Fire Dancer

by Linsey Lanier

  “Sometimes you don’t play fair, Parker.”

  “No, I don’t.” He gave her that wry Parker smile, pulled the wrapper down and took a bite.

  The saliva in her mouth was contending with the ocean tides. “Is that a breakfast burrito?”

  “Hm-mm.” He reached for a napkin and dabbed his lips as he swallowed. “This one has extra spice.” He took the open bag and turned it toward her. “I’m willing to share.”

  Giving him a death scowl, she stuck her hand in the bag and pulled out the burrito. She echoed his movements, pulling down the wrapping and digging her teeth into the soft spongy delight.

  Oh man, it was wonderful. A delicious, warm tortilla filled with fresh veggies and eggs, gooey with cheese and snapping with spice. She’d be in Heaven if she weren’t so furious with this man.

  “Coffee? It’s black, just the way you like it.” He handed her the cup.

  She put down the sandwich and took the cup from him, being careful not to touch his hand. She removed the lid, took a sip and suppressed a sigh. It tasted freshly ground and as good as the fancy stuff Parker had imported back home. Why did he have to know all her weaknesses?

  She munched away, staring out at the ocean, the palm trees swaying overhead.

  Parker did the same.

  She got about halfway through the burrito when she remembered the message she’d found on Parker’s phone last night. She stopped eating, wrapped up the burrito and put it back in the bag.

  She leaned her head against the seat, waves of pain and humiliation shooting through her. “When were you going to tell me you were looking for my father?” The softness of her own voice surprised her.

  Parker swallowed his last bite and tossed his wrapper into the bag. “I wasn’t going to tell you.” His voice was equally soft.

  She snorted. It was just like him to keep secrets like that.

  “I merely intended to ascertain the data we need.”

  “You mean find out if he has a terminal disease that could be hereditary.”

  “Exactly. And if he didn’t have one, you’d never have to know I contacted him.”

  She closed her eyes and shuddered at his audacity. “So just leave me in limbo, huh?”

  She felt him tense beside her as he scowled at her. “I was under the impression you wanted it that way.”

  He just didn’t get it, did he? She spun around and glared at him. “Not by pulling strings behind my back. By my choice, Parker.” She slapped at her chest. “If I wanted a man who told me what to think and feel, I could’ve stayed with Leon.”

  His nostrils flared and his dark brow grew more set as he glared back at her. “That’s low, Miranda.”

  She brushed crumbs off her T-shirt. “Well, you married a lowlife. It’s about time you realized that.”

  Once more they sat in silence, staring out at the waves, tempers seething.

  Parker forced himself to breathe slowly and remain silent. This wasn’t going to be easy. With Miranda, nothing came easy. At last, he heaved a sigh. “Why don’t you come back to the hotel and get some rest?”

  “I’ve got a case to solve.”

  “Did someone hire you?”

  She gave him a sneer. “You always were one for technicalities. This is pro bono.”

  “Miranda, the police believe Keola’s death was an accident. They know the area.”

  “Shows what you know. Now they think it could have been suicide.”

  That shut him up.

  “By the time they work their way around to murder, I’ll know who the killer was.”

  He nodded, doubt in his eyes. He thought she was chasing shadows. She’d show him. She’d show everyone.

  He reached for her hand. “I don’t think—”

  She pulled away. “Don’t tell me what to think.”

  It was no use to fight her. Better to let her wear herself out. “I was merely going to say that if you’re going to interview a suspect, you might want to be better attired.”

  Miranda glared at him then looked down at herself. She was still dressed in her jeans and T-shirt from last night. One knee was torn and there were blood smears everywhere. Things were casual on the island, but not quite that laid back. She wouldn’t get much information out of Keola’s boss looking like she’d stepped out of a horror movie. Why did Parker always have to be right?

  With a grunt, she folded her arms over her chest. “Okay, then. I’ll have to go back to get my things.”

  “And a shower.” Parker started the car.

  Miranda sat up. “Hey, I didn’t say you could drive me there.”

  “No, you didn’t.” But he was doing it anyway. With a smug look that really got on her last nerve, he pulled out of the parking lot and headed back to the hotel.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Miranda didn’t speak to Parker at the hotel. Why should she? There was nothing more to say.

  She took a quick shower, rubbed some fast absorbing ointment on her cuts and changed into khaki dress slacks and a pale blue top. Ignoring the memory that it was an outfit he had picked out for her, she ran her fingers through her thick, unruly hair.

  Parker stood silently watching her as she grabbed her suitcase, which she hadn’t unpacked. The lines on his face seemed deeper and there was visible pain in the way he regarded her.

  That almost made her melt but stubbornly, she fought back her weakness. It wasn’t going to work out between them, no matter how much passion they had together, no matter how much they thought they loved each other. She could see that clearly now.

  This time, she made sure she had her wallet. She snatched it out of the suitcase, shoved it into her pocket along with some of her business cards. Then she snapped the case shut, picked it up and made her way to the bedroom door.

  “Where to?” Parker asked.

  “None of your business.” She stepped into the living room, with its classy tropical décor and was immediately accosted by the memory of Parker carrying her over the threshold yesterday in honor of that silly wedding tradition. Her lip quivered and she bit back the swell of feeling.

  With a casual air, Parker strolled up beside her. “Whom are you going to interview?”

  “I don’t have to tell you that.” She made a move for the door.

  He blocked it. “Or perhaps you’re going to a job interview. Good thing you changed.”

  She gave him a flat smile. “If you’re really that interested, you’ll follow me like you always do.” The sneak.

  “Would you like some company, instead?”

  “No, thanks.” She set her suitcase down, pulled her wallet out of her pocket and counted the cash. Sixty bucks. That would do for now. She shoved the wallet back in her pocket and picked up the case again.

  “A second pair of eyes?”

  Was he starting to believe Keola’s death wasn’t an accident? No, he was just keeping track of her. She blew out a breath of frustration. “I can handle it.” She stepped around him.

  “How about a chauffeur?” He held up the keys and jangled them.

  She stopped. Okay, it was his car. But she didn’t need the BMW. She could find her own ride. Any clunker would do. Or she’d take a cab. But that could add up, and sixty bucks wouldn’t get her very far in this pricey area. She might have to dig into her bank account. No way she was running up a credit card bill he’d be more than happy to pay off for her.

  Grinding her teeth she glared at him and his smug expression. Okay. She could be the adult here. Certainly, she respected Parker as an investigator. How could she not? He was one of the best in the business. He had trained her, after all. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to have that second pair of eyes. She was professional enough to admit that.

  Straightening her shoulders, she took at deep breath and forced herself to sound emotionless. “All right, Parker. I’d appreciate a ride to the Pilialoha Luau office.”

  A wide grin spread across his dazzling face. “At your service.”

  But his look of triumph as
he opened the door and made a grand gesture for her to precede him almost made her change her mind. In fact, her reflexes wanted to respond with a roundhouse kick to the groin.

  Instead she tossed her head at him as she went through the door. He didn’t know how lucky he was she had so much self control.

  ###

  The sun was bright and happy as they drove in silence past the ferns and coffee trees and coconut palms that lined the tourist-centric main street of the town. Past the brightly colored shops and buildings. Past jewelry stores, an art gallery, a T-shirt outlet, a dolphin gallery. Some of the structures looked like captain’s houses with second-story porches decorated by fanciful railings, with the commercial twist of signs beckoning tourists to stop and browse the wares.

  At last, Parker pulled along the curb and Miranda got out of the car and strolled up to a frame edifice painted in bright blue with a gaudy orange trim. A sign read Pilialoha Luau Office. Can’t get much plainer than that.

  She crossed the porch and tried the door. Open. She stepped inside. Parker was right beside her. Oh, yeah. That second pair of eyes she’d invited along. But he’d better not interfere.

  She made her way to a counter along the wall bearing a sign marked Tickets. A clerk in the ubiquitous Aloha shirt with a lei around his neck smiled a greeting. He looked young. Like not-even-out-of-high-school young.

  “Aloha, ma’am,” he said in a voice that hadn’t changed yet. “How may I help you?”

  “Hi, there. Is this office for the Pilialoha Luau?” Might as well start with the obvious.

  “Yes, indeed.” He smiled an eager-to-please smile, showing a row of straight white teeth. “Our next show is tomorrow night at six-thirty. How many tickets would you like?”

  “I’ve already seen the show. I’m interested in speaking with the manager. I believe her name is Minoaka?”

  His smile disappeared. “Is something wrong? Perhaps I can handle it for you.” He looked like he’d do anything to keep a disgruntled customer from speaking to his boss. She must be a real terror.

  “I’m a private investigator.” She dug into her pocket for one of her cards and gave it to him. Good thing she thought to bring them along. “I want to see Minoaka about the death of one of her employees.”

  Eyes wide, he stared at the card, then at her.

  “The employee was Keola Hakumele. He was found on the beach last night.”

  “Oh, yes.” His mouth turned down as he bowed his head. “I heard about the terrible accident this morning. I feel so bad for the family.”

  “Did you know Keola?”

  “No, I—I just started here a few weeks ago,” he babbled. “Of course, I’d heard of him. He was very popular. But I never met him. I thought what happened was an accident.”

  It was probably just nerves that had him so rattled. Still she made a note of the name on his tag. Jimmy. “We’re just covering all our bases, Jimmy,” she told him. “Can I talk to Minoaka now?”

  He looked as if one of his buddies at school had just pulled his pants down in the locker room. “Sh—she’s very busy,” he squeaked. “She doesn’t like to be disturbed.”

  So that was it. “I won’t take much of her time.”

  His mouth dangled open. He looked totally helpless.

  Miranda leaned on the counter, invading his space a tad. “Surely, Jimmy, you wouldn’t want to impede the investigation of a fellow employee’s death.”

  The implied threat was enough to push him over the edge. He held up his hands like she was robbing him and nodded vigorously. “Okay, okay. Wait here. I’ll see what she says.”

  He hurried around the desk and trotted down a hall.

  Miranda didn’t wait at the counter. She followed him into the hallway. Parker was right behind. So far, he’d kept quiet but that might not last. Besides, she felt like he was grading her. She decided to pretend he wasn’t there.

  By now, Jimmy was halfway up a wooden staircase at the end of the hall. As Miranda reached the bottom stair, he turned back, his mouth open, as if wanting to remind Miranda that she should wait at the counter. Then he shook his head and pressed on. Must be saving his courage for his boss.

  She and Parker creaked up the staircase and down another long hall, to a wooden door where Jimmy was standing. The young man knocked timidly. No answer.

  Miranda could hear shouting inside.

  Looking as if he might cry, the clerk bit his lip and knocked again, this time a little louder. Still no answer.

  He turned back to Miranda and lifted his hands in a helpless gesture. “See? She doesn’t want to be disturbed.”

  “Let me try.” Miranda stepped past him and opened the door.

  “Hey, you can’t do that.”

  “Just did.” She advanced another step and entered the room.

  As she took in the place, she heard Jimmy’s footsteps scampering away. The high-ceilinged office was large and plain, all wood, painted in a dull color that looked like it could use a new coat or two. It had the musty smell of an attic.

  Along one wall colorful island bric-a-brac was displayed. Feathered gourd rattles, bamboo sticks, a grass skirt. Beside the artifacts hung several awards for Best Luau in Maui. Then came photos of a large woman posing with what looked like various members of the show. She wasn’t smiling in any of them.

  Miranda turned to the tall, gothic-shaped window overlooking the ocean. In front of it the woman in the photos sat at an old desk that looked like it was built in the forties. She was dressed in a blood red shirt. Her wavy, jet black hair was cropped short and unstyled. In one nostril she wore a tiny gold ring.

  Her jowls quivered as she shook her head and pounded the desk. “I told you buy ten cases tequila for thousand,” she screamed in a thick Polynesian accent. “I told you no go over my price. You think I’m running a charity here?”

  Glancing behind her, Miranda saw Parker step inside to lean against the doorpost, amusement dancing in his gray eyes. He wanted to see what she’d do with this one.

  “I don’t care what mark-up is,” the woman screeched. “And bartenders can be replaced, you know. They dime for dozen.” She paused to listen but only for a moment. Then her voice got louder. “Refuse delivery. I go to Petani’s instead.” She slammed down the receiver, looked up and squinted at Miranda as if she hadn’t seen her before. “What de hell you doing in here?”

  What a sweetheart. So this was what Andrews and Jones had meant by “Bloody Mary.”

  Miranda took a step forward. “Are you Minoaka?”

  The woman bared her teeth. “Who wants to know?”

  “My name is Miranda…Parker.” She resisted the urge to look back at the man who really carried that name. Might as well keep using it, if it could help.

  But Parker was not one to be ignored. The large woman pointed at him. “Who dat?” Her voice was a tad softer. Parker had that affect on women. All women.

  “My partner,” Miranda said quickly. “He’s just observing. We’re looking into the death of Keola Hakumele.”

  The woman’s thick nose wrinkled in a snarl. “I already talk to police last night.”

  Miranda folded her arms. “You don’t sound too broken up about the incident.”

  The woman’s black eyes flashed. “I plenty broken up. We all grieve in our own way. I still have business to run. I’m busy. You go away now.” She waved a chubby hand toward the door.

  Miranda ignored her. “Did you know Keola well?”

  “I don’t know any employee well. Not good business to get too close.” She opened a manila folder and studied its contents.

  “You didn’t know anything about the most popular fire dancer in town?”

  Minoaka slapped the file shut. “I know he could be a pain in de ass.”

  A nibble. “Pain in the ass? What do you mean?”

  “I don’t mean nothing. I don’t know nothing. You go now.” She rose, picked up the file and lumbered over to a cabinet along the wall, her red shirt billowing over tight b
lack slacks, her black sandals scuffing along the wooden floor as she moved. At the cabinet, she pulled out a drawer and stuck the folder into it.

  Miranda studied her nails. “Sure, Minoaka. I can leave. But it sure would be a shame to shut this place down if we can’t get the information we need.”

  The woman slammed the drawer shut and turned, eyes blazing, nostrils flared. With the nose ring, she reminded Miranda of an Iberian bull about to charge its matador. Too bad she hadn’t brought a red cape.

  “You wouldn’t dare,” she spat.

  Miranda cocked her head. “Try me.”

  Her eyes looking like they might incinerate the place any second, Minoaka stomped back to her desk and plopped down. “What you want to know? Make it snappy. I got work to do.”

  Cooperation at last. Of sorts. “You can start by telling me why you think Keola was such a pain in the ass.”

  Minoaka gave her a sour look, scrunching her lips in a childish pout. “I hear it from Wainani all the time.”

  “Wainani?”

  “Dominic Wainani, de stage manager, Keola don’t like de lighting. Keola don’t like de tempo. Keola don’t like dis, Keola don’t like dat. He temperamental performer. Moody. Know what I mean?”

  Miranda nodded.

  “And all dose girls following him all de time. Dey bad for business.”

  “Sounds like the type of guy you’d like to get rid of.”

  She slapped herself on the chest as her voice went up a notch. “I no pooshover. His head was getting too big for his britches.”

  “You mean he had an ego?”

  “The size of Oahu.” She began stamping papers on her desk as she talked. “He say he’s artist. Baloney.” Stamp. “Night Marchers. Phooey.” Stamp. “I tell him not to put dat nonsense in the show. I tell him not to scare de customers with those stories. He do it anyway.” Stamp. Stamp.

  Now that was interesting. “You mean the Night Marchers thing wasn’t part of the show before last night?”

  She stopped stamping. “Hell, no. And when he did it, I tell him he can march his night ass right out of here.”

  Just like Andrews and Jones had said. “You fired him?”

  “Damn straight, I did.”