Mystic Mischief

by Sally J. Smith

  At that point Steve had left, and my married life had been kaput. My social life had been kaput. My high-profile job as managing vice-president at Corporate Worldwide Travel's Chicago headquarters became my entire life. The money? Good. But after six months of twelve-hour days supervising a few hundred travel agents in a dozen international locations, then going home to an empty condo, I had finally admitted what I had wasn't much of a life. It just wasn't making it.

  So I'd purchased the former Ono's Island Adventures at the Aloha Lagoon Resort and changed it to Gabby's Island Adventures. That was how I wound up sitting with David Sherwin at the Aloha Lagoon Resort in Hawaii, babying my own little struggling business, trying to unkink all the knots in my shoulders and find a life beyond corporate travel, beyond Steve, and beyond my own shortcomings—like the uncomfortable feeling I got every time someone or something sabotaged my carefully planned day or I found myself needing to gracefully accept help from others. Face it, Gabby. You're a work in progress.

  David Sherwin brought me back with, "There're eighteen of us, including myself, my associate, and the family members. They're nagging me to get out and explore. What do you suggest? Is there anything we could haul 'em out to later this morning? I don't mind adding on a hefty late-booking fee just to get them to shut up."

  Hearing the ring of an imaginary cash register, I shifted my shoulders and tugged at the hem of my aloha blouse, a cream-colored camp-style blouse with tan-and-black bamboo leaves scattered across it. It was resort-approved work wear, along with the black cigarette pants. They were good clothes for barbecues and hanging out, but my old boss, bless her heart, would have had a stroke if I'd shown up for work at Corporate Worldwide Travel dressed like that.

  "Eighteen people?" I thought about it, and then I grinned back at him. "I think I have just the thing. Have you ever heard of the Fern Grotto?" I reached across my desk and pulled a pamphlet from an acrylic brochure stand with detailed information on the river cruise to the famous fern-covered lava-rock cavern.

  He took the brochure and studied it for a few beats then nodded slowly.

  I went on. "How about rounding up your group and bringing them out to the front entrance of the resort in an hour and a half?"

  He handed me an Amex, I ran the card, and we shook on it before he left to gather his people.

  So far my little tour company had only been able to afford two employees—part time at that. Lana and Koma Pukui, full-blooded Hawaiian fraternal twins, were on hourly wage at my place and had to supplement their incomes with other part-time jobs.

  Koma walked into the office shortly after David Sherwin had left.

  I looked up from my computer screen at the Hawaiian dream boy whose brilliant smile and muscles to die for were the perfect material for a suntan lotion commercial.

  "Aloha, Miss LeClair." He set a to-go cup and small paper bag in front of me.

  "You never seem to have time for breakfast, so I thought…"

  I peeked into the bag to see one of the hotel's famous pineapple-coconut muffins. "Thank you."

  Koma exuded what was referred to around the islands as the "Spirit of Aloha," which his sister, Lana, had defined to me as "Living in harmony with yourself, others, and the world you live in."

  It was a concept I couldn't seem to get a handle on.

  "Can you stay and work this afternoon, Koma?" Straight to business. "I just booked a last-minute group to the grotto."

  "Oh sure, Miss LeClair." I wished he'd quit calling me that. My thirty-two years weren't all that aged, even if you stacked them against his twenty-three. At least, I didn't think so.

  "I can drive for you, but Lana has to fill in at Central Island Produce." It was her second job, and I didn't blame her. She had to get hours when and where she could to pay for her ongoing pursuit of an online degree in education.

  "I should be able to handle escort duties on this one." I'd acted as escort before, although it wasn't my forte, and I never felt I was half as good at it as Lana. First of all, my job in Chicago had been limited to booking travel and overseeing operations, so I had little experience at escorting tours and chatting up the customers. And second of all, I didn't know the island like the back of my hand the way the twins did. Thank God, Koma would be able to go along.

  "Lana gets off at two," he said. "I can call her and make sure she'll come straight here to cover the phones."

  That would only leave the office unmanned about an hour, which was tolerable.

  Koma went to the safe and got the keys to the shuttle. "I'll just go to the garage and make sure the bus is all gassed up and ready to go."

  "Thanks," I said, thinking how lucky I was to have the twins working with me. "One of these days I need to be sure to thank Rick Dawson."

  "Thank me for what, Princess?" It was Rick, standing in the doorway.

  As Koma walked out, Rick Dawson, owner-operator of Rick's Air Paradise, met him in the doorway. They did that island thing with their hands that looked sort of like call me to mainlanders. "Hey, brah," Koma said and went out.

  Rick propped his lean frame against the doorjamb. He wore jeans, boat shoes, and his company shirt, a royal-blue polo with his signature hummingbird on the pocket and Rick's Air Paradise embroidered in yellow above it.

  Rick's short blond hair was ruffled, as if he'd been running his hands through it. His tan made the startling ice blue of his eyes extra sparkly today. His lopsided grin, as always, was a combination friendly-cocky-smug and, yes, sexy. It did an excellent job of showing off the dimple almost hidden by his beard scruff.

  "Thank you for introducing me to the Pukui twins. Lana and Koma have worked out so well for Island Adventures. And I prefer Gabrielle to Princess. Remember?"

  He crossed the room, a hint of Old Spice coming with him, and sat down in front of my desk, making himself right at home. "And thank you for hiring them," he said. "You didn't have to, you know. A lot of women wouldn't have given kids like them a chance."

  "Everyone deserves a chance," I said.

  "I know a lot of people who don't agree, especially when it's their livelihood—their tush—on the line, like yours is. You're here every day, knocking it out on your own, and yet you were open-minded enough to give them a shot." He grinned. "Too bad that generosity doesn't extend to giving your down-to-the-minute schedules a break, but…we can work on that one together."

  I quirked an eyebrow at him. "Together, Rick?"

  He shrugged. "Sure, Princess, why not?"

  Our relationship was a tricky one for me. Our exclusive booking contract was beneficial to my company in terms of income. When reservations for his air tour company came in through my office, we coordinated them, made his collections, kept track of them, and retained a commission for our trouble. That way Rick and the other pilot who worked with him could do what they did best, namely fly tourists over one of the most exquisite spots on the face of the planet. So while he wasn't my boss, neither was he an employee or client, and we didn't have a social relationship. I'd admitted to myself (but not to Rick) that I was having trouble finding a comfortable slot for our association. But one thing I did know—none of my other business associates had ever called me "Princess."

  He grinned. "Well, you're welcome. Koma and Lana are top drawer."

  "Top drawer, Rick?" Sometimes the way he phrased things made him sound so old-fashioned.

  He shrugged. "Okay, so I watched a lot of old movies when I was growing up. Anyway, I'm here just making sure the bigwigs from Tokyo are still on, and if they are, do you have any last-minute tips or suggestions on how you want me to handle them?"

  The way he emphasized tips and suggestions was his never-too-subtle way of letting me know he thought I micromanaged everything way too much, including him.

  "Well…" I pulled a folder from my drawer. "Now that you're here, I'd like to remind you how important their schedule is. Please, don't forget to be here to welcome them aboard the shuttle bus before their flight, and it's important that they arriv
e back at the airfield right on time for the return shuttle to the resort. The hotel groups director, Juls Kekoa, has a banquet set up for them in the Plumeria Room."

  He shook his head, but the smile never diminished. "Sure. And are you gonna be at the banquet to cut their meat up for them too?"

  I tried to smile, but it probably wasn't convincing. "That's not fair, Rick, but I'd even tuck them in and read them a bedtime story if it helped to keep them on schedule. It's my job."

  His smile widened. "That's what you call a full-service travel agent."

  "You don't understand—the schedule's important. This group only has so much time here."

  He stood and stretched, arms over his head, his lean torso extended, his shirt riding up above the low-slung waistband of his jeans, and then he ruffled his hair with one hand. His voice wasn't unkind. "I think maybe you're the one who doesn't understand. The 'here' you're talking about is paradise. Schedules have a way of disintegrating when the aloha spirit beckons."

  "I still have to try." I held up a copy of the Tokyo group's itinerary. "Here, this might be helpful to you."

  He took it and saluted. "The big question is: Will it be helpful to them?"

  CHAPTER TWO

  My gorgeous little shuttle, which I'd recently purchased on a five-year payment plan (my first-ever business loan), seated up to twenty passengers, the driver (today that was Koma), and a tour escort (today that was me).

  Koma had run it through the car wash. Then he brought it around to the front of the resort, all shiny and clean.

  "She's all set to go, Miss LeClair." With a polishing rag, he took one last swipe at the windshield as I walked up.

  "I'm so glad you're available today," I said.

  "Lihue Framers is kinda slow this month. No hammering nails for me so far." He shrugged. Koma was working toward being a journeyman carpenter, but as slowly as he'd been progressing, that would be sometime in the unforeseen future. He didn't seem to mind. Koma had a lot of things going on in his young life.

  "How's the girlfriend?" I teased.

  He flushed and ducked his head. "Which one, Miss LeClair?"

  "Never mind, Koma," I said. "Too many girls, too little time."

  I stood by the open shuttle door, while Koma stepped in and cranked up the AC to cool it off. The hot August day would have been uncomfortable if not for the cooling trade winds that swept under the portico. I finger-combed my hair back into place, grateful for the decision to go short with it when I moved to the islands. There was no time in my day to spend fussing over my hair. Carefree was what I'd gone with, and it worked on more than one level.

  At ten minutes after one—already late—David Sherwin walked out through the front entrance to Aloha Lagoon Resort with several people trailing along behind him.

  "Gabby," Sherwin said. "Here we are, all ready for our jungle cruise." He winked at me.

  Those coming behind him stopped and waited. He turned around to them. "Let's not stand around, people. Time to get this show on the road. Paradise awaits." He climbed on board the bus.

  I lifted my clipboard to begin checking names off my guest list.

  "Hello, I'm Thomas Wesley Junior." The first man stepped up to me and leaned over for a look at my list. "Call me TJ."

  "I'm Gabby, TJ," I said.

  He offered his hand, and we shook.

  He was kind of a heartthrob—blond, blue-eyed, fit, in his early thirties.

  He helped a long-legged brunette up the steps. "This is Melissa, my wife." She nodded and smiled.

  The guy who came along behind them looked like he'd arrived straight from an Iowa cornfield, big and brawny with a crew cut and a huge smile. He wore a ball cap that said Sun Your Buns in Hawaii, a shirt with surfboards all over it, and swim trunks at least one size too small. I tried not to notice—the tight trunks.

  He touched the brim of the ball cap. "Well, aloooha."

  "And you are?" I asked.

  "I'm Bernie, sweetheart. Bernie Anderson, not Wesley. I'm not officially part of the family. TJ and me went to college together. I work for him now."

  A young woman with big, dark doe eyes, alabaster skin, and unruly chestnut hair walked up and stood quietly beside me. She seemed to be waiting for me to speak, so I did. "And you are…"

  "All is fair."

  "Pardon me?" I could barely hear her.

  "Alice Olivier." She spoke more loudly and clearly this time.

  "Oh." I crossed her name off the list.

  "I'm legal staff," she said. "Mr. Sherwin's associate."

  I should have guessed it. Not dressed in loose, flowery prints like the other women in the group, she had opted instead for a white blouse, navy-blue skirt, and flats.

  After Alice came twelve other assorted men and women, some young, some older. These were the aunts, uncles, cousins, nieces, and nephews of Thomas Wesley Senior—theoretically heirs to his estate or they wouldn't have been invited along on the trip.

  My eighteenth passenger and the last person to board was a lady in her late fifties or early sixties. She lumbered up and looked down at me from a semi-lofty perch. "Nina Wesley." Her voice was low pitched, maybe even baritone. "Aunt Nina," she continued. "The late Tommy's sister. My poor, poor Tommy." She had a sweet smile, which went a long way toward neutralizing her saggy horse face and astounding height—six foot one, if an inch. "Hey there," she quipped, leaning over and watching as I checked her name off my list. "I'm looking forward to a real pipperoony of a day here."

  "Of course," I said, mourning the old days of handling six simple first-class round-trip tickets to London for the board of directors of some financial investment firm. A few strokes of the computer and the outrageously priced tickets added a nice commission to the CWT coffers and profit shares. I never had to actually deal with the clients. But that was then, and this was now. "Pipperoony," I said. "That's exactly what I have in mind too."

  * * *

  The Wailua River was the only real navigable river on the islands. Its slow current meandered along lush tropical landscapes, ferns, and flora. The sweet, floral perfume verged on overpowering. The indigenous island vegetation was stunning, but the humidity would curl even Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson's hair. If he had any.

  On arrival at the boarding point for the cruise, Koma, I, and all eighteen members of the Wesley group piled out of the shuttle, our sunglasses immediately fogging up at the drastic change in temperature.

  We boarded a flat-bottom, canopied riverboat to make the two-mile journey to the Fern Grotto. While we waited for other passengers to board, I kept the group together and began my spiel. I wasn't half as good at it as Lana, but I'd listened to her often enough that I knew it pretty well. Still, glad-handing and schmoozing just wasn't in my DNA, and the effort made me self-conscious.

  "River cruises along the Wailua have been operating for decades. We're going to travel to the famous Fern Grotto for a little exploration. The cave and rock formations there create a natural amphitheater with nearly perfect acoustics."

  After only about ten minutes, we pulled away from the dock, and an announcer basically repeated what I'd just told my group, only the PA system garbled it so badly, no one could actually understand what he was saying, which was the reason Lana and I always took the time to describe the tour.

  Once we rounded the bend and the grotto came into view, I continued my liturgy. "The fern grotto is situated by a dormant cave formed when rivers of molten lava flowed from the volcano to the sea." I tried the little joke that always made the guests laugh when Lana said it. "But don't worry. The cave is extinct now—at least we hope it is. Heh-heh." No one even cracked a smile. In fact a couple of the older women looked downright concerned. "All right then. Back in 2006, the grotto cave was closed when heavy rains washed down rocks and boulders from the ceiling. It was reopened in 2007, but access is now restricted to the observation deck. You'll need to stay together and not wander into restricted areas, please. We'll meet back at the boarding area at 3:30. When we di
sembark, please watch your step."

  Koma offered up a special island warning. "Please don't pick up or even move any of the volcanic rocks. There are laws that forbid it. Kapu. Some say the laws were made to protect mainlanders." He had everyone's attention.

  It was our standard script, and I continued, taking Lana's line. "That would be protecting you from the Goddess Pele, who considers the soil and rocks of the volcanoes to be her children. It's said people who have taken rocks send them back because terrible bad luck assaults them." There were a few oohs and aahs from the cousins. "Me? I don't know if I believe it or not, but I always say better safe than sorry." I snuck another look at Koma, who frowned now. His island heritage made him, like many islanders, a strong believer in the lore and legend surrounding the mystical archipelago, and he probably figured Pele would come after me for even suggesting it wasn't all true.

  I led the group from the boat out onto the observation deck, with Koma bringing up the rear. At the end of the deck, a wedding ceremony was being held, so the hula and choral performance would be delayed until the ceremony was over. The bride wore a long, white cotton dress with ruffles at the hem and shoulders and a crown lei of delicate white flowers, and the groom wore a pale blue embroidered shirt with a ti-leaf garland over his shoulders. The singers and musicians performed "Hawaiian Wedding Song." All the members of my group pulled out their cameras and phones and hurried over to take photos.

  Aunt Nina approached David Sherwin and whispered in the attorney's ear.

  He looked up at her and frowned.

  She laid one of her big awkward hands on his arm and looked into his eyes flirtatiously, grinning down at him openmouthed like an affectionate golden retriever. She backed away from the group, pulling him along with her. What was she up to?