—Dwight D. Eisenhower
Hi-yah-ah-ah!” I screamed, brandishing the iron.
“Ar-ar-argh!” the intruder yelled, ducking and throwing both arms over his head.
Fortunately, it took me only a fraction of a second to realize that the dangerous prowler who’d broken into my room was Nick, which was just enough time to keep me from assaulting him with a deadly home appliance.
“Nick! It’s you!” I cried, lowering the iron.
“Of course it’s me!” he squawked. “Who else would it be?” He backed away, his stance protective and his eyes wild with fear. Or at least confusion.
“I’m so sorry!” I told him. “I didn’t know—I thought it was—”
“You could have killed me!” he exclaimed.
I stood up straighter, suddenly indignant. “I wasn’t going to hit you—or whoever came through that door—without making sure of the intruder’s identity first.”
“Good thing I didn’t have sunblock all over my face,” he replied, still keeping a safe distance away. “If you hadn’t recognized me, I might have ended up with General Electric branded on my forehead!”
“This iron isn’t hot,” I informed him, still feeling a tad defensive. Actually, the main reason for that was there hadn’t been time to plug it in, but I thought it best to leave that piece of information out.
Nick took a few deep breaths. “Okay. That weird little episode is over. Now will you please tell me what’s going on?”
I put the iron down on the dresser. “I guess I overreacted,” I admitted. Suddenly, all my indignation was gone. Instead, I just felt silly.
In a gentle, understanding voice, he asked, “Exactly what were you overreacting to, Jess?”
I was pleased he’d put aside the argument we’d been having—ever since we landed on Maui, it seemed. “I just got a very weird phone call.”
“What do you mean?” Nick stooped over to deposit the snorkeling equipment he’d been carrying. When he stood up again, his forehead was tensed and his eyes were clouded.
“The phone rang just now,” I explained in an even voice, “and when I picked it up, no one said anything.”
He stared at me for a second or two before saying, “Excuse me?”
“Don’t you see?” I cried. “Somebody was trying to find out if the room was occupied!”
“Or realized they got a wrong number.”
“How often does that happen?” I shot back, feeling my blood start to boil so rapidly I could have cooked pasta in it. “Whether you’re willing to look at what’s going on here or not, the bottom line is that through a stroke of extremely bad luck, I seem to have found myself in the middle of a murder—”
Nick sighed impatiently. “Jessie, when are you going to let this go? This—this obsession of yours? This paranoia?” He sank onto the edge of the bed, holding his arms out in despair.
“It’s not paranoia!” I insisted. “Somebody wanted that tape of Marnie’s badly enough to break into our hotel room. For all I know, it’s the same person who killed her. I’m hoping the fact that we changed rooms—and that it’s under your name now, not mine—will make it harder to track us down, but as soon as he figures out he has the wrong tape, he’s going to come back looking for it. Or maybe even do something worse, since he probably thinks I know whatever it is he’s so desperate to keep under wraps!”
“Look, I know you really believe that’s what’s going on,” Nick said. He sounded so frustrated I almost felt sorry for him. Then I remembered he wasn’t the only one around here who was experiencing megalevels of frustration. “But step back a minute. Isn’t there at least a chance that you’re reading things into the situation that aren’t there? I mean, you told me yourself that that homicide cop, whatever his name was—”
“Paleka,” I informed him. I tossed my head, hoping I looked self-assured. “Peter Paleka.”
“Okay, didn’t this Detective Paleka say Marnie was most likely killed by the man she was seen leaving that bar with late that night? And didn’t he tell you himself that your theory about the missing envelope and the tape was probably bogus?”
He had, indeed. But that didn’t mean he was right. And frankly, hearing Nick say the same thing didn’t exactly do much to lower my blood from boil to simmer either.
“Okay, so you’ve talked to a few people about the reporter who was killed,” he finally said. “Don’t you think it’s time to let it go? Maybe even spend a little time going to the conference you flew six thousand miles to attend?”
“Actually, I think the exact opposite,” I countered. “That given the fact that I’m very much involved in this, I have no choice but to continue.”
But that was only part of my reason for being so insistent. It was true I believed I could well be in danger. But I also happen to possess a stubborn streak that, on occasion, has been known to motivate me to do the opposite of what other people want me to do. Maybe it’s a statement about my independence, or maybe there’s just a screw loose. Whatever it is, the more involved I become in something, the more determined I become to see it through to the end. That particular personality had served me well in life thus far, so I wasn’t going to change now.
“Before you say another word,” I went on before he had a chance to come up with some new argument, “I want you to listen to what I’ve learned so far. Will you at least do that much for me?”
Nick opened his mouth to protest, then shut it quickly enough that I could see he recognized a losing battle when he was confronted with one. I decided to take advantage of his sudden cooperative spirit, no matter how grudging it may have been.
I lowered myself onto the bed next to him, then spent the next ten minutes filling him in on all the interactions I’d had over the past two days. I told him about Marnie’s editor and fellow staff members at the Maui Dispatch, her alleged boyfriend Ace, former reporter Holly Gruen, and even John Irwin, the charming man whom she’d been certain had decked her the afternoon of the governor’s press conference.
As I spoke, I could tell he was trying to remain expressionless. But I knew him well enough that I could practically hear what he was thinking.
So I wasn’t surprised that when I finally finished my report, Nick opened his mouth—no doubt to go back to trying to convince me that chasing down a killer, no matter what my reasons, was not the best way to spend a vacation in paradise.
He never got a chance. The sharp rapping at the door interrupted him.
“I’d better get that,” I said, hopping off the bed.
“Aren’t you afraid it’s the cat burglar?” Nick asked wryly.
I didn’t deign to answer him. I did check the peephole, however, before flinging open the door.
“Betty and Winston!” I announced. “What a lovely surprise!”
This time, I meant it.
“Hello, hello!” Betty cried, waltzing into the room. She was dressed in a fetching yellow bathing suit, her bottom half modestly covered by an orange and yellow batik pareo, a Polynesian-style sarong. Underneath the wide brim of her straw sun hat, her damp hair clung to her neck in curls, and the large, limp hotel towel draped over her arm was sprinkled with sand. Her nose couldn’t have been redder and her smile couldn’t have been wider.
“Winston and I had such a fabulous afternoon on the beach!” she exclaimed. “I can hardly believe that just yesterday, we were driving on the Long Island Expressway, watching the sleet hit the windshield and wondering if our plane would take off!”
Winston came in right behind her. He, too, was wearing a bathing suit, a baggy, knee-length jobbie covered with lime green geckos. His nose was streaked with white sunblock, and dangling from a chain on his neck was one of those pink plastic plugs that keeps water from going up your nose.
“We’re still a bit jet-lagged,” he said jovially, “but we weren’t about to let that get in our way. In fact, we thought we’d shower and then find a place in our guidebook that has both dinner and dancing. Care to join us?”
I glanced at Nick woefully. “Thanks, but I think we’ll pass. Besides, I’m sure you two would rather be alone.”
“On the contrary!” Winston boomed. “The more, the merrier!”
“Next time,” Nick promised. “Right now, Jessie and I have a few things to sort out.”
Betty’s sunny smile faded. “Oh, my. That doesn’t sound good.”
“It’s nothing,” I said quickly. “We’re just, uh, trying to decide how to spend the next few days. Between the conference and everything else.”
“It’s the ‘everything else’ part that sounds dangerous,” Betty commented. “In that case, let’s take a rain check. I’m sure we’ll have plenty of other chances.”
“Tell them about the luau,” Winston prompted.
She immediately brightened. “I almost forgot! There’s a luau right here at the hotel that’s supposed to be one of the best on the island. I was thinking it might be fun for all of us to go one night.”
“As a matter of fact, we have four free tickets,” I told them. “Nick and I won them at a Polynesian dance show.”
“Actually, we earned them,” he corrected me. “And in the process made total fools of ourselves.”
“I don’t know about that,” I remarked, unable to resist a little teasing. “You turned out to be pretty good at moving your arms with the grace of a palm tree. You’ve got excellent hip motion too.”
“Aw, shucks,” he said with a smile. “Let’s go to that luau tomorrow night, then. The four of us. Does that sound okay, Jess?”
“I’m there,” I agreed.
“Marvelous,” Betty said, beaming. “It starts at eight. I’ll make a reservation and we can all meet at the restaurant.”
“In the meantime, perhaps we’d better leave you two to sort out whatever it is that needs sorting,” Winston suggested diplomatically.
“But we’ll have plenty of time to enjoy one another’s company tomorrow,” Betty said gaily. “I’m already looking forward to it!”
By the time they toddled off to shower and dress for a romantic night of cha-cha’ing and bossa-nova’ing and whatever else was on their agenda, the air in the room had definitely cleared. In fact, I was beginning to accept the fact that I really had overreacted to my silent phone caller. I supposed that maybe, just maybe, it was possible Nick was right, that it really could have been nothing more ominous than a wrong number.
I turned to him and took both his hands in mine. “Nick,” I said solemnly, “I don’t want to argue.”
“I don’t either,” he agreed. “Believe me, that’s the last thing I want.”
“In that case, why don’t we spend the evening doing what we came to Maui to do?” I suggested. “Let’s find a romantic seaside restaurant, one with tiki torches and a great view of the sunset, and just hold hands and gaze at the ocean and all that corny stuff.”
I held my breath as I waited for his answer. Fortunately, it took only about two seconds for his stony expression to melt.
“Sounds good to me,” he replied.
I leaned over and kissed him lightly. “And I promise I won’t talk about murder. In fact, I guarantee that tonight is all about fun.”
“Mmm,” he replied, taking me in his arms. “I’m already having fun.”
Frankly, I felt as if a little fun was something both of us needed.
The hotel’s Oceanview Terrace restaurant delivered exactly what it promised: a magnificent view of the ocean. It also had the requisite tiki torches, an extensive selection of umbrella drinks, and soft Hawaiian music playing in the background. Even our waiter helped set the scene for the perfect island fantasy. Not only were both of his bulging biceps tattooed with what looked like authentic Polynesian motifs; he was dressed in a dark blue pareo batiked with starfish and sea horses and other sea life I had to assume actually lived in the Pacific Ocean.
“Now this is what a vacation in Maui is supposed to be like,” Nick said with a satisfied grin. “Sitting by the ocean and watching the sunset with my best girl.” He reached across the table to take my hand, deftly bypassing the plate of coconut shrimp sitting between us.
“I had no idea you were such a romantic,” I replied teasingly.
“Are you kidding? I’m totally romantic.”
“Okay, then here’s my three-question romance test. First question: Did you cry at the end of Titanic?”
“No, but I felt really, really sad.”
“Second question: How many Jane Austen novels have you read?”
“All of them,” he replied. “I was an English major, remember?”
“You’re doing very well,” I told him. “But the third question is the killer: Would you rather walk along a beach hand in hand at sunset or watch wrestling on TV?”
He frowned, pretending he was mulling that one over. “Are the wrestlers male or female?”
I let out a whoop. “I think you just failed!” I said, laughing.
“Hey, female wrestling can be extremely erotic. And erotic is close to romantic.”
“Not close enough!” I insisted. “I’m sorry, but you didn’t win the trip to Acapulco.”
Even though I was kidding, Nick suddenly grew serious. “That’s okay,” he said earnestly, his hazel eyes boring into mine. “I’m happy with this trip. Maui is very romantic, even if we haven’t had a chance to walk on the beach hand in hand yet.”
Even though he hadn’t said anything particularly controversial, the mood instantly shifted. I suddenly felt myself growing uncomfortable. We were getting dangerously close to the one topic I’d been avoiding since I first learned about the location of this year’s AVMA conference—our other visit to Maui.
And then, before I could change the subject or spill my drink or do something else that would counteract the heaviness hanging over us, Nick said, “I think you and I are in a totally different place, compared to where we were when we took our last trip to Maui. Don’t you agree?”
I suddenly felt dizzy. But instead of seeing spots before my eyes, I was seeing rice—the kind that’s thrown on the front steps of churches. I blinked a few times, fixing my gaze on the tables behind Nick and taking deep breaths.
“I think the two of us living together for these past three months has brought us much closer together,” he went on. “I know you kind of got roped into it, since I was thrown out of my apartment and all. But it’s worked out great, the two of us sharing your place and splitting the expenses and acting like…well, like a real couple.”
I glanced around frantically, wondering who’d turned off the air-conditioning. Then I remembered that we were sitting outside. Where on earth had that lovely sea breeze gone? How was it possible that I suddenly felt as if I were choking from the stifling air? Even noticing that nobody else who was dining on the terrace seemed to be having the least bit of difficulty didn’t help me catch my breath.
“But I’ve really enjoyed the experience.” Nick sounded remarkably cheerful for someone whose dinner companion was about to pass out. Then again, maybe he was so caught up in what he was saying that he didn’t notice. “And I’m really glad that taking our relationship to the next level has worked out so well. In fact, I’m sure that you’ve thought of the possibility of—”
“Who gets the macadamia-encrusted mahimahi?”
I was so relieved when our waiter showed up with two steaming plates that I nearly threw my arms around him. Of course, he was naked from the waist up, since he was wearing nothing but a big piece of fabric, albeit an exceptionally modest and extremely tasteful one. Even in my advanced state of anxiety, I knew that hugging strange men who looked completely qualified to pose for the Hunks of Hawaii calender wasn’t exactly a recipe for a successful romantic evening.
Fortunately, our dinner entrees turned out to be enough of a distraction that Nick seemed to forget all about the unfortunate direction in which our conversation had been heading. In fact, all through dinner and into dessert, I managed to keep the conversation focused on exactly whi
ch activities we planned to squeeze into our vacation.
It wasn’t until we’d both tasted the dessert we’d agreed to split that I picked up on the fact that the conversation was veering back into dangerous waters again. And here I’d been so happy in the wonderfully safe, clear blue waters of the Pacific that were so perfect for swimming, snorkeling, surfing, and a dozen other activities that caused neither shortness of breath nor heart palpitations.
“You know, Jess,” Nick said, taking my hand once again, “there’s something important I’ve wanted to talk to you about all evening. I’ve just been waiting for the right moment.”
The coconut shrimp, macadamia nut–encrusted fish, and all the other delicious food that had been sitting in my stomach so happily suddenly felt like lead. Extremely thick layers of it.
What on earth makes you think this is the right moment? I wanted to demand. Here we’ve been having such a nice time, scarfing down fabulous food and sipping sweet, fruity drinks that look as if they’ve been decorated by a professional florist and listening to wonderfully tacky Hawaiian music…Why ruin it?
“But it’s so late!” I cried. “And…and we have this extremely huge macadamia nut ice cream concoction to finish.”
“We really need to have this talk,” he insisted, stroking my hand.
I desperately wanted to curl said hand around a spoon and focus on much more immediate and considerably less stressful pastimes.
But before I had a chance to point out that our ice cream was melting, Nick gave my hand a squeeze, then held it even more tightly. “Jessie,” he said slowly, “I’ve been thinking about Marnie Burton’s murder.”
Is that all, I thought, feeling all the air rush out of my lungs in a sudden burst of relief. And here I’d been afraid he was talking about something really frightening, like the other M word that had done such a fine job of ruining our last trip to Hawaii.
“And this…this compulsion you have to investigate murders,” he continued.
I suppose it was his use of the word compulsion, but the air between us suddenly felt colder than the dessert in front of me. I’d had no idea the weather in Hawaii was so changeable.
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