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  HONOLULU HOTTIE

  BOOKS BY TERRY AMBROSE

  MCKENNA MYSTERIES

  PHOTO FINISH

  KAUAI TEMPTATIONS

  BIG ISLAND BLUES

  MYSTERY OF THE LEI PALAOA

  HONOLULU HOTTIE

  NORTH SHORE NANNY (COMING SOON!)

  LICENSE TO LIE SERIES

  LICENSE TO LIE

  CON GAME

  A LEI CRIME KINDLE WORLD

  TOUGH CHOICES

  STEALING HONOLULU (COMING SOON!)

  ANTHOLOGIES

  PARADISE, PASSION, MURDER: 10 TALES OF MYSTERY FROM HAWAI‘I

  HONOLULU HOTTIE

  A McKenna Mystery

  Trouble in Paradise Series

  TERRY AMBROSE

  COPYRIGHT

  HONOLULU HOTTIE

  ASIN: B01BW7J6KY

  Copyright © May 2016 by Terry Ambrose

  All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locals, business, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover photos by Depositphotos.com

  Cover and Book design by Pen 2 Ink Designs

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Terry Ambrose writes the Trouble in Paradise (McKenna Mystery) series and the License to Lie thriller series. Terry has been nominated for multiple awards and won the 2014 San Diego Book Awards for Best Action/Thriller.

  Terry’s novels receive consistent praise from readers for their complex characters and plots. Kirkus Reviews said Terry’s writing has “. . . the kind of snark that will remind readers of Elmore Leonard.”

  Find Terry’s books on Amazon: amazon.com/Terry-Ambrose/e/B008NR7QZ4

  Learn more about Terry on his website: TerryAmbrose.com

  Twitter: twitter.com/suspense_writer

  Facebook: facebook.com/suspense.writer

  THANK YOU

  Thank you for purchasing this copy of “Honolulu Hottie.”

  One thing readers can do to let an author know they’ve enjoyed a book is to pass the word along. When you finish reading, I hope you’ll take a moment to rate or review this book.

  If you use social media, you can also help by telling others about “Honolulu Hottie” on your favorite site.

  Mahalo for reading! I sincerely hope you enjoy the book.

  Terry

  CONTENTS

  BOOKS BY TERRY AMBROSE

  COPYRIGHT

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  THANK YOU

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER ONE

  I hadn’t done the whole relationship thing in years, so why had I jumped back into the game with my best friend’s sister? Talk about complicated. Life here in the islands was supposed to be easy. Laid back. No worries is what we’re all about.

  White surf rushed onto the shore just a few hundred feet away. Blue sky. A perfect day in paradise. I glanced at the kitchen clock again. Two minutes after the last time. Good grief, I was like a schoolboy. You’d think it was the first time I’d ever called a girl. But, this wasn’t just any girl, this was Benni Kapono. My best friend Alexander’s little sister.

  Sitting on my lānai waiting to dial in three—no—two minutes, it felt like there was a basketball lodged in my stomach. What should I say? Would she still feel the same? One minute to go. Why didn’t I just call?

  I nearly jumped out of my chair when the phone rang. It had to be Benni. She was calling me? That was good, right? I glanced at my watch. It was early. Should I call her babe? Honey? Some other overused term of endearment? I snatched up the handset and, in the most suave voice I could muster, said, “Aloha.” Sheesh, I sounded like an addict.

  “McKenna? That you?”

  I jerked the handset away from my ear. Only one person I knew yelled on the phone like this. “Uh, Meyer? Why are you—look, I need to make a call right now.”

  “I’ve been arrested. I need help.”

  It had been two years since I’d spoken to Meyer Herschel. And he was calling me. Now? Wasn’t he in Minnesota or someplace cold and windy? I raised my voice in hopes he’d hear me. “What do you mean, arrested? What did you do?”

  “Oh, that is you. I thought maybe I had the wrong number for a second. They say I killed a guy.” Meyer’s voice was, as usual, ten decibels louder than necessary.

  “You? No way—oh I get it. Very funny, Meyer.”

  My new tenant walked past, surfboard under his arm, a king-sized smile on his face. He might have wiped out three times in a row, but, if I didn’t end Meyer’s ridiculous charade—killed a guy, sure. Very funny. Now I was late calling Benni.

  “What?” Meyer’s voice blasted through the earpiece.

  Great. I had to yell to quiet him down. “How are you?”

  From around the corner, I heard my tenant shout back at me. “I’m fine, McKenna, how are you?”

  He must be in hysterics right now.

  “Didn’t you hear me? I got arrested! The cops say I killed a man.”

  This was absurd. We sounded like rabid fans at an indoor stadium.

  I spent a couple of minutes extracting information from Meyer, which happens to be one of the most brutally tedious processes I’ve ever experienced. The bottom line? He was back in Honolulu and had been arrested for murder. His attorney had arranged for bail—an amount Meyer would only describe as “obscene”—and now he wanted me to find the real killer. This call was definitely a Qualified Reason for Delay in my book, but I’d made a promise I fully intended to keep. No more crime fighting. I needed to get Meyer pointed in the right direction.

  “I hate to tell you this, Meyer, but you need a professional, not an amateur who got lucky a couple of times.”

  Meyer snickered. “This ain’t no time to be bragging about your sex life, McKenna. I’m in serious trouble. Besides, you owe me.”

  “Owe you? How do you figure that? I saved your life!”

  The trade winds kicked up a notch as though the island were saying, “Chillax.”

  “Yeah, you did, but you almost got me killed in the process. I wasn’t gonna bring it up, but you having the hots for that blonde con woman almost did me in. The way I see it, it’s time to clear the charges, settle your account, pay your debt...”

  “Enough! Look, if you want help, all you have to do is ask.” I squeezed my eyes shut. What was I saying?

  A little voice in my head—the one I’ve taken to calling Bad McKenna—chanted in my ear. “McKenna is a dumb ass, McKenna is a dumb ass.”

  “I thought I already did that,” grumbled Meyer.

  What did I say to that? He had. And I’d gotten cranky, refused…now he had me doing it, too.

  Bad McKenna taunted m
e, “You like those redundancies, huh? Go ahead, be a…

  “Shut up!” I barked.

  “What was that, McKenna?”

  A surfer glided toward shore on the crest of a wave. At the end of his ride, he fell back into the ocean. The surf was his thing. Was solving crimes mine?

  “Are you at your apartment?” I asked. “I’ll come over in about an hour. Right now, I’ve got something I have to do. I’ll also have to catch a ride.”

  “Okay. See you then.”

  The line went dead. The only sounds now came from the shore. Faint voices. Loud surf. A chance to think. I’d never wanted to be an amateur sleuth, but that was what I’d become thanks to a couple of lucky breaks and my best friend’s Great Grampa Kimu—who’d also loved to surf. He’d died more than a decade ago. For some reason, he’d taken my self-improvement on as his hobby in the afterlife.

  Closing my eyes, I breathed in the moisture and freshness carried in on the trade winds. The “trades,” which got their name from the ancient mariners who sailed the seas in search of exotic lands and cultures, were our natural air conditioning here in the islands. Somehow, I’d become like one of those mariners—always on a journey. Always looking for a secret.

  The worst part was, deep down, I knew I couldn’t resist Meyer’s cause. “What am I going to tell Benni?” Who was I talking to? The surf? My soul?

  After Benni and I had almost gotten killed, I’d promised her my crime-fighting days were over. That had lasted what? Not even two weeks? Sheesh, I’d turned into a crime-solving junkie.

  There was only one thing I could do, avoid the subject. I wouldn’t lie—I just wouldn’t go into the Meyer problem. Besides, I hadn’t actually told him I’d help. I hadn’t even met with him yet. I hadn’t—who was I kidding, this was rationalization and just thinking about Benni got me all tongue-tied. If I tried to lie to her she’d know and then...and...“Shut up, McKenna, you sound like a broken record.” I grabbed the phone, determined to be strong and take charge of the call. Wasn’t that what those female dancers always said—I like a man who leads?

  One ring. Two rings. “Hey, McKenna.”

  That lilt in her voice. Light. Airy. “Hey.” I rolled my eyes. Mr. Smooth. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t tell her I might be putting myself back in danger. Besides, I wasn’t in danger. I hadn’t even taken the case—yet.

  “I’ve missed you,” Benni said.

  “Me, too. How’s Andi?”

  “She’s getting ready for her trip to LA. My baby girl’s never been off the island and now she’s meeting with record producers on the mainland.” Benni paused and I listened to the warbling background of cellphone communications. “I’m going to be lonely over here.”

  Uh-oh. Was that an invitation? Crap, what if it was nothing? “When...does she leave?”

  “Not til next week. Would you, um, want to get together? I don’t know, maybe here. Maybe your place?”

  Holy cow, this was a booty call? I swallowed hard. Here I was approaching 65 and I had my first girlfriend since...never mind. Was my plumbing still in order? How was I supposed to answer her question? What about Alexander? What would he say? What about...

  “Sure,” I stammered. “I mean, yes, I’d love to, but I’ve got a few things to clear up first.”

  “Call me back?” Her voice was melodic. Hopeful.

  “Sure.” But when? How long would this thing with Meyer take? It was just a meeting. “I’m really sorry, but I have to run right now.”

  The line was silent for a few awkward seconds. I knew she wanted to know when I’d call. So did I.

  CHAPTER TWO

  My lānai was still in the shade, so the heat on my neck definitely wasn’t from a sunburn. My new, two-week-old relationship was off to a bad start. Deep down, was I just a chronic liar? Just liked seeing how far I could push people? Throughout my life I’d avoided confrontations at all costs, yet always seemed to find myself in the middle of them.

  I needed to talk to Benni’s brother. Alexander would know what to do. No, I couldn’t do that. He’d just reconnected with Benni after a twenty-year estrangement. How could I jeopardize their budding relationship? Crap, I couldn’t talk to Alexander because I’d lied to Benni. Oh man, I’d really screwed myself over this time.

  There had to be a way out of this. Bad McKenna was, of course, gloating with self-satisfaction over having been right about the big “promise-me-one-thing moment.” Good McKenna, Bad’s counterpart, was telling me it would be okay and making soothing noises in my head.

  “Loyalty to friends is admirable,” said Good.

  “He’s not a Golden Retriever,” countered Bad.

  The debate went a couple more rounds before I became fed up with the interference jamming my thoughts. “Buzz off, both of you!” I said.

  It was time to seize control with a strong action plan. How could I satisfy Meyer, Benni, Alexander, and the two jokers on my shoulders? Today. Wait, I knew just who to ask for help. It was time I let my new tenant give me a ride in his hot, red Ferrari.

  How or why Chance Logan chose my apartment building as a place to call home I didn’t know. What I did know came from his rental application. He’d been born on April Fool’s Day in 1987. It wasn’t the only bad luck he’d had. Prior to his move to Honolulu, he’d been a rising star in Hollywood. Fast track to mega-stardom, yada, yada. Then he got booted out of town. So far, he hadn’t told me why, only that it had been time for a career change.

  Chance had a couple of other short employment stints in his life, too. His “careers” never lasted more than a few years. True, people no longer worked for one company their entire career, but—two years? There was something fishy there, so I’d secretly nicknamed him Last Chance.

  I peered through the window to the left of his doorway. He spied me from the kitchen and waved. I waited as he made the short trek to the front door. As usual, his greeting was friendly. “Howzit, McKenna?”

  Don’t tell me he was going to be another haole trying to sound like a local. “Hey, yourself, sounds like you’re already getting the lingo.”

  He shifted from one foot to the other, his smile almost sheepish. “I’m not a Pidgin kind of guy, you know? Some of it seems to fit, but I can’t understand half of what those guys say out there when we’re surfing. Anyway, haven’t seen much of you since I moved in.”

  “Landlord stuff keeps me hopping,” I flashed him a casual shaka sign, thumb and pinky extended with the other fingers folded over. Perhaps I did it to show how anyone could adapt to the local customs, or maybe it was to prove that if this old dog could learn the gesture, so could he. The thing was, right now I needed a ride, not a luau with the tenants. And this kid was just another tenant.

  “I totally understand. Work,” he said. “Anyway, what can I do for you?”

  “That ride you offered? Can I still get it?”

  He beamed. I smiled. That fast, we had an agreement. A thumbs up on his part. Ditto on mine.

  “Let me get my stuff.” He left abruptly. A moment later, he returned, keys in one hand, cell in the other. He motioned at me with the phone as he donned a Tigers baseball cap. “I’m on call.”

  This kid hadn’t had a job when he arrived. Now he was on call?

  I know, just a tenant, but some anomalies demand an answer. Kind of like, why do black holes exist in the universe? While we walked along the courtyard, I used my best tell-me-more voice. “Oh?”

  It worked. Last Chance was rattling on about his new career before we were in the parking lot.

  “It’s awesome. My dream come true. Me, a PI. Well, I’m not full-fledged yet, but I’m working on it. After I put in a hundred hours at a licensed agency I can apply for my own license.”

  No. Way. If this kid was a PI, even one in training, I could turn The Meyer Problem over to him. I’d be out of the jam I was in. Because I was handing him a juicy murder, he might even feel like he owed me something. Somehow, I’d finally caught a lucky break. I settled into the supple lea
ther of the passenger’s seat thinking how I would never again call him Last Chance.

  The Ferrari roared to life. I felt my hopes firing up at the same time. I smiled. Twisting sideways in my seat, I asked, “Chance, how’d you like to land your first real case?”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Chance laughed as he peered at me over his aviator sunglasses. “Sure, McKenna, what is it? A dognapping? You got a tenant getting too noisy and you need a reason to kick him out?” He snickered as he backed the Ferrari out of the parking space.

  “Nothing so mundane, Chance. We’re talking murder. The Big M. The kind of stuff headlines are made of.” Okay, maybe I was laying it on a little thick, but if Chance wanted to be a PI, it was time he got used to people stretching the truth. “You need something you can sink your teeth into. That way your agency will see how valuable you are.”

  “Are you serious? A murder? For real?”

  “A murder,” I said. “A friend of mine, Meyer Herschel is being wrongly accused. You interested? Give me one of your cards.”

  Chance shook his head and seemed to regain his senses. “Yeah, yeah, I’ve got some. Oh man, this would so get me out of hot water with my dad.” He pulled a white business card from his shirt pocket and handed it to me. I was about to ask him how he’d gotten in trouble with his dad when I read the agency name.

  “Phillip Marlowe Online Detective Agency?” What was this, a goddamn April Fool’s joke? He’d been born on that day so he had a license to be the perpetual prankster?

  “Where we headed?” Chance asked as he pulled out onto the road.

  “Ala Moana.” I stared at the card. “Wait a minute, Phillip Marlowe? Online? Agency?” Seriously? An online detective agency? Named after Raymond Chandler’s fictional detective? No freaking way. It was time to give Chance his nickname back.

  “I know,” he stammered, “it’s kind of a funky name. But it’s all legit. I checked it out.”

  I flipped the card over. “How?” Nothing said April Fool’s on the back.