Maui Widow Waltz (Islands of Aloha Mystery Series) (6 page)

“Oh, listen to Miss Bossy Boss.
Well, the queen of somewhere once said, ‘There’s no such thing as being too
rich or too thin.’ I’ve already got the rich part figured out, so now I’m going
for super-thin. Besides, Brad will like me skinny. Kevin says bony girls are
hot.”

Hot
wasn’t the word I’d use
to describe the jutting clavicles and xylophone ribcage Lisa Marie was flashing
me as she stood there in her skivvies. But I managed to maintain my fake smile
as she flounced back behind the dressing room curtain to get dressed.

When she came out she wore a soft
leather jacket over her street clothes. I touched her elbow and asked if I
could have just one more minute of her time. She rolled her eyes, but didn’t
make a dash for the door.

“I hate to bring this up, but your
original deposit has been pretty much used up. I have a few people who’ve spent
their own money getting things ready for your wedding and they need to get
paid. So, if you could, I’d appreciate another partial payment.” I held out her
consultation folder which had grown plump with bills for the gown, the cake,
the printing, the flowers, and at least a half dozen other services I’d
ordered. “I have all the invoices right here if you’d like to look them over.”

“Stop,” she said, pushing the
folder aside. She unclasped her boxy Louis Vuitton clutch and plucked out a
white business card. “Call this number and tell the guy what you need. He’ll be
paying our wedding bills.”

I glanced at the card. In simple
block letters it read, “Todd Barker, CFO, DigiSystems Incorporated.” At the
bottom left corner was a post office box address in Seattle and a phone number
with a 206 area code.

At that moment Kevin burst through
the front door looking as guilty as a stand-in groom could look facing his
ersatz bride. He’d been gone almost an hour. I braced myself for Lisa Marie’s
tirade, but instead she ran over and threw her arms around him.

“Oh, Kev, please get me out of
here. My wedding dress is baggy and ugly, and everyone thinks they can just
boss me around. I need to get home to see what’s going on with my people. ”

He looked confused.

“
Entertainment Tonight
,
silly. It’s on in a few minutes.”

Kevin still looked confused. I took
him aside as Lisa Marie marched out the door. 

 “I don’t think she’s feeling
well,” I whispered. “She keeps losing weight and it looks like she’s not
sleeping much either. The stress of Brad missing is probably taking a much
bigger toll on her than she’s letting on. Oh, and by the way, the gown is
lovely. Simple, but extremely elegant.”  

“It better be. She told me what
it’s costing.”

“Ke-
vin
,” Lisa Marie whined
through the open door. “Take me home—now!”

As soon as they left, I sat down
and dialed the number on the business card. Since it was nearly seven o’clock
on a weekend night in Seattle, I was expecting to just leave a message.

“Todd Barker’s office,” said a
cheery female voice.

“Oh, hello, this is Pali Moon in
Maui. I’m calling on behalf of Lisa Marie Prescott. She asked me to contact Mr.
Barker regarding some invoices that need to be paid.”

“Certainly,” she said. “Would you
like to speak directly with Todd?”

“He’s in?”

“Yes. We’re staffed seven days a week.
We work ten hour shifts, four days on, three days off. Today is one of Todd’s
work days. Please hold and I’ll put you through.”

There was a series of clicks.

“Barker here.” His voice sounded
like his name.

“Mr. Barker? My name is Pali Moon.
I’m the coordinator for the Brad Sanders and Lisa Marie Prescott wedding over
here on Maui.”

“Do you have news about Brad?”

“No, I’m afraid not. Unfortunately
they found some clothing they believe may have belonged to him, but—”

“I know. It was on yesterday’s
Internet news links.”

“Yes. Well, actually I’m calling
about some invoices that need to be paid.”

“For what?”

“Brad’s wedding.”

A long pause served as his reply.

“I know,” I said. “It’s kind of crazy,
but Lisa Marie’s convinced he’s still alive and he’ll return in time for the
wedding so we’re going forward with it. She said it’s extremely important to
Brad that they stick with their Valentine’s Day wedding date.”

He laughed—a loud, guttural laugh.
I pulled the receiver away from my ear to avoid a temporary hearing loss.

When he settled down I continued.
“I’m afraid I don’t find this as amusing as you apparently do, Mr. Barker.
After all, this self-delusion is probably all that’s keeping her from going
into full-blown shock. She’s losing weight, she’s not sleeping, and she’s—”

“Ms. Moon, let me enlighten you as
to what she is. She’s a royal pain in the ass. We all advised Brad against
doing this, but for whatever reason, he seems determined to allow her to lead
him around by the nose. But isn’t this rather moot? I mean, he’s been missing
for almost two weeks. Regardless of her fantasies, you can’t have a wedding
without a groom.”

“Kevin McGillvary’s offered to
stand in as proxy,” I said. “Under the General Power of Attorney he and Brad
have for each other.”

“That moron. What’s he…oh, forget
it. Let’s get back to why you called. You said she’s run up some bills?”

“Yeah, I’m afraid I’m looking at
some pretty hefty invoices. Lisa Marie assured me you’d pay them. But perhaps
that isn’t the case?”

 “How much are we talking
about?”

I did some quick arithmetic in my
head.

“She gave me a thousand dollar
deposit, but there’s still over three thousand currently owing and more bills
coming in every day. I know that might sound excessive, but—”

“That’s nothing. I’ve seen the way
that girl blows through cash. Send me the current bills and DigiSystems will
pay. But no more. With Brad gone, I figure she’s no longer our problem.”

I started to gush my thanks, but he
talked over me. “You want some advice, Ms. Moon?”

I hesitated and he went on. “Cancel
the wedding—today. Unplug yourself from this girl and her scary family at the
first possible opportunity. I tried to warn Brad and now look what’s happened.”

“What—”

But the hum on the line told me
he’d already hung up.

CHAPTER 7

A
fter
dinner Saturday night Steve went out clubbing, leaving me to entertain Hatch on
my own. I wondered how smitten Steve actually was with Hatch if he’d rather go
out partying than stick around to pour on the charm. But as I always reminded
myself, it was none of my business.

 “You want to play cards or
just watch TV?” I asked, hoping he’d opt for television, but feeling the need
to act like a good hostess.

“Oh, I’m fine here with my book.”
He held up the new Lee Child thriller.

“Hey, I’m a big Jack Reacher fan
myself. I mean, the guy’s the ultimate alpha dude. I love those scenes where
he’s crushing the air out of the bad guy with one hand while dragging the perky
blond to bed with the other.”

“That’s your ideal man?”

“No, that’s my ideal book.”

“That surprises me, you being a
wedding planner and all. I’d have thought you’d go for the girly-girl stuff.”

“Oh no, trust me. In the scheme of things,
a wedding planner is just one tea rose away from a drill sergeant. The job’s
mostly kicking butt and taking names.”

“Huh. I wouldn’t know. Never got
married. How about you?”

“Not even close.”

We both nodded, as if silently
agreeing not delve into that subject any further.

 “So,” I asked, eager to
change the subject, “how long have you been with Maui Fire?”

“Only a few months. I transferred
here from Honolulu. I had to get out of there. They didn’t take kindly to me
playing for the other team.”

“Oh.” I tried to look
understanding, but didn’t offer any comment. I’d heard Steve lament about
prejudice and discrimination even though he worked in a creative field where a
gay lifestyle was often the norm. I couldn’t imagine how brutal the bigotry
might get in a macho job like fire fighting.

“Now that I think about it,” he
said, “I guess I could go for a few hands of poker. You up for some five card
stud?”

I nodded and pulled out a sticky
deck of cards we keep in a drawer of the coffee table. I offered to deal since
Hatch’s left arm was still out of commission.

“What about poker chips?” he asked.
“Or do you want to use quarters or something?”

Ha!
I thought.
If I had a
stash of quarters, they’d have gone for groceries weeks ago.
I didn’t say
anything, though. I wasn’t ready to own up to my abject poverty to a guy I
hardly knew.

“Give me a minute. I’ll think of
something.” I considered the stuff stored in the garage and came up with a
winner. Now if I could just locate the box I needed.

“I’ll be right back.”

The night air outside was perfect.
Ebony black and balmy. If I hadn’t promised Hatch a quick return, I’d have
plopped down on a porch chair and star gazed a while. Instead, I went back to
the garage and opened the creaking door. I grabbed the flashlight hanging by
the door and surveyed the tidy shelves Steve had built for me. I came upon a
box labeled
LGM-Rejects.
I rummaged through the box until I found a
large plastic bag. Inside were about six dozen pale blue lapel buttons that
read,
Denise & Austin, September 22
. Underneath the date was a
too-cute cartoon couple with oversized lips puckered up for a kiss. I hauled
out the bag and took it to the house.

“What’ve you got there?” said Hatch
said as I plopped down the bag of buttons.

“Mementos from a stunning display
of cold feet.”

“That happen a lot?”

“Not often. This turned out to be a
ten-thousand dollar ditch job.”

“Which one blinked?”

“Truthfully, I’d say both. But the
groom took the bullet.”

Hatch picked up a button and
fiddled with the pin on the back. “Why do you keep these things?”

“Hey, I don’t throw anything away.
Notice there’s no year on there. What if I get some future clients named Denise
and Austin who are willing to get married on September 22? I could offer them
these buttons for free and they’d think I was a hero.”

“No, they’d think you were blind.
C’mon, these are butt ugly.”

“I think you’ll find the rest of
the world may not share your ‘queer eye for the straight guy’ sophistication,
my friend. The original Denise and Austin thought they were adorable. ”

“Oh yeah?” He scowled. “Did you
ever consider maybe these were the deal breaker?”

Having worked with the couple in
question, I knew the goofy buttons were merely the proverbial tip of the
iceberg. I’d never observed such wildly divergent goals, interests, and
priorities in two people about to get married. But I make it a point to avoid
gossiping about my clients no matter how amusing the tale. 

 “Are we going to play poker
or argue aesthetics?” I said.

 “Hey, I’m sitting here waiting
for you to dole out the chips.”

I counted out thirty buttons each
and slid his pile across the table.

“Speaking of ‘queer eye,’” he said,
“how’d you and Steve get to be roommates? I’m assuming you don’t run in his
social circle.”

“You assume correctly. Actually, I
met him when he was a man on the run.”

“From?”

“He didn’t tell you?”

“He mentioned something about a
‘sordid past’ and said he’d tell me the whole story sometime. Is he wanted by
the law?”

“No, nothing like that. If you
promise to act surprised when he gets around to giving you his version, I’ll
let you in on what I know. It’s nothing criminal—just pretty embarrassing.”

I dealt us each two cards, one
down, one face up.

“As you know,” I said, “Steve’s a
photographer. But he always dreamed of being in front of the camera rather than
behind it. So when he lived in LA he prowled open casting calls, but he never
got any call-backs. Last spring he was standing in an audition line and a
production assistant came by and handed him a card. It turned out to be a pass
to an unmarked door at the back of a sound stage. When he got inside he
discovered he’d been selected as a contestant on “Happily Ever After,” a
reality show where a gorgeous woman chooses her future husband from a group of
hunky guys. Great gig, lots of media exposure. Problem was, it threw a klieg
light on Steve’s boy-girl issues while he was still way far back in the
closet.”

“Yow.” Hatch shook his head. He
hadn’t even glanced at his cards.

“Well,” I continued, “he told me he
agonized over whether or not to do it for about five seconds. He knew a shot at
a prime-time network show was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. And, he knew he
could handle it. First, because he was an aspiring actor and he’d been
perfecting the straight-guy role his entire life, and, second because there
were eleven other guys. He figured he’d last a week or two.”

“Uh-oh, I have an idea where this
is heading.” Hatch rubbed his hand against his cheek as if checking for
stubble.

 “Right. As you can imagine,
he started to panic when week after week another guy got booted off.”

“Why didn’t he quit when she got
down to the last few guys?”

“And come out on prime time
television? His mom was sending him emails saying her bridge club ladies were
praying he’d win.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah. Well, on the last episode
the girl pledged her undying love and he beamed. He told me when he kissed her,
he closed his eyes and mentally swapped her for Russell Crowe.”

“Now
that
takes some
heavy-duty acting.”

“Anyway, he soldiered on while the
cameras were rolling, but when the studio called to schedule a televised trip
to the marriage license bureau, he let it go to voicemail. The next day he
started using a different name and bought a one-way ticket to Maui. When he got
here he saw my ‘roommate wanted’ sign on the grocery store bulletin board and
he moved in that weekend.”

“Whew. And I thought
my
life
was complicated.”

We both looked down at our cards.
He was showing a king, I had a four. He threw three buttons into the pot.

I picked up my down card—a
deuce—and tossed him a smile. I called his bet, and even raised him two more
buttons. I pride myself on my primo bluff.

“You still in?” I asked.

“Heck yes,” he said, flipping two
more buttons onto the pile. “You’re the one showing the lousy four.”

I dealt the rest of the hand,
matching his bets with every card. I ended up holding a deuce, a four, a six, a
seven and a red queen. In other words—not a darn thing.

He picked up his final card and
grinned.

“Seems my luck is changing.” He
fanned his cards and held them out so I could see. A pair of kings, a queen, a
ten and a jack. I slipped my cards to the bottom of the deck without a word.

“Okay,” he said. “What about you?
You lived here long?”

I shuffled while I pondered my
answer. 

 “I was born in a free love
commune over on Kauai to a couple of
haole
hippies. My dad left my mom
and went back to the mainland when I was still a baby, and then my mom died
suddenly when I was four.”

“Whoa, that’s tough. So, did you
end up in foster homes or get adopted?”

I wanted to point out I’d agreed to
play poker, not submit to a personal interview, but I figured he was just
trying to make conversation.

“Kind of a combination of both. My
brother and I became
hanai
kids. You know about that?”

“Sounds Hawaiian,” he said. “I
didn’t come to the islands until I was twenty, so I missed out on most of the
cultural stuff.”

“Well,
hanai
is an
unofficial adoption over here. Sometimes aunties or uncles take you in;
sometimes friends of the family. Since we didn’t have any family members here,
my mom’s best friend—we call her Auntie Mana—raised us. She moved us from Kauai
over here to Maui to be closer to her extended family.”

“That’s a pretty generous thing for
her to do—to take you in like that.”

“Yeah. She was a wonderful mom. I
don’t remember much about my real mom.” I slid the deck across the table for
him to cut, but he waved it away. “But I had a really weird thing happen a
couple of years ago. A friend took me up to a big lavender farm up near Kula.
As I crossed the parking lot, I caught a whiff of the gardens and I started
bawling like a baby. I was totally stunned. I guess on some visceral level I
remembered the smell. It must have been the scent my mother wore—lavender.”

I cleared my throat. Hatch reached
over and patted my hand. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I said, coming back to the
moment and dealing out the first two cards. “It’s ancient history. I really
love the smell. I can’t imagine why it still gets to me.”

“I can.”

We played for the next forty-five
minutes, passing buttons back and forth.

At nine-thirty, Hatch leaned back
and closed his eyes. “I hate to wuss out on you, but I’m kinda wiped out. I
still haven’t gotten my strength back.”

“Hey, no problem. I’ve got to pick
up some people at the airport tomorrow so I should be getting to bed.”

“Before you go,” he said. “I’ve got
to ask: what’s going on? You seem preoccupied—like something’s eating at you.”

“You’re tired and it’s a long
story.”

He scrunched down on the pillow and
gently rested his good right arm on top of the bandaged-up left arm. “I’m
already lying down. Fire away.”

I gave him the short version of my
situation:  doing a proxy marriage for a cranky bride and her missing and
presumed dead groom was all that stood between me and economic ruin.  

“Crap,” he said. “And now you’ve
got a busted-up fireman camped out on your couch. I feel like I’ve come at a
really bad time.”

“No,” I said. “It’s great to have
you here. I rarely see Steve, and to tell you the truth, your rent is about all
that’s keeping the lights on around here.”

“Do you need me to give you more?”

“Oh, no,” I said. “Five hundred a
week is already flirting with larceny.”

“No, I mean, what if I gave you a
couple thousand—the whole month upfront. Would that help?”

“That’d be wonderful.” I leaned in
to give him a hug on his good shoulder and he reached out and gripped my hand.
I jumped as if I’d been zapped with a Taser.

“Sorry,” I said. “I—”

“Hey,” he said, gently pulling me
in.

He leaned over and lightly kissed
me, the warmth of his lips firing my cheeks into what I’m sure was a vivid
blush.

I pulled away. Okay, I’ll admit I
was attracted. But I still wasn’t sure what was going on between Hatch and
Steve. There was no way I’d let myself get dragged into a love triangle with my
roommates.

 “Uh. Well, good night,” I
said, standing up. “Do you need help getting to your room?” I strictly forbade
myself from uttering the word
bed
.

 “No, I’m good,” he said thickly.
“If it’s okay, I think I’ll just camp out here tonight.” He winced and
readjusted his left arm.   

“You don’t look so good. Can I get
you a pain pill?”

“No, sorry for the waterworks. I’m
fine, really.” A tear hovered at the corner of his eye and then started to
slide down his cheek. He swiped it away.

“There’s no shame in taking a pill,
you know.”

“Thanks, but I swear I’m okay. I
just need some sleep.”

I didn’t push. After all, I know a
thing or two about ignoring pain.