Dying for a Daiquiri (2 page)

When a huge round of applause erupted, I worried Stan might plan on becoming a permanent fixture with the troupe, but Dave strode on to the stage, thanked him, and gently shoved him in the direction of the stairs. Stan nimbly hopped down and dragged a bamboo-backed chair over to our table, squeezing in between Liz and me.

One of the servers stopped to take our drink order. “Would you like another daiquiri?” she asked. I nodded and she turned to Stan.

“I’m thinking of going with a Tropical Itch,” he said.

I stared at him. “Is that a drink or a disease?”

“Ha, ha. Fruit juice, rum, vodka, and a backscratcher. You can’t beat that combination,” Stan replied. “Although maybe I should hold off in case they want me to perform an encore.”

“In that case, drink up.”

“Very funny. That was a blast and the dancers were terrific to me. I appreciate Dave giving me Keiki’s phone number so we could practice before the reception. She said she would teach me more dances before we head home. Can’t you see me throwing flaming swords in the air?”

Yes, I could. Although I visualized the swords bouncing off Stan’s head and searing his remaining hair into a crispy fringe. Stan shifted his chair closer to mine and whispered something.

“I can’t hear you,” I said. “Speak up.” The dancers were performing again and the sounds of “A Little Grass Shack” overpowered his low baritone. He moved so close I could practically taste the wasabi on his breath, which made me crave more of the spicy sushi rolls Dave’s chef had prepared for the wedding feast.

“Keiki and her sister, Walea, were arguing before the show,” Stan said. “I had a question about the routine and didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I overheard Walea accuse Keiki of carrying on with a married man. Keiki seems like a sweet girl so it’s hard to believe.”

“That’s surprising, but it’s none of our business how she handles her personal life.”

“I’m afraid Keiki’s private life is about to become personal for you.” Stan’s gray eyes communicated his concern.

“Huh?”

“Keiki is having an affair with your brother.”

My gaze zoomed to the stage where Dave and Keiki stood side by side, deep in conversation, her hand resting lightly on his freckled forearm.

How do you say “Oh crap” in Hawaiian?

“You must have misunderstood,” I said to Stan. “Dave would never have an affair. He’s one of the good guys.”

Dave was twelve and I was ten when our father died in an auto accident. My brother had been my rock during that sorrowful period and through my heartbreaking divorce almost three years ago. He’d flown to California to provide solace after my contractor husband, Hank McKay, had left me for one of his female clients. Hank’s definition of multitasking apparently meant nailing his client as well as her shingles.

Dave had not only provided a broad shoulder to cry on, he’d also offered to rearrange my ex’s body parts. Now that’s a terrific brother!

“Keiki didn’t admit they were having an affair, but she didn’t deny it either.” Stan nudged my arm and pointed at the stage. “Look at the two of them.”

Keiki and Dave chatted and laughed together, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. My brother possesses a great sense of humor. His entire staff probably adored him as much as his younger sister did.

“Uh, oh,” Stan said. “Look who just arrived.”

My sister-in-law walked through the restaurant headed in our direction. Her dark almond-shaped eyes proclaimed her Chinese heritage, while her porcelain complexion and auburn hair were inherited from her Blarney Stone-kissing kin. Today she appeared exhausted, her face alabaster pale above her colorful sundress. The bright red blossoms on her dress matched the flowering hibiscus bushes nestled around the building.

Stan jumped up and offered his chair. Regan nodded her thanks and sat next to me, her eyes glued to the stage where my brother and Keiki conversed. I had no idea if Stan’s information about Dave and the dancer was correct, but diverting my sister-in-law’s attention from the stage seemed like a good idea.

I smiled at her. “Dave told us you had to meet with your boss today. I’m glad you made it back for the reception.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t get here earlier,” Regan said. “Koffee Land is hosting a reality show in ten days. The owners, Ritz and Pilar Naygrew, had a ton of stuff to go over with me.”

“That sounds exciting,” I said, as visions of Hollywood stars danced in my head.

My sister-in-law rubbed her palms over her eyes. “It’s far more annoying than exciting at this point. But Ritz is my boss. When he says jump, I leap as high as he sets the bar.”

A fruity drink magically appeared in front of Regan. I could never keep these tropical concoctions straight, but this one was about the size of a Honda Civic.

Regan thanked the waitress. “
Mahalo
, Walea.”

“You’re welcome,” said the server. “You missed a terrific show tonight.”

Regan nodded towards Dave and Keiki. “I think I arrived just in time to see the ‘show’.” She picked up her glass and inhaled the cocktail as if it were fruit juice
sans
the alcohol.

Walea gnawed on her lower lip. I leaned forward wondering how she would respond to Regan’s remark.

“Can I get you anything, Laurel?” Walea evidently decided to keep mum on the subject of my brother and her sister.

When I declined her offer, she sashayed away, making me wonder if island parents taught their toddlers to wiggle their hips as soon as they learned to crawl.

Dave finally noticed Regan’s arrival. He broke off his conversation with Keiki, walked across the stage and down the steps, arriving at our table. He sat next to his wife and aimed a kiss at her cheek. He missed as she rebuffed him and turned to face me.

“How was the ceremony, Laurel?” Regan asked. “Was Liz happy with the location?”

“That small stone church you recommended was beautiful,” I said. “I can’t imagine a more perfect way for them to begin their life together than getting married in paradise.” My eyes veered to the happy couple who were having their picture taken against the backdrop of the lava rock setting.

Regan twisted her gold wedding band as her solemn eyes met mine. “Paradise can be rife with pitfalls.” She picked up her drink, seemingly intent on chugging the remainder.

Dave dropped his arm around his wife’s shoulders, but she shrugged him off.

“Sweetie,” he said, “you know you can’t handle alcohol.” He attempted to remove Regan’s glass. Their hands collided and the fruity concoction crashed to the floor. A red puddle oozed down the bamboo planking. It pooled under the slender, bare feet of Keiki, who was helping Walea clear the tables.

Keiki shot a look at Regan that I was unable to decipher, but she remained silent as she picked up the shards of glass. The youngest musician rushed to help her, but Dave brushed him aside and began to assist the dancer himself.

Regan muttered something under her breath, grabbed her straw tote and stood, her slight frame swaying slightly.

“Are you okay?” I asked as I followed her away from the table.

“I think I’ve had too little to eat and too much to drink.” Regan’s eyes welled with tears. “It’s been a grueling week, and I’d better go home before I say anything foolish to my husband.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

She shrugged. “You can try knocking some sense into your brother.”

I pointed at a grove of palm trees to the side of the open-air restaurant. “We’re a hard-headed family. Could take a coconut, or two, to do the trick.”

Her lips curled up in a weak smile. I was pleased my attempt at levity lightened her mood somewhat. I still found it difficult to accept anything was going on between Dave and the gorgeous dancer, but I wasn’t averse to stepping in and finding out.

It had been a few decades since this pigtailed tomboy tormented her big brother, but I felt confident I hadn’t lost my touch.

Nothing beats sleeping in and enjoying a leisurely morning in a tropical setting. The bride’s interpretation of leisure, however, differed dramatically from mine. My definition does not include embarking on an early morning snorkel sail after a night of dining, drinking and general carousing. My head felt like a troupe of Tahitian dancers and drummers had moved in overnight. The proportion of rum to fruit juice in those mango daiquiris I’d swilled must be higher than I’d realized.

I shoved a pillow over my face as the cloying sound of “Tiny Bubbles” blasted from the radio. I rolled over to turn off the alarm when someone silenced it for me.

“Good morning, dear. Rise and shine.”

Ugh. It was bad enough sharing a room with my mother. Listening to her perky greeting was even more annoying than Don Ho’s bubbly wake-up call. My stomach roiled as I eased myself against the padded gold brocade headboard. “Why don’t you go ahead without me? I don’t think I’m up for a boat ride this morning.”

“Don’t be silly,” she said. “Liz will be crushed if you don’t join us. I’ve already ordered breakfast from room service. Nothing like some hearty oatmeal to keep you regular.”

I closed my eyes trying to decide at what age my mother would no longer be interested in facilitating my digestive system. I opened them and squinted at the woman in question. She was dressed in a pair of sea-foam capris and a floral shirt that accented her short feathery blonde hair. With silver sandals, a sea-green tote and matching visor, she looked ready to star in an AARP advertisement to vacation in Hawaii.

The odds of winning the lottery were higher than of me getting out of our morning excursion.

I pushed my rumpled but extremely soft sheets aside and stumbled into the capacious marble bathroom. The oversized Jacuzzi tub beckoned but, with only a half hour to spare, I quickly showered, did my make-up and finished the bowl of heart-healthy oatmeal, made slightly less nutritious with heaping tablespoons of brown sugar and golden raisins added to the contents.

By seven-thirty, Mother and I were standing in front of the elevator, along with a family of six, the kids ranging in age from eight to toddler. I wished my children could have joined me on this trip, but my daughter, Jenna, a high school junior who dreamt of becoming an astronaut, hadn’t wanted to miss her SAT study classes. Ben, my seven-year-old, couldn’t afford to miss his second-grade classes either. Although my son hadn’t been officially diagnosed with ADHD, he possessed “attention discovery disorder.” Everything outside the classroom seemed far more interesting than what was happening on the pages of his textbooks.

I pictured Ben giggling with his best friend, Kristy, already almost twice his size. The young girl would top my five foot four and a quarter by fourth grade. Kristy took after her six-foot-three father, Detective Tom Hunter, my on-again off-again boyfriend. I sighed as I pictured Tom’s broad shoulders and thick chestnut hair, which occasionally grew past regulation length when he was too busy hunting down murderers to squeeze in a haircut.

Unfortunately, in the six weeks that we’d been seeing each other again, our dates were as infrequent as his visits to Super Haircuts. I’d hoped that a week together in a tropical setting would heat up our relationship, but Tom cancelled two days before we were scheduled to leave, ostensibly to hover over his latest crime scene.

Why couldn’t I find a boyfriend who preferred to hover over
me?

Maybe his official duties weren’t the real problem. Perhaps he wasn’t interested in me. I was beginning to think it was time to move on. The elevator’s ping coincided with the plummeting of my heart at the thought of Tom and me breaking up.

We hadn’t even had a chance to ping
together
!

Mother’s cell rang as we stepped out of the elevator into the enormous open-air lobby of the Regal Kona Resort. It didn’t take a detective to detect the call was from her new husband. Her rose-infused cheeks and giggles reinforced my deduction. Liz and Brian strolled toward us, their arms wrapped around each other’s waists. They wore matching blue-flowered shirts and smiles.

Liz’s wake-up call had obviously been more arousing than mine.

I was surrounded by people talking and thinking about sex. Enough to make a person gag. Speaking of which, Stan approached dressed in fluorescent floral attire, wearing a straw hat large enough to provide shade for a family of four.

“Nice chapeau,” I remarked.

He grinned. “Got it on clearance for fifty percent off. Can you believe it?”

Sure could. But if the wind died down, his hat would make an excellent fan. And if the engine quit, we could use the hat to propel the boat.

Brian went to claim his rental car from the valet while the rest of us stopped at a grass-roofed kiosk for four Kona coffees to go. My cell rang just as I finished doctoring my coffee. My heart sang, hoping the call was from Tom.

I dug in my purse and grabbed the phone. Once I identified the caller, I told my heart to dial it back a notch.

“Hey, Dave,” I said. “Are you on your way to the boat?” I picked up the steaming cup and sipped.

“No, I can’t go with you guys. I have to meet the police.”

My cup missed my lips, but not my navy T-shirt. I asked my brother to hold while I blotted a half cup of coffee from my chest.

“Why are you meeting with the police?” I asked, fearful of his answer.

“A body was found on the rocks below the restaurant. They need access inside.”

My stomach clenched at the image of someone lying on the lava rocks far below the building. “How awful. Did they give you any details?”

“No. I assume the tide carried the person there, but I can’t imagine who would go swimming in that area. The current is far too dangerous.” Dave’s voice cracked as he said, “I only hope it isn’t anyone I know.”

Dave’s news bummed everyone out, but realistically we realized there wasn’t anything our group could do to help him. I knew it would be a trying experience whether Dave personally knew the victim or not. I hoped for my brother’s sake that the answer was “not.”