But even though I had been confronted by death on previous occasions, it didn’t mean I was a fan of it. If anything, the more I saw of it, the more scary it became. As if any one of us could go at any moment. Especially someone as alive as the Dancing Girl. One minute she’d been shaking her unnaturally fast hips at my husband, and the next she was belly-up in an alley.
I closed my eyes, blocking out the scene as I heard the faint sound of sirens approaching in the distance. Who on earth would want to kill a hula dancer? I mean, she had been annoyingly close to my husband, but I didn’t actually want to strangle her.
I took some more deep breaths, and eventually the sirens grew to screeching proportions and stopped just outside the restaurant, bathing the alleyway in red and blue lights. Uniformed officers converged on the crowd, an immediate air of authority breaking through the chaos. They infiltrated the tight knit group surrounding the body, and as the crowd of lookie-loos dispersed, I could see them talking to Ramirez. A few moments later, he broke off from the group of kahki-clad officers and came back to sit next to me on the ledge.
“So, I guess that whole no-work-on-vacation thing is out the window, huh?” I asked.
He put an arm around me. “It’s not my case. Clearly I have no jurisdiction here.”
I felt a small rise of hope, the first pleasant sensation I’d experienced since the Mai Tais. “So, you’re involvement ends here?”
Ramirez stiffened, his eyes averting mine. “Not completely.”
I knew it was too good to be true. “What does that mean?”
“It means, I agreed to consult for them. They don’t see a lot of homicides on the island, and they said they’d welcome my input on the case.”
“Fab.”
Ramirez turned to me, his eyes softer. “I’m sorry, Maddie. You know I didn’t plan this.”
I nodded. I did. And, part of me felt a surge of pride that he cared so much about a complete stranger that he wanted to make sure she had the best investigative team possible bringing her killer to justice.
Part of me.
The other part was envisioning my romantic hot tub interlude turn into a pity party for one.
“Let’s get you back to the hotel,” Ramirez said, helping me stand on feet that I was glad to see were slightly more stable now. “Then I’d like to come back and see what the ME says.”
I nodded, squelching down a mix of emotions.
Day one of my romantic honeymoon down. Chances of intimate hot tub interlude tonight: big fat zero.
* * *
“Ohmigod, and you just found her lying there?” my best friend, Dana, screeched into my ear.
I nodded at the empty cabana, then said into my cell, “I know. It was pretty awful.” Though, admittedly, a lot more awful for Dancing Girl.
“You poor thing!” Dana sympathized. “Did you scream? Pass out? Puke?”
“Yes, almost, and thankfully, no.”
“Dude, I’m so sorry. What a way to start your honeymoon.”
No kidding. But it was comforting to hear her sympathize. Dana Dashel had been my best friend since seventh grade when we’d bonded over a mutual love of Rick Astley and mutual hatred of algebra. Since then, our paths had taken different directions - mine toward the fashion district and hers toward Hollywood and movie stardom - but we’d always remained close. And hearing her voice from four-thousand miles away warmed me faster than the sun shining down on my cabana beside the Island Paradise Village's executive sweetheart pool.
“Thanks. I’m okay. Just... a little lonely at the moment.”
“I take it Ramirez is out hunting for her killer?” Dana deduced. I heard noises in the background, and someone calling fifteen minutes until camera, signaling I’d caught her on the set.
I nodded to myself again. “Yep. He says he’s just consulting, but he didn’t come back to the hotel room until three last night. And he was up and out again at six.”
Dana paused on the other end. “That doesn’t leave a whole lot of time for any honeymoon-type activities, does it.”
I shook my head in the negative. “No. It does not.” Not that I ventured either of us was really in the mood last night anyway. Seeing dead people was not my idea of a turn-on.
“Sucks,” Dana said. “But, hey, you’ve got nine more days to show off those lace teddies we bought at Vicky's Secret. Plenty of time.”
“Actually, eight and half,” I corrected her. But who was counting?
“So, who was the dead girl?” Dana asked. “A hula dancer you said?”
“'Ote'a dancer," I corrected automatically. "But, yeah, she worked at the resort. Her name was Ahlia Ona. A local girl,” I relayed, repeating the information I’d gotten out of Ramirez as he’d dressed and made coffee in our room's mini-pot at dawn that morning
“Do the police have any idea who might have killed her?”
“Unfortunately, no. Ramirez is attending the autopsy today, then riding along with the police to question her family. Apparently she has an aunt living on the island.”
“Married? Boyfriend?” Dana asked. “You know, it’s always the husband who did it on CSI.”
“Ramirez said the police did question the husband first,” I told her. “Last night. His name is Aki, and he works as a fire dancer at the resort.”
“Fire dancer?” Dana asked, and I could hear her scrunching her ski-jump nose over the phone. “What’s that?”
“Oh, it’s so cool. These guys strip down to just these little loin cloth skirts and twirl these sticks like huge batons with fire on the end. Very primal.”
“That's it. I've got to visit Tahiti someday.”
“Anyway, her husband, Aki, apparently had an alibi. He was with the restaurant manager at the time she was killed.”
“Bummer,” Dana said. “That would have closed the case quickly.”
“I know,” I agreed.
“I wish I could be there to help you,” Dana said. Admittedly, Dana, along with our gaytastic friend Marco, had helped me help Ramirez to solve some of his cases in the past. Not that Ramirez ever wanted our help, or even tolerated it at times, but we had caught more than one killer together. Albeit sometimes by tapping into my amazing stores of dumb luck.
However, from thousands of miles away, there was little Dana could do.
“Thanks,” I said, meaning it. “I wish you were, too.”
I heard a noise in the background again and someone yelling, “Talent on set.”
“Shoot. I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go,” Dana told me. “I’m doing a mascara commercial. Not exactly high art, but it’ll cover my car payment for the next year.”
“So worth it,” I agreed.
“I’ll call you later, though, okay?”
I nodded at the phone again. “Sure. Hey, break a leg!”
“Thanks” she said, then hung up.
I set my cell down on the chaise beside me, and leaned my head back on the cushions. Honestly, there were worse places to spend a morning alone. The Olympic sized pool was a brilliant sparkling blue, and the sun was warm already, despite it still being early in the day. Six curtained cabanas spanned this side of the pool, each offering shade and a semblance of privacy, while the other side of the pool held more chaise lounges, quickly filling with guests and their hauls of sunscreen, brightly colored beach towels, and floppy straw hats. It wasn’t what I’d call crowded, but a pleasant mixture of people wadded in and out of the gated area to keep me from feeling too alone.
I watched a family with three little boys in tow set up camp across the pool, the dad attaching floating wings to a toddler as Mom tried in vain to squirt sunscreen on a wiggling tow-head. Beside them, two teen girls tanned on their towels, sharing pictures on their pink iphones and giggling. From the cabana to my left a pair of long, tanned legs stuck out, a woman sunning herself alone like I was. In the cabana to my right, I heard a soft snoring sound, signaling whoever the occupant was, he was enjoying a lazy vacation. I decided to do the same, shutting my ey
es and relaxing into the atmosphere, blocking out all that had happened last night and instead reminding myself I was in paradise.
I was just starting to drift off into that lovely space somewhere between sleep and consciousness when a voice came from the cabana to my left.
“... heard about Ahlia?”
My eyes shot open, and my ears perked up.
“So sad,” a second female voice agreed.
Apparently the woman sunning herself in the cabana had been joined by a friend. I sat up, trying to see around the voluminous yellow curtains dividing us. I could make out a second pair of legs joining the previous ones.
“Not surprising, though,” the first women said. Her voice was higher than the other woman’s. Squeakier, reminding me a bit of Betty Boop.
“Oh?” asked Number Two.
“Hey, you play with fire, you’re going to get burned.”
Both women giggled as if they were in on their own private joke. I leaned forward, straining to hear more.
“So have you talked to Temoe?” Number Two asked.
I heard rustling, which was either a nod or a shake of the head, but I couldn’t tell which from where I was.
“No,” Betty Boop said, answering my question. “The police questioned all of us dancers that were on last night, but then he took off right after.”
“Poor guy. He must be heartbroken.”
I raised an eyebrow. The victim’s husband was named Aki. So, exactly who was Temoe that he would be “heartbroken” over her death? A good friend? A brother? Or... possibly something more?
“Well, I’m just surprised they didn’t arrest Aki on the spot,” Betty Boop said. “I mean, with that temper of his? I’m only surprised it took him this long to find out about the two of them. I mean, we all knew about the affair, right?”
Bingo. “Something more” it was.
“All I can say is that Ahlia sure knew how to pick ‘em,” Number Two agreed.
I listened for more, but that seemed to be all that Betty and Number Two had to say on the subject, the conversation turning to how much each had earned in tips the night before.
I sat back in my chaise. So, Ahlia’d had a lover. One that the police had questioned, but I wondered just how deeply they had questioned him? Did they know he’d been having an affair with the dead woman, or had they simply viewed him as a co-worker? What were the chances he'd offered up info that he had been having an affair with the victim?
I quickly gathered my towel, sunscreen, and hat and shoved them into my beach bag. With this kind of info, there was a chance I could sew this case up and still have a honeymoon after all.
CHAPTER THREE
I quickly went back to the room and changed into a pale pink wrap dress and pair of white, strappy sandals, then went in search of the mysterious Temoe.
According to the two girls in the neighboring cabana, it had sounded like he was a dancer at the resort, too. So I figured the front desk was the best place to start looking for info on resort employees.
The same chubby-cheeked guy from check-in was on duty today. He was tall, round, and totally busted the stereotype of the jolly fat guy. I could see his scowl from all the way across the marble tiled lobby.
“Good morning,” I said, doing my best attempt at cheery to combat his sour look. I looked down at the name tag pinned to the collar of his red floral shirt. “Don. Wow, what a great name. Like Don Ho!”
He sighed. Clearly he’d heard that one once or twice before. “Don Ho was Hawaiian. I am Tahitian.”
“Right. Sorry. Didn’t mean to insult your heritage or anything," I mumbled.
He looked like he was trying really hard not to roll his eyes. “And how may I help you?” he asked, even though helping me was clearly the last thing he wanted to do.
“I absolutely loved the fire dancing show they put on at the luau yesterday,” I gushed, hoping flattery would get me somewhere.
But Don just continued his dour stare.
“Anyway, I was wondering if I could possibly get one of the dancers to give my husband a lesson or two? I can never get him to dance with me, but if fire were involved, maybe he’d be more willing,” I explained, totally lying through my teeth. I could no more see Ramirez prancing around in a loincloth than I could see myself mastering the super-human hip shaking speeds the 'ote'a girls had done last night.
But Don didn’t seem to care one way or another. “Our insurance prohibits us from offering fire dancing lessons. We do have a three o'clock couples yoga class on the west lawn, though.”
I pursed my lips together. “Yeah, yoga isn’t exactly what I was looking for. I wonder... maybe one of the dancers would give us a private lesson? You know, off hotel property, so you’re not liable of course,” I quickly added.
“I’m sorry, that’s not something I can arrange for you,” he said, not sounding sorry at all.
“Well, maybe you could just give me the contact info of one of the fire dancers, and I could arrange it myself,” I offered. “I believe the one my husband was most impressed with was named Temoe?”
Don sighed again, looking behind me to where a small line of guests awaiting his attention was forming.
“Please?” I asked, clasping my hands in a begging motion in front of me.
“Fine,” Don finally sighed.
Yes!
He typed a couple of keys on a computer behind the counter, then grabbed a piece of stationary with the resort’s logo on it and jotted down a phone number.
“According to his employee records, this is Temoe’s home number. That’s the best I can do for you,” he said, then looked behind me to the next guest in line as a clear dismissal.
“Thanks” I called over my shoulder and made my way to a grouping of wicker chairs near the windows. I pulled out my cell as I sank into one facing a grove of palm trees and dialed the number. Four rings in I got voicemail. Either he wasn’t home or he wasn’t answering. I left my name and cell number, going with the same dancing lessons story I’d given the desk clerk, then hung up.
On the off chance that I might get an address on Temoe, I pulled up an internet browser on my phone and did a reverse look-up on the number. Unfortunately the closest I got was that it was a local prefix.
I glanced up and saw that the line of guests had died down, and Don was once again occupied by counting down the minutes until his next coffee break as he stared out the window. I popped up and walked over to his counter.
“Hi,” I said, doing a little wave at him.
He turned his attention my way, a look of irritation swiftly passing over his features. “Yes?”
“Uh, it seems Temoe isn’t answering his phone.”
Don raised both eyebrows and shook his head as if to say, “And I care because…?”
“I was wondering if maybe you had an address for him?” I asked.
Begrudgingly, Don did a couple more clicks on his keyboard, but then shook his head. "Only a postal box in his employee file. Sorry.”
Darn. “Do you know if he’ll be dancing again tonight at the luau?”
The clerk shrugged. “It’s likely. We only have four fire dancers, and one of them has canceled tonight.”
I assumed the one would be Aki, the grieving husband.
I thanked Don and left the counter, bummed that I’d have to wait until that evening to talk with Temoe. But at least I had a lead. I wondered if Ramirez was faring as well.
I looked down at my watch and realized it was almost noon already and I hadn’t eaten. I wandered into the resort's cafe, the more casual dining area where breakfast and lunches were served. Along one wall was a gorgeously set up buffet that instantly made my stomach growl. Fresh pineapple, mangos, papaya, and tons of other less exotic fruits were laid out, as well as meats, breads, and a row of hot dishes in chaffing pans. I grabbed a plate an eagerly dug in, finding a table near the windows for one.
I wondered what Ramirez was doing right now? Probably attending the autopsy, I decided, trying to
put the mental picture that conjured up out of my mind as I ate. I had to feel at least a little sorry for him. As much as I knew he enjoyed his work, I’m sure he’d been looking forward to a real vacation as much as I had been. Okay, almost as much as I had been.
“How is everything?”
I looked up to find a slim, blonde woman in a tailored skirt and the signature red floral shirt of the Island Paradise Village resort standing over my table.
“Delicious,” I honestly replied.
Her face lit up with a pleased smile, the exact polar opposite of Don at the desk. “I’m so happy to hear that.”
“You’re the restaurant manager?” I asked. I remembered seeing her last night at the luau, too.
She nodded. “Cathy,” she said, sticking a hand out toward me.
“Maddie,” I replied, shaking it. “I noticed you at the luau last night.”
At the mention of the previous night, her face clouded. “Oh, you were there, huh? I’m so sorry. It was a terrible tragedy and not something that we usually have occur here at the Island Paradise Village, I assure you.”
I nodded. “No, I understand. Not your fault.”
Her face brighten a tad at that. Understanding guests were probably a rare commodity on the island. “We’d be more than happy to comp you another complimentary luau pass.”
I perked up. “Really? That would be great. I’d actually love to go again tonight.”
“Done,” Cathy said, pulling a cell from her pocket. “What room are you in?”
“Suite 103,” I told her, and watched as she punched some buttons. “Thanks, that’s very nice of you.”
“As I said, it’s the least we can do. I hope the unpleasantness doesn’t mar your vacation plans any.”
Little did she know, it already had.
“I’m interested in seeing the fire dancers again,” I told her. “My husband was especially impressed with Aki last night,” I said, watching her face.
She frowned, just the tiniest whisper of a wrinkle forming between her waxed brows. “Oh, well, I’m afraid he won’t be performing tonight.”
“No, of course not,” I agreed. “I wouldn’t expect him to, given the circumstances.”
Honeymoon in High Heels Page 2
