03 - Three Odd Balls

by Cindy Blackburn

  “Vega’s not buying it. Especially since my stupid kid put those last drinks on my bar tab. I tried telling him Chris always sticks me with the bill. He’s a college kid, for God’s sake.”

  “And Vega’s arguing that point?” I asked.

  “Yep. No one can confirm it was Chris, not me, who ordered those last drinks. The entire staff had gone home by then.”

  I asked about Buster, but apparently he was already upstairs in his apartment by two a.m., and apparently that presented another problem. According to Vega, Wilson never should have gotten Buster involved.

  “He didn’t need to be guarding the parking lot so no one would leave,” Wilson explained. “No one was still here.”

  “But you didn’t know that,” I argued. “How could you have known that?”

  “Take a guess where the stabbing occurred.”

  I recollected all the cops combing the parking lot and muttered a four-letter word.

  Wilson nodded. “Yep,” he said. “With all the blood, they’re sure it happened in the parking lot.”

  “Did they find the weapon? I assume it was a knife?”

  “No weapon yet. But Vega let it slip that the knife likely came from the kitchen. One’s missing from the knife block.”

  I pictured the layout of The Big House. Anyone could have had access to the kitchen from the dining room that night.

  “Everyone and his brother had access to the kitchen.” Wilson read my mind. “And the murderer must be thrilled I sent Buster out to the parking lot. He did a lot of pacing back and forth while he was up there. His footprints were all over the bloodstains.”

  I shook my head. “Thus destroying any footprints the murderer himself might have left.”

  “Vega threatened to arrest me for tampering with the crime scene.”

  “Come on! He can’t really believe that? You were trying to do the exact opposite.”

  Wilson thanked me for my loyalty but suggested I try to think like Vega. “It looks like I sent Buster up there purposely to destroy evidence,” he said.

  “Oh, my Lord, Wilson. Are you actually a suspect?”

  “Me or Chris.” He took a few deep breaths. “You know about his shirt?”

  I closed my eyes and prayed for strength. “You mean the one he wasn’t wearing?” I asked. “The one drying in my mother’s bathroom?”

  “Evidence. Vega’s claiming Chris and Tessie washed it out to get rid of blood stains.”

  “What!? So now my mother’s a suspect?”

  “You and I know it’s absurd. But Vega’s working on the assumption of some sinister conspiracy between us.”

  I muttered that four-letter word again, and we watched a few waves roll in.

  “Okay, so does the brilliant Captain Vega have a motive for this sinister conspiracy?” I asked. “I mean, what possible reason could you, Chris, and my mother—my mother!—possibly have to kill Davy Atwell? We just met the guy, for Lord’s sake.”

  “Bingo.” Wilson grinned and squeezed my shoulder. “Vega can try to twist the circumstantial evidence any way he wants. But he’ll be hard-pressed to stick a motive on it.”

  “So we can relax?” I was far from convinced.

  “Let’s take a lesson from Tessie and Chris. They’re not worried.”

  “Mother does seem to be taking it in her stride,” I said. “I think it helped that Chris was with her.”

  “And it will help if we carry on as normal, right?”

  I sighed and leaned forward to scratch a picture of the sun in the sand. Wilson twirled his finger under my sun and added a few waves. Then we looked up from our artwork and watched the real sun rise over the Pacific.

  “Chris wants to hike Kekipi Crater with me later today,” he said. “Ironic, but Davy gave me lots of advice on trails. Come with us?”

  I scowled. “Surely you jest?”

  “Let me guess—too many bugs.”

  “I do not like the heebie jeebies,” I clarified. “And trust me, Wilson. Anytime I have ever been stupid enough to venture out into the wilderness, I’ve been heebie-jeebied beyond endurance. Bugs!” I said with a dramatic shudder.

  He chuckled and added what I think was supposed to be a palm tree to our beach scene in the sand.

  “You go tackle the volcano,” I told him. “Meanwhile, I’ll be lounging by the pool and tackling a few scenes from My South Pacific Paramour. Mother wants to help me, which will be an excellent way to keep our minds off of what’s happened.”

  “And we’ll let Captain Vega tackle the murder, right?” In the growing light I couldn’t help but notice the stern cop-like look Wilson was directing at me. “Right, Jessie?”

  “Right,” I said and crossed my fingers behind my back.

  Chapter 6

  Eleanor Touchette watched skeptically as her niece donned her first pair of trousers ever. Delta was bound and determined to wander out into the wilderness, but the dear girl seemed far less certain about those breeches. She wiggled and wobbled, and pulled and pried, unsure of how to get the things onto her curvaceous frame. She persevered, however, and eventually managed to maneuver the pants over her hips and into place. As she buttoned her fly—something else Delta had never before done—she assured her Auntie Eleanor that she did not believe in monsters, and was not afraid of the jungle either.

  When reminded she had never actually been in a jungle, Delta stood her ground and insisted she would get to the bottom of the silly rumors that were causing her beloved Auntie and the inhabitants of Ebony Island such distress. She gathered the machete and canteen she had acquired from a villager the day before and announced she was “Ready.”

  Eleanor looked pointedly at the canteen, and Delta conceded that perhaps she was not quite prepared. She began struggling with the cap while the older woman continued to marvel. Her favorite niece certainly was a comely young lady—even more lovely than Marcus had implied in his letters. Indeed, in his most recent missive, Eleanor’s brother had intimated that several wealthy and titled gentlemen were vying for his daughter’s hand in marriage. But that, of course, was back in England. Stuffy Old England, as Delta had been insisting ever since her unexpected arrival at Emerald Estate two days earlier.

  Eleanor stepped forward and demonstrated how the canteen cap operated. She filled the vessel from the water pitcher on the dressing table, and as she handed it back to her niece, she gently enquired about those would-be suitors.

  Delta shook her head impatiently and insisted she had better plans for her life than to marry some dreary duke or dismal lord. She would see the world, or at least a goodly part of it, before settling down to the mundane existence her parents were forever touting. Demonstrating her resolve, she brandished her machete and promptly sliced the curtain hanging beside her in half.

  Auntie Eleanor glanced askance at the damage, and with no further ado, escorted her niece outdoors and to the edge of the estate. She reminded her that dinner would be served at seven, pointed her in the direction of the deepest jungles, and waved encouragingly as Delta disappeared into a grove of pandanus trees.

  Brave and plucky, our heroine set off with the utmost confidence, and maintained a swift and steady pace until faced with a rather daunting thicket of some such brambles she had never seen in England. She pursed her lips and glanced at the machete in her right hand. How exactly did one use the contraption?

  The winds picked up while she pondered the dilemma, and Delta turned her sapphire blue eyes upward. Some rather large somethings swooped around in the branches high above her head. The somethings were striped and had tails. Inordinately long tails. She jumped when a bird—at least she hoped it was a bird—screeched in the distance. Reminding herself that she did not believe in monsters, Delta assumed a firm grip on her machete and started hacking.

  ***

  “Jessie, honey, jump in here and help me,” Mother said, and I looked up from my laptop. She and Louise were in the pool, where my mother was trying to teach my agent how to swim.

 
; “I need help, Jessica!” Louise agreed. “And Tessie needs a break.”

  “And I can’t wait to read what you have so far.” Mother climbed out of the pool and took my computer from me.

  I pointed to the screen and explained how I had delved into My South Pacific Paramour right in the middle of the story. “Delta Touchette has already arrived at Auntie Eleanor’s estate,” I said. “I’ll go back some other time and fill in the details of her thrilling journey from dreary old England to Ebony Island.”

  “Don’t forget her first encounter with Skylar Staggs,” Louise reminded me.

  “Or their first sex scene,” Mother said. “Sex, sex, sex!”

  “Sex, sex, sex!” Bee Bee repeated, and the Hoochie Coochie Brothers hit yet another sour note.

  Indeed, Louise’s swimming lesson had attracted quite a bit of attention at the Wakilulani Gardens. The parrot was coaching her progress from his perch near the shallow end of the pool. And perched a few yards uphill, on the porch of Song of the Sea bungalow, the Hoochie Coochie Brothers had also been offering encouragement—serenading us with a medley of old-timey tunes. Leaving the yellow rose of Texas behind, they headed to Louisiana. Susanna may not have been crying for them, but I do believe the rest of us were contemplating that option.

  Mother tilted her head. “Don’t you need a banjo for that one?” she asked.

  I mumbled something about how a modicum of talent would also help and dived into the pool. I did some demonstrating and ended up in the shallow end with my arms under Louise’s stomach while she tried again.

  “I cannot believe I’m forty-three and still can’t swim,” she said as she paddled and kicked, paddled and kicked. “Anytime I try, I end up choking on water.”

  “That’s because you’re always talking,” I said. “Shut up and swim.”

  “Easy for you to say.”

  I glanced up at my mother. “She can’t drive either. Probably because she’s lived in Manhattan her entire life.”

  “Born and bred! I love, love, love New Yor—” Louise choked on a mouthful of water and went under.

  I lifted her up, and Mother reminded her to keep her mouth closed. “We could teach you how to do that, too.”

  “How to shut up?” Louise said. “I doubt it, Tessie.”

  Mother giggled. “No, silly. How to drive.”

  When Hawaii freezes over, I thought to myself. My mother has many talents, but trust me, driving is not one of them. I suggested we leave the driving lessons for another vacation.

  “You’re probably right,” Mother agreed. “We won’t have time, will we? What with Chris teaching us to surf and such.”

  I let go of Louise. “Excuse me?”

  “Don’t you remember, Jessie? He promised. We have our first lesson once he and Wilson get back from their hike.”

  I blinked twice, but had no time to react otherwise because Louise had actually made it to the opposite end of the pool. Needless to say, the crowd went wild. Bee Bee let out a cat call, the Hoochie Coochies played a few bars of “We Are The Champions,” and Mother and I clapped. Louise waved to her adoring fans. But she quickly thought better of it and grabbed onto the edge with both hands.

  “That was good!” I said. “Now swim back to me.”

  “Do I get a pink drink if I do?” she asked, and everyone frowned simultaneously at the bartenderless tiki bar.

  “I suppose we shouldn’t drink until after our surfing lesson.” Mother sighed forlornly and went back to reading my book. “Delta is about to get herself lost, isn’t she, Jessie?”

  “About to?” I said as Louise managed one more lap.

  She reached the shallow end, announced she could not survive another minute without talking, and climbed out. She gabbed away with my mother while I did a few laps myself.

  “We have a name for your villain,” Mother informed me when I climbed out of the pool. “Urquit Snodgrass. What do you think?”

  “Urquit!” Bee Bee screeched. He swept over and landed on Louise’s chair. “Urquit!”

  I agreed that Urquit sounded perfectly sinister and stepped under the nearby shower to rinse off. My bleached hair would end up as green as Bee Bee if I let the chlorine from the swimming pool dry too long. As I toweled off I wondered out loud how our woefully lost damsel in distress would manage to come into contact with the repulsive Mr. Snodgrass.

  Tessie and Louise regaled me with a plethora of ideas until I held up my hands and reminded them I had been writing for hours. “Enough of My South Pacific Paramour.” I plopped into my lounge chair. “We need to talk about what happened last night instead.”

  Mother resigned herself to her fate and closed my laptop. “What would you like to know, Honeybunch?”

  “I want to know what you were doing in bed with Christopher Rye.” Louise winked at me. “In your nightgown, no less?”

  “It wasn’t like that!” Mother insisted. “I’m old enough to be the boy’s grandmother, for Pete’s sake.”

  I did the math. “Or great-grandmother.”

  “We were having a chat is all,” Mother said. “Jessie and I always have our best heart-to-hearts lounging in bed together, don’t we, Jessie?”

  “What did you two talk about?” I asked.

  “You and Wilson. I asked Chris why he doesn’t like you. Surely you’ve noticed?”

  “What did he say?”

  “Well now, you know about Christopher’s mother? Wilson’s wife?”

  “I know nothing!” Louise complained, and so I filled her in on the details. Lisa Rye had died of cancer when Chris was twelve.

  “But how completely and totally awful! Poor Chris. Poor Wilson. Poor Lisa!”

  I nodded. “Wilson doesn’t like to talk about it.”

  “Both of the Rye boys were devastated for years,” Mother added. “But things got better once Chris entered high school. And when he started dating, he convinced his father to give it a try also.”

  “But neither father nor son ever got serious about anyone,” I explained. “Until Wilson and me, that is.”

  Mother cleared her throat. “I don’t think you have the full story there, Jessie.”

  I tilted my head and contemplated Bee Bee. “Oh?” I squeaked.

  He tilted his head. “Oh?” he squeaked back.

  “Wilson had a lady friend when Chris was in high school,” Mother informed us.

  “Oh?”

  “Oh, indeed!” Louise exclaimed. “At long last—the mystery man’s deep dark secret!”

  “Secret!” Bee Bee said.

  “Deep dark,” I elaborated and scowled at my mother. “Why haven’t I heard about this mystery woman before?” I asked. “What’s her name? Where is she now? What happened?”

  “Her name is Dianne Calloway. But I didn’t have a chance to find out what all happened between her and Wilson. When I asked last night, Chris said he needed a pink drink.”

  “No pink drinks yet,” Buster called out. He was carrying a tray of food up the path to the swimming pool pavilion. “It’s time for your lunch, and then we’re decorating.”

  “Lunch?” Louise asked.

  “Decorating?” Mother asked.

  “Dianne Calloway?” I asked, but no one was paying the slightest attention to me, since Buster had set down his tray and was distributing plates of seafood salad sandwiches, replete with potato chips, pickles, and some sort of tropical fruit slices. Okay, so maybe I was hungry.

  Mother asked Buster to join us, but he refused a seat and instead wandered around our chairs, picking up the occasional stray leaf or twig and scolding us for missing breakfast. “Breakfast is new here.” He frowned at a fallen flower petal. “I thought the Wakilulani should give it a try. I make good pancakes.”

  “Pancakes!” Bee Bee said enthusiastically.

  “Bee Bee never misses breakfast on the patio,” Buster informed us. “He likes my pancakes.”

  “Your sandwiches are fantastical, too,” Louise said. She tore off a corner of bread for the bird,
and Bee Bee stepped over to share.

  While Louise and the bird communed over the remnants of her sandwich, Mother and I made excuses for missing breakfast. Buster fretted, but eventually agreed we had needed to sleep in—what with jetlag, and murder, and cops, and not getting to bed until after sunrise.

  He dropped his handful of debris and pointed down to The Big House. “But now that you’re rested and fed, I need your help with the Christmas tree. I set it up this morning. And I bought all new ornaments this year. Come see.”

  “A Hawaiian Christmas tree!” Mother said. “Doesn’t that sound like fun?” She and Louise stood up and donned their cover-ups, but I refused to budge.

  “Dianne Calloway,” I reminded them and turned to Buster. “We were kind of in the middle of something before lunch.”

  “Oh, Jessie,” Mother scolded and gestured for me to stand up. “Surely that can wait until later? There’s a tree to decorate.”

  “But what about Wilson’s mystery woman?” I whined from my lounge chair. “What about his deep dark secrets?”

  “Mystery woman? Secrets?” Buster bent over and stacked our empty plates back onto the tray. “Is this about last night?”

  “Nooo,” I said. “It is not.”

  “We are quite certain Jessica’s paramour has an intriguing past,” Louise said casually. “But we can worry about that some other time. There’s a tree to decorate!” She gestured to Bee Bee, he hopped onto her outstretched wrist, and the two of them meandered away toward The Big House.

  Buster looked at my mother. “Paramour?”

  “Louise is just being silly,” she assured him. “Wilson Rye is as darling and wholesome as can be.”

  Wholesome? I might have scowled at that assessment, but Buster didn’t notice. He picked up his tray, offered my mother a cocked elbow, and they, too, began to wander off.

  “Don’t you be a Scrooge, Jessie,” Mother called over her shoulder. “Come help us.”

  I gave up on pouting and was buttoning my own cover-up when I noticed the Hoochie Coochie Brothers waving their ukuleles at me.

  “We’ll play Christmas carols to get you in the spirit,” Hal, or maybe it was Cal, said, and the two of them clamored off their porch toward The Big House.