Ukulele Murder: A Nani Johnson Aloha Lagoon Mystery (Aloha Lagoon Mysteries Book 1)

by Leslie Langtry

  But I still wouldn't get married here. Even with a deep discount on the Blue Suede Shoes package. I'd like an outside wedding without an Elvis impersonator, thank you very much.

  "Who's your gentleman friend?" Dan asks as Nick joins us. He extends his hand, and Nick shakes it.

  "Nick Woodfield," I say. "Meet Pastor Dan Presley."

  Nick cocks an eyebrow, and I know what he's thinking. He's wondering if Dan is related to Elvis. He isn't. He just legally changed his name the minute he turned 18, about 50 or so odd years ago. This man really, really, really loves the King.

  "Nice to meet you." Dan frowns as if he's trying to remember something. "You're not Vera's boy, are you?"

  Nick nods, and I recognize the look on his face. It's the same look I have when someone asks about my mom. We are wondering if it's good or bad to be associated with them. The best way to deal with this is to say nothing because what comes next could go either way.

  "Ah," Dan says. "She's a nice lady. Even if she has tried to run me out every five years."

  I look at Nick, and he blushes. This man couldn't get any cuter if he had a kitten dangling from his arm.

  "Yes, well, sorry about that. Mom has this need for things to be a certain way," Nick apologizes. "I think she believes she owns this island."

  Pastor Dan waves him off immediately. "Sorry, son. I didn't mean it like that. Your mom isn't a problem for me. I'll never sell this place. In my will it's going to Nani here."

  I laugh—it's an old joke between us. Dan never had any children and, as far as I know, has never been married. Not that Mary Lou doesn't keep trying. That woman is a bit of a stalker.

  "Don't forget we have another wedding tomorrow, Nani," Pastor Dan says. He turns to Nick. "Nice meeting you, Nick. I hope we'll see you again soon."

  With that said, Dan disappears into the back, probably to get out of his costume. I can't really be sure, because I once saw him dressed in his 1950s Elvis costume in the parking lot of the grocery store. Wearing the short shorts. It was not a good look for him, and I was worried he'd be arrested for indecent exposure.

  "He's fun," Nick says as he opens the door to his beater Cadillac for me. Nice.

  I get in, and he joins me on the huge leather bench seat on the driver's side.

  "Pastor Dan's great," I say as Nick starts the engine. In spite of its dilapidated appearance, the engine hums as if it is brand new. "He gave me my first job when I moved here."

  Nick pulls out of the parking lot and onto the street. "Is he really leaving you the chapel?"

  "No idea," I answer. "I just assume he's teasing me. Mary Lou hates it when he says that. She'd like to marry him and run the place herself after he's gone."

  "The angry woman with the teased-out hair?" Nick frowns.

  "I should let you know, I've never seen her in any other hairstyle. It's possible it's made of plastic," I say.

  "How old is she? She looks a little young for Pastor Presley," he asks. Nick turns onto the road that doesn't lead to my house. Where are we going? Am I being kidnapped? Maybe I misjudged the man. It just now occurs to me that I barely know him. Oh wow. I barely know him. And he's helping me investigate Kua's murder. If he's a bad guy, then I walked right into this trap.

  I think about this. No, I'm pretty sure I'm not being kidnapped. Nick seems to genuinely like me, for whatever reason. I've never heard anything bad about him. But then, I've never heard anything about him. Good guy or not, I should definitely get to know him better before we take this much further. Oh—how awful for me, right?

  "Mary Lou is in her forties," I say. "But she's mad for Pastor Dan. He knows how she feels but doesn't have any interest in her."

  Nick slants his eyes at me. "Does he have any interest in you?"

  I laugh out loud. "No. You don't understand. The good pastor is gay. He's not interested in women period." I know this. Everyone in Aloha Lagoon knows this. But Mary Lou seems to think she can defy biology and change him.

  We turn onto a country road about ten miles out of town. He's taking me to the Woodfield mansion. The man is actually taking me back to his house. Whoa—slow down, Casanova. I'm not ready for hitting his bachelor pad.

  Nick hits the brakes, as if he's reading my mind. "Sorry! I'm just so used to driving home from town."

  "It's okay. Mom's at your house anyway," I reply. I am kind of eager to see the inside of that mansion. If it's that gorgeous on the outside, I can only imagine what the interior looks like.

  "Are you sure? I can take you home," Nick asks, searching my face to see if I'm just being nice.

  "Yes," I insist. "I'd love to see your house. I've driven past it so many times. I'm curious about the inside."

  He shakes his head. "You'll be disappointed."

  "Oh? Why's that?" How could I be disappointed in a place like this? Okay, I would be disappointed if there are skeletons posed like they are eating in the kitchen. Or if he hoards cats and taxidermies them when they die. I guess it's better to find out now before things get too serious.

  We pull up into a large, circular driveway. Mom's little blue hatchback is parked out front. I guess she hasn't scared Perseverance Woodfield off yet.

  The manse rises up imperiously from the ground. It's modeled in the traditional Hawaiian style with a huge wraparound lanai on the first level and another porch on the second. Painted white to avoid absorbing the heat of the sun, the design is simple and elegant all at once.

  "It's boring. Totally dull," Nick answers as he parks the car.

  "You call this dull?" I ask in shock as we remove our shoes and cross the threshold.

  The hardwood floors practically glow, and a giant koa-wood staircase parts the large foyer. Huge ceiling fans shaped like palm fronds circulate the air so you don't even feel the heat. The walls are covered with large ancestral portraits in beautiful, polished frames. The craftsman furniture is old yet inviting. A huge vase of freshly cut flowers takes up a small table in the middle of the room, and I see tables on the side wall, covered with potted orchids.

  "It's lovely!" I breathe, afraid that if I speak too loudly, it'll all collapse around me.

  Nick shrugs. "I don't know about that. It's okay."

  I turn to him. "Okay? This is way beyond okay! This is amazing! You have an amazing house!"

  Nick looks around himself, and I wonder if it's the first time he's really seen it.

  "I grew up here. Everything just seems old to me."

  "How could you not appreciate the beauty of this place?" I wonder as I walk over to the portraits. "I'd have loved growing up here."

  The largest two pictures are dead center of the wall and clearly from the 19th century. A native Hawaiian woman smiles sweetly in such a way that you don't notice her English-style clothing. The portrait next to her is of a stern-looking Caucasian gentleman with a trim beard and huge eyes. His hair is parted in the middle, and his frown seems to be in response to the woman's grin. He probably thought that evened things out.

  "My great-something grandparents," Nick says beside me. "She was the cousin of King Kamehameha, and he was Charles Endicott Woodfield—a Congregational Church missionary."

  "She's so gorgeous," I muse as I step closer to the image. Dark hair cascades in waves over her shoulders, out of sync with her Christian clothes.

  "She was," Nick says quietly. "According to family lore, she married shortly after Charles converted her to Christianity." He points at the man. "And he was something of a jerk."

  I can't help but laugh. "He looks like it. As if by glaring at us he's diminishing her happiness."

  Nick looks at me. "That's it. I never could put my finger on why it bothered me so much that he's frowning."

  The portraits that fan out in a circular radius around the couple feature men, women, and children in various time periods. These are Nick's ancestors.

  "I think it's wonderful that you have this family history to look at every day," I say.

  "You don't?" Nick asks, genuinely surprised
that everyone else doesn't have family trees on their walls.

  I shake my head. "Not really. We had pictures of my grandparents at home in Kansas, and I've seen photos of my great-grandparents on my mom's side, but that's it."

  "Why is that?"

  I shrug. "Maybe it's because my ancestors were pioneers to the Midwest. And photography was rare and pretty expensive. It was a big event to have your picture taken, and probably happened only once a year. And my parents aren't really into genealogy."

  Dad's parents are probably too busy to think about it, and Mom most likely doesn't want anyone to know she isn't Hawaiian. I suppress a shudder. It's not right to glom on to another culture's history. I've actually told her that before. It didn't do any good.

  "The Hawaiians are big into oral history and traditions." Nick is back to studying his grandmother. "Family stories are passed down from generation to generation in order for the dead to still be with us."

  That is sheer poetry. My heartbeat skips a little. Nick really is adorable.

  "I think that in the Midwest," I say slowly, "people envision that their children will do better than them. Have a better life. Hanging on to the past is just a reminder of those who came here with nothing."

  "Huh." Nick turns his attention to me. "That's a pretty astute observation."

  I smile. "Thanks! I just made it up."

  We laugh, and Nick starts giving me a tour of his house. As we wander from room to room, I really look at him. Initially, I liked him because he was pretty cute and very funny. Now I'm starting to see that there's more to him than that. It's a good feeling.

  By the time we reach the largest kitchen I've ever seen, we start to hear our mothers' voices trickling in from the backyard. Nick grabs a couple of beers from the fridge and hands me one. I drink it as we walk out onto the back patio, where Mom and Vera are laughing hysterically.

  "Nani! Nick!" Vera waves us over to the set of wicker chairs they are sitting in. "I was going to suggest you two come over!"

  Nick ushers me onto a large stone bench with huge cushions, and I sit. He sits next to me.

  Mom acts as though she knew we were coming all along. "Nani had to work in that horrible little Elvis church today." She grimaces as if she had to endure it. I decide not to talk about today's wedding. It would only give her ammunition.

  Vera nods. "That place is awful and takes up some prime real estate on the beach, by the resort. I've made an offer to that pastor every year since they opened, but he won't sell. He's so stubborn."

  "Mom." Nick glares at her. "Nani works there. Don't be rude."

  My hero!

  Vera apologizes. "I didn't mean anything by it, Nani. I'm sorry it came out that way."

  "It's really quite pretty inside," I say in an attempt to smooth things over. "If Pastor Dan ever sells, it would make a nice quiet place to think or meditate or something."

  Mom rolls her eyes. "Oh please. You're just protective of him because he gave you your first gig when we moved here."

  A normal person would be embarrassed if their mother said something like that. I just ignore it. Mom has a knack for saying things without thinking. And deep down inside, I know she's proud of me and wants me to do well. At least…I hope she is.

  "Whatever." I wave her off. "What have you two been up to? Nick just gave me a tour of your wonderful home, Vera. It's so beautiful! Did you do the décor yourself?" I think of the hula-skirted coconuts that currently reside in my living room.

  Vera sits up straighter and blushes with pride.

  "Oh, I can't take all the credit," she says. "It's pretty much the way my ancestors set it up, but I do maintain it and arrange the flowers. I think flowers really make the room, don't you?"

  We launch into a relaxed conversation about flowers, and that's when I notice for the first time that the Woodfields have an unbelievable garden. Of course Nick, being a botanist, would have set up a garden to die for. And this is that…on steroids…to the tenth power.

  "Oh wow." My eyes grow to the size of cantaloupes as I look around. "I've never seen anything like this!"

  Mom seems to notice the yard for the first time too and gets to her feet. "I was so busy talking I didn't notice what a gorgeous garden you have!"

  There are flowers everywhere. One million colors envelop us in a happy, cozy den. The trees are perfectly landscaped and full of oranges, bananas, mangos, and coconuts. I've never seen grass so green. It's not even green. It's green-est-er.

  "Is that a hedge maze?" I ask as I start to walk into the yard.

  Nick joins me as I stop just short of it. "My great uncle designed and grew it. I just keep it up."

  The hedge in front of me is at least eight feet tall. Full and lush foliage makes it impossible to see through. I can't imagine anything more awesome than this.

  "I'll bet," I say, "you played in this a lot as a kid."

  Nick winks at me. "I still play in it. Care to go inside?"

  Yes. I do want to go and get lost in the maze with this incredible man. I look at my watch. But I can't. I have a lesson to give in half an hour. I get angry at my watch, as if it's to blame.

  "I can't. I've got a lesson in a bit. Can you drive me home?" I ask, feeling awful as I say it.

  Nick nods. "No problem. I'll take a rain check for the date in the maze."

  We say our good-byes, and as we pull into my driveway, I see that my student Twila Grant is standing on the front porch, waiting.

  "Sorry! Thanks for the ride—got to go!"

  And then, without thinking, I kiss Nick on the lips before dashing out of the car. I blush furiously as I walk up to the door and unlock it. I don't even look back, but I have the sneaking suspicion that Nick Woodfield is smiling at me.

  CHAPTER SIX

  "Miss Johnson? Is that your boyfriend?" Twila asks. As children often do, she's not teasing me or making fun of me. She's just curious. I probably shouldn't have kissed Nick in front of her though. With little kids, kissing is as good as married. Nick and I weren't quite there…yet.

  We are sitting in the living room, each holding a ukulele, each with a music stand in front of us. Twila is seven years old. Her father is in the military and very stern. He wants his daughter to take everything seriously, including her music lessons. If she doesn't go home with any progress to show him, she and I will both be in trouble.

  "I don't know," I answer honestly. "Let's go over the music one more time, shall we?"

  Twila nods and begins playing "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star." She concentrates so hard her tongue sticks out of her mouth. The child struggles to manage the chord changes, but she gives it her best.

  I'm only half paying attention. My mind is swirling from too much stimulation over the past couple of days. It all started with me being a suspect in a colleague's murder. And now it has ended with me kissing Nick—a man I barely know and just met. What could possibly happen next? And do I really want to know?

  "That's very good, Twila!" I clap.

  The little girl grins. She's missing her two front teeth. I can see why her tongue was sticking out. The doorbell rings, and I rush to answer it. Twila's mother, a very quiet woman with an uneasy smile, removes her shoes and enters.

  "Is she ready?" Mrs. Grant asks tentatively. The woman always looks like she thinks she shouldn't be wherever she is.

  I nod. "We're done. Perfect timing."

  Mrs. Grant smiles a little more this time, and I manage to wrangle Twila, her music, and instrument to the door.

  "Keep working on your music, and next week we will start another song," I say with what I hope is an encouraging grin.

  The two nod and quietly walk out to their car. For some reason, I linger in the doorway until they drive off. I like working with kids. Mom says I should be a music teacher in the area schools, but I'm not sure I like kids that much. I'm still standing there when Binny arrives. She has excellent timing. I lead her into the living room, where I collapse.

  "Sorry to barge in unannounced," she s
ays, kindly not mentioning all the coconuts.

  She's not sorry. Binny always shows up unannounced. I've gotten used to it and, as a matter of fact, look forward to it. This time is no exception, because I want to tell her what's going on.

  Binny's jaw drops when I tell her about the missing uke. She giggles at the antics of Pastor Dan and Mary Lou at the wedding and is awestruck by my description of the Woodfield home.

  "You've actually been inside?" my friend gushes. "I don't know anyone who's ever been there before. You're the first!"

  I shake my head. "Come on. It's a small town. They're the big kahunas. I'm sure someone you know has been to a party or fundraiser there."

  "Nope." Binny shakes her head. "I really don't know anyone who has. What's it like?"

  I tell her about the portraits and the hedge maze. She seems to hang on every detail. I'm shocked that this is the first time she's heard anything about the huge house just outside of town.

  "The Woodfields are notoriously secretive," Binny says with a shrug when I ask. "That's probably why Nick drives a beater car. A jaguar would definitely stand out here."

  "That's weird. Nick and Vera are the nicest people. Vera's practically adopted Mom."

  How is it that the people who've lived here for generations haven't seen the inside of their house, but Mom, who's only been here a year, has? I turn this thought around in my head and inspect if from all angles. I come up with nothing.

  "So," Binny says, "Nick is going to help you solve Kua's murder?"

  I nod. "That's what he said. This relationship has moved a little quicker than I'm used to."

  I tell her about the kiss.

  "I can't believe you did that," she says.

  I nod. "Me neither. I hope it didn't look too desperate." I change the subject. "So what do you think about us trying to find out who else disliked Kua?"