Kauai Temptations Read online

  “Your what?”

  “Sure, honey, a . . . wait, are y'all a Starbies virgin? Y’all are. I thought my grandma was the only one of those left.”

  Heat rose in my cheeks, but this time instead of it being driven by fear, embarrassment was the culprit. Could I do a disappearing act? Slink out the door without another word? I felt her hand on my arm, her skin soft and warm and reassuring. She winked at me, gave me another friendly smile, then nodded at the line behind me.

  “The line’s moving, McKenna. I’ve embarrassed y'all, haven’t I? I’m so sorry.” She giggled. “Again. I do that a lot to people. Especially strangers. I’m here from Charlotte to get married in two days and I’m scared to death because I am so behind on the things I need to do and my mama says I talk too much when I get nervous and right now—I am boring y'all to tears, aren’t I?” She nodded behind me. “Line’s moved again.”

  I blinked, still not quite sure what to say or do. She seemed like a sweet girl who was, like me, in foreign territory. Her fear was in getting married, mine was getting a stupid cup of coffee. I’d come in here to unwind, not to freak out over what to order. Instead I’d found a bundle of energy, maybe just what I needed after my near arrest. “Uh, Hillary, what’s this frap thing?”

  She took my arm while she leaned close. “Oh my God!” Her eyes almost bulged in ecstasy; her laugh drew me in. “Y’all have to have one. McKenna, it’s a must. I worked at one of these in Charlotte for a couple of years and got addicted to my mocha fraps. If y'all need some more pick-me-up, get it with an extra shot of expresso.”

  Extra shot? Expresso? I turned to study the menu. Sticker shock set in. I recognized coffee. Cappuccino was vaguely familiar, though I had no idea what was in one. But, frappuccino? Machiado? Five bucks for one cup? I considered a hasty departure to save some money. Water in the parking lot would be fine. I’d never had one of these frap things. Why start now?

  “Uh, Hillary, I have to go.”

  “No, McKenna, I got me a Starbies virgin and I’m not letting y'all out that door until y'all have tasted a Coconut Mocha Frap.” Her eyes rolled up and she slouched forward a bit with an even bigger smile on her lips. “It’s a coffee orgasm, McKenna. You’ve gotta have one. And don’t worry about the price, it’s on me. Mama’s loaded and she just keeps refilling this little card.” She flashed a little gold card and gripped my arm again. “Mama, bless her heart, she’s off gettin’ a full paint job at the spa and she’s makin’ me go in later. But for now, I’m gonna have my way with you. C’mon, hon, let’s live it up.”

  Ten minutes later, Hillary and I were sitting under one of those little green umbrellas. According to Hillary, I was no longer a virgin and should enjoy the afterglow. Somewhere midway through our Coconut Mocha Fraps, I spilled my guts over why I was here. Hillary showed the appropriate amount of concern for my troubles, consoled me as though she were my best friend, and even got a bit indignant over my close encounter.

  “Hillary, if I hadn’t of, uh, lied to Violet, they never would have called the cops. But, then I wouldn’t have gotten the picture of her. So, in the end, it all worked out.”

  “So what are y'all going to do about it? That’s the question.”

  “When Miss A. handed me that photo, I was so sure of what to do. But, apparently I’m only the latest in a long string of victims. Maybe I should let the cops handle this. I have to pick up CJ in a while. You know, I only have a couple of days here.”

  Hillary planted both hands on her hips. Her mock-scolding stare came straight from a sitcom. “I like you, McKenna, but now y'all are just makin’ me angry. Don’t you let up. And don’t y'all start doubtin’ yourself. We both came here to do something, so let’s get to it.”

  We raised our cups, then bumped them in a toast to success. “I’ve got to go get CJ now, but I promise I’ll check out that lead.”

  “Good.” She glanced at her watch; her smile fell. “Oh my gosh! McKenna, I’ve got to go. Mama’s waiting for me at the spa. I’m late again. I hope y'all find Willow.”

  Hillary stood, gave me a little wave, and started to leave. I felt a pang and realized I’d miss her. I turned suddenly serious. “I wish you the best with your wedding. Good luck with your marriage, too. I hope you have many happy years.”

  She blew me a kiss and raised her drink in another toast, then walked away. Without Hillary around, “Starbies” wasn’t as much fun. Everyone around me, with the exception of some old codger who’d done nothing but bitch about everyone he knew, was having a good time. He was only one table over, putting him close enough for his stream of complaints to grate on my nerves. With Hillary here, I hadn’t even noticed him. Now, I either had to leave or put up with him.

  “My damn kids won’t ever call me—”

  “I thought the landlord was gonna take care of that, but instead he raised my rent—”

  “What do they think they’re doing changing the laws like that, I oughta call and—”

  The guy was ruining what had started out as a perfectly delightful experience, so I left.

  After dropping my empty cup in the trash, I went in search of Buster. On my way, I watched cumulus clouds drift on the wind, felt the gentle caress of sun and breeze. It was a beautiful day in paradise. Warm and moist, tropical to the hilt.

  Detective Najar had said they’d been working the case for a year. That seemed like a very long time with no progress. I understood the cops had to work within the law, but I didn’t. I could ask questions without restriction and write the story my way. But, there was something else. A dark plan. In the back of my mind, I was contemplating what Alexander had called ho’o päna’i. Though Hawaii was best known for its hospitality—peace, love, aloha, and all that nice stuff; there was another side. It was older. More primitive. Deadly.

  I wanted revenge.

  I found Buster in the parking lot, right where I’d left him. After rolling down the windows to let the trade winds flush out the trapped humidity I studied the photo of my impersonator. A desire to burn the lines of her face into my memory fueled me. If I ever saw her on the street, in a store, on the news, or on a post office wall, I’d recognize her immediately.

  Somehow, I’d find this woman. I’d get even. I shook my head. Jeez, where did that come from?

  “C’mon, Buster, let’s go get momma.” Once we were on the road, Buster’s natural ventilation would cool me off, but for now the car was still a hotbox. While waiting for the light to change at the exit, Buster’s air kicked in with a chilling blast. Great, a car with a sense of humor. I turned right toward CJ’s workplace with the windows open and Buster belching cold air into the cabin. Now what should I do?

  With only a couple of days left on Kauai, I needed fast results. Otherwise, I would be going home empty handed. I wasn’t about to leave without making someone pay for my misery, which had me cursing the whiner. He’d put me in a rotten mood, making me want to turn my hand into a little gun and shoot him.

  Most people would probably find the drive to pick up CJ no more than tedious. Cars darted between lanes on Rice Street to avoid those turning left and parked vehicles on the right. For someone who hadn’t driven since totaling their car and nearly running over a kid in the process, this felt like playing a game of blindfolded hopscotch on the rooftop of a skyscraper. After the accident, I’d pocketed the insurance money and thrown away my license. The trip to L.A. had forced my hand. The way I felt about driving, buying a car was never going to happen. I had, however, decided it was time to stop being a wimp. I didn’t have to like driving, I just had to do it.

  Buster’s air cut off as I turned from Rice onto Hoolako Street. I recognized the building where CJ worked, turned in and got Buster parked. For a minute, I glared at the vent. “Serious? Are you deliberately trying to piss me off?”

  It took a couple of deep breaths to release my anxiety. Driving sucked. Especially in a place where I didn’t know my way around. Rather than sit in the car and stew, literally; it was time to get some
fresh air. CJ’s piccolo voice stopped me from slamming Buster’s door a bit harder than necessary. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Taking out my frustration on your car didn’t seem like a good response. “I—I was going to let you drive.”

  She shook her head. “Nuh-uh. Get your butt back in there.”

  Damn. More driving lessons. At the parking lot exit, CJ said, “Turn right.”

  Hoolako was a small two-lane road; I had no problems. Then it was another right, this time on Halau Street. Another easy one. Right on Kapule Highway. These streets were tame by Honolulu standards and I was doing great—until we got to the stop sign.

  “Make a left,” she barked.

  “But there’s traffic.”

  “Don’t be such a baby. The speed limit’s like, three miles-an-hour on this whole island.”

  “It was 45 right back there.”

  “You gonna argue with me?”

  I glanced at her; she looked like a pissed off drill sergeant. “Guess not. We’re not going to the end, are we?”

  “We’re going the wrong direction for that. Besides, you’re going to have to deal with this intersection sooner or later. Better it happen when I’m in the car with you so you don’t kill Buster.”

  “What about me?”

  “I don’t rely on you to get me to work. Understand?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And don’t ma’am me. Makes me feel old. Even the kid at the market doesn’t ma’am me. Got it?”

  Three cars on the left, two coming from the right. I had to cross this road?

  “McKenna! You got it?”

  “No, ma’am. I mean, yes, ma’am. Whatever you say.”

  I gunned Buster’s engine after the third car from the left whizzed by.

  “Watch the guy on the right!”

  I slammed my foot on the brake pedal. Buster went into a nosedive. “Oops. Sorry.”

  “Alexander was right, you are uptight.” She laughed. “You’re worse than Buster.”

  Alexander called me uptight? I’d been under a lot of stress lately. The checks, the bank. Wait, I was worse than Buster?

  “Drive. You’re holding up traffic.”

  I hit the gas and the tires squealed. The speedometer hit 50, so I tapped the brakes. Another nosedive.

  “McKenna, you need practice. Relax. So how’d your trip to Island Electronics go?”

  Now she wanted me to talk and drive? Wasn’t that illegal? Next thing I knew, we were going downhill while the road turned to the right. Gingerly, I touched the brakes. “More gas, McKenna, you’re going to get a ticket for slowing people down on their vacation.”

  Gas. Fifty. Brakes. Thirty-five. Where the hell was the happy medium?

  CJ pointed across my face to the left side. She said, “That’s the Kauai Marriott. Real hoity toity. Lotsa bucks to stay there. Be glad you’re with me, uh huh.” A second later, she said, “Don’t you be looking. I’m just giving you an orientation.”

  Right. Uh huh, I thought. Finally, I got Buster dialed into a steady 38. That’s when I saw the 25 sign. Brakes, gas. Brakes. Gas. What had she said about the Marriott? Big deal. They were everywhere.

  “You’re making me nervous, McKenna. I can’t stop talking when I’m nervous so I need to get my mind off your driving.” Suddenly, she pointed straight ahead. “That’s Nawiliwili Harbor. You probably saw it when you flew in—if you were on the left side of the plane—otherwise, all you saw was ocean.”

  “Got it. Nawiliwili.”

  “Don’t grip the wheel so hard.”

  “Right, not so hard.” My forearms ached from the strain of my death grip.

  “And down there—that’s Menehune Fish—Jesus, you almost drove off the road.”

  I focused back on my lane, mentally kicking myself for having followed her tour-guide finger. River? Ocean? Who cared? It was a long ways down. “What was that?”

  “Menehune Fish Pond. What’s wrong with you? You almost got us killed back there.”

  “I haven’t driven in a while.”

  “Alexander said you were rusty. What’s a while?”

  “A year—give or take.”

  CJ put a heavy hand on one of those cushy pillows she carried around under her shirt. “Give or take? How much you giving and how much you taking?”

  “Maybe six months.”

  “Uh-huh. So you’re telling me I’m conducting a driver’s ed class as well as playing hospitality hostess?”

  “Something like that.”

  She made some clucking noises. CJ was a one-woman talent show—piccolo voice and chicken noises. What else was in her repertoire? By the time we reached her condo in Puhi, we had sorted out a few minor issues, my driving skills—almost nonexistent, my dietary needs—no gluten, and the little almost-getting-arrested incident at Island Electronics.

  We backtracked a bit to make a stop at the market. I picked up rice, unseasoned chicken, cereal billed as a puffed rice, but that looked suspiciously like cardboard, and soy milk. Oh, yeah, I also got a nice bottle of Merlot to thank CJ for her hospitality. Halfway through our shopping trip, my cell phone rang. I glanced at the caller’s number. It wasn’t a number I recognized, so I guessed it to be someone wanting to rent an apartment, which I couldn’t do from here. I let it go to voice mail. They’d have to wait.

  By the time we got to CJ’s place, my wallet was about forty bucks lighter. I was feeling like my trip, with the possible exception of meeting Hillary, had been a colossal waste of time and money.

  It didn’t surprise me to learn about CJ being one of the millions who had given up cooking for convenience. When I volunteered to do the honors, she was delighted.

  On the tail end of dinner, CJ’s curiosity got the better of her. She poured herself another half-glass of wine before settling back in her chair; I did the same. That’s when I remembered the call from earlier. I dialed voice mail, then punched in my code for messages, but the only message had been left on Saturday.

  “Mr. McKenna, this is Detective Brian Dystell from Honolulu PD. We had an officer go to the post office where your checks were stolen. We were lucky enough to get the name of a temporary employee we believe may have actually stolen your checks. That’s the good news. The bad news is that the guy’s dead. His body turned up at the marina this morning. It looks like he drowned, so there will be an autopsy. Unfortunately, there’s not much else we can do on your case without being able to talk to the suspect. Maybe the autopsy will turn something up, but don’t hold your breath. It’s probably one more guy who drank too much. I’m sorry. Let me know if you have any questions.”

  I deleted the message. What was the point? HPD was washing their hands of my case. Detective Najar had worked the case for almost a year. He was probably tired of it simply because I was the latest in a long line of victims. Who was I, Superman? I glanced at CJ. My hopes of turning up a new story were nothing more than burnt toast. What about my promise to Hillary? Somehow, that one hurt, too. “I’m done. The good news is they found the guy who stole my checks. The bad news is, he’s dead. Maybe that’s good news, too. Anyway, HPD has nothing. I almost got arrested. Screw it. I’m going home tomorrow.”

  CJ wagged a pudgy finger at me. “You’ve got a couple of days left before your scheduled return flight, don’t you?”

  I shook my head. “Screw it. The guy who did this is no longer a problem.”

  “Well, listen to you, Mr. Woe Is Me. I heard you were a good investigator. How come you’re giving up so quick?”

  “Who told you I was a good investigator?”

  “Alexander. He told me how you found those crooks who killed that Shapiro guy and his maintenance man.”

  “Great. Now I have a reputation.”

  “Yeah. You do.” Her gaze was the most intense I’d seen since we’d met.

  “Uh, CJ, I thought he told you I was a screw-up.”

  CJ snorted, then drained her glass. “No. What, you only listen to half of what people say?
10-4, he told me you’re driving stunk—he underestimated that. But, you’ll get better. He also told me you were top-notch people—and he doesn’t say that very often.”

  “He—Alexander said that?” I stared at an empty corner of the room, for a fleeting moment wondering whether I should tell CJ to use a plant or something nice to fill the space. But, the truth was, that was me avoiding the subject of me. My eyes felt watery as I said, “I—don’t know what to say. Deep down I was kind of hoping the cops would be the ones to find the guy who’d caused me all this trouble.”

  But, I’d wanted the guy alive, not dead. Was it also possible I hadn’t really believed I could pull off two investigations in a row? “I was just a guy foolish enough, no stupid enough, to give out my Social Security number. I’m the one who ordered checks and then had them held at the post office while I went off to the mainland. Talk about stupid.”

  “You through building yourself up? Tell me why you want to quit. Why you want to go home.”

  “The leads are gone. Dead ended. The cops, they almost busted me. Najar practically told me to go home and play checkers all day. Besides, the guy’s dead.”

  “What guy? The one who picked up your batch of checks? What about the woman who’s been bouncing them all over this damn island? Don’t you know all the places she’s been to? You got the bad checks, right?”

  “Yeah, yeah. Island Electronics, a jewelry store, the spa. Wait, the spa. That’s it.”

  CJ hadn’t missed a beat, almost talking through my revelation. “Hell, you’re a newspaper man. You solved one case. You could solve another one. We’ve got tons of fraud on this little rock. You find these guys, you’ll be a hero. Did you do any research?”

  I stared at her for a minute, evaluating my two options. One, I could call CJ a pain in the ass and run back home to hide. Or, two, I could call CJ a pain in the ass, tell her I’d realized the spa was a great lead, and stay here to do what I did best, find people. I hated to give her credit—she was already demanding. Tell her she had a good point and who knows how long she’d lord that over me. But, she was right. I was the one who had solved the Shapiro case. I’d done that. I had skills. I could still call her a pain in the ass. Nah, way too dangerous. “You know, CJ, you’re a smart woman.” Okay, so sue me for being a big chicken.