Danny and the Tiki Tones started playing, and Pat joined in singing along with them. “This is the night of love . . . this is the hour of . . . Ka . . . looooo . . . aaahhh.”
The Maidens began to move, but there wasn’t a soul in the room who would remotely call what they were doing dancing. Obviously all of the dancers were acutely aware of the flaming oil precariously sloshing in the half shells teetering on their palms. The women’s movements were limited to swaying back and forth while they slowly raised and lowered their hands and arms. Their movements set off a tidal wave of sagging underarm undulations.
The usually riotous bar patrons watched in shock and awe the way spectators closely view a car chase or a forest fire, holding their breath and awaiting disaster, afraid to look and yet compelled to watch. No one in the audience moved; no one took a bite of food or sipped a drink as Pat continued to pound out the beat, the Tiki Tones played, and the Maidens jiggled and swayed.
Em was so nervous she kept forgetting to breathe. She noticed Lillian’s glasses were fogging up. The woman’s husband, MyBob, as Lillian always called him, had made his way to the front of the room and was videotaping the dance.
Em glanced up at her uncle. Louie was scanning the stage.
“There ought to be a bucket of water up there,” he mumbled. “Just in case.”
No sooner were the words out than Lillian let out a sharp cry that sounded like a yelp.
“Fire! Lil’s hair is on fire!” MyBob yelled.
Sure enough, the right side of Lillian’s long wig appeared to be melting as flames licked at it, slowly making their way toward her head. Lillian started screaming and tossed her coconuts in the air. They flew backward toward the band. Danny and the bass guitarist held their guitars over their heads for cover. The drummer vaulted off the stage.
“Water! Water!” MyBob was running in circles beside his wife, waving his hands in the air. “Her hair’s on fire! Her hair’s on fire!”
On the other side of Lil, Big Estelle stopped dancing and had the presence of mind to blow out her coconuts. Further down the line, the gravity of what was unfolding hadn’t yet reached Flora, Trish, Suzi, or Kiki. They danced on in a hypnotic trance with smiles pasted on their faces and far off looks in their eyes as they continually raised and lowered their arms.
Everyone at the head table except Marilyn had jumped to their feet. Precious had scrambled to stand up on her chair and covered her mouth with both hands. Her eyes were about to bug out of her head. Nat instinctively grabbed a tall glass and was about to toss a drink at Lillian’s head.
“Not alcohol! Don’t throw any alcohol!” Louie threw himself in front of Nat’s arm.
Nat was already in motion. Louie ended up with a sticky Mai Tai in his face and was blindly feeling around the table for a napkin. He grabbed the tablecloth instead and upended everyone else’s drinks.
Pat Boggs was still on stage. She turned toward Lillian and yelled into the microphone, “Stop! Drop! Roll! Stop! Drop! Roll!”
“Her hair’s on fire!” MyBob kept hollering. “My wife is on fire!” He tried fanning the flames with his hands.
“It’s not her hair.” Em tried yelling over the chaos, but no one heard her. “Pull off her wig! Pull off her wig!”
The coconuts Lillian had flung backward had ignited the carpet on the stage. Danny and the Tiki Tones were trying to stomp it out, melting the soles of their rubber flip flops.
Across the room, Sophie had climbed up on the bar and was wielding a fire extinguisher. She pulled the pin and aimed, but all that came out was a puff of white powder.
David Letterman, also behind the bar, was pacing back and forth on his perch screaming, “Save me! Hunka Hunka Burnin’ Love! Hunka Hunka Burnin’ Love!”
Buzzy leapt up from the table and headed for Dave’s perch.
Lillian was screaming, “I’m melting! I melting!”
Precious let out a squeal and yelled at Marilyn. “I gotta get out of here before this turns into a flaming inferno! I’ll be trampled if there’s a stampede!”
She grabbed her purse, clambered down off her chair, and the last Em saw of Precious was her auburn head bobbing toward the front door as she skirted around and under tables.
Wanting to do something for Lillian, Em tried to push her way around Louie and the others but was trapped on the wrong side of the table. By now tourists were headed for the door, colliding with locals pushing their way toward the front to get a better view of the commotion.
Just when Em was certain the Goddess was about to go up in flames and they should all head for the exits, she spotted Roland, towering head and shoulders over everyone in the room. He parted the crowd, striding through them like Moses wading through the Red Sea.
He reached Lillian before the flames neared her neck, yanked off her wig, and tossed it on the floor. After Roland ground it beneath his foot and moved on toward the stage, MyBob started jumping up and down on it.
Kiki and the others were still dancing. Big Estelle was paralyzed with terror. The fire on the stage was spreading.
Suddenly Kimo ran up to Roland and handed him the kitchen fire extinguisher. The detective pulled the pin, aimed, and thankfully this canister was full. White foam shot out, and Roland quickly coated everything, including Pat Boggs and the Tiki Tones. Then for good measure, he turned the spray on Kiki and the rest of the dancers.
Little Estelle pounded her Gadabout horn in a series of long-short-long SOS beeps. She kept it up until someone yelled, “I hear sirens. The fire truck is coming!”
Louie sank into an empty chair. The hem of the tablecloth was still pressed against his eyes.
“Damn it,” he cursed. “My eyes are still stinging. What did I miss?”
“Sorry, Louie.” Nat leaned over Louie and gave him a pat on the back. “I tossed a full Mai Tai at you. I wasn’t even thinking. If you hadn’t jumped in front of me, I would have blown that poor woman up.”
“How is she?” Louie tried to open his eyes and then slammed them shut. “You think she’ll sue?”
Marilyn, who’d buried her face in the crook of her arm, lifted her head and looked around. “Why would she? No one told her to play with fire. Those idiot women. Look at Kiki. She’s covered in foam and still waving those damn coconuts around.”
Em looked. Sure enough, Kiki, Suzi, Trish and Flora were still in line. Shock had finally registered on their foam-covered faces. They blinked and looked around as if awaking from a coma.
“What about Letterman?” Louie wiped his eyes with the corner of the tablecloth. Finally able to see, he looked around in a panic. “Where’s my parrot? Someone stole my parrot.”
“He’s fine,” Em assured him. “Buzzy tossed a bar towel over him, grabbed the perch- and carried him out.”
“Thank heavens.” Louie shook his head. “What if I’d have lost him?”
“Lost your parrot?” Marilyn screeched. “Lost your parrot? What about me? Those women could have burned the place down. Not that it would have been a great loss. This dump is a fire trap. It should have been condemned years ago. A termite roast, that’s what it would have been. Snap, crackle, pop.” She threw back her head and gave a maniacal laugh.
Louie rounded the table to sit beside her. When he tried to slip his arm around her shoulder, she shrugged him off.
“Oh, now sweetie, everything’s all right. You know how much I care about you. Why, I’d never let anything happen to you. You’re just a bit hysterical is all.”
Marilyn sniffed and glowered at Kiki and the others. Covered in foam, they were carefully being led toward the bathroom by Kimo and MyBob.
“That woman should have never been allowed to perform tonight. She has it out for me. This is all her fault. She’s ruined our rehearsal dinner. She’s ruined everything!” Marilyn let out a heart-wrenching wail, folded tow
ard the table, and buried her face in her arms again.
“Now that’s not true, sweetie,” Louie comforted between pats on the back. “The wedding is going to go off without a hitch. The reception will be beautiful. You know what they say, if you don’t want problems with the show, then hope for a bad dress rehearsal.”
Marilyn’s head popped up. “Who? Who says that?”
Em realized her knees were knocking and plopped back down into her chair. She could have killed for a drink, but Louie had managed to dump every glass on the table. She watched as a squadron of handsome KFD firefighters made their way through the crowd toward the stage. Their captain conferred with Roland for a minute or two, and then the detective started toward her table.
He hunkered down beside her and rested his arm on the back of her chair.
“You okay?”
Em nodded. “I’m fine. Will the Maidens be all right? Is that stuff you sprayed on them toxic?”
“It’s just CO2.”
“Thanks for saving Lillian. For saving all of them. And for saving the Goddess.”
Even though Marilyn was right, that the place was a termite-infested dump, Em couldn’t imagine what Uncle Louie, let alone the rest of them, would do without their beloved watering hole.
She was almost too upset to notice that Roland’s hand had moved from the back of her chair to rest on her knee beneath the table. Almost.
“Are you going to be all right?” he asked.
She nodded, not quite able to form a complete sentence with heat radiating from beneath his hand from her knee up to her thigh. Even the sound of Marilyn moaning in the middle of her own little pity party wasn’t enough to cool her off.
When Roland finally unfolded his six-three frame, Em was forced to crane her neck to look up at him. It was that or stare at the waistband of his pants and parts south.
“Everything’s under control,” he assured her. “But I’m going to stick around for a while, make sure everyone’s okay. I’ll check with you again before I head out.”
Em finally found her tongue.
“Mahalo again, Roland. I can’t thank you enough for being here and for the quick thinking.”
“No worries.”
As he walked away, Em looked at the wall behind the once smoldering stage. Smiling down on them all was the serene image of Irene Kakaulanipuakaulani Hickam Marshall. There was not a drop of fire extinguisher foam nor trace of smoke on Louie’s late wife’s portrait.
13
And a Bottle of Rum
Em stared up at Irene’s portrait for a moment or two until Louie asked, “Will you sit with Marilyn while I announce we’ll be serving drinks on the house for an hour?”
“Drinks on the house? Are you sure?” Despite the fire, the place was still packed. Em was too shaken to tally up how much offering free drinks to smooth over this latest fiasco was going to cost them.
“A little rum will go a long way to help dull the memory of the trauma folks just witnessed. So will slices of that coconut sheet cake we’ve got in the kitchen. It’s as big as a twin mattress.”
Em doubted it. “You know, the drunker they get, the more they will embellish the story.”
“Nothing wrong with a little free happy juice once in a while. We’ve got an overabundance of rum in the back. I’m going to have Buzzy help Sophie out at the bar.” He reached over to squeeze Marilyn’s hand. “Stay put, sweetie. I’ll be right back.”
Marilyn didn’t look up.
Louie had no sooner made the big announcement that they’d be serving free Mai Tais for an hour than Kiki walked out of the bathroom carrying her red velvet gown over her arm. She was still wearing her wig, but a few of the gold plastic hibiscuses had fallen out. Her dark kohl mascara was so smeared she appeared to have two black eyes. Her jaw was set in a determined if not firm line.
She marched over to the table and stood there looking down at the top of Marilyn’s head.
“Sorry, Em,” Kiki said. “I really thought the fire element would add to the festivities and that Louie would be pleased. I have to admit the number didn’t quite work out the way I planned, except I think the dancing was pretty good, don’t you? I mean, we were all pretty much in step. I had my doubts about Lillian, though. She’s not the pro the rest of them are. A little too soon for her to be using fire maybe.”
Suddenly Marilyn was up, not just looking up, but on her feet, pushing out of her chair.
“You!” She pointed at Kiki. “You planned this entire disaster. You’ve been trying to break us up for two years now. You want me out of the picture so that you can keep this truly tacky tiki bar alive.” Marilyn was so upset her jaw was quivering.
If it hadn’t been for Louie’s free round of drinks, there might have been an audience to witness the exchange, but folks were lined up three deep around the bar, some already clamoring for a refill.
Kiki planted her hands on her ample hips.
“Maybe so, Marilyn. You’ve got me there. I have wanted to get rid of you, but you can bet on your four late husbands’ graves that I would never, ever burn down the Tiki Goddess to do it. A move like that would be more your style.”
“You are not allowed at our wedding,” Marilyn screamed.
“As if. As if I’d want to be there to see Louie Marshall brought so low.”
“Drop dead, Kiki.”
“No, you drop dead, Marilyn!”
Em shot to her feet and held out both hands. “That’s enough. Kiki, if you’re sure the Maidens are all right, it’s time for you to go home.”
“They’re fine.” Kiki avoided looking at Marilyn.
“What about Pat? She got a mouthful of CO2.”
“As if that could shut her up,” Kiki rolled her eyes. “She’s fine. She’s back there telling the firemen how to do their jobs.”
“Then you should leave. With Kimo, if he’s still here,” Em added.
“He’s not finished cleaning up in the kitchen.” Kiki looked over toward the bar. “Looks like Louie is still holding court. Please, tell him I apologize, but I really thought it would be great.”
“I’ll tell him,” Em said.
“I mean it,” Marilyn called out as Kiki walked away, “I don’t want to see your face anywhere near the St. Lexus tomorrow. Just leave us in peace.”
Kiki walked out without looking back.
Marilyn grabbed her sequin-encrusted evening bag. The poor little thing looked as out of place in the Goddess as a monkey in an igloo. She turned her gaze on Louie.
“Look at him,” she sniffed. “He’s actually enjoying this.”
Louie did indeed appear to be the man of the hour, laughing and talking to the folks jammed around the bar, making sure everyone had plenty to drink and reminding them that the free rum would stop flowing after forty-five minutes. As if he sensed she was watching him, he turned and waved and gave Marilyn a big wink.
“You see?” she said.
“What I see is a man who is a genius when it comes to public relations. He’s making sure no lasting harm was done and that none of these people will go home and file lawsuits claiming he put them in harm’s way.”
“What I see is a man who is ignoring me in my time of need.”
“How about I walk you out to your car, Marilyn? Louie is going to be at this until closing time. Why don’t you stay here tonight?”
She shook her head. “No. It’s bad luck to spend the night together before the wedding. I just have to run over to the house and get my notebook and freshen up my make-up before I head home.”
Em really couldn’t afford to spend any more time smoothing Marilyn’s ruffled feathers. From the sound of squawking coming from the direction of the beach house, they were going to have their hands full enough calming David Letterman.
She walke
d Marilyn out to the parking lot, and the woman headed toward the beach house. As she turned to go back to the bar to help clean up, she spotted Roland crossing the pavement headed her way. Em waited for him just beyond a puddle of light spilling out of Goddess window near the edge of the lot.
“You shouldn’t be out here alone, Em.”
“I just walked Marilyn out. She’s inside getting her things together before she heads home to Princeville. Will you be here much longer?”
“I’m going to take off. I think it’s too much to hope that Smithson or Villaviejos will show this late. I still like the husband for the maid’s murder.”
Even though it was a balmy night without the usual hint of a passing trade wind shower, a shiver went down Em’s spine. She realized that sometime during the mayhem she’s lost her chop stick, and her hair had tumbled down around her shoulders. She tucked a lock behind her ear.
“I like your hair down,” he said. “Better than when it’s all folded up.”
She laughed. “Folded up.”
“What’s so funny?”
“I guess I do wear it folded up a lot. I just never thought of it that way.”
An awkward silence fell, and though she knew she should get back inside, Em couldn’t bring herself to walk away. Apparently Roland wasn’t ready to go anywhere either.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” she finally managed.
“With the case? I had hoped you would swear off playing junior detective.”
“This has hit close to home. If there is anything I can do to help clear Kimo’s name, I will.”
“Just keep Kiki from pulling any more stunts like tonight.” He turned to look at the bar. “This place is not only a matchbox, but it was crowded. That could have been a real disaster. Thankfully no one was seriously hurt.”
“Haven’t you ever caught anything on fire during one of your fire knife performances?” He had to be one of the only cops in Polynesia who moonlighted by twirling and tossing burning knives strapped to long sticks into the air.
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