by Kym Roberts
“No longer trusted like ohana, John?" A smile of satisfaction creased my face for the second time in what had started out to be a very bad day. Once John donned the uniform, he’d been expelled from the family of beach dwellers, and now he needed my help.
John ignored my jab. “Just let me know if you hear something. Anything. If this was robbery, drugs or gang related, I’d really like to know.”
I asked what he wasn’t giving. “What’s this about a missing tourist? I haven’t heard anything about it. Is he a user or a dealer? Did someone see him go into the ocean? Because that thing’s fully dressed, and most people don’t swim in slacks.”
“Malia, you know I can’t tell you about the investigation. The command staff would be all over my ass, but if you hear anything about this guy, you tell me. Understand?” Looking down at his notepad, John dismissed my questions like those of a nosey little sister butting in where she didn’t belong.
I understood his point of view, I really did. I’d been ready to join the academy after college, until I changed career paths from police officer to…I don’t have a clue. Understanding John’s position, however, didn’t stop my voice from raising an octave.
“Do I look like a C.I. working for a get-out-of-jail-free card? I’m not some washed up, drug using, beach bum who lives to be your lackey.”
John’s eyes traveled the length of my body. Starting at the tip of my head and progressing to the tips of my toes. He studied me. Nothing creepy or anything like that, but in the same way he would the body on the beach. Adding up the details one by one — hair a tangled mess, the puking-my-guts-up hue on my face, my arms, legs and chest looking like tenderized meat seasoned with sand, and my still sodden clothes, all wrapped up in a yellow blanket normally used to cover dead bodies.
His silence answered for him. I looked like shit. Like a worn out, burnt out, strung out streetwalker. His assessment pissed me off without his uttering a word.
“I’m a college student holding down two jobs and I get paid by the hour.” The corner of John’s mouth rose in victory. Hourly wages for my services weren’t exactly a winning argument. My fists clenched, but I refrained from punching the sarcastic smile off his face before grinding out, “If I’m going to work pro-bono for a defective, I want my answers and a piece of the action.”
Again, my words attacked my credibility, but there was no way in hell I’d blindly ask questions of my fellow surf and sun worshipers. Nope. Not without knowing a little history about this case.
John, on the other hand, didn’t liked me pushing, his impatience visible in the erratic beat of his pen tapping against the steering wheel.
“You do some digging with the locals, then we’ll see what I can share.”
Go run in circles, jump through hoops, roll over, and then, maybe, he’d toss me a bone. Right.
I wanted to throw his answer back in his face, but I kept my mouth shut and decided to judge the tide for a better wave to catch. One with a better angle and a back door. One outside John’s rules.
Natua’s voice popped in my head. Smooth as the water in a koi pond, it caressed my memory.
“…wife…”
Natua had information about the dead guy’s wife and he was going to be here any minute, but if I stayed with my brother, he would nix any attempt I made to get more information. If I wanted to question Natua, I’d have to corner him away from John, and away from the body.
“Do you need me for anything else?” I asked, hiding my eagerness to get started on the case without KPD’s directives.
John stared at me, trying to get inside my head, like the bugs crawling out of the sunken pits formerly known as eye sockets on the — well, you know. I could tell the detective sergeant desperately wanted to read my thoughts, but was afraid to ask. Afraid he’d have to stop me…as a cop.
I gave him one of those annoyingly innocent looks he’d given me earlier. “I’d really like to go home, take a shower and call Mom and Dad,” I explained.
I was rewarded with a don’t-do-something-to-make-me-put-you-in-jail eye squint before he replied, “Let me know if you hear anything.”
“Okay. Mahalo.” I bolted from the car before he could offer to have someone give me a babysitting ride home.
My vision, however, snagged on the latest addition to the law enforcement personnel gathering at the scene. A sculpted body stood next to the last car in a slew of police cars parked along the roadway, and I immediately knew it was him. Even in the flashing strobes from all the emergency lights, he looked deelish.
I walked past the trunk of my Mini-Cooper and scurried toward Mr. Yummy, who was eyeing my yellow blanket with interest.
“Malia!”
Damn. Disappointed I’d been caught before I did anything, I made a 180, smiled, laughed and waved at my brother. “I can’t believe I walked right by my car!”
John wasn’t fooled for a minute. He waited with his arms crossed over his chest as I climbed into the driver’s seat.
I glanced in the rearview mirror in time to see Natua check out my car before he turned all business and headed toward John, who of course, continued to stare at me until I started the car and pulled out onto the road. The last thing I could make out was the silhouettes of my brother and a much larger Natua heading down the hill toward the body, carefully threading their way through the low growing plants that protected the beach from erosion. Then I forced myself to concentrate — what’s the best location to accidentally-on-purpose run into a police officer at five o’clock in the morning?
Decision made, I prayed my shot in the dark actually hit its target.
Chapter Three
Sitting in the local pastry shop, waiting for a cop to pee — okay, it may not have been the brightest idea I’ve ever had. Waiting on the off chance Natua would see my car on his way to headquarters and stop for a break was probably a waste of time. So there was a spark of interest in his eyes, but what are the chances of a drop-dead gorgeous body (without an ounce of I-eat-junk-food fat) stopping at an all-night donut boutique? Even I knew that was a lousy investigative technique.
I chewed on my lip and watched the empty streets. He probably hadn’t breathed the heavenly scent of a donut since childhood. What was I thinking?
I glanced at my watch, but never saw the time. Inflamed red welts covered my forearm. That’s when I realized my other hand was scratching even bigger welts and lumps on my thigh. Then a few private areas of my body, those I really didn’t want to have sand fleas, became very uncomfortable.
Thoughts of bugs anywhere near my crotch, drove me out of my seat. The small bamboo table I occupied crashed to the floor. My empty styrofoam cup rolled across clean red clay tiles, and the middle-aged woman behind the counter jumped and looked at me as if I’d grown horns.
Her big Texas hair didn’t budge. “Darlin’ you look like you’ve been attacked by those damn fire ants I came here to escape.” Her slow southern drawl tsking my stupidity.
I tried to remain calm, but failed. “Pearl, I need the key to the restroom. I’m having an allergic reaction.”
She flipped a page on the gossip magazine spread out in front of her on the glass display case. “Sorry, child, the ladies’ room is closed. There’s a leak in the pipes, and we had to shut off the water in there. You can use the men’s restroom, but there’s no lock on the door.” Her voice held about as much sympathy as an over-worked clerk at the local department store when it’s out of the one thing you need.
Panic chilled my brain to a level of freezing. What if the fleas got inside me? What if they laid eggs? What if—? I had to cleanse my body, and it couldn’t wait until I reached the sanctity of my apartment. I had to get my clothes off…now.
Damn, why hadn’t I just gone home?
Faintly aware of Pearl smacking her gum and turning another page in her magazine, I ran for the men’s room and yelled, “Please keep everyone out for me!”
My clothes were off before I was even aware of my surroundings. Sports
bra, running shorts and thong flung over a hook as I desperately sought to make sure I did not get impregnated with an entire population of sand fleas. I grabbed for paper towels and started scrubbing my body with what looked like round brown towelettes in the shape of coconuts. Definitely a sign of Pearl’s ‘haole’ ancestry from the mainland. No self-respecting Hawaiian business owner would be caught dead with coconut-shaped paper towels in the crapper. They looked more like brown turds than coconuts.
I stood there, buck-naked, scrubbing my body as goose bumps covered every inch of me. My feet practically screamed with the desire to kick off my shoes and scratch the skin off, but my wet, sandy running shoes were staying right where they were. I wasn’t risking naked feet in a public men’s restroom, no matter how clean the floor appeared. My reproductive organs were in danger, not my feet.
Instead, I stomped them for relief as cold water splashed across the floor and I desperately scrubbed my raw skin with mango scented soap.
Do men really want to smell like fruit? I wondered as my gaze nervously traveled to the door for the umpteenth time.
The itching lessened with the splash of cold water, but was replaced with the prickle of naked unease, and the fact that I was pushing my luck with a lockless door. As if just thinking about it set my fate in motion, I heard Pearl’s pathetic idea of a doorbell ring throughout the store — the long, drawn-out song of a whale calling to its mate — announced the arrival of another customer. The bell of a haole business owner, coupled with the deep resonance of a male voice calling out a greeting to Pearl, stopped my scrubbing.
“Aloha, Pearl. I’m going to use your facilities.”
I froze. Oh, shit.
My heart no longer pitter-pattered with anxiety, it boom-ba-boomed on the walls of my chest with panic. Pearl wasn’t watching the door. She wasn’t anywhere near it, and one of her regulars was coming in...here.
Hua!
I scrambled for the entrance, but my fast moving peds turned into my enemy on the wet floor. My feet slipped. My arms flailed. I struggled to keep my balance and took a nosedive into the door, just as he pushed from the other side. Luckily, I maintained my footing and our force was evenly matched — the door stayed closed.
The stalemate wouldn’t last. I forced the hysteria down, out of sight, as I looked at my clothing on the hook, across the room, just beyond my reach. My arms splayed wide across the expanse of the door with my feet braced against the slippery floor.
Frantically, I looked around for something to cover myself. Only my flea-ridden clothes stood between humiliation and me. I lifted my eyes to the heavens. Please let him be courteous.
“Just a moment! Please.” If I could make it to the stall…
He pushed again. Harder, causing my feet to slip with his decision not to be a gentleman. A little girly yelp escaped my mouth, something I don’t normally do. Considering I was naked in a men’s restroom, I’d let it slide. I don’t normally do that, either.
I had to stop him before he tried again, or I was going to die of mortification. Desperately, I grabbed at the round, coconut paper towels, the tips of my fingers barely able to clamp onto my only source of modesty. The last three came out of the dispenser.
I know what you’re thinking. Oh sure. The perfect number to cover all the pertinent areas of your body, but I can tell you those three little towels did very little to cover any part of my body. As I positioned the coconuts in the obvious places, I tried again.
“Excuse me, sir. I’m not…” I groaned as a paper towel slid from my hand. Cat-like, I tracked it, “…decent.”
I pawed it and missed. “…If you’ll wait…” Clawed it. Missed. “…just a few minutes…I’m allergic…” The coconut’s journey of flight ended on the floor, and out of my reach. “…sand fleas.”
I knew I was rambling. I’m sure, he recognized it as well.
“Ma’am, you need to step outside.” His voice demanded to be heard. Ordered to be obeyed.
My heart stopped mid-beat. My chilled body heated.
Hua.
He sounded like a…cop.
“I…” I bent forward, reaching with one hand and holding the door with the other, precariously teetering in the balancing act of my life.
Whop!
The door smacked me on the ass. I flew forward, suspended in mid-air, desperately twisting and turning to cover anything and everything. The brute force sent my naked butt skidding across the very floor I refused to allow my feet to touch.
Are you kidding me? Could this day get any worse? I mean really.
Chapter Four
He forced the door open, causing it to strike the wall, rebound and close behind him as he entered the restroom. His fists clenched around his baton as he snapped it open with a flick of his wrist and made the twelve inches of the expandable black polycarbonate weapon twice as long.
Holy shit!
I yelped. A really pathetic girly noise slipped through my lips as my bare ass screeched to a halt against the stall. In my defense, it looked like he was going to hit me, but then his eyes flicked to my chest and I glared through my fear, determined not to cower to a man who wouldn’t wait for a woman to make herself decent. Cop or no cop.
“Nice coconuts.”
I don’t know why he said it. It was totally inappropriate. Maybe he just realized the novelty towels were fruit, and not turds. Before I could respond, he tuned me out, dismissed my presence like little old me couldn’t possibly be a threat (or that a twenty-something wahine wasn’t naked in front of him) as he glanced under the stall. What was he expecting, a gang to come pouring out of the tiny space?
I scrambled across the floor holding my paper coconuts across my chest and one a little lower. It would be nice to know that he was at least tempted to glance my way. I scooted up the wall of the stall, inching closer to my clothing hanging on the hook.
He glowered at me. “Don’t move,” he ordered, and then kicked the empty stall open.
His angered brow smoothed, and I could have sworn there was desire written across his face as he gazed at the toilet.
WTH? A naked woman gets a scowl and a toilet gets a happy glow?
His attention turned back to me, and his face registered a seven-story wave at Pipeline crashing down on top of him. He’d screwed up, and he knew it. Whatever he’d been expecting, it wasn’t an innocent college student trying to ease the pain of an allergic reaction…while wearing coconut pasties.
He maintained eye contact and returned his baton to its holder on his gun belt. “Ma’am, can you tell me just exactly what you’re doing naked in the men’s room?”
I thought he’d move away from the stall, but he didn’t. My voice somehow got lost in my throat and my words came out as a whisper. “I…the pipes are broken in the women’s restroom, and I had an allergic reaction….Pearl was supposed to watch the door for me.”
The flare of his nostrils was the only indication he was having an Oh, shit, moment.
“You need to get dressed and leave,” he ordered.
My body stiffened with indignation. I couldn’t put those clothes back on, and even if I could, there was no way I’d get dressed in front of him. “I can’t put my clothes on.” I scooted toward the stall.
“Excuse me?” His eyebrow lifted, his voice a bit incredulous.
“Sand fleas,” I explained. “My clothes have sand fleas in them.”
“And what exactly did you plan to put on when you took them off in the first place?” His voice dripped with sarcasm.
It was at that moment I reached my limit. I had dealt with enough crap from enough men for one day. From a dead man falling apart in my hand and begging for help, to my overbearing brother treating me like an annoying eight year old, to Mr. Hot and Sexy acting like I was a common criminal. It was all too much.
I blinked back the tears that wanted to spill and bit my quivering lip to stop its unwanted tremble.
Officer Natua dropped his head and let out an exasperated sigh. Then h
e surprised me by stepping back and holding the stall door open.
“I…I didn’t have a plan,” I explained. “I…panicked when I realized there were bugs in my shorts. I’m not some stupid…”
“I would argue that point, since I found you naked in the men’s room, but I really gotta go. So, to expedite things I’m going to see if Pearl has something for you to wear.”
He cut me off before I could finish, and that insult dried up my tears faster than if he’d been kind enough to offer me a handkerchief.
“Don’t look,” I ordered. “I don’t have enough paper towels to cover the back of me.”
He turned and walked away without a backward glance and I locked the door to the stall.
I heard him call, “Pearl,” from the other side of the bathroom door, as I stood naked in the stall. What the hell was I going to do, stay in the stall all day until someone was kind enough to give me their clothes? What if Natua called my brother? Oh, God, please don’t let him call this in.
He returned a moment later and tossed a white apron over the top of the stall. “This was all I could find. Try it.” His voice was all business, tight and commanding. Then he was gone again.
The front door opened with that awful moaning whale again, echoing through the empty store. I suffered a moment of panic as I slipped the apron over my neck. My boobs hung out above the bib. I adjusted the strap and found all my girly parts exposed below. It wasn’t going to work.
“You decent?” He opened the door wide enough to poke his head inside.
“This isn’t going to work.” I pulled the apron off and tossed it over the side. The silence seemed electrified with anger and I wondered if he was just going to cuff me and stuff me in the back of his patrol car.
He yelled for the storeowner. “Pearl!”
Where the hell was she?
The whale moaned again and I began to think I’d pushed him over the edge. Driven him into insanity. Then what would I do?
I stomped my itchy feet and scratched my red arms. The whale groaned again, but this time, it brought a smile to my face. He hadn’t deserted me. The door opened a moment later and he yelled, “Incoming!”