The Final Cut
It took hours before the police eventually cleared out of the parking lot, and the coroner’s van was gone. Buzzy had passed out on the front lanai of the Goddess, but not before he grabbed the CLOSED sign and propped it on his chest. Anyone who ventured onto the lanai got the message.
As Em manned Louie’s huge built-in barbecue on a covered pavilion in the yard beside the beach house, she reveled in the momentary calm. But she knew it was like standing in the eye of a hurricane. The calm would only last so long. She kept wishing there was a way out of the Trouble In Paradise contract, but despite the murder, Louie was still enthusiastic about the project. The Hula Maidens would no doubt continue to bask in the glow of their celebrity and newfound prosperity and want the show to go on.
Em knew she didn’t stand a chance of fighting them all, let alone tackling the network lawyers.
She used long handled tongs to turn chicken thighs she’d marinated in teriyaki sauce and then shifted veggie kabobs to a cooler spot on the grill. Forbidden black rice was steaming in coconut milk in the rice cooker inside the house. A green salad was chilling in the fridge.
“Yuck! Yuck! Patooie!” When David Letterman let out the blood curdling squawk, Em nearly dropped her barbecue tongs.
“Uncle Louie?” She called over her shoulder. “What in the world did you give him?”
Letterman was temperamental at best, vicious at worst, but he loved nothing better than taste-testing Louie’s beverage concoctions. If the damn parrot could predict the weather as well as he could judge the quality of a cocktail, they’d be rich.
Five minutes later, Louie appeared on the screened lanai with a cobalt tiki mug in hand. He opened the door and walked out to join her.
“Sorry about that,” he said. “Dave still hates tomato juice based drinks. I thought I could sneak it by him, but he’s not having it.” Louie shrugged. “So I switched to orange juice. Want a taste?” He offered the mug for a sip.
“No thanks. I’ll wait until Dave gives it his vote.” She started to turn the chicken again. “Have you come up with a name?”
“How about Final Cut? Do you like it?”
She pictured Bobby with the sashimi knife sticking out of his chest.
“Maybe too graphic.”
“You know how Randy is always yelling ‘Cut!’? That’s what I meant. The Final Cut. The final take. It was Bobby’s final cut.”
“I know, but still.”
“Have you heard from Kiki again? Any updates on Kimo?”
“Not yet, but I called Flora, and she’s started the phone chain. The Maidens are on high alert.”
It was the one thing Em admired most about the old gals; they were definitely one for all and all for one. If one of them needed help, they all showed up.
As if on cue, her phone beeped. When she saw it was a text from Kiki, she handed Louie the tongs and motioned at the kabobs. He automatically started shifting them around on the grill. Em read the text and then slid her phone back into her shorts’ pocket.
“Kimo’s out on two hundred dollars bail. That doesn’t sound like much for a murder suspect.”
Louie shrugged. “Everybody on the island knows Kimo. Besides, where would he go? They know he’s innocent.”
“Roland said he’s still working on a couple of other leads. Let’s hope he comes up with something sooner than later before Kiki snaps.”
Em grabbed the platter on the barbecue shelf. Once the thighs and kabobs were arranged, she turned off the grill and headed for the house. Louie reached around and opened the screen door for her. As they passed Letterman’s cage, she noticed David listing against the bars.
“You must be getting closer to the perfect mix,” Em told Louie. “Dave’s half gone.”
Marilyn was on the sofa with her laptop on her knees. “My Facebook page is on fire since I posted the murder news,” she said.
Em put the platter on the rattan table she’d set earlier and headed into the kitchen to take the black rice out of the cooker.
“What’s wrong, sweetie?” Louie leaned over the back of the sofa to comfort Marilyn.
Em came around the corner of the open kitchen, set the rice pot on the table, and noticed the tears streaming down Marilyn’s face, streaking her thick peach blush. Em glanced back at the platter of perfectly cooked chicken and kabobs, and her stomach growled. She sighed.
“I just got an email from my nephew, Tom. He can’t come to the wedding after all.” Marilyn’s voice broke, and she buried her face in her palms.
Louie walked around the sofa and sat down beside her. He lifted the laptop off her knees and gently set it on the coffee table.
“Is he all right?” Louie awkwardly patted her shoulder.
Marilyn hiccupped and nodded yes. Em sat on a low footstool nearby.
“He . . . he’s in India,” Marilyn wailed.
“India?” Em said.
Marilyn nodded again. “He was going to give me away.”
“I know. He seemed so excited when you asked him to.”
Marilyn wasn’t Em’s favorite person in the world, but she sure hoped Tom Benton had a good excuse for breaking his aunt’s heart. He’d visited twice since Marilyn and Louie had started dating, once shortly after they’d announced their engagement.
“He promised to be here,” Marilyn sniffed.
“What happened?” Louie asked.
“He had to leave at the last minute. His company is outsourcing something.” She leaned forward and opened her laptop and turned it toward Em. “See? Here’s a photo of him in front of the Taj Mahal in Agra.”
Em as was more impressed with the Taj Mahal than Tom, a balding, non-descript forty-something-year-old. What brown hair he did have was already fading. As Marilyn dried her tears on the back of her hand, Em actually felt sorry for her, but dinner was hot and on the table.
“We should eat,” Em said. “You should at least try.”
Marilyn sniffed. “Something sure smells good.”
“Em has dinner all ready. Sit with us, even if you don’t feel like eating.” Louie got up and extended a hand.
“I’ll try for you, sweetie.” Marilyn batted her matted lashes at him. As they walked toward the table hand in hand, she gave Louie a tremulous smile. “The show must go on, you know. I’ll guess I’ll just have to do this without my Tommy.”
Show? Em frowned as she retrieved the chilled salad from the fridge.
Marilyn slipped into her place at the table. Louie stepped behind the mini tiki bar in the corner of the room, quickly mixed a cocktail and then opened a bottle of white wine. He poured a splash into the drink cup attached to Letterman’s cage. Em took a seat across from Marilyn.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Em unfolded a napkin and spread it over her lap as Louie joined them.
“Things come up. Life gets in the way.” Marilyn snuffled a bit and dabbed at the corners of her eyes with her napkin. “I understand. Everything will work out.” She looked up at Louie. “Won’t it, sweetie?”
Em started the rice around. “What would you think of asking Nat to stand in for Tom?” Em figured Marilyn would jump at the chance to have an Emmy award winning television writer give her away, and she was right.
“That’s a good idea.” Marilyn cut a miniscule piece of chicken and stared at it a moment. “The only other possibility is Orville Orion.”
“Orville Orion?” Louie, about to shovel a fork full of rice into his mouth, paused. “Didn’t you date Orion before me?”
“Why, yes.” Marilyn batted her tear-spiked lashes again. She may have been frowning too, but a healthy injection of Botox made that impossible. “I guess I did.”
“Who is Orville Orion?” Em put some salad on her plate and handed the bowl to Louie.
“He’s a neighbor in Princeville,” Marilyn said. “He’s chairman of the homeowners’ board.” She made it sound as if the position was as important as Secretary of State.
Let me guess, Em thought.
“Wealthy?” Em picked up a veggie kabob and tried to sound mildly curious.
“Oh, very,” Marilyn said.
“A widower?” Em looked down at her plate.
“Of course, he’s not married. I don’t go there.” Marilyn finally popped the sliver of chicken into her mouth and smiled. “Actually, he’d be perfect for you.”
“He’s as old as I am.” Louie looked appalled.
“That’s not why I asked.” Em quickly changed the subject. “I’m sure Nat would love to help out.”
“Would you mind asking him for me, Em?” Marilyn was staring at her.
“Of course not. I’ll talk to him first thing tomorrow,” Em promised.
A feeble squawk followed by a distinct thud came from the refrigerator-sized birdcage in the corner near the bar. David Letterman had passed out and fallen off his perch.
Louie did a fist pump. “Looks like we finally have a winner!”
7
Kiki Strikes a Bargain
Only the Maidens and the film crew were in the bar the next morning when Kiki arrived. Outfitted in a new pareau, a wrap-around sarong of vibrant red fabric splashed with yellow and purple orchids, she adjusted the massive lei po’o encircling her forehead as she walked into the bar.
Unable to sleep, she’d spent the night weaving the green and white Song of India leaves together with orchids into the intricate lei.
Puana Kimokani, a local kahuna-for-hire, showed up to bless the building as soon as the front door was unlocked. Everyone hoped the blessing would dispel any bad energy stirred up by the murder. He was still carrying a small calabash, wandering around mumbling chants and sprinkling water into the corners of the room.
Kiki headed for the table closest to the stage. Pat Boggs had taken off work for the morning and already had the other Maidens lined up at tables waiting for Kiki to begin the emergency session. She was relieved—if not completely worry free—this morning because Kimo was in the kitchen again puttering around.
He had called earlier to tell her that Em tried to send him home, but Louie stepped in and insisted he stay and cook despite what had happened. Uncle Louie was proud as punch that the Goddess was the only Kauai establishment that could boast that their chef was the island’s number one murder suspect.
Randy Rich wasn’t there, but he’d sent the van and a skeleton crew of two: Peggy and Joe the cameraman. Both were drowsing with their chins propped on their fists at a table near the bar.
Suzi Matamoto, Hula Maiden and one of Kauai’s top realtors, was waving her hand around in the air. Kiki knew Suzi wouldn’t put up with be ignored very long, so she quickly called the meeting to order.
Peggy and Joe snapped to life and sat up. Joe shouldered the camera, and they hustled closer.
“What is it, Suzi?” Kiki stifled a yawn.
“Why are we here? What’s the big emergency? Kimo’s in the kitchen. All’s right with the world.” The diminutive realtor eyed her hula sisters and gave voice to what they all wondered. “Will there be a show tonight? Are we going to have to have that dance-off after all?”
Kiki glanced at Peggy, who signaled no by shaking her head and drawing her finger across her throat.
“The dance-off has been tabled for now,” Kiki announced.
“Dance-off’s been tabled,” Pat Boggs boomed. She made a note on her clipboard.
“So what’s up?” Flora wanted to know.
“I’d like to hold a fundraiser to help pay for Kimo’s defense team, and we need to hold it ASAP. This weekend.”
Pat hoisted the clipboard again and shouted, “Listen up, pee-pole! Fundraiser ASAP!”
“Pat!” Kiki turned to Pat, who was seated on her right. “Enough. Just take notes. Stop repeating what I say.”
“Got it!” Pat hollered. “Just take notes!”
“Saturday is the Surf and Sun Swap Meet in Hanalei. Lots of folks turn up for that,” Suzi Matamoto said. “We could hold a Keep Kimo Free parade up and down the sidewalk.”
“Hanalei Town is only two blocks long,” Trish Oakley, Maiden and professional photographer, reminded them. “How about a flash mob? Only we could do the hula instead of whatever you call the kind of dancing they do for those things.”
“Beep bop?” Lillian Smith, a recent Iowa transplant and rhythmically challenged Maiden, pursed her lips.
The door to Louie’s office suddenly flew open and banged against the wall.
Marilyn, red-faced and frantic, ran across the room yelling, “Absolutely not! Not on the day of my wedding!” She ran up to Kiki and started beating on the table in front of her. “You will not ruin my wedding! No, no, no way. There will be no parades and no mob flashing!”
Joe hustled across the room with Peggy behind him wrestling the long boom mic. For the moment, the sparring women were oblivious that they were being filmed. Kiki turned on Marilyn.
“Spying? You were in the office spying on us? Again? You tried to record and steal one of our dance numbers once, and you got caught. Have you learned nothing, Marilyn? And I think it’s odd that you always refer to it as ‘my’ wedding, not ‘our’ wedding. This marriage was all your idea, Marilyn, not Louie’s. Admit it. You’ve been leading him around by his weenie for two years, and you know it.”
“His weenie?” Marilyn choked. “His weenie? You aren’t fit to talk about that man’s weenie.”
“Zoom in.” Peggy hovered. Joe zoomed.
Kiki wasn’t about to back down. “I’ve known Louie Marshall for over forty years. If he wasn’t under your evil spell, he’d never let you talk to me this way or pull these stunts.”
“I know you hate me,” Marilyn shouted back. “Ever since I left your stupid hula group, you’ve held a grudge. I know you’d like nothing better than to ruin my wedding, but I won’t have it, do you hear me? You’re not throwing a fundraiser that will draw the whole North Shore and steal my guests.” Since most of her face was immobile, her lower lip quivered wildly. But there were no tears in her eyes.
Marilyn glared, but it didn’t scare Kiki a bit.
“Don’t you dare look at me like I’m insane,” Marilyn shouted.
“Insane? You said it, not me.” Kiki threw back her head and laughed so hard her head lei almost slipped off and fell on the floor. She made a one-handed grab and shoved it back into place.
“Want me to haul her outta here?” Sarge Pat puffed up at the ready, as official as a presidential bodyguard.
“I can handle this,” Kiki assured her. She stared Marilyn down. “I’m not scared of her.”
“What’s going on? What’s happening?” Em rushed in from the office. “I could hear you two yelling across the parking lot.” She tried to step between the two women, but neither of them budged.
Kiki batted her long false lashes and sniffed. “I’m simply trying to organize a fundraiser for Kimo’s defense, that’s all.”
“No naked car wash,” Em said. “No matter what.”
Marilyn grabbed Em’s arm. “She’s trying to sabotage my . . . our wedding.”
“We were just discussing options for a fundraiser this weekend when she came flying out of the office all pupule. I thought she was going to kill me. Didn’t you, ladies? Wasn’t she acting all crazy?” Kiki gazed around the room at her hula sisters. The Maidens nodded in unison.
“You’ve been against me from the beginning. I love Louie,” Marilyn protested. “How can I convince you of that?”
“What’s love got to do with it?” Kiki shot back. “You’re trying to steal the Goddess and turn it into an uppity upscale restaurant.” When her head b
egan to throb like it was about to explode, Kiki clenched her fists and took a step back.
Em was suddenly beside her, grabbing her arm, leading her toward the bar. “Kiki, you need to calm down.”
Sophie was working behind the long koa wood bar. Em called, “Chablis, Soph. On ice. Quick.”
Marilyn trailed them across the room. “Kiki knows a fundraiser on the day of the wedding would draw a crowd. She’ll ask everyone on this side of the island to help her out, and they’ll choose her stupid fundraiser over the wedding and reception.”
Kiki glared over her shoulder.
“Stupid fundraiser? We’re going to need the money to save Kimo. Can I help it if I’ve got more friends than she’ll ever have? She doesn’t even have a best friend. I heard she had to ask her hairdresser to be her maid of honor, for crap’s sake.”
Marilyn gasped. “I have time and money invested in this wedding. I’ve put down a huge deposit on the restaurant. We’re having dinner for seventy-five.” She ran a shaky hand over her brow and mumbled, “Steak and lobster at the St. Lexus. And my hairdresser is my best friend.”
“Kiki, please.” Em had a grip on her arm again. “Assure Marilyn you’re not trying to sabotage the wedding. You can’t hold the fundraiser on Saturday, but why not Sunday? That will give you one extra day to organize.”
“What do I care what happens to her wedding?” Kiki reached for the glass of Chablis that Sophie had set on the bar. Her hand shook so hard the ice tinkled against the glass like a wind chime in a hurricane. “She thinks Kimo’s guilty.”
“Kiki, think about Uncle Louie for a minute. Please?”
Em obviously wasn’t about to give up.
Kiki took a long, slow sip of wine. In a show of solidarity, the other Maidens had left their tables to gather around her.
Suzi Matamoto spoke up first. “Right, Kiki, think of Louie. He’s let us perform here for years, long before anyone else wanted us to dance anywhere. We owe it to Louie not to ruin the wedding. If it wasn’t for Louie and the Goddess, there would be no Trouble in Paradise, and we wouldn’t be celebrities. Our businesses wouldn’t all be booming, and we’d have no Facebook fans.”
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