“What—”
But the hum on the line told me he’d already hung up.
CHAPTER 7
After 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.
CHAPTER 8
On Sunday morning, my cell phone slithered across the nightstand, buzzing and vibrating with an incoming call. I rolled over and checked the time—six-thirty. The caller ID said K McGillvary.
“Hi Kevin. What’s up?” I said, attempting an ‘already had my coffee’ voice. I didn’t mention the early hour. I like clients to think I never sleep; as if I maintain a constant vigil until their Big Day.
“I need to talk to you. Soon.”
“Is Lisa Marie all right?”
“She’s fine. But I need to see you this morning.”
“I don’t normally work on Sundays.”
“I don’t need you to do anything. I want to give you a heads-up before Lisa Marie’s family gets here.”
“Can’t you just tell me now?”
“No,” his voice was tight. “Not on the phone.”
We agreed to meet at my shop at nine. He offered to pick up something at the bakery, and I said I’d have a fresh pot of coffee ready.
“Will Lisa Maria be coming with you?” I said. I thought I better ask because when I’d last sniffed the cream it smelled like it was getting a little ripe.
“No,” he said, practically shouting. “She’s out of the loop on this.”
In my line of work I’m used to functioning as mother confessor for weird personal quirks and family secrets. I’ve been summoned to more than a few clandestine meetings where a member of the wedding party felt compelled to dump a furtive factoid in my lap. One time I learned it wasn’t the bride’s first marriage—although the groom had been led to believe his bride was a blushing virgin. Or, there was the time I was warned Uncle Barney was a mean drunk so the bartender needed to have a liquor bottle watered down with colored water ready to pour. A favorite of mine was hearing the bride’s older sister was really her mother. Oddly, this one had come around more than once. Family secrets rarely surprise me. Probably Kevin’s big hush-hush meeting involved some petty disclosure I’d heard before and would no doubt hear again. It’s all part of what I get paid to do.
Kevin arrived right on time looking downright ghastly. The gray weather hadn’t lifted for more than a few sunny hours in the past week, so any tourist sporting a tan probably had had it sprayed on, but Keith’s pallor reminded me of that guy in Beetlejuice.
“Coffee?” I said.
“Thanks.” He handed over a white bakery bag. I peeked inside and saw two humongous muffins and a puffy apple turnover laced with icing. They smelled fabulous. I wanted to stick my whole face in the bag and suck up the a
roma. Instead, I daintily lifted the goodies from the sack using the little piece of wax paper from the bakery. After laying them out on the bag, I offered him first pick.
With a wave of his hand he declined the scrumptious-looking carbohydrates.
“So, what’s going on?” I said, laying claim to the turnover. I broke it into three pieces before biting into the cinnamon-scented filling.
“If Brad was alive, this week would have been huge for him.”
“You think Brad’s dead?” I said it as calmly as I could.
“How should I know? The Coast Guard says he’s dead, so I guess he is.”
“But if you don’t think Brad’s coming back, why are you standing in as proxy?”
“I’ve got my reasons.” His eyes darted around the room. “You don’t have like, uh, surveillance cameras in here, right?”
“Nope. No hidden mics or thermal imaging devices either.” I smiled, but he seemed to take me for serious.
“Okay, then,” he said. “I probably should keep my mouth shut, but it seems only fair I clue you in on what’s going on with Lisa Marie.”
“I appreciate your concern, but I think I’ve pretty much figured out what’s going on already.”
“That right?”
“Yeah. I figure she’s all hot to have this wedding—with or without Brad—so she can claim to be his widow and have a shot at his estate. From what I’ve seen, she’s gonna need some serious dough to keep up her Dom Perignon lifestyle. With Brad around, DigiSystems was footing the freight but now it looks like they’re cutting her off.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Because I talked to Todd Barker. Lisa Marie told me he’d pay the wedding bills, but when I called him he said he’d only pay the existing bills and no more.”
“That douche bag. What’s he doing? He’s a clueless bean counter.”
“It’s fine, I’m not worried. I’ll just dial everything back a tad and make it work. I’ve dealt with brides like her before. You know, caviar appetite—tuna fish budget.”
Maui Widow Waltz (Islands of Aloha Mystery Series) Page 7