Trust me, right there with you, pal.
Marco took off his floppy beach hat, tossing it on the nearest bed, and bustled across the room, waving a drink in his hand. "I just heard the funniest story from Ruth Marie. You would not believe what she did to become Miss 1962—" He stopped when he noticed our expressions. "Wait, was I interrupting something? 'Cause I can go amuse myself for a while." He took in Ramirez's bare torso. "All night, if need be."
Ramirez opened his mouth, but I said, "Don't worry about it, Marco. I'm beat, anyway." I stood on my toes and gave my husband a quick goodnight peck on the lips. "See you in the morning."
"I'll make it up you, dahling," Marco called after me.
I heard Ramirez grunt and open another beer as Marco continued his tale. "Anyway, as I was saying, Ruth Marie is such a card, she told me…"
For a moment, I almost thought Ramirez had the shorter end of the roomie stick on this trip.
*
I wasn't being entirely dishonest with my husband. I was beat. But as the minutes ticked toward midnight, I felt myself getting reenergized. Or maybe that was just the anticipation building. Okay, I knew Ramirez wouldn't approve of me showing up at midnight alone to meet the potential murder witness. And, honestly, I had no intention of waltzing into the deserted pool area by myself at midnight, exposed and vulnerable to who knew what. But I also had no intention of letting this potential lead slip through my fingers. What if someone really had seen something? With the televised pageant tomorrow, time was running short to find Jennifer and Desi's killer. If I went down to the pool early, and I could find a satisfactory hiding place, I could wait until the texter showed up, get a definite ID, and then question him or her in the light of day, preferably in the middle of all the beauty queens and judges and a security guard or two. Maybe the plan wasn't Einstein brilliant, but it was the best I could do on short notice.
I briefly thought of calling in backup, but as I mentally ran down my list of possible backers I dismissed each one. There was no way Marco could slip out without Ramirez catching wind of it. If Mom and Mrs. Rosenblatt came with me, we had about as much chance of keeping hidden and quiet as an elephant in a public library. Dana would've been a great co-conspirator, but her phone was turned off for the night. I tried to tell myself I would just be hiding in the shadows and watching. Totally not in any danger. Totally not out in the open. Totally fine without backup.
Though I didn't totally believe myself.
I went through my usual bedtime ritual for Mom and Mr. R's benefits, pulled on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt and climbed between the sheets, but sleep was the last thing on my mind. I stared at the ceiling, waiting while the minutes passed. Mrs. Rosenblatt must have forgotten her breathing strips as her snoring provided a metronome of sorts to mark the excruciating movement of the clock. By 11:45, she and Mom were finally doing a lumberjack duet. Perfect. In fact, they were loud enough that I could slip out of my bed and out of the room—and probably away in a helicopter if I chose—unnoticed.
In my flip-flops and a sweatshirt, I rode the elevator down, passed through the lobby without encountering a soul, and went out the back entrance. A minute later I was approaching the pool. The breeze had stiffened, rearranging the clouds so that they obscured the moon. Someone had stacked up the lounge chairs for the night and lowered the umbrellas, lending an air of abandonment to the area. But the cabanas were open. I slipped inside the closest one to wait, ducking down behind a gauzy curtain. With my cell on silent mode this time.
Minutes continued to tick past with agonizing slowness. Midnight finally came and went, and I was still waiting. No movement at all, save for the palms and the occasional lizard that darted along the pool apron. Even the surface of the water was still as a mirror. I stretched the kinks out of my legs and settled in again. I'd give it fifteen more minutes before chalking the whole thing up to a hoax. Or maybe the texter genuinely had information but had developed cold feet about sharing it.
Either way, by the time my cell finally read 12:15, I'd had enough. I emerged from the cabana to go back to my room, disappointed that nothing had come of what might have been a promising lead.
I'd only taken a few steps up the path when I suddenly felt a presence behind me. I turned.
But it was too late. Blinding pain shot through my skull, and the shadowy palm trees and lava rock waterfalls slid into blackness.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
"Maddie!"
Someone was jostling me, lifting me off the hard concrete and placing me onto something softer and warmer. I didn't want to be jostled. Jostling hurt, mostly my head, but my back felt tight, and my right elbow was sore, too. I wanted to be left alone, right where I was, to go back to sleep.
"Maddie, wake up!"
I forced my eyes open. Ouch. That hurt too. They took a second to focus, but then I saw Ramirez bent over me with a look of such deep concern that it was gut-wrenching. He had tiny beads of perspiration dotting his forehead, but it wasn't hot. It was actually cool, cool enough that I couldn't seem to stop shivering.
Ramirez drew in a quick breath and muttered, "Thank God," before pressing a kiss onto my forehead. I tried not to wince at the contact and struggled to sit up. He pressed me back gently but firmly onto a lounge chair and sat on the edge so he could hold me there. "What happened?" he asked. "Can you remember?"
I took a look around at the still water of the pool, the stacked lounge chairs, the empty cabanas. "I don't know," I said honestly. "I don't have a clue. I thought I was alone, but then I felt this…pain…and now you're here." I tried to smile at him, but it only made my head hurt.
"Did you see anyone?" he asked.
I tried to think about it, but I didn't really want to think. I wanted to sleep. And I wanted a blanket. Why was I so cold? "No. No one," I said. Who had been there? Had my witness turned on me? Or had the killer followed me here and tried to take me out before I found the witness?
"I'm taking you to the hospital." His eyes shifted to the top of my head. "You need to be checked out. You've got a pretty good egg up there."
"I'll be fine," I said, reaching up to touch my scalp. Which was a mistake. A lightning bolt of pain slashed through my head, setting my teeth on edge, yanking me right out of my lethargy. "By the morning," I added. I looked at my fingers. No blood. No blood was a good thing.
"You could have a concussion," he said, his harsh tone contradicting the compassion etched into the lines of his face.
"I don't have a concussion. I just have a headache." A monster headache. The mother of all headaches. Then something suddenly occurred to me. "What are you doing out here, anyway?"
"Thank your mother," he told me. "She woke up and found you missing and shot me a text. She's worried sick about you." He gave me a faint smile. "The text made absolutely no sense, by the way, but I gather she doesn't think your juju cleansing did the trick. Apparently you're still cursed."
I managed to roll my eyes.
"And because your juju is cursed," Ramirez went on, "I'm putting you on the first plane home in the morning."
"I can't go home," I protested. "Tomorrow's the pageant. I mean today." I stopped myself as I was about to shake my head. I wasn't ready for head shaking quite yet. "Besides," I added, "I'm almost sure someone knows something about the murders. Maybe."
Ramirez's dark eyebrows drew together. "This isn't a game, Maddie."
"I don't think it's a game."
"Then exactly what where you doing out here alone?"
"Uh—"
"Here we go!" Marco hustled down the path toward us, carrying a lumpy ball of hand towel in both fists. "I couldn't find an actual ice bag so I did the next best thing." He unfolded a corner of the towel to reveal a mound of ice cubes. "I raided the ice machine. This might be a little sloppy." He handed it over. "Sorry it took so long. How are you feeling, honey?"
"She's feeling like she wants to go home," Ramirez said firmly.
I placed the makeshift ice bag gingerly on my
head. I didn't have the energy to fight him. At least not yet. "I don't suppose you brought aspirin with you?"
Marco whipped a small tin from the pocket of his shorts. "Voila. My tiny travel companion. Here." He shook three of them out and handed them over. "But I didn't bring any water."
"This is fine." I swallowed the aspirin dry, cringing at the sharp taste that lingered on my tongue. Then I closed my eyes and laid my head back, perfectly willing to sleep the rest of the night away right where I was.
But Marco was having none of it. "Come on, Sleeping Beauty. We're putting you to bed."
"She's coming back to our room," Ramirez said.
I allowed myself to lean on Ramirez as he slid an arm around me. He supported me back along the path to the hotel and up to his room, with Marco dancing ahead to open doors and push elevator buttons and pull back covers. Despite practically carrying me the last few feet to the room, Ramirez wasn't even breathing hard when he laid me down on his bed. He leaned over to kiss my forehead. "We'll talk about this in the morning," he whispered.
A few minutes later I was vaguely aware of him sliding into the other side of the bed, but then someone shut off the lights, and I drifted away.
When I opened my eyes again, sunlight was slanting through a gap in the drapes, and I was able to think coherently again, even if I was still tired from my ordeal. The headache had subsided into a dull aching sensation in the back of my head. I glanced to my left at Ramirez's rumpled empty side of the bed, and to my right, at Marco's tidy fully made one. Alone again. But wiser in the light of day. I closed my eyes again, trying not to freak out at the idea of how close I'd come last night to being in Jennifer's shoes. Ramirez was right about one thing—this was no game. And I was tired of playing. In the light of day, I was feeling more than happy to leave the investigative heavy lifting to the big boys.
I threw aside the covers and swung my legs over the side of the bed. My back registered a minor complaint at the movement, but nothing felt too badly out of whack. Today was pageant day, and I intended to fulfill my responsibilities. I pushed myself to my feet and went to check the damage in the mirror. Not terrible, but I would require some make-up to look presentable. I took a quick shower, letting the warm water cascade gently over my head without doing any actual rubbing with my fingers. Even the water splashing on my scalp set off prickly little bursts of pain like tiny electrical shocks.
At the sink, I squirted toothpaste directly into my mouth, and blew dry my hair while finger-combing it into something if not couture, at least less frightening. And with a dip into Marco's skin care collection, I wasn't looking half bad. I had no choice other than to put on the prior night's clothes, but they looked no worse for my lying on the ground for who knew how long before Ramirez found me.
My phone was Vouge-ing when I emerged from the bathroom. I hurried across the room to snatch it up.
"Oh, thank God you're safe, dear. You can't imagine how worried I was."
"How worried we were," Mrs. Rosenblatt yelled in the background.
"What on earth happened to you?" Mom asked. "Marco just told me that they found you by the pool. Why would you go down to the pool at night?"
"Something came up during the luau," I said. "I thought I had a credible lead. And I took precautions." I should have taken an armed guard.
"Oh, honey, with juju like yours, you know you shouldn't be wandering around anywhere by yourself, especially at night."
Geez. "I don't think it's my juju, Mom," I told her. "I think there's a killer on the loose."
There was a beat of silence. Then, "And this is supposed to make me feel better? Having you running around alone in the dark with a killer on the loose?"
"Tell her to come down to the buffet," Mrs. Rosenblatt yelled. "Tell her I found a real chicken."
"Dear, Mrs. Rosenblatt said—"
"I heard what she said," I cut in. "But I'm sorry, I'm super busy. I have final fittings for the pageant today."
"Well, be careful. I'm your mother, dear. I worry about you."
"I doubt I'll get a moment alone all day," I promised her. "I'll be surrounded by pageant people."
"Still, make sure you carry the mojo bag. You need all the protection you can get."
"I haven't forgotten the mojo bag," I told her. I'd never forget the mojo bag, or the rest of the juju cleansing fiasco. No matter how I tried. "I have to go, Mom. I've gotten change."
"Tell her we have the right words!" Mrs. Rosenblatt was calling out as I hung up.
I was still shaking my head when Ramirez came in. He was followed by Marco, wheeling a room service cart draped in a white linen tablecloth. "Good morning, sunshine!" Marco rolled the cart over to the glass doors and threw the drapes open wide. I blinked at the brightness. "We brought you a little breakfast. We didn't know what you'd want, so we have a little of everything." He whipped off the tablecloth with a flourish, and I gaped at the spread beneath. A coffeepot, glasses of apple, orange, and cranberry juices, stacks of toast, a few muffins, some croissants, and whatever entrees lay beneath the metal covers. Everything looked incredible and smelled even better.
"Looks like you cleaned out the buffet," I said. "I hope you two haven't eaten yet."
Marco quickly spread the tablecloth and transferred the food onto the table, arranging it so artfully it looked like a catered meal. The only thing missing was a centerpiece. While we settled in, Ramirez asked, "So how's your head feeling?"
I shrugged, trying to play it off. "Not bad. I washed my hair and everything."
Marco's eyebrows lifted as he appraised the finished product, but he didn't say anything.
"Then you'll have clean hair for the trip home," Ramirez said. "There's a flight out at two o'clock this afternoon."
Marco's eyes went wide and shifted from my hair to Ramirez and back to me.
I took a bite of a croissant. "I can't leave on the day of the pageant," I told him. "I have work to do."
"And you signed a contract," he finished. "Yeah. You said that last night." He sliced into his Western omelet with a vicious slash.
Did I? I didn't remember. "Right, well, it's true. I have to honor my contract," I said. "Especially today." I gave him what I hoped was a charming smile. "Why don't you stick around and play bodyguard?"
"I'd love to," he said, "but I can't. I'm heading to the station as soon as we finish eating. I'm hoping they can track down that text."
I paused. "Did I tell you about that last night, too?" I asked. Huh. Maybe I'd hit my head harder than I'd thought.
But Ramirez shook his head. "No," he ground out. "But like any good investigator, I checked your phone."
I should have felt violated, but considering I had been keeping something from him, I just sipped my juice instead.
"But all things considered," he continued, "I really don't want to leave you alone."
"I won't be alone," I said. "I'll be with everyone from the pageant."
Marco did a little hiccupping sound around his mouthful of orange juice, like a peal of laughter was stuck in his throat. "Honey, aren't those the people you need to stay away from?"
"He's right. You need to have someone else with you," Ramirez said, his expression grim. "And it should be me." He glared at his omelet in frustration.
Marco patted the corner of his mouth with his napkin. "I'm free as a bird all day. I'd be happy to be Maddie's shadow. Hey, maybe I can even pick up some fashion tips backstage. As if I need them," he added with a giggle. I watched him slather butter on a slice of toast and take a dainty bite from the corner.
I grinned. "That's a great idea. Marco will be my assistant today, and when the pageant's over, I'll get on the next plane, no questions asked."
Ramirez's eyebrows lifted. "Regardless of the status of the investigation?"
"Regardless," I agreed. "I don't even have to report downstairs for a couple of hours. I can stay right here, and we can play—"
"Ladies of leisure?" Marco asked.
"I was going t
o say cards," I said. "But I like your idea better."
He did a little hand clap. "I'm so in, I've practically ordered the mimosas."
Ramirez considered it. "It's not perfect," he said finally, "but it'll have to do." He pointed his knife at Marco. "Do not leave her side. For any reason. I don't care what she tries to tell you."
"Hey," I said in mild protest.
"And miss seeing all the shoes and gowns and glam up close?" Marco shook his head. "Dahling, you couldn't pry me away from her."
We managed to get through breakfast without another mention of the assault, although it seemed obvious that Ramirez wasn't entirely comfortable leaving me under Marco's protection. That didn't surprise me. But he knew as well as I did that the text I'd gotten last night was the best solid lead toward finding the killer that we'd gotten yet. Plus, I got the feeling that finding this guy, or gal, had just become personal to Ramirez. I assured him that I fully intended to keep my word. Once Miss Hawaiian Paradise was crowned, I'd be on my way to the airport.
After Ramirez left, Marco accompanied me to my room (which was thankfully empty) so I could change my clothes and put on some makeup. My finger-combed hair wasn't exactly pageant-ready, so I took some time working it over with a round brush, careful to avoid scraping the bristles over the bump on my head. The finished result wasn't perfect, but it wasn't going to induce pointing fingers and laughter, either, so I called it a win.
We grabbed two quick lattes at the coffee shop in the lobby before heading down to the auditorium for a full day's worth of last minute fittings and dress rehearsals.
While the telecast was still several hours away, the backstage area was already bustling with activity and crackling with nervous energy. Marco took it all in with a gleam of glee in his eyes. "This is so exciting!" He squeezed my arm.
"You can find yourself a seat and watch the rehearsals if you want," I told him. "There's no point in following in my footsteps. I'll be perfectly safe with everyone here."
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