“Like Eminem?”
“You got it.” As they walked on, Em remembered Louie’s request. “I hate to ask, but would you be willing to do Louie a favor and wrangle the monkey into his cage before we leave the hotel? The owner wants him back.”
“Sorry, but I don’t wrangle monkeys.”
“Ever? Not even for me, Roland?” She batted her lashes.
“I’m just not that kind of guy. Besides, we’re on the job here.”
“You’re right.” She didn’t press him. She’d had enough to deal with already, and it wasn’t even two in the afternoon. The fugitive monkey would just have to wait.
They headed down Rainbow Drive toward the Hilton entrance on Kalia Road.
“Now there’s what I’d call some monkey wranglers,” Roland said.
Em followed Roland’s gaze, which unfortunately meant taking hers off of him. Kiki and the Maidens, minus Suzi, were all gussied up in neon pink ruffled muumuus posing against a lovely garden pool beside three massive bronze hula sculptures. The male dancer represented a hawk and was upright, reaching for the sky. The two female dancer sculptures would forever be performing complicated kneeling hula moves the Hula Maidens could never hope to master.
That didn’t keep the Maidens from cavorting around the edges of the pond, posing on low black lava rocks or hanging on gas tiki torch poles as their fans and tourists snapped photos.
The Kamakanis sat on their beach chairs on the grassy area surrounding the pond playing a lively hapa haole tune that tourists loved. There was a calabash full of tips on the ground in front of Byron.
From the look of all the cameras slung around his neck, a professional Japanese photographer and Trish were in deep conversation, no doubt speaking the international language of apertures, blown highlights, and depth of field.
Kiki disengaged from one of the torch poles when she saw Em and Roland and came running over.
“I heard you were here, Roland.” She momentarily ignored Em. Women only had eyes for Roland when he was around. “Have you found Louie’s Booze Bible yet?”
“He just arrived this morning,” Em reminded her.
“Not yet,” Roland said. “Things are a little more complicated than they seem.”
“Oh, what’s up?” Kiki looked from Roland to Em and back. “Tell! You’ve got to tell me.”
“We don’t know anything definitive yet,” he said. “We could use your help though.”
Kiki puffed up like a peacock. “Of course you’ve got it.”
“Louie needs to get the monkey back to its owner. He needs someone to put it back into the cage.”
Kiki started backing away, shaking her head. “Not me. No way, no how. That thing tore my hair out by the roots.” She separated her hair and showed him a scabby bald spot.
“Maybe one of the musicians will do it. They’re making a lot of money off you ladies. Seems like they owe you,” he said.
Kiki glanced over her shoulder. “Maybe Big Estelle can talk Byron into it. Promise a couple of favors.”
“Speaking of Big Estelle, her mom’s back from the recording studio. She’s at Tapa Bar rapping for the Shriners,” Em said.
Across the pond, Big Estelle was trying to imitate one of the massive bronze hula dancers without actually kneeling.
“Uh, oh,” Kiki said. “If she pulls her back out we’ll be down two dancers instead of one.” She cupped her hands and hollered, “Big Estelle, knock it off!”
“Where’s Pat?” Em scanned the group of Maidens.
“At the airport. They found our cooler, but it was going to take them all day to deliver it, so she went to pick it up,” Kiki said.
Roland nudged Em. “We’ve got to go, Kiki,” Em said.
“Where?”
“To grab some lunch,” Roland said.
“If you could just see about caging the monkey . . .” Em hoped she sounded desperate.
“That thing hates women,” Kiki told Roland.
“Maybe it will like Pat,” Em suggested. “Maybe he’ll think she’s a man.”
“Probably not,” Kiki said. “I have a feeling that monkey is cagier than all of us put together.”
27
KIKI SIDESTEPPED two tourists clamoring for her autograph and headed over to Big Estelle, who was signing the back of someone’s T-shirt.
When she was finished she said, “Don’t forget to leave a tip in that wooden bowl over there in front of our ukulele player and ma-ha-lo.” Big Estelle waved goodbye as the delighted tourist walked away.
“Em said your mom’s back safe and sound. So far anyway. She’s at Tapa Bar,” Kiki said.
“That’s a relief. Kind of.”
“Between you and me, something’s going on, and Em’s clammed up about it.”
“You mean, between all of us.” Lillian walked up with Precious and Flora beside her. “Em’s got a secret?”
Kiki hadn’t really looked at Lillian until now.
“What happened to your face?” The woman was covered in foundation makeup that ended at her jawline. It gave the impression she was wearing a mask. Her eyes were so heavily outlined with shadow and liner that she was beyond smoky-eyed. She was downright scary.
Lillian’s lower lip trembled. “I ran into a couple of the Mindy’s women I knew in Iowa. They took one look at me and dragged me off to an intervention and gave me a makeover before they left. They threatened to have my Miracle Maker status revoked.”
“What do you care?” Kiki wondered aloud. “You aren’t selling that stuff anymore.”
“Well, I do have a few boxes piled up in the garage. In case anything ever happens, and the container ships can’t get to the islands, I’ll have enough product to go around.”
Precious tugged on Kiki’s muumuu to get her attention. “I’ve been thinking about what Em’s secret might be. Maybe she and Roland are getting married, and that’s why he’s here.”
“If I was younger I’d be tempted to go after him myself.” Flora hiked up her bra straps.
“I don’t think so. I think they know something about the Booze Bible, but they haven’t found it yet. The competition really heats up tomorrow. Louie will be sunk without it,” Kiki said.
“Is there anything we can do?” Precious fluffed the wide ruffle around the top of her muumuu.
“We’ve tracked down murderers before,” Big Estelle said. “Seems like we ought to be able to find a three-ring binder.”
“We can’t do anything until we have something to go on. Then you bet your sweet okole we’ll snap into action,” Kiki assured them.
The Maidens nodded in unison. Kiki waved to Trish, who quickly said goodbye to a Japanese photographer and came walking over toting her camera gear.
“What’s up?” she said.
“Em’s keeping a secret,” Precious filled her in. “They haven’t found the Booze Bible.”
“Uh, oh,” Trish said.
“Em asked if we could put that rent-a-monkey back in its cage for Louie,” Kiki told them.
“Dead or alive?” Big Estelle snorted.
“Us or the monkey?” Precious doubled over laughing.
“This is no laughing matter. I have the scars to prove it.” Kiki flashed her scabby bald spot at anyone who would look.
She glanced over at the Kamakanis. Em was right. The wooden calabash was full of money. The musicians owed her. She motioned for the girls to follow as she headed toward Bryron.
By now there were at least forty people gathered around them on the grass at the entrance to Hilton Hawaiian Village. The bright orange double decker Waikiki Trolley had just pulled up on the corner. Spotting a crowd, disembarking passengers hurried over to see what was going on. When the crowd around them suddenly doubled in size, Kiki knew they had better
get moving before the hotel management came out and got on her case again.
“Dance for us, Hula Maidens!” a woman shouted. “We came all the way from Illinois hopin’ to see you dance.”
Kiki sighed. “Gotta keep the fans happy,” she told the others. “Line up, girls. We’ll do one more number.”
Lillian, Precious, Big Estelle, Flora, and Trish lined up on the grass. They left a spot in the middle open for Kiki.
“What you wanna dance?” Byron asked Kiki.
She scanned the crowd. “How about ‘Lovely Hula Hands’?” Then she called out to the gathering, “We’ll dance if you’ll sing along!”
Everyone cheered. The Kamakanis started strumming. The Maidens started dancing. The tourists sang.
Halfway through the song, Kiki spotted two Hilton security officers on bicycles circling the edge of the crowd. Byron noticed too and picked up the tempo. By the time the officers negotiated their way through the ring of tourists, the musicians hadn’t wasted any time folding up their beach chairs and closing their coolers.
“You folks are going to have to take this show somewhere else.” The youngest of the two security guards was smiling as he added, “We don’t want any trouble, auntie.”
“No worries,” Kiki said. “We don’t either. We’re outta here.”
Byron picked up the calabash. It was full to the brim with five, tens, and twenties. Loose change clanked in the bottom of the wooden bowl.
“Pretty good tips,” Bryon said.
“Stick with us.” Kiki smiled and gave him a wink. “By the way, we’ve got real treat for you gentlemen. Have you ever seen a Capuchin monkey up close?”
28
EM AND ROLAND negotiated sidewalks jammed with tourists, a smattering of locals weaving their way through the throng, and solicitors handing out flyers for various businesses and time-share freebies. Visitors hurried along, intent on seeing, doing, and buying everything paradise had to offer.
They reached the Moana where bellmen and valets in cream-colored uniforms extended greetings of aloha to guests pouring out of cars, taxis, and limos beneath a towering porte-cochere supported by stark white Ionic columns.
“I can’t go in there. I’m underdressed.” Em glanced down at her white capris and black tank top, her woven purse and rubber Locals slaps, and balked. She wished she’d at least put on a sundress.
“It’s a hotel. You’ll see everything inside, believe me.”
Skeptical, she watched another limo unload. “These people are all dressed up.”
“Mainlanders. They just got here,” he said. “Let’s go.”
She felt his hand riding the small of her back, urging her on as they walked up the sidewalk to the front steps. When Em saw the hotel’s front lanai lined with rocking chairs she wanted nothing more than to sit down, watch the world go by, and forget about what happened to Phillip, at least for a few minutes.
They stepped inside the classically Hawaiian interior of the lobby with its polished koa wood tables, plush Oriental carpets, and two long rows of Ionic columns. There was a view from the front doors straight through to the courtyard and the sun glittering on the ocean beyond.
Roland pointed out a family of six decked out in swimwear as they trooped through the lobby. The kids toted towels and sand toys. The mother was in a lace beach cover-up that didn’t cover enough.
“Told you anything goes.”
Em relaxed a little and watched the beachgoers walk past another Japanese wedding party. The bride, groom, attendants, and family headed through the lobby and disappeared down a long hallway.
“See Felicity anywhere?” Roland asked.
Reminded of their mission, Em looked around as they slowly walked out to the courtyard.
“I don’t see her.”
“What does she look like?”
“In her late twenties, a little taller than me, porcelain skin, no sun damage, blond hair, pert nose, enhanced lips, very perky breasts. She’ll be wearing upscale resort wear and sandals that cost more than you make in a week.”
“Got it.”
More rocking chairs were lined up on the wide back lanai overlooking the courtyard, pool, and the ocean. Most of them were occupied.
“Wow, this is amazing.” Em didn’t know how else to describe the view or the huge banyan tree that shaded the entire courtyard.
A host standing near the entrance to the Beach House restaurant overheard.
“Hey, bra,” he greeted Roland one local to another. Roland nodded.
The host told Em, “That banyan tree was planted in 1825. Robert Louis Stevenson did a lot of writing under there.”
“No kidding?” Em gazed up at the wide canopy of leaves and branches, the dappled sunlight streaming through. She thanked the host for the information, and when she and Roland walked by the massive trunk of the tree formed of rooted vines, she paused to touch it.
“I can’t remember what he wrote,” Roland said. He wasn’t focused on the tree. He was scanning the poolside lounge chairs.
“Felicity won’t be in the sun,” Em told him. “Her lips might melt.”
He turned his attention on her, and Em forgot what she’d been talking about.
“So what did Stevenson write?” he prompted.
“Treasure Island,” she said. “I think Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, too.”
“Saw the movie. Come on, I’m starving.”
They found an empty table at the Beach Bar which was next to a low retaining wall that held back the sand. As they sat down, Em heard the call of a conch shell and turned to watch one of the crew of a huge yellow surf-riding catamaran blow the shell again. He waved swimmers away from the craft as it drifted toward the beach to offload and pick up more tourists.
While Em people watched, Roland scanned the menu. When their waitress arrived he ordered a loco moco and iced tea and handed Em a menu.
“You really are starving,” she said.
“Those breakfast muffins wore off hours ago.”
An hour ago she didn’t think she’d ever have an appetite again. Looking over the menu she quickly decided on an arugula and papaya salad with orange ginger dressing and iced tea. She kept the menu to study the tropical drink offerings.
“Beach Bar,” Em said. “They sure put a lot of imagination into the name.”
“No matter what they call it, folks probably just say let’s meet at the beach bar anyway.”
“You’re right.”
She scanned the tropical beverages and found it typical. The hotels and resorts tried to outdo each when other naming drinks and dishes. The “Vanilla Refresh,” “Hawaiian Sun,” “Day at the Beach,” and a host of other cocktails were all variations of liquor, fruit juices, and an occasional splash of coconut.
“These drinks don’t hold a candle to Louie’s. Most of his were inspired by actual events in his life. There’s a legend to go with every drink he ever created.” She closed the menu and pushed it away. “It’s all recorded in the Booze Bible.”
“There’s a chance we’ll still find it.”
The waitress delivered ice teas and assured them their orders were on the way.
“You really think we’ll get it back?”
“For your uncle’s sake I sure hope so.”
He leaned back and focused on the guests walking on the hotel lanai. Em figured they had as much chance of finding the notebook as spotting Felicity. She turned her gaze to the ocean and the backdrop of Diamond Head.
The gently rolling waves never stopped. Staring at them was so relaxing that eventually her breathing slowed, and a sense of tranquility washed over her. She could never dismiss the horrible truth of what had happened to Phillip, but sitting there beneath the ancient tree watching the surf and listening to its steady rhythm, she was reminded o
f the order of things. Just as the surf constantly rolls in and out, life goes on.
The waitress arrived with their orders. Em stared at Roland’s loco moco: a side of ground beef molded into a patty nestled on a mound of rice and topped with grilled Maui sweet onions, a poached egg, and then the whole mountain was smothered in red wine gravy. She could tell Roland couldn’t wait to dig in but was politely waiting for her, so she took a bite of her salad.
“You should have just ordered a heart attack on a plate,” Em said.
“When she comes back I’ll ask if they keep a defibrillator under the bar.”
“So do you have a plan?” Em pushed her salad around.
“Other than the defibrillator? We get good health coverage.”
She rolled her eyes. “I meant a plan to solve the murder. If the HPD can’t find Felicity, what makes you think you can? What are you going to do?”
“Talk to someone at reception, make sure she really is still registered here. She may have checked out by now.”
“They’ll tell you that?”
“If I flash my badge at the manager.”
“If she’s a woman, all you have to flash is your smile.”
“Mahalo.” He flashed it at her.
“It still works.” Suddenly she was melting from more than the heat.
“Just testing.”
He focused on his lunch, and when he was through he signaled for the check. Em had at least finished eating all the papaya out of the salad.
They headed for the reception area at the far end of the lobby near the elevators. Check in was at three. Since it was nearly that time, guests were queuing up. There were tourists and locals alike lined up. The Moana was a kama’aina favorite.
Roland asked to see the reception manager. A clerk picked up a phone, and a minute later a door opened in the wall behind the reception clerks, and a young Japanese American woman stepped out.
Roland flashed his badge and asked to speak to her in private. Em followed them into an office hidden near the reception desk. He told the young woman he needed to know if Felicity Duncan and Phillip Johnson were still registered as guests and took out his pocket-sized spiral notepad.
Too Hot Four Hula: 4 (The Tiki Goddess Mystery Series) Page 15