Dying for a Daiquiri (29 page)

Shortly after four, Mother, Stan and I pulled into the long drive to the center. We’d spent so much time at Koffee Land this past week, it was beginning to feel like my second home. A big sign informed visitors the center was closed for a private event. Another sign directed invited guests to head to the pavilion.

Soothing Hawaiian music poured out of the first-rate speaker system. The camera crew followed Stacey Leung-Crawford around the property as she pointed in various directions, extolling the virtues of the destination coffee plantation. The commentator was dressed to perfection in an elegant ivory sheath and matching high-heeled sandals. That dress would remain stain-free for less than five minutes if I wore it. I guess on-camera newscasters are more graceful than yours truly.

The three of us stopped at the bar and ordered drinks. My lillikoi daiquiri arrived in a coconut shell with the requisite orchid, pineapple slice and maraschino cherry on a swizzle stick. I sipped the refreshing concoction and smiled. Talk about the nectar of the Gods. I’d bet Pele, the fire goddess, would have been a lot less vengeful if she’d drunk these on a daily basis.

I waved at Regan who stood between my brother and Steve. They chatted with Ritz and a tiny dark-haired woman with piercing black eyes and a beak-like nose. Regan motioned to us so we walked over to join them.

Before I could embrace my brother and sister-in-law, Ritz engulfed me in a hug that threatened to bruise the few remaining body parts not injured during the course of this vacation.

“Here she is,” he shouted, holding up my right arm in his left, making me feel like the winner of the World Wide Wrestling championship. The men all cheered. The guests, some of whom looked as confused as I did, applauded as well.

The tiny woman introduced herself as Pilar. “So you are the magnificent Laurel,” she said, her gaze running from the top of my desperately-need-a trim curls to my slightly scuffed turquoise wedges.

“Um, yes, I am the magni…–I’m Laurel. It’s so nice to meet you. Ritz has told us…” My voice trailed off when I realized Ritz had told us zilch about his wife. “So how is the reality show coming?”

“They’re behind schedule due to yesterday’s little hiccup.” Pilar appeared miffed by the scene with Victor the previous day. I was a tad miffed myself when she described my hostage situation as a little “hiccup.”

“My husband needs to be more cautious when selecting employees,” she muttered.

“I still can’t believe Victor stole from me and killed young Joey.” Ritz shook his head ruefully. “And his beautiful stepdaughter. Unbelievable.”

“Keiki seemed like such a sweetheart,” Stan interjected.

Pilar sniffed. “That young woman was no sweetheart. When she discovered something she wanted, she went after it.”

My mother and I exchanged glances. Who or what was Pilar referring to?

As I attempted to think of a way to question Pilar without accusing Ritz of any hanky-panky, she answered my question. “That Keiki wheedled her way into Edward’s heart. Or more specifically, into Edward’s pants.”

I almost dropped my cocktail when Stan and Mother both shouted in unison. “Who’s Edward?”

“Edward Maples is the director of
The Bride and the Bachelor.
He’s also the father of one of Keiki’s dancer friends. As soon as Keiki discovered he was responsible for choosing the contestants, she went after him like a heat-seeking missile.”

“Now, dear.” Ritz attempted to soothe his wife. “Keiki would have made an excellent candidate for the show.”

She rolled her eyes. “We have a nice line-up of girls now. And hopefully there won’t be any more hiccups.” Pilar lasered a frown in my direction. I merely smiled. My goal was to remain in a hiccup-free zone all night.

Stacey Leung-Crawford joined us. “Laurel, how nice to see you have recovered from yesterday’s dreadful affair.”

Now here was a woman who took a hostage situation seriously.

“Thank you,” I said. “I’m just relieved the police have Victor in custody.”

“We’d like to interview you on camera now.” Stacey pursed her lips and looked me over. “Do you want to put on some make-up?”

I thought I already had. “No, I’m good.” My goal was to get the interview over without looking like a complete idiot.

Stacey and I left the others and headed toward the bank of cameras. We passed the
Bride and the Bachelor
contestants who glimmered and shimmered in the bright sunlight. Their slinky dresses were far removed from your basic Hawaiian
muumuu
. Amanda had tucked her signature flower into her long blonde hair. Today she chose a coral hibiscus, pinned over her left ear, which perfectly matched the flowers on her strapless dress. I gave her a thumbs-up as I walked by.

When we reached the area below the pavilion, I came face to face with an array of cameras.

Great. Nothing I love more than the opportunity to embarrass myself on TV. Was I a lucky
wahine
or what?

Stacey motioned to the closest camera guy. “Ted, I want you to pan the contestants. Try to get a close-up of each one. Then zoom in on Laurel and me.”

Stacey smiled and patted my knee, which was shaking more than a hula dancer’s hips. “You’ll be fine,” she assured me.

As she observed the camera crew filming the contestants, her expression morphed from Ms. Congeniality to Ms. Executive Producer. “That stupid girl. I keep telling her if she’s going to wear a flower in her hair, it has to be over the right ear.”

“Huh?” I responded.

“That blonde girl, Amanda, she insists on wearing a flower over her left ear. Hawaiian tradition maintains that wearing it over her left ear signifies she is already taken. That she has a boyfriend, a lover. I’ve told her over and over, but that girl just can’t seem to get it right.”

Geez. What a perfectionist, I thought, as Stacey mumbled under her breath about dumb blondes. She yelled at Amanda, pointing to her ear, but Amanda just shook her head no. In my opinion, if Amanda wanted to wear her trademark flower over the wrong ear, that was her decision. She must have a perfectly good reason for her floral faux pas.

I ogled the beautiful women who were dressed to the elevens in sequined or beaded cocktail dresses. Some of the women wore rhinestone earrings so long they brushed against their shoulders. I personally thought Amanda looked terrific in her floral floor-length dress, its simplicity set off by the tropical flower over the “wrong” ear. She’d left her other ear unadorned.

And Amanda was definitely not a dumb blonde. Not with a degree in marine biology. No one appeared more driven to win the bachelor than her. I’d assumed her daily floral adornment was due to her love for Hawaiian traditions. But if that was the case, why did she flout custom and insist on wearing a flower over the wrong ear?

Or did she have to cover that ear for a specific reason?

“Amanda mentioned she was a last-minute substitute,” I said to Stacey. “What did she mean by that?”

“When we were notified of Keiki’s death, we had to find a replacement and fast. Amanda was on the list and available to jump in.” Stacey sighed and looked at her watch. “We’re behind schedule so there’s nothing I can do about her now. Are you ready for your interview?”

When I didn’t respond, she repeated herself. “Laurel, are you listening?”

I was listening. But I was also adding two and two together and not liking the result.

Stacey poked my arm and greeted her viewers.

“Tonight I’m joined by a woman who survived a true crime episode that occurred here at Koffee Land yesterday. Laurel McKay was taken hostage by a vicious murderer who killed not once, but twice on this island.” Stacey shoved the microphone in my face. “What did it feel like to have a gun pointed at you?”

Not so good. Kind of like the last time a gun was pointed at me. And why was it every time a gun was pressed to my forehead, I needed to pee? What was up with that?

“I was worried, of course, but deep down I didn’t think Victor would hurt me.”

Stacey stepped back and splayed her palm across her chest, as if stunned by my comment. “But the man threw one of his workers off the zip-line platform. And he murdered his stepdaughter!”

“I still don’t believe that Victor killed Keiki––” I protested. I stared at the contestants once again. How far would someone go to marry her Mr. Right? What measures would she take when she discovered that her friend had made it as a contestant on the show instead of herself? The “friend” who always won, whether the prize was boys or beauty pageants. Once again, Keiki had ruined her chance of winning, but this time she’d also destroyed her opportunity to meet the man of her dreams. My gaze settled on Amanda as her defiant green eyes met mine.

Stacey flashed me a confused look. “If Victor didn’t kill Keiki then who did?”

I pointed to Amanda and yelled. “That girl!”

Multiple cameras wheeled to follow my accusing finger. Amanda froze in place then turned and ran toward the parking lot, stumbling on her four-inch heels.

A sea of stunned faces surrounded me, but no one made a move to stop Amanda who’d recovered from her misstep. Was there a way to slow the fleeing suspect? We had to do something. I looked down at my drink.

Darn. I hated to waste the delicious daiquiri, but someone had to stop her. I dumped the liquid, bent my right arm back and hoped four years of playing outfield for my high school softball team would come in handy.

The coconut projectile missed Amanda’s head but caught her squarely in the back. She fell forward, tripping over the hem of her long dress. I slipped out of my wedges and raced to grab her before she could run off again. With my brother close behind, we cornered Amanda in less than a minute.

Dave held her thrashing arms, and I pinned her down by sitting on her. Sometimes an extra
malasada
or two
does
come in handy.

During the struggle, Amanda’s coral hibiscus fell off. I could now see the large crusty scab on the bottom of her left ear lobe.

“Let me go,” Amanda screamed. “I have a show to do.”

“Amanda, we know you killed Keiki.” I pushed my weight down on her struggling legs.

“She slept with the director and stole my spot,” Amanda hissed. “She knew how important this show was to me. I begged her to drop out. To give me an opportunity just once. But she made fun of me. Said I’d never beaten her in anything before, and I wouldn’t now. She told me I didn’t stand a chance with Jacques. She laughed at me. Said I was a nobody and I’d always be a nobody.” Amanda’s bitter laugh sent chills down my spine. “I showed her.”

Stacey and the camera crew arrived to capture our capture. Stacey huffed and puffed from her short jog. Her shortness of breath didn’t stop her from shoving the mike in Amanda’s flushed face. “Do you have anything to say to our viewers?”

Amanda leaned in to the microphone. “Remember to call 889-328-0012 and vote for me.” She smiled at the camera while Dave and I exchanged glances. This girl was officially a tropical fruitcake. Liz once joked that just because someone is a murder suspect, it doesn’t mean they aren’t entitled to meet the man of their dreams.

I doubt that killing off your competition is what Liz had in mind.

My mother had already called Detective Lee who wasn’t far from Koffee Land. In the interim, Dave and Steve tied Amanda to a tree using some of the TV cables. Steve, a master of nautical knots, guaranteed she couldn’t get away.

Amanda seemed to be reveling in all the attention. No one would ever refer to her as a nobody again. When the Bachelor stopped to gaze at the crazy woman who could have ended up as his bride, Amanda beamed as if she’d received Jacques’s marriage proposal. Between the live cameras and the flashing iPhones, this incident was certain to go viral in no time.

By the time Detective Lee arrived, Amanda had shared all with an audience of millions. She even explained how she’d committed the murder. Keiki thought she was meeting Edward the director for a midnight rendezvous. Instead, Amanda showed up, apologizing for their earlier argument and offered to celebrate Keiki’s success. The dancer could hardly refuse such a gracious request.

Keiki filled two glasses with daiquiri slushies. When she went to the ladies’ room, Amanda dumped some fast-acting sleeping pills in her friend’s daiquiri, put the drink back in the blender, and voila! A daiquiri guaranteed to send you to dreamland. Or in Keiki’s situation, to her death.

When Keiki became sleepy, Amanda guided her over to the rock wall. Keiki tried to hold on to Amanda for support but only succeeded in ripping off her killer’s earring before she tumbled to her death on the rocks below.

Steve’s eyes almost popped out of their sockets as he listened to Amanda’s true confession.

“Geez, I can’t believe I hired that ding-a-ling,” he said.

“A deadly ding-a-ling for sure,” I commented. “I see a temporary insanity plea in her future.”

Stan chimed in. “I see a new reality show in her future––Amanda does time.”

Mother shook her head. “I never would have guessed that girl’s desire to win the bachelor would lead to murder.”

“People do the craziest things in the name of love. Or what they think is love.” I gazed at my brother and sister-in-law holding each other tight. “It’s a shame it took Keiki’s murder investigation to bring Dave and Regan back together, but at least there is one positive result of this whole affair.”

“I can go home with a light heart after seeing the two of them together,” Mother said. “I’m sorry this trip didn’t turn out to be much of a vacation for you.”

“You mean getting pushed out of a boat, thrown from an ATV, and involuntarily going zip-lining isn’t your idea of a vacation?” I asked my mother. We both chuckled. I would have stories to share when I returned to the bank.

During a commercial break, Amanda confessed to ramming me off my ATV. After we told her on Friday we had new evidence regarding the killer and needed to solve the case before we left town, she’d become worried. Steve had included her in his Friday night poker party and that’s when she learned we were going on the ATV ride the next day. I never even considered that Amanda was one of the players.