Three Odd Balls

by Cindy Blackburn

  I was about to follow, but the Song of the Sea bungalow suddenly captured my rapt attention. Hadn’t a light been on at the Coochie cabin the previous night? When I was taking my walk? I tilted my head. When Davy Atwell was stabbed?

  I glanced down at The Big House, where the first chorus of “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” was just getting underway. Santa was making a list of who was naughty and who was nice.

  Taking a wild guess as to which category I fell into, I flip-flopped over to Song of the Sea.

  Chapter 7

  Bless their ukulele-playing hearts, Hal and Cal had neglected to lock their door.

  I tiptoed inside and stood at the foot of one of the twin beds. Wilson and I hadn’t spent much time checking out this bungalow when we were settling in the previous day. We had seen the twin beds and moved on without further ado.

  “Time to rectify that,” I whispered to myself and took a closer look around.

  Two open ukulele cases were tucked away in one corner, and a stack of fliers advertising the ukulele jamboree was piled on a nightstand, but otherwise the place was neat and tidy. No murder weapon, no bloody clothes, nothing.

  I walked into the bathroom. A couple of towels were hanging over the shower rack. But again, no blood.

  I went back into the main room, where one of the dressers caught my eye. Reminding myself I was on the naughty list anyway, I opened the top drawer. Lo and behold, a wallet stared up at me. Reminding myself I was on the naughty list anyway, I picked it up and studied Hal Coochie’s driver’s license.

  “Anything interesting?”

  I jumped ten feet in the air. And Hal’s wallet flew across the room and landed in one of the ukulele cases.

  Once I was steady on my flip flops again, I hazarded a glance in the direction of the doorway. Wilson Rye. Frowning. His big, intimidating, cop-like frown.

  “Umm,” I said. “How was the hike?”

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  I had absolutely no idea.

  “What are you doing?” I tried.

  “Your mother sent me to look for you. They’re almost done with the tree.” He raised an eyebrow. “And you?”

  “Almost done!” I jumped again. “Well then, I need help!” I dived into gathering up the contents of Hal’s wallet, which were now scattered everywhere. But at some point I realized I was working alone. Wilson had not moved.

  I looked up from the credit cards that had landed on one of the beds. “Help me!” I pleaded. “They’ll be back any minute.”

  He stepped inside and finally, finally started to pick up a few things. “I cannot believe I’m helping you cover your tracks.” He found the wallet and assembled the miscellaneous wallet-stuff from the other bed.

  “Come on, Wilson,” I said as I handed him the stack I had gathered. “It’s not like I was going to steal anything. I’m not a criminal, for Lord’s sake.”

  He stopped his sorting and stared at me. “Probably not,” he mumbled after far too much contemplation.

  We put the wallet back together as best we could, put it back where I had found it, and got the heck out of there.

  ***

  Personally, I was ready to join in all that Christmas cheer happening down at The Big House. But as soon as we rounded the swimming pool pavilion, Wilson grabbed my elbow and held me back.

  “Go ahead,” I told him. “Get it out of your system.”

  He did so, and in hushed but stern tones, reminded me how we had agreed to leave things to Captain Vega. Then he moved on to the part about how I could have been caught pilfering the Coochie bungalow. He concluded with a scathing assessment of my questionable character and poor judgment. Yadda, yadda, yadda. Naughty about sums it up.

  I waited patiently until he was quite through. “Dianne Calloway,” I said, and it was his turn to jump ten feet in the air.

  Thus I launched into a scolding of my own. Yadda, yadda, yadda. I commenced a lengthy rant, questioning why his deep dark secrets needed to be so very deep and dark, and why I was reduced to learning the vital details about his past from my mother of all people. “My mother!” I stamped my flip flop and offered an indignant huff.

  “Tessie told you the details?” he asked.

  “No!” I practically shouted, and we both jerked our heads toward The Big House. “She doesn’t know the details,” I said more quietly, and Wilson breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Yet,” I added ominously.

  “Well then.” He took another deep breath. “Let’s get back to Vega, shall we?”

  I folded my arms and glared. “Go ahead, Wilson. Change the subject.”

  Unfortunately, he did so. “I know it’s hard to leave things to Vega.” He was back to his annoyingly calm and sensible self. “It’s hard for me, too. You get it?”

  “Let me guess. It’s out of our jurisdiction.”

  “Our?”

  “Okay, your. It’s out of your jurisdiction. But Captain Vega doesn’t seem all that interested in what happened. He hasn’t been here all day.”

  “What? No way.”

  “I certainly haven’t seen him.” I turned to face the Song of the Sea, this time from a safe distance. “They stay here every year, you know?

  “The ukulele players?”

  “They come for The Yuletide Ukulele Jamboree.”

  “And?”

  “And therefore,” I glanced back at Wilson, “both of the Hoochie Coochies must have known Davy Atwell. At least one of them could have had a motive.”

  “Such as?”

  “Heck, I don’t know. But they arrived just hours before the guy got killed. And their light was on when I walked by their bungalow last night.” I shrugged. “It seemed suspicious when I thought about it, so I decided to check it out.”

  “What? In hopes of finding the murder weapon?”

  “Exactly.”

  “You’re a little scary. You know that?”

  ***

  “Kekipi Crater rocks!” Christopher Rye announced the minute we entered The Big House.

  “That tree rocks.” I pointed to the huge Christmas tree, which now dominated a significant portion of the lobby.

  “Rocks,” Bee Bee agreed from his vantage-point up in the rafters.

  “It’s fantastical,” Louise said, and Bee Bee agreed with her also.

  Mother stood up from where she was hanging miniature leis on the lower branches. “Aren’t these just darling, Jessie?” She jiggled a little orange lei. “Buster did a good job selecting ornaments, didn’t he?”

  Buster was wringing his hands as usual, but was clearly pleased with the results of his efforts. “We need to remember the season, no matter what happened last night,” he said. “Ki would be very upset with me if the tree wasn’t up.”

  “Your brother?” Wilson asked.

  “He’ll be here any minute. He has to help out now. You know, now that Davy’s gone.”

  Everyone murmured inane sentiments about the recent tragedy. But lest the party become too morose, the Coochie brothers hopped up and delved into a rousing rendition of “Oh, Christmas Tree.” Remembering the season, as it were.

  “So!” I said loudly as the last chord was struck, or strummed, or whatever. “Speaking of trees, how was your hike?”

  I had turned to Wilson, but it was Buster who answered. “It must have been great,” he said. “They went up the Maka Koa trail to Flint Ridge. That’s always been my favorite spot. Ki’s, too.”

  “Flint Ridge rocks!” Chris said.

  “But we never did find Pele’s Prison,” Wilson added.

  “Excuse me?” I asked.

  “It’s a cave,” Hal, or maybe it was Cal, Coochie said. “Locals know about it, but few tourists ever find it.”

  “Technically it’s a lava tube,” the other Coochie added and then explained the geological process on the formation of lava tubes. “Pele’s Prison isn’t the largest tube, but it is the most interesting.”

  “You guys like hiking?” I asked as the
incongruous image of the Coochie brothers playing their ukuleles in a cave struck me.

  “Oh yes! Kekipi Crater has some of the best trails on all the islands,” one of the brothers informed me, as the other waxed poetic about the bird-watching opportunities near a place called Juniu Ledge. “We make a point of going up there every year while we’re here,” Coochie Number One continued.

  “I’m sure it’s beyond fantastical,” Louise said. The hikers might have missed the sarcastic drip, but I noticed. Geez Louise is about as interested in wilderness exploration as I.

  “No heebie jeebies?” I asked and began looking Wilson up and down for bug bites, rashes, and other assorted, jungle-related, red itchy spots.

  Chris shook his head in disapproval. “I can’t believe you’re scared of the woods.”

  “Jessie isn’t scared of anything,” Wilson mumbled. “Unfortunately.”

  “It’s not the woods, it’s the bugs.” Mother looked on as I lifted Wilson’s arms and inspected them for any tell-tale signs of the heebie jeebies. “Jessie’s hated bugs ever since she was two and toddled into an ant hill.”

  “But you must do some hiking while you’re here,” Buster encouraged me. “Some of the trails are very easy. I promise.”

  “Are there shoe stores on any of them?” Louise asked.

  ***

  “I suppose I can’t claim the ocean gives me the heebie jeebies,” I said.

  “Why do I know this will be completely and totally un-fantastical?” Louise said.

  “This should be interesting,” Wilson said.

  “I can’t wait to hang ten!” Mother said and scurried off toward Christopher Rye and the five surfboards he had lined up at water’s edge.

  Wilson patted my bottom and followed Tessie.

  Louise and I continued staring aghast. “I barely know how to swim,” she murmured.

  “Chris knows that,” I tried reassuring her. “Remember he said this part of the beach has the calmest waves?” I cringed as a rather un-calm wave crashed before us. “Something about an offshore coral reef,” I added weakly.

  Louise took a deep breath. “Whatever happens, promise me a bucketful of pink drinks afterwards?”

  I reminded her the pink drinks were Davy’s secret recipe. “We may never see another Pele’s Melee.”

  “What!? After learning how to swim and surf? All in one day?” Louise snorted and started walking. “Trust me, Babe, there are pink drinks in my future. I’ll make them myself if need be.”

  “Merry Christmas!” Chris called out as we approached. I do believe he was actually smiling.

  And of course, my mother was positively aglow. She gestured toward the boards. “Chris rented these for the whole week. Isn’t that a thoughtful gift, girls?”

  “Thoughtful,” Louise and I mumbled in unison.

  Chris pointed down the beach. “The lady at Folly Rentals couldn’t believe it when I told her how old you guys are. But I said we’d have some fun anyway.”

  “Fun.” Louise and I blinked at the surfboards looming before us.

  “She couldn’t believe where we’re staying, either,” he continued.

  I tore my eyes from the surfboards. “She heard about the murder?”

  “She says it’s gonna hurt Buster and Ki more than all the other stuff combined.”

  “What other stuff?”

  “How should I know?” he said impatiently. “Something about a Rachel Somebody.”

  “Rachel Somebody Who?” I persisted, but Wilson came over and put his arm around me.

  “Leave it, please,” he whispered. He pointed to Chris’s board and spoke up. “Why’s yours smaller than the rest?” he asked. “Shouldn’t Tessie’s be the smallest?”

  “These are long boards,” my mother the would-be surfing expert stepped forward to explain. “They’re what we beginners are supposed to use. Isn’t that right, Chris?” She gave one of the boards an affectionate tap. “Can I have this one? It’s so shiny.”

  I grimaced at Tessie’s shiny surfboard and bit my tongue. The woman was a broken bone waiting to happen, but who was I to deny my eighty-two-year-old mother any joy, thrill, or adventure she wanted to try?

  Chris assigned the rest of us our boards. We were then instructed to lay them in the sand, and to lie ourselves, stomach-sides down, onto said boards.

  “And here I thought surfing involved water and waves and such,” Louise whispered to me as we got into position. “This isn’t so bad after all.”

  It got bad soon enough, however, when our lesson involved repetitious attempts to move from the lying-on-our-stomachs position, to the squatting-on-our-toes position. We were supposed to accomplish this feat all in one fell and graceful swoop. No, really.

  “Do a push-up and quick pull your feet up underneath your hips. Like this.” Chris demonstrated the maneuver several times. Mother smiled, Wilson looked mildly interested, and Louise and I frowned. Then we all lay back down and tried again.

  Wilson got the hang of it pretty quickly, which I chalked up to upper body strength. But Louise, who is a little plump and not exactly the epitome of physical fitness, was also up and squatting soon afterwards. No offense to Louise, but that was altogether aggravating. Here I keep myself slim and trim, and do hours of yoga every week for strength and balance, and I was the one struggling alongside my very elderly mother?

  For better or worse, Chris was a patient teacher. He had us two less-adept pupils stand up and watch again, and this time Wilson and Louise joined him in the demonstration. Indeed, the synchronized surfboard dancing was a rather entertaining spectacle. Mother and I tried again, and finally, finally, we sort of, kind of, got the hang of it.

  Speaking of spectacles, Chris announced it was time to catch some waves. He tossed Louise a life jacket. “This will give you confidence,” he told her. “And salt water is really easy to stay afloat in.”

  “And remember we have that nice coral reef to keep us safe,” Mother added.

  “Fantastical,” Louise said. She donned her jacket, picked up her board, and stalwartly headed out to sea.

  “You’re next, Jessie.” Chris waved toward the ocean in case I had forgotten where it was. I smiled wanly and took the plunge.

  The first wave crashed over me, taking with it all the sunscreen I had so carefully been applying all day. But no, not all the sunscreen. A goodly portion of it ended up in my eyes. Semi-blinded, I reminded myself I had always enjoyed frolicking in the ocean. But then another wave landed on top of me, and my head hit my surfboard. Or maybe my surfboard hit my head. Frolicking, I reminded myself as I desperately tried to get the stupid thing underneath me.

  Have I mentioned upper body strength? While I struggled solo to catch a wave, Chris and Wilson made valiant efforts to move my mother, Louise, and their surfboards out to the breakwater point. Eventually we were all out far enough to really injure ourselves.

  We puttered about to no avail whatsoever as Chris demonstrated various positions and techniques. At least Wilson caught on to a few basic maneuvers. He had even managed the squatting position a few times when Louise screamed how tired she was getting. I turned and searched for my mother.

  Bless her heart, Tessie was trying her hardest, but clearly the woman was tuckered out. I motioned to Wilson, he got his son’s attention, and while the two of them worked to get her safely into shore, I helped Louise. The going got much easier once I mentioned a bucketful of Pele’s Melees. We practically raced each other toward dry sand.

  Chapter 8

  I might have been exhausted from the late afternoon surfing lesson, but the Hawaiian shirt Wilson donned after our showers woke me right up.

  “We need to go back to Shynomore and get more of these,” he told my reflection as I stepped out of the bathtub. He pointed proudly to his chest, where a plethora of red, orange, and pink bicycles paraded about. “I can’t believe I only bought two last night.” He gave himself another admiring glance in the mirror. “What was I thinking?”

 
“Perhaps you weren’t,” I suggested.

  I was slipping into my own evening attire, a sundress, which I do believe was the epitome of understatement, when my cell phone rang. A blast from real life, it was Karen Sembler, calling from North Carolina. Another of my neighbors, Karen had back-up duty in the cat care project.

  “Girlfriend!” she greeted me. “How’s Hawaii?”

  “Beautiful except for the dead guy.” I stretched out on top of the bed. “And if I have to endure another surfing lesson, I may end up joining him.”

  “Did you just say, dead guy?”

  “Don’t ask,” I said and calculated the time difference.“How are the cats, Karen? Where’s Candy? Is Snowflake okay?”

  Karen reported that Candy was working late. “Be thankful you’re not here, Jess. Tate’s is having their annual blow-out bra sale. Kiddo bought me this hideous red and green thing last night and threatened to bring home the matching panties tonight.”

  “And the cats?” I asked. “Is everyone okay?”

  “No one’s dead yet,” was Karen’s less than reassuring answer. Then she filled me in on the details—Snowflake and Bernice had been hissing at each other since we left. “The little black cat isn’t too worried,” she said, “but it’s starting to get to Kiddo and me. Any ideas what we should do?”

  “I thought Candy was going to keep Bernice and Wally down at her place if need be?”

  “She did that last night. But you and Wilson are gonna be together forever, right? So these cats have to get used to each other, right?”

  I scowled at my beau, who was now standing at the closet admiring his small but alarming collection of Hawaiian shirts.

  “Maybe,” I said quietly.

  “So what’s the son like, Jess? He ready for a new mom?”

  “He likes me about as much as Snowflake likes Bernice.”

  “Oh boy.”

  I got back to the topic at hand and mentioned how Snowflake and Bernice both enjoy snuggling and cuddling. “Maybe if one of you slept at my place, the cats would all end up on the bed together. Maybe even happily.”

  “I’ll run downstairs and get my jammies after we hang up.”