Maui Widow Waltz (Islands of Aloha Mystery Series)

by JoAnn Bassett

  “Too bad,” I said. “I know how much Tank hates to lose. But by the end of next week my house will no longer be available.”

  “Says you.”

  “No, says a lot of dead presidents I’ll be collecting next Friday.”

  I glanced over at Farrah. She moved a foot closer to Noni. As if propelled by an opposing force, Noni backed away in the opposite direction.

  “Anyway, girls, I’ve got to dash,” said Noni. “I’ve got a million things on my smart-phone calendar. Don’t you just love technology?” She waggled the small black device at us and then turned and wobbled down the cereal aisle in her four-inch stilettos. I noticed her clingy red dress was an orange-red and her shoes a definite blue-red. In the wedding business, a color gaffe like that was a career-ender.

  At the back door, she hesitated as she eyed a tower of cardboard boxes waiting to be broken down and recycled.

  “Oh, and Farrah, you better hang on to these boxes. You’re going to be needing them. You too, Pali.” She flashed us a mocking sneer; her eyes squinting into what I hoped would become permanent crow’s feet.

  She pushed the back door open and a blast of wind swirled her sleek dark hair across her face. “Aloha, see you gals later.” She wiggled her fingers in a bye-bye wave.

  The door slammed shut. I waited for her to bang back in and demand I move my car out of her way, but she didn’t. Maybe she was smarter than she looked.

  “What kind of evil shit was that?” said Farrah. “I’m going to have to hire a kahuna to come in and bless this place all over again. Did you know Noni had signed on as Tank Sherman’s lackey?”

  “Yeah. She came by my shop last Tuesday.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because I completely forgot about it. I figured if I pulled off Lisa Marie’s wedding I’d be able to pay his thieving rent until I could relocate my shop somewhere else. She didn’t say anything about you and the Vida.”

  Farrah glared at the back door but kept quiet.

  “So,” I said, “I guess he’s planning to increase your rent, too. Can you raise prices enough to manage it?”

  “Are you kidding? If I jack my prices any higher they’ll haul me in for extortion.”

  “Good point.”

  “And the new Wal-Mart down in Kahului has already cut into my business more than thirty percent.”

  “Did she say how much Tank was paying for this place?”

  “She’s probably blowing smoke, but she said it appraised for around two mil.”

  “Wow. If your folks had ever dreamed this place would be worth that kind of money, I’ll bet they’d never have sold it.”

  “Da kine. But they just wanted to run the store. The taxes and upkeep got to be more than they could handle.”

  Upkeep? I looked at the worn interior of the century-old building. The wood plank floor was so rutted by years of plantation workers’ feet scuffling across it that Farrah had covered the high traffic areas with jute mats. The mats were frayed and dirty, making the whole place look and smell like an old army barracks.

  “Two million bucks,” I said, shaking my head.

  Farrah’s eyes darted around the store, but she didn’t say anything. I’d known her long enough to recognize when she was holding something back.

  “There’s more, right?”

  “Yeah. Noni said Tank wants to buy the store. Not just the building, but the whole business.”

  “She give you a number?”

  “Yeah.”

  When Farrah made me drag stuff out of her, it usually signaled she was uncomfortable with the message. But I wasn’t in the mood for twenty questions.

  “Farrah, tell me the whole thing—now. I’ve got too much going on to play the Barbara Walters thing with you.”

  “It’s a boatload.” She hesitated. “Okay, okay, I won’t make you ask again. He’s talking a couple hundred thou.”

  My jaw slackened.

  “But, hey, that includes the inventory,” she said. In a low voice she added, “I need to give him my answer by Friday.”

  I gripped the chrome edge of the produce case. “Why’s he being so generous?”

  “Noni says he’s got his reasons.”

  “You going to do it?”

  “How can I even think about it? This was my parents’ store; the only thing I have left of them. Selling out to an ‘okole like Tank would be like dancing on their graves. They ran this store as a gesture of peace and love to the local people here. They didn’t care about the kala.”

  “Didn’t care? Twenty years ago they sold this building because of the money,” I said.

  She pressed her lips into a tight frown.

  I went on. “And two hundred grand is some serious dough. You’d never sweat money again with that kind of stash.”

  “But this isn’t just my work, it’s my home.” She glanced up, indicating her tiny apartment above the store.

  “Maybe Tank will still let you live up there. Pay him rent or something.”

  “No, the offer is to get out. Pau.”

  Something red caught my eye and I looked down. Farrah had pushed the blade of the paring knife into her palm. Three or four dark red drops had fallen to the floor.

  “Eh, that hurts,” she said. She dropped the bloody knife on a display of neatly stacked head lettuce and pressed her thumb into the cut. Blood from the knife seeped across a lettuce head making it look like it’d taken a bullet.

  “He offered to buy me out of ‘Let’s Get Maui’d’ too,” I said.

  “Really? How much?”

  “Five grand.”

  “What? That’s a freakin’ insult.”

  “Yeah, but it’s pretty obvious Tank’s way more interested in groceries than girls. He’ll probably just farm out the wedding business. Besides, like you said, you’ve got inventory—and a huge customer base.”

  “So,” said Farrah, “what did Noni mean about Tank making a bid on your house? I didn’t know it was for sale.”

  “It isn’t. It’s in foreclosure. I’m behind on the payments.”

  She opened her palm. Blood oozed from the cut. I pulled a clean white tissue from my beach bag and held it out to her. It looked like a limp surrender flag. She grabbed it and dabbed at the blood.

  I went on, “I’m not going to sweat losing my house, though, because by the end of next week I’ll be paying off my bills and almost caught up on my mortgage. I’m planning to tell that fatso, tanks but no tanks.”

  “Sounds good. But I’m not sure what I should do. I hate the idea of caving to that slimy pololia but what can I do? I need to go upstairs and consult my sources.”

  Farrah relied heavily on her Ouija board, tarot cards, and rune stones to manage her day-to-day life. Her apartment resembled a gypsy fortune teller’s wagon with walls festooned in decades-old tie-dye, crystal prisms dangling in the windows, and every available flat surface cluttered with mystical trinkets. Although she was an ordained minister of the Church of Spirit and Light—an ultra-liberal Christian sect—her personal belief system leaned much more toward the paranormal.

  I gave her a hug and went over to my shop. Before I had a chance to switch on the lights I saw the answering machine blinking a cheerful staccato. The read-out showed three messages. Was it too much to hope at least one of them was good news?

  “Pali, I hate to bug you, but I’m gonna need some deposit money before I start printing these wedding announcements. Get back to me, okay?”

  “Hi Pali. Keahou here. I usually get full payment before I make a cake, but since you’re my good girl bringing me this business , I’ll let you just give me half. When can you get that to me?”

  “This is Akiko. I forgot to tell you I’m ready for the first fitting. Tell your bride we need to do it quick. Oh, and can you pay me some money? The fabric cost over two hundred dollars.”

  I punched in Lisa Marie’s cell phone number.

  “Now what?” she snapped. “I told you not to bother me.”

>   I refused to rise to the bait. “You’ll be happy to hear Akiko is ready for the first fitting of your gown.”

  “Why do I need a fitting? That stupid little woman already measured every inch of me. It was way embarrassing. I bet she wouldn’t stick a tape measure up Paris Hilton’s crotch. ”

  “It’s up to you, Lisa Marie. It’s true Akiko has all of your measurements. But the drape of the fabric and the unique design must work with the curves of your body to make a gown that fits you perfectly. If you’d like her to simply sew it up, she can. But be forewarned, without fittings it’ll look more like an off-the-rack-dress than an exclusive original. You’re paying for couture and you deserve the full package. Do you have any idea how many fittings super models have before Fashion Week in New York?” My BS meter was pegging in the red zone, but the overall gist of it was true.

  “All right. But I’m not happy about this. Naomi Campbell gets paid huge bucks to have pins stuck in her. Is this the only fitting I’ll need?”

  “There’s usually a final fitting the day before the wedding.”

  “The wedding’s in less than a week! Does that stupid dressmaker think I’m going to pork out in five days?”

  “Maybe you won’t need a final fitting. I think you should discuss it with Akiko.”

  “Oh yeah, like she’s ever said one single word to me—ever.”

  I let a beat go by and then ventured, “Any chance you could come by later this afternoon?” I was pushing it. She probably had her entire day planned out: napping, whining, watching a half-dozen soaps she’d recorded on the DVR.

  “Today’s Saturday,” she said. “It’s not even a work day.”

  It struck me odd that someone who’d most likely never worked a day in her life could differentiate between business days and weekends.

  “Yes, but Akiko’s been slaving non-stop on your gown. She won’t be taking any time off between now and Valentine’s Day.”

  “Bully for her.”

  I waited.

  “Okay. I’ll call Kevin and get him to drive me. We’ll be there at three. Tell that little sewing lady to be on time and to make it snappy. I’ve got to be back home by four to catch Entertainment Tonight, the Weekend Edition. It comes on way early over here. My whole TV schedule’s all messed up.”

  I offered mahalos for coming in on such short notice. I didn’t comment on the obvious irony of a spoiled diva racing home to catch up on the antics of other spoiled divas. After all, I had a mortgage to pay.

  Lisa Marie arrived a few minutes before three. Kevin excused himself immediately, saying he’d be back in half an hour. In her slim elegant gown Lisa Marie looked even more emaciated than she had on Friday. Akiko pinned and tucked, assuring both me and the bride it was way easier to take in a dress than let one out.

  “I make big seams. Usually with pregnant girl, well, you know.” She pinched her lips into a disapproving scowl. “Skinny girl, no problem.”

  After the fitting, Lisa Marie hopped off the step-up platform and dashed behind the curtain of the tiny changing room. Half a minute later, she used her bare foot to nudge the exquisite silk dress under the curtain and out onto the fitting room floor. Akiko’s eyes widened in horror as she snatched up the gown. She smoothed the fabric with the tenderness of a mother comforting an injured child. Then she hung the dress on a padded hanger and slipped it into a pink satin garment bag. She turned to leave.

  “Next fitting on Tuesday,” she said, parting the bead curtain. I heard her bare feet pad across the reception room floor and then there was a pause as she slipped into her flip-flops. A few seconds later the front door slammed with a resolute bam.

  “I told you I didn’t want any more fittings,” said Lisa Marie. She’d come out from the dressing room wearing only her bra and panties. She stood—hands on hips—glaring at me.

  “Akiko had to take your gown in almost an entire size, Lisa Marie. If you keep losing weight, it’ll be hanging on you like a garbage bag by Valentine’s Day. You need to start eating. And you need to come back on Tuesday so she can check the alterations.”

  “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, act
ually 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.”