I nod. "Same. The only problem is Kansas is as flat as a plate. There's nothing there that looks like this."
"Really? You must have had something."
I shake my head. "Nope. Kids just took blankets into the corn fields."
"And did you ever take a boy and a blanket into a cornfield?" he teases.
"Not really. By the time guys noticed me, I was in New York. I dated a couple of guys there, but nothing special. And nothing with a view like this."
We're quiet for a while, and it's nice. No pressure to talk or be clever. We're just comfortable with each other.
"Hey!" I remember the story Binny told me. "You never told me that Mary Lou was your lunch lady!" I tell him what my best friend had told me.
"It's no big deal," Nick says.
"No big deal? You were assaulted, as a child, by Mary Lou. How is it this never came up? And all those times I've dragged you to something at the Blue Hawaii?"
Nick stretches. "Honestly, Nani, it was years ago. And Mary Lou has never acted like she remembers me or the incident, so I let it go."
He let it go. This only makes him more amazing. Most people would hold a grudge. Not Nick. How did I get so lucky to find a guy like him?
"Can we spend the night here? I don't want to go home," I plead.
"We can stay as long as you like." Nick kisses my forehead, and I snuggle in deeper against him.
How lucky am I to be here, in this amazing place, with a fantastic guy on a lovely night? I'd better enjoy it. I'll bet they don't have any views like this at the women's prison on Oahu.
"Let's run away to Maui," I say sleepily.
"What?" He laughs.
"Maui," I repeat. "When this is over—preferably with a positive outcome—let's go to Maui for, like, a week."
"Have you ever been to Maui?" His voice is relaxed. Deep.
I shake my head. "No. But how could it not be gorgeous? There can't be a place in these islands that isn't…well…wow!"
After a moment, he replies. "I like it. We'll go to Maui. There's this gorgeous little resort that has the nicest private cottages just over the water."
"Sounds perfect. Can we go now?"
"You mean run off after you've been told to stay in Aloha Lagoon?"
I sit up and look him in the eyes. "Yes. Go on the lam. Live recklessly from one minute to the next."
He returns the intensity in his gaze. "Okay. If that's what you want. We can run off right now."
"You'd do that for me?" I'd just been teasing, but this was good to know. Every woman should have a man who will, at any time, run away with you without hesitation.
He kisses me, and I worry that he's stalling for time. But his lips are so soft and warm, and I'm so willing…
Our lips part.
"Of course I'd do that for you. I'd do anything for you." He kisses me again.
For just this one, shining moment, I'm not worried about the future. And everything is bliss.
"I'm going to introduce you to my new friend." Mom's voice sounds like it's hovering above me.
Covering my eyes with my arm, I take a quick peek. Oh. Right. Nick brought me home last night. We didn't run off into the moonlight. I'm in my bed, and Mom is trying to tell me something.
"What time is it?" I ask.
"Did you hear me?" Mom puts a cool hand on my forehead. "You got back so late last night I was worried. It's almost noon."
I sit up and look at my clock. Yup. Almost noon. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to remember if I had anything I was supposed to do today.
"I called Juls at the resort and asked for a couple more days off. Is that okay, sweetie?" Mom looks concerned.
I nod—"Perfect"—and swing my legs out of bed.
Mom smiles. She's wearing a pretty sundress with strappy sandals. A headband tucks her hair behind her ears. She looks so normal I almost cry.
"What is it?" Concern washes over her features. "Is something wrong? Did you and Nick have an argument?"
I shake my head. "I'm just exhausted with everything that's going on."
Mom sits next to me and puts her arm around my shoulders. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"No. It's okay." I give her a weak smile. If she goes all loving mom on me now, I'll lose it. "What were you saying earlier?"
"Oh!" She jumps to her feet. "I'm going to bring my new friend over to meet you. She's so fun. Vera is great, but I need a wider circle of friends so you can have a life."
Is that what she thinks? That she's in the way? "I have a life, Mom."
"Oh, I know. Hey, I have to head out to the garden center to see about some new flowers for the front of the house. Want to join me?"
"You go," I say. "I'm going to hit the beach today."
Is that what I was going to do? When did I decide that? Am I going alone? And why am I asking myself these questions?
"Wear sunscreen!" Mom calls over her shoulder as she exits my room.
After a shower, I slip into my bikini, an old pair of shorts, and a T-shirt. I take my plastic waterproof Kala uke and a sun hat, throw a couple of bottles of water and some cookies into a bag, and hit the road.
This is an interesting idea. I haven't been to the beach just for me in a while. In fact, as I drive, I'm starting to get excited. Alone time in the most beautiful spot on Earth. After a ten-minute drive, I see the secluded beach. Not many locals go here. You can't swim due to the riptides, and the waves aren't up to par as a surfing beach.
I found this spot when I'd first moved here. I'm just about to get out, when I think of the notepad and pen in the back seat. I grab them, along with everything else, and a blanket from my trunk and head out to the sand.
It's completely empty—I have the beach to myself on this glorious day. After finding a nice shady spot beneath a palm tree (and looking up to make sure there aren't any coconuts overhead), I spread my blanket and sit down.
Nature has always inspired me here. How could it not? Finding the right words to describe Kauai is impossible. But, maybe I can find the right notes to do so. Setting the notepad and pen on my right, I pull out the uke and start to play around.
I love my plastic ukulele. I wouldn't play it in a concert, but then I wouldn't bring a one-thousand-dollar uke to the beach either. With my back against the tree, I close my eyes and listen to the world around me.
Sea gulls call out to each other on the wind as the surf laps at the sand and the waves whoosh behind it. Leaves rustle in the breeze behind me. And inspiration hits. I play a few notes and try some different strum patterns before picking up the pen and starting to write.
There's something sacred about turning nature's rhythms into music. Time passes me by, and I don't even notice. There's a peaceful simplicity to running my fingers over my instrument and then transferring those sounds onto paper.
What will I do with today's work? The resort has never specifically told me I can't perform original music. Whatever I do play, however, has to fit with the themes of the luau. My mind slips back to last night.
I'll play this for Nick in Maui. My little gift to him for the wonders he showed me last night. We will find a little quiet beach, and I'll play my music for him. After that, who knows? But this plan is a good one, and it's a start.
As minutes turn to hours, I can feel the coiled-up tension in my shoulders release. It's a tonic. Better than one of Mom's cocktails or the applause at a performance. I'm all alone here, and I use every single moment.
The sun begins to slide a little lower in the sky, and I hear another car pull up. Damn. Well, I guess this isn't really my private spot. Two figures walk down to the beach, hand in hand. A lovely Hawaiian native girl with silky black hair and a pale redheaded man kiss each other a fair distance away.
It's Binny and Andy! My best friend and my cousin. They really are into each other. But now that I think of it, Binny is the one who showed me this place. And now she's sharing it with Andy.
Very quietly, I pack everything up and slip into the tre
es to my car. I drive off just as I see them laughing, knee deep in water. Good for them.
I'm starving when I walk in the front door, but I'm also covered in sand. After a quick check to see if Mom's there (she isn't—she's at dinner with her new friend, according to the note she left on the counter), I take a long, steamy shower. My stomach can wait. It's been a long time since I've been able to just stand under the showerhead until all the hot water runs out.
I can't help but smile as I slip on my pajamas and make myself a sandwich. Flipping through the notebook as I eat, I'm pretty proud of my work. Oh, it's no symphony or even a work of staggering genius. But it is something very special.
A start.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
"Where were you yesterday?" Nick asks.
I'm sitting at the breakfast bar, looking over my music from yesterday, when he calls.
"If you must know," I tease, "I was on a beach all by myself, writing music."
"Really?" He sounds sincere. "That's great! I didn't know you are a composer."
I shake my head, which is weird since he's not there. "I really wasn't into it. But the other night, the evening with you was inspiring."
"It's been very quiet at the resort. I guess no one's dropping dead since the Ukulele Undertaker isn't on the premises."
I feel a tightening in my chest. "Is that what people are saying?"
"Just the tourists. And there are a lot of them wearing your T-shirt."
"It isn't my T-shirt," I grumble.
"I don't know." Nick laughs. "I didn't like the design initially, but it's starting to grow on me."
I consider throwing my phone at the wall.
"In other news." He seems to sense that I'm not pleased. "My attorney tracked down the seller. He hand delivered a cease and desist letter before confiscating the rest of the inventory."
"Really?" That seems like good news.
"We don't know the guy. He's from the Princeville area. And he's been selling the shirts out of the back of his truck. So no big corporate conspiracy there—although he does have a boss higher up. The guy did say something strange. He said he had your approval and can provide proof."
"Hmmm." I tap my chin with my pen. "I don't remember posing for that photo or giving my permission."
"That's what he says. Don't worry. My attorney's on it."
"Where are the shirts now?"
"There are two huge boxes at my house. I had them dropped off there so it wouldn't upset you."
"Any idea how many he's sold?" The bastard.
"My lawyer is talking to his distributor today. And the guy had a silk screener in Honolulu do the design for him."
"Great. An interisland business." I roll my eyes. "Thank you. The worst is over on that at least. Right?"
"Right! And I talked to Titus."
I sit straight up. "What happened?"
"He was standoffish. I tried to ask him about where he grew up, what made him come to Aloha Lagoon, but he dodged every question."
"Do you think that's suspicious?"
Nick pauses for a moment. "I don't know. Some guys in landscaping are just like that. They work outside to avoid dealing with people."
"Surely you got something out of him?" I might have sounded a tad desperate there.
"Maybe. I asked if he's been to that strip mall yet. I said later this week I might need him to ship something for me using Mail Your Stuff."
Every inch of me is on high alert. "And?"
"He said no but that he's been talking to one of the insurance agents there about taking out a policy."
Bingo! "That's suspicious! I mean, the resort has a health plan. Why would he need more?" Could this be our guy?
"Well, it might be. Or it might not be. He didn't go into detail on it. He really doesn't like talking."
I feel like a deflated balloon. We aren't getting anywhere. Sure, we turned up some new suspects, but things are moving so slowly that the investigation could last forever.
"Don't lose hope, Nani," Nick says softly. "You're innocent. And I'll do everything I can to prove it."
I can't help but smile. Nick's a keeper. "I'll try."
"So what do we do now?" he asks.
A thought pops into my head. "I'm not sure. But I have an idea. Want to stop by for dinner?"
"What's this?" Nick says as he walks into the living room. "You've become your mother. Maybe I should rethink Maui."
I throw a pad of Post-its at him, narrowly missing his head.
"This isn't crazy. They do it in mysteries all the time."
I'm referring to how I've turned an entire wall in our living room into a case board. Notes and string litter the wall with names, places, and pictures when I have them.
"It's the case." I point to different pieces of paper. "Each victim is color-coded, yellow for Fake Ed, green for Allison, and blue for Terry. And the suspects are in pink."
Demonstrating how everything is connected doesn't seem to impress my boyfriend. Which disappoints me because I've worked all day on this.
"So who did it?" Nick sets the pizza, which I just noticed he'd brought, on the coffee table.
It's a good work-up, I think. Nancy Drew would be proud…if she'd had Post-its.
"No idea." I set my marker down. "Let's eat. Maybe something will come to us."
An hour later, we're no closer to figuring this stuff out. What did I expect? That the bits of paper on the wall would start reorganizing themselves into a perfect story of who killed whom and why?
Oh my God. I am my mother. Look at this place! Maybe I'd better talk to Dr. Chang about me too.
My cell rings, and I answer.
"Miss Johnson," Detective Ray's monotone voice says. "Do you have a moment to come by the station? We have some news."
I hang up and spin around to face Nick. "They've got something!"
It's about time.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
A short time later, I'm back in the interrogation room. I say I because this time Ray wouldn't let Nick join me. This is unnerving, but I can't do anything about it anyway. The resort called with a flower emergency. That's actually what they said. And my boyfriend didn't think that was strange at all.
"You fingerprinted Allison and ran the prints?" I ask. Why didn't we think of that? Real Ed only ran Fake Ed's prints. We did push him into it. And he's not the lead in this investigation. That was his way out of doing anything else that would get him fired, I guess.
Detective Ray nods. "Yes."
I'm confused, but I'm not sure why yet.
"She was an FBI agent sent here to investigate illegal items smuggled in from the mainland."
Well knock me over with a uke. "She's not a singer?"
He shakes his head. "No. She had a partner too. We're running Terry Flynn's prints to see if it was him."
Does Ray know about Fake Dead Ed really being John Gilligan? If I bring it up, Real Live Ed might get into trouble, and I don't want that.
"Wow. I didn't think Flynn was anything other than a reporter."
"Yes, well," Ray says solemnly. "That's why we are the police and we run the investigations."
"So what are the illicit items they were smuggling? Drugs? Contraband?"
The detective shakes his head slowly. "Taxidermied armadillos."
Did he just say…
"Apparently it's a huge thing in Japan."
My mouth falls open. "Taxidermied armadillos?"
He nods. "It's a fad. Very popular over there. But it's illegal to transport dead animals from one country to another. Especially armadillos because they carry leprosy."
I close my eyes and give my head a quick shake. "Hold on. I'm not sure I heard you right. You're saying this whole thing—the multiple murders and all—were because some Japanese people want to own dead armadillos?"
"Yes, Miss Johnson. That's what I said." Ray sounds irritated. "Anthropomorphic taxidermy. It's when you arrange dead animals into little dioramas. These particular animals are all playing
ukuleles."
Of course they are. How silly of me to not figure this out on my own. I consider saying this but fear the detective won't get my sarcasm.
"Some of them are wearing hats…" Ray says as if he's telling me the sky is blue.
I silently pray that Mom never finds out about this. The last thing I need is a living room full of leprosy-carrying, ukulele-playing dead Rodentia. I decide to give up on this subject.
"Where does this leave me?" I ask.
He tries to intimidate me, but it just doesn't work. "You are still under suspicion. So is your cousin."
Huh?
"Andy? What did Andy do?"
"We found out that the imposter Ed Hopper was a criminal named John Gilligan who was planning to deliver these stuffed armadillos through the mail. I think you and your cousin had the perfect plan. He'd send you the animals. And he'd be above suspicion because he's the postmaster. And mailing them from one small town in Kansas to a small town in Kauai wouldn't raise any eyebrows. At some point, you'd ship them to Japan."
He sits back smugly. So he knows about John Gilligan. I'm a little relieved about that. Real Ed's career is safe. Although this new information with Andy and me as dead-armadillo smugglers is unexpected.
I'm tired. And angry. How dare they pin this on Andy and me. He wouldn't. He couldn't!
"So I think," Ray continues, "that Andy thought John Gilligan had gone too far by stealing Officer Ed's license. So he killed Gilligan and framed you for it."
"You've got to be kidding. My cousin was in Kansas, standing next to Real Ed, when I called him to say we'd found Fake Ed with Real Ed's license. He couldn't have done it."
"Okay." I can see wheels turning slowly inside the detective's head. "Then that's where you come in. The imposter turns up, and you find out that he stole Hopper's ID. You realize this criminal is stupid and might implicate both you and Andy. So you kill him and call your cousin to come help you clean up the mess."
I blink. I blink again. It's a terrible theory, but it might just make sense to the wrong people. And that makes this stupid idea a dangerous one.
"So you're saying I killed Fake Ed with cyanide then tried to cover it up for some reason by pretending to trip over him in the resort parking lot. Is that it? Why wouldn't I just stab him and dump him in the jungle?"
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