddess. Her main objection to the marriage was that she was convinced Marilyn only wanted to get her hands on the bar. Lillian accidently set her wig on fire, and that’s what started the whole fiasco last night.”
“That dance number was Kiki’s idea. She’s the one who put those coconuts in the hands of inexperienced dancers. She had to know better.”
“There is no way Kiki would intentionally burn down the Goddess or harm anyone, especially one of the Maidens,” she said.
“She’s been under a lot of stress since Kimo’s arrest. Maybe she snapped.”
“I won’t believe that she had anything to do with Marilyn’s accident.”
“I wasn’t the only one in the place who heard her say she wanted to get rid of Marilyn. You were still at the table when they had their big argument tonight.” He reached out and smoothed her hair back off her face. “Look, try to get some rest if you can. For now, don’t worry about Kiki. We’ll find out what happened sooner or later. For your sake and Kiki’s, I hope you’re right.”
15
A Sign From Beyond?
By the time Roland left, it was three thirty in the morning, and unfortunately, Em was wide awake. She Googled the time in India and found out it was six p.m. There was no sense in putting off the call to Tom Benton.
“Let’s look for that phone number,” she told Louie. He still hadn’t budged from his spot on the sofa.
“I need another drink.” He held up his glass.
“A drink! Another drink!” David Letterman squawked from beneath the sheet covering the cage.
“Enough for both of you,” Em mumbled.
Louie remained uncooperative but gave her permission to look for Tom’s number in his top dresser drawer where he kept “important” things. She found various receipts, faded, dog-eared photos, some coconut buttons off his Aloha shirts, shells he’d picked up off the beach. A rubber band held a stack of business cards, and one was Marilyn’s. Tom Benton’s address and cell number was written on the back.
Em carried the card back into the living room where her uncle was stretched out on the sofa sipping a rocks glass full of golden rum and staring mindlessly at the television screen. An infomercial with overly made up male and female announcers stood in front of a line of ovens filled with silently rotating chickens. The sound had been muted.
Em took a deep breath and dialed Tom’s cell number.
“You’ve reached the voice mailbox of Tom Benton. I’m out of the country at the moment, but your call is still important to me. Leave me a message, and I’ll return your call as soon as possible.”
Em left her name and number, said she needed to talk to him urgently about his aunt, and asked him to call her as soon as possible. She set her cell phone on the counter that divided the kitchen and living room area. Worried about Louie, she stood at the foot of the sofa staring down at him. The couple on television was carving up one of the roasted chickens.
“Uncle Louie, maybe you should turn off the TV and try to get some sleep. There’ll be a lot to do tomorrow.”
His deep-set blue eyes were shadowed and forlorn. “Tomorrow was going to be my wedding day.”
She sat down on the edge of the sofa beside him.
“Do you believe in fate, Em?” He watched the ice cubes float around in what was left of the rum.
She shrugged. Never in a million years would she have moved to Kauai to manage her uncle’s bar if she hadn’t found out about Phillip’s cheating and divorced him. If she hadn’t married Phillip in the first place, she would have never had to divorce him and would have never ended up on Kauai.
“Yeah, maybe some things are fated to be,” she said. “Why?”
“Tonight, before the Maidens performed, I stared up at Irene’s portrait and wondered what she thought about me marrying Marilyn. I asked her for a sign, something to let me know that it was all right. Then Lillian caught her wig on fire, and one thing led to another, and I figured since everything turned out all right and no one was hurt, well, that was the sign. No matter what, things would turn out all right. Now this. Marilyn is dead.”
“You don’t think . . .”
“What if Irene knows marrying Marilyn wasn’t such a hot idea and decided to keep me from making a mistake?”
“Impossible. Besides, Uncle, from what you’ve told me of Irene, sh
e wouldn’t wish harm on anyone.”
“You’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
He gave her hand an awkward pat. “I’m not sleepy, but maybe you should go to bed. Try to get some shut eye.”
She thought it might be his way of asking to be alone, so she agreed to try. Picking up the cell phone on her way to her room, she realized just how hard Louie was taking the sudden death of his fiancée; he’d yet to talk about concocting a memorial cocktail in Marilyn’s honor.
16
Strength in Numbers
Though she hadn’t thought it possible, Em dozed off and slept until her cell rang and woke her up at seven thirty.
“Hey, Em. It’s Trish.”
Em sat up and twisted her hair around her hand. Before she could say anything, Trish went on.
“Listen, I just got a call from the feature editor at the Garden Island, and she told me about Marilyn. I can’t believe it. It’s just awful.” Trish did freelance photography for the newspaper and was well known for the feature article photos they often ran. “Have you contacted the Maidens yet?”
“I was waiting until eight,” Em told her.
“I’ll get the phone chain started,” Trish volunteered.
“I’d really appreciate it. I’m hoping for a call from Marilyn’s nephew.”
She thanked Trish and once she hung up, Em grabbed a bath towel and headed through the house to the outdoor shower.
“You’re up,” Louie said. He was still on the sofa in his robe hitting the television remote, rotating through the channels.
“And you’re still down.”
“About as far as a man can get. Did you talk to Tom? I heard your cell ring.”
“He hasn’t returned my call yet. I’m not even sure he has cell service in India. That was Trish. She’s going to call the Maidens. I’ll get a hold of the hotel as soon as I’ve showered and let them know about the wedding.”
“Mmm.”
She knew Marilyn’s death was a shock, but she hadn’t expected Louie to completely fold up the way he had. It wasn’t like him to just give up and do nothing. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair was sticking out all over his head, and he needed a shave.
Three to Get Lei'd Page 9
