Burned

by Carol Higgins Clark

  “I don’t know,” Jazzy answered.

  After she hung up the phone, Jazzy went upstairs where Steve was reading the sports section of the paper and sipping coffee.

  “Where are the guys?” she asked as she helped herself to a cup of delicious Kona coffee.

  “They went out to the beach.”

  “You didn’t go?”

  “No. I’m going to spend the day with Kit at the hotel.”

  “That’s where I’m heading. Can I grab a ride with you?”

  “Sure. I have to be there at lunchtime.”

  “Perfect. We can all have lunch together,” Jazzy said breezily.

  Steve looked up from the paper. “That should work.” At least I hope it will, he thought. He liked Kit and was hoping that they could spend some time alone today. Her friend Regan was around but didn’t seem like the type to get in the way. Not like Jazzy.

  “So,” Jazzy cooed as she took her first sip of coffee. “You seem to like this Kit. Maybe you should bid for the princess lei for her.”

  “I don’t know.” Steve handed her the paper with the article about Dorinda Dawes. “These leis must have a curse on them. What is it they say about lava from the Big Island? If you take a piece of it home with you, you’re in for trouble. Something tells me it’s the same story with the two royal leis. They originally belonged to a queen who was forced to abdicate her throne and a princess who died young. Who would want them?”

  “Well, don’t spread that word around,” Jazzy replied a little testily. “Claude will have a fit. He wants everyone to love those leis. It’s the signature of his fabric.”

  “And we don’t want to upset Claude,” Steve muttered with a tinge of sarcasm.

  “No.” Jazzy laughed. “We certainly don’t.”

  27

  R egan and Kit hoisted themselves onto two of the stools at the hotel’s outdoor bar and ordered lemonade. Fliers for the hotel’s hula classes were piled on the bar. Kit had her wet hair pulled back and smelled of suntan lotion.

  “It was fun out there, Regan. I wish you had been with me.”

  “It sounds like fun. I’ll go for a swim later in the afternoon. Who were you with?”

  “I went for a walk on the beach and ended up talking to some people who were going out for a quick sail on the hotel catamaran. They invited me, and I thought why not? Everyone is so friendly around here.”

  “Don’t you know you’re not supposed to talk to strangers?” Regan said with a laugh.

  “If I didn’t talk to strangers, my social life would be the pits.” Kit looked around, then lowered her voice. “But there are two strangers over there whom I’d be wary of talking to. That couple is staring at us.”

  Regan glanced over at the middle-aged man and woman a few seats down from them. He was graying and thin. She was, too. In an odd way they looked alike-like couples who had been together for years. It also helped that they both had on black oversized sunglasses and matching hats in a jungle camouflage print. Where in the world did they get those? Regan wondered. The woman caught Regan’s eye and raised her glass.

  “Cheers,” she toasted.

  “Cheers,” Regan responded in kind.

  “Where are you gals from?” the man asked.

  “Los Angeles and Connecticut,” Regan answered. “And you?”

  “A place where it rains a lot.” The man laughed.

  That might explain the hats, Regan mused.

  “Are you gals having fun?” the man continued.

  I hate being called a “gal,” Regan thought. But she smiled gamely and said, “How can you not have a good time here? What’s not to like?”

  The woman rolled her eyes. “We’re with a tour group. Sometimes the others get on my nerves. We’re spending a lot of time alone.” She took a gulp from the martini glass in front of her.

  That’s strong stuff for this time of day, Regan thought. And under this hot sun.

  The woman put down her martini glass. “I’m Betsy, and this is my husband, Bob.”

  Regan noticed that ever so briefly Bob looked at Betsy with an annoyed expression. What’s that about? she wondered. “I’m Regan, and this is my friend Kit.”

  Regan could tell that Kit had no interest in talking to these people. Her mind was on Steve. She couldn’t blame her. And these two looked as if they wanted to chat.

  “What do you do for a living?” Bob asked Regan.

  Here we go, Regan thought. The question she didn’t always feel comfortable answering. And now that she was on the job, she definitely didn’t want to tell the truth. “Consulting,” she answered. It sounded vague, and people usually didn’t pry. It was often a term used by someone who was out of a job. “And you?”

  “We’re writing about how to keep the excitement in your relationship,” Bob boasted.

  I guess it’s by wearing matching hats, Regan decided. “Oh,” she answered. “How interesting.”

  “You must be in a relationship,” Betsy said. “I can see you’re wearing a beautiful engagement ring. Where is your fiancé?”

  They’re jewel thieves, Regan thought wryly. She knew the game plan of couples who cozy up to people at bars, ply them with liquor, and then rip them off. “My fiancé is in New York,” Regan answered then changed the subject: “Are you going to the Princess Ball?”

  “Those tickets are expensive,” Bob noted. “I kind of doubt it. The leaders of our tour group are cheapskates. We’re on an all-expenses-paid vacation, and the ball isn’t part of the package.”

  “Now they’re sold out,” Regan informed them.

  “I guess we have no choice then,” Bob said with a laugh.

  “They’re accepting names for a waiting list,” Regan offered.

  Kit poked Regan in the ribs. “Regan,” Kit whispered. “Steve is coming. Look who’s with him. I don’t believe it.”

  Regan turned and spotted Steve and Jazzy walking around the pool and heading toward them. Jazzy started to wave.

  “How does she do it?” Regan asked.

  “I wish I knew,” Kit answered.

  “Remember,” Regan cautioned Kit, “not a word about my checking things out for Will.”

  “My lips are sealed,” Kit promised.

  Regan turned to Betsy and Bob as she and Kit got up from the bar. “Nice talking to you.”

  “Hope to see you gals again,” Bob said with a wave of his martini glass.

  “Hi, girls,” Jazzy cooed as she and Steve approached. “I have so much to do today with packing the gift bags for the ball, talking to the manager of the hotel’s secretary to make sure everything is in place, and who knows what else. But Steve invited me to join you for lunch. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Of course not,” Kit answered without much conviction.

  They secured an outside table for four that had a large umbrella and was also shaded by a large banyan tree. Kids were splashing in the pool, and the smell of suntan lotion was in the air. The beach spread out endlessly in front of them, and the sun was directly overhead. It was high noon in Hawaii, and people were relaxed and enjoying themselves.

  It was hard for Regan to believe that the East Coast was still caught in the grip of a blizzard. People there are hunkering down in their long underwear while we’re sitting here in bathing suits and summer clothes. Jazzy had on a sundress that would work at a cocktail party, and it looked a lot like the dress she was wearing last night. Regan had the feeling that short low-cut flower print dresses were her uniform of choice.

  Regan glanced at Steve’s handsome profile. I hope he turns out to be a nice guy, she thought. Though it’s a little suspect that he thinks Jazzy is good company. And he did seem terribly impatient with that girl at the bar last night.

  They ordered drinks and sandwiches from a waitress wearing white shorts, a pink top, and a lei made from pink carnations and white plumeria.

  “It feels good to sit,” Jazzy announced. “This is going to be a busy day!”

  “How did you get invo
lved with the ball?” Regan asked.

  “My boss is very charitable. He’s helping to underwrite the ball.”

  “How generous of him.”

  “And he’s donating Hawaiian shirts and muumuus that he designed for the gift bags.”

  “He’s a designer?” Kit asked.

  “He’s just getting started with his line of Hawaiian wear.”

  “Is he coming to the ball?” Regan asked.

  “Of course. I’ve organized a couple of tables for him.”

  “Where does he sell his clothes?” Regan asked.

  “Well, as I said, he’s just getting started,” Jazzy replied in a tone one might use correcting a child. “He hopes the ball will attract publicity for his line, Claude’s Clothes.” She shrugged. “We’ll see. He’s a very successful man, so if it doesn’t work out, I’m sure he’ll be on to the next venture.”

  “Of course he will,” Regan answered, trying not to sound too sarcastic.

  Over lunch the conversation was light. Steve admitted he didn’t want to be completely retired and that he was looking for new investments. How about Claude’s Clothes? Regan wanted to ask but refrained. Steve intended to spend half the year in Hawaii and then have a second home somewhere else. He just wasn’t sure where yet.

  A nice way to live, Regan thought. But what about Jazzy? Surely she wouldn’t be happy to house-sit forever-not after she had been a lawyer in New York.

  When the check came, Regan was relieved. She was eager to get up to the room and make a few phone calls but told the group she was heading to the spa. Steve insisted on paying for lunch, which Jazzy seemed to expect. The group disbanded with Kit and Steve heading down to the beach alone. Jazzy made a beeline for Will’s office. I’ll stay away from there for now, Regan decided. She walked back to the room and spotted Betsy and Bob down the hall. They had just emerged from the employee supply room.

  What are those two up to? she wondered.

  “Hey, Regan!” Bob called to her. “We’re on this hallway, too. They never seem to give us enough towels no matter how much we complain.” He laughed. “So we took matters into our own hands.” He held up several towels that they’d obviously taken from the unguarded room.

  “You can never have enough towels,” Regan agreed as she quickly opened the door to her hotel room and gratefully slipped inside. What a morning, she thought. Now she wanted to call the man Dorinda had interviewed for Spirits in Paradise. Then she’d take a walk around the hotel. She also wanted to find Will and tell him that she’d like to meet Dorinda’s cousin. Who knows what she might find out from him?

  Regan sat down on her bed and pulled the cell phone from her purse. “First things first,” she said to herself as she dialed Jack’s number. She hadn’t had much of a chance to talk to him yesterday. This morning he had been in a meeting when she called, and she told him she’d call back later. When he answered the phone, he said, “Finally!”

  “Hi!”

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t talk this morning. How’s it going out there in paradise?”

  “Fine. I’m actually working for a living out here. You know, a lot of people would love to work in Hawaii, and I got a job without trying.”

  “What?”

  “I know Mike Darnell told you a female employee drowned here at the beach in front of the hotel. The manager thinks she may have been murdered. And strange things have been happening at the hotel. He wants me to see what I can find out.”

  “Where’s Kit?”

  “On the beach with the new guy.”

  “Oh, boy. It sounds as if she doesn’t need you.”

  “I’m glad she’s having a good time. And now I’m occupied.”

  “Did you speak to Mike about the manager’s suspicions?”

  “No. He joined us for drinks last night. I wasn’t hired until Kit and I came back to the hotel and the manager asked if we’d join him for a drink.”

  “How did he know you were a private investigator?”

  “Kit told him earlier in the evening when we ran into him in the lobby.”

  “Kit doesn’t waste time, does she?”

  Regan smiled. “Not lately. Anyway, according to Mike the police believe that the woman drowned. There were no signs of struggle. But, get this: the woman was from New York and had interviewed my mother years ago. She turned out to be a piece of goods. She burned my mother with the article she wrote about her.”

  “Maybe Nora arranged the hit.”

  “Very funny, Jack.” Regan laughed. “I’m telling my mother you said that.”

  “She won’t mind. She thinks I’m going to be a wonderful son-in-law.”

  “I know she does. According to her, you’re capable of doing no wrong.”

  “Your mother has good taste,” Jack pronounced with a laugh. “But seriously, Regan, why does the manager think she was murdered? He must have some good reason.”

  “That’s the $64,000 question. All he said was that when she was leaving the other night, she told him she was going straight home.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it.”

  “There’s got to be more to his story.”

  “I know. I think I’m going to have to talk to him again.”

  In his office, Jack shook his head. “I guess it’s why I love you, Regan. You do manage to find yourself in these situations more often than not. I’ve said it before, and I’m sure I’ll say it at least a thousand times more: Be careful, would you please?”

  Regan thought of Jimmy standing over her this morning. It was uncomfortably close. Then that weird couple with the camouflage hats admiring her ring. “I’ll be fine, Jack,” she insisted. “Besides, I don’t like to sit in the sun all day. I’ll take a swim later, but this gives me something to do.”

  “I’d prefer you with a sunburn.”

  Regan laughed. But she had to admit to herself that things at the Waikiki Waters were a little “off.” And probably destined to get worse.

  28

  E ven though the waves were great and the scenery magnificent-with the mountains serving as a backdrop and the cloudless blue sky, turquoise ocean, and white sand beach-Ned could barely concentrate on his surfing. He had taken Artie to a cove where the waves were smaller than out on the open sea. Ned demonstrated how to paddle out, place your hands on either side of the board, and jump to your feet. They practiced on the sand, and then Artie went out by himself, eager to catch a wave. All Ned could think about was the fact that the lei he had stolen years ago was back at the Seashell Museum. How was it possible? What happened to that couple who bought the lei from him at the airport?

  As Ned paddled through the water on top of his board, he thought about the story he’d heard of a kid who threw a bottle in the ocean with a note stuffed inside asking whoever found it to get in contact. How many years did it take before the bottle finally washed ashore? At least twenty years, Ned remembered. Lucky the kid’s parents were still living at the address in the bottle-not like his parents who moved so much they never once finished unpacking their boxes. They schlepped them from house to house to house. When Ned’s dad finally retired and they moved to a condo in Maine, they ended up throwing out most of the stuff they’d carted around for years. It made Ned crazy.

  If any of Ned’s old classmates had ever tried to find him, it would have been an impossible task. But that was the way Ned liked it. He didn’t want anyone from his childhood to come knocking at his door. Keep the past in the past, he often thought.

  But the lei. When he sold it to the people at the airport, he was sure he would never see it again, and that was fine with him. The couple was on their way to God knows where. He remembered that the wife kept calling the husband by some weird name. What was it again? I can’t possibly expect to remember, he thought, but it was unusual, and it made him laugh at the time. And now the lei was back in Hawaii. Back at the museum. And he was back after having moved away with his family all those years ago. After Ned separated from his wife, he
wanted to get as far away from her as possible. So he moved from Pennsylvania to Hawaii. What a coincidence that both he and the shell lei had found their way back to paradise. It must mean something, he thought. I’ve got to see the lei again.

  “Hey, Artie,” he yelled, “that’s it!” Ned was amazed to see that Artie actually got up on the board and was riding a wave. He even looked happy. On the shore, Francie was cheering. Ned was relieved that she had opted against surfing. It was difficult enough to teach one person to surf, and after reading that newspaper article, Ned had a lot on his mind. But he was glad Francie was along. She could watch him show off on the board. This is what he craved-attention. People listening to him. People who didn’t think he was a geek.

  Artie had on a wet suit, but Ned thought they were for wimps. The Pacific Ocean felt good on his body. All he wore besides his bathing suit were rubber shoes. He told the others that the broken shells in the water could be fierce when you’re trying to get in or out and that he had a bad cut on the bottom of one foot. He did a song and dance about how coral cuts could lead to serious infections. Of course he really wore the shoes to cover up those stupid toes of his.

  When he thought about it, he couldn’t believe there was ever a time in his life when he wore sandals. As a matter of fact, he realized, the last time he had worn sandals was in Hawaii all those years ago. First that lady whose husband bought the lei couldn’t take her eyes off his feet. It was as if she was in shock. Later that night he got in a fight at a bar with some drunken freak who made fun of his toes. After that he vowed he’d never let them be exposed again. Tough work for an athlete who loved water sports. Somehow he managed.

  I look cool in these seaweed-colored shoes, he thought. It’s all in the attitude. He tried to teach that to the kids he worked with at the hotel-especially the ones with no natural athletic ability. If I didn’t have such a taste for crime, I could have been a really swell guy.

  He steadied himself and got up on the board as a wave was coming in. He stood and balanced himself, riding the wave and feeling the thrill. He could feel his endorphins kicking in as his surfboard glided through the water. It was an exhilarating feeling.