Honeymoon in High Heels

by Gemma Halliday

  By the time I got back to my room, I was swaying just a little on my heels, and Ramirez was already dead asleep in the king bed, snoring softly. I looked down at him in the pale moonlight filtering in through the glass French doors to our private lanai. His jaw was slack, dusted with just enough five o’clock shadow to highlight the ridges and valleys of his jaw line. His eyes were closed, his thick lash casting shadows along his cheeks. And his hair fell in soft waves across his forehead. He looked good enough to eat. It took all the willpower I had not to wake him and jump him right then and there. But I knew he’d hardly slept the night before, and a grumpy Ramirez was not the one I wanted to spend my first intimate honeymoon moments with.

  Instead, I slipped on one of the sexy lingerie outfits I’d brought with me - a peach colored silk baby doll nightie - and slid into bed beside him, letting the rhythmic sound of his breathing lull me to sleep.

  I wasn’t sure how long I slept for, but it surely didn’t feel like enough. I heard soft rustling, cracked one eye open to see the first beginnings of sunrise filtering in through the windows, and sat up just in time to see the door of our suite closing. I rubbed sleep from my eyes, and spotted a note on the pillow beside me.

  Autopsy results coming in this morning. Wanted to be there. Meet you later. XOXO

  ~R

  I felt a slump of disappointment that morning sex was out of the question. But on the other hand, the fact that he was busy today meant that the girls and I would be free to investigate on our own.

  I did a quick shower and blow dry, then threw on a white, knee-length dress, belting it with a green woven number. I added a pair of yellow strappy sandals on my feet before making my way to the breakfast buffet. I loaded a plate full of tropical fruit and a fresh baked muffin, making it halfway through each before Dana and Marco arrived.

  Marco was dressed in a pink, camouflage tank, pink short-shorts, and a pair of white flip flops. Dana had on a denim skirt, slightly askew, and a white blouse buttoned just one button off. Her hair was thrown into a messy-chic bun that was seventy-percent messy and only thirty-percent chic.

  “What happened to you?” I asked her as they joined me with their breakfast plates.

  “No sleep,” she mumbled. “Marco snores.”

  Marco gasped, covering his mouth with one hand. “I do not!”

  “Oh, yes you do,” Dana said, shooting him a death look.

  “Must be allergies,” Marco mumbled.

  “It sounded like a chainsaw.”

  “Well, excuse me for breathing, Miss I-Used-All-the-Complimentary-Shampoo-Up.”

  “Hey, it was a tiny bottle,” Dana said, her hand going to her messy-chic hair.

  “Uh-uh,” Marco said, shoving a forkful of pineapple compote into his mouth.

  “Okay, break it up, roomies,” I said. “We have work to do today. I want to get to the husband bright and early.”

  Dana nodded. “Right. We know where he lives?”

  “Yes, we do,” I answered, pulling a post-it note from my purse.

  Dour-faced Don had been absent from the front desk this morning, a pleasant looking girl with blonde curls taking his place. I’d snagged the opportunity to ask here where I could send condolence flowers, and she’d happily given me Ahlia and Aki’s address.

  I passed the note across the table, and Dana cocked her head to one side to read it. “Manutea Bay. Where’s that?”

  I shrugged. “No idea. But, I have a feeling the GPS on my rental car will.”

  As it turned out, Ahlia and Akia’s place wasn’t hard to find. Because she’d been a dancer at the resort, the home had become a sort of morbid tourist attraction in the last twenty-four hours. Two news vans were parked out front, and a handful of onlookers in Bermuda shorts snapped pictures of the place. If he hadn’t killed his wife, I felt distinctly sorry for Aki. He at least deserved to grieve in peace.

  We parked the rental sedan around the corner, and walked toward the modest, one-story house, sparking interest and a few snapshots as we approached the front door. I knocked and waited a beat before it was opened by a woman with a soft face and graying hair.

  “Yes?” she asked, looking behind us at the news vans. Her voice was timid, as if she’d already had to fend off enough strangers lately.

  “Hi, I'm sorry to bother you, but we were wondering if Aki was available?”

  She looked from me to Marco and Dana. “And you are?”

  I bit my lip. “I’m working with the police to investigate her death,” I said, stretching the truth just a tad. Ramirez was working with the police, and I was with Ramirez. Did that count?

  “They’ve already been here,” she said, a frown forming between her brows.

  “You’re her aunt?” I asked, guessing from the info Ramirez had told me last night.

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  “I’m so sorry for your loss,” Marco jumped in, putting a hand on her arm. “I can’t imagine what you’re going though."

  She smiled softening. “Thank you.”

  “We were hoping we could ask Aki a few questions about that night,” I pressed.

  She looked from Marco to me. “I’m sorry, but he’s not here. He’s at the gym. He... needed to blow off some steam,” she said.

  Which I took as code for working out that rumored temper of his. I'll admit, I was liking the husband theory better and better.

  “What gym would that be?” Dana asked.

  “Palm Place. It’s just a few blocks down that way, off of Mana Drive,” she said, gesturing to our right.

  We thanked the aunt, then piled back into the rental, pulling up to the Palm Place Gym, just where she said it would be.

  While the exterior paint job had an island theme - palm fronds and coconuts dominating the motif - the inside could have doubled for any gym back home in Los Angeles. Rows of machines in various forms of use sat in the center, the scent of stale sweat hung in the air, and a row of mirrors spanned the back wall, where huge guys in muscle T's pumped dumbbells and grunted appreciatively at their reflections. Among the grunters, I spotted Aki right away, his black ponytail pulled back from his face, sweat dripping off his brow, a look of concentration on his face that was downright scary. As much as I'd been able to easily put Temoe in the role of windpipe-crusher, Aki fit the bill just as well.

  I took a deep breath as we approached him.

  “Aki?” I asked, my voice coming out much smaller than I’d meant it to.

  Here’s the thing: gyms in general kind of intimidate me. My idea of a workout is shopping the one day sale at Macy's in five-inch heels for three hours. I was not what you’d call a sporty girl. I could work a stepper and a treadmill if a gun were to my head, but all the machines confused me, and the muscle-bound people made me nervous. As much as Dana had tried during the course of our friendship to get me into fitness, it just wasn’t my thing.

  And neither were Incredible Hulk look-alikes that just might have hired someone to murder their wives.

  “Yeah?” the guy grunted back at me, barely looking up from his set of curls with a dumbbell that looked like it weighed more than I did. Or at least more than Marco.

  “Uh, hi. I'm Maddie Springer, and I was wondering if we could talk to you about your wife?”

  He paused, his eyes meeting mine in the mirror. “No.”

  I clamped my mouth shut. That wasn’t the answer I was hoping for.

  “We're friends of hers,” Dana jumped in. “From the US.”

  “She didn't have any US friends,” Aki said, going back to his pumping.

  “We met online. In a 'ote'a dancing chat room,” Dana continued, using her lying - er, acting - skills to their fullest. “We happened to be vacationing here and heard the horrible news.”

  “Yeah, we wanted to offer our condolences,” Marco jumped in.

  I just nodded. I didn't have nearly the acting skills Dana did.

  Aki paused a moment, then nodded at us in the mirror. “Fine. Thanks.”

  Hmm..
a man of few words. This was going to be harder than I thought. “Do the police have any idea what happened to her?” I asked, by way of an opening.

  Aki shook his head. “Not that they’re telling me.”

  “How about you?” I pressed. “Any theories about who might have killed her?”

  He paused, looking up at me in the mirror again. “What's it to you?”

  I bit my lip. “We were friends?” I answered. Only it sounded more like a question.

  “There are rumors going around that your wife was sleeping with someone else,” Macro said, coming right out and saying it. "You think maybe he did it?"

  I sucked in a breath as Aki spun around, my eye on the gargantuan weight in Aki’s hand. One swing our way, and we’d be toast. He narrowed his eyes into slits, his face turning a shade of red that a beet would be jealous of.

  “Who told you that?” he demanded.

  “Another friend,” Dana hedged.

  He clenched his teeth together. But, instead of exploding as I expected, he just said. “Yeah, she was. So what?”

  I blinked. “Wait - you knew about the other guy?”

  “Yeah. I mean, I didn't know his name or anything, but she told me there was someone else.”

  “And you weren’t angry about this?” Marco asked. I noticed he was eyeing the weight, too, bouncing on his toes, as if ready to jump out of the way at any time.

  Aki’s one empty fist clenched. “Hell, yeah, I was angry. Bitch went behind my back with some sleezeball.”

  “So what did you do?” Dana asked.

  “Divorced her,” he said, spittle forming at the corners of his mouth.

  I frowned. “You and Ahlia were divorced?” I asked. Ramirez hadn't mentioned that, and I wondered if Aki had forgotten to mention it to the police as well.

  “Well, we were getting there," he backtracked. "I filed papers last week. She begged me to take her back, but no way was I gonna be with her after that, you know? I mean, how could I ever trust her again?"

  I nodded. "Good point." And one that put a whole different spin on his motive. If he was already going through divorce proceedings, why bother killing her? I could think of only one reason.

  “But what about the money?” Marco asked, voicing my very thoughts.

  Aki spun on him, eyes narrowing again. "What money?"

  "Her inheritance," Marco said.

  "What do you know about that?" he asked.

  “We were very good friends. She told us everything,” Dana said, covering.

  Aki paused, his eyes going from one face to another. Finally he said, “Look, Ahlia had a pre-nup drawn up before we were even married. That money was hers. I didn't have access to it when we were married, and there was no way I was getting any in the divorce.”

  “But now that she’s dead...” Dana trailed off, letting the insinuation hang in the air.

  Aki took a step forward, his hand clenched around the weight. “What exactly are you trying to say?”

  “Nothing!” I quickly said, grabbing Dana by the arm and pulling her backwards with me. “Nothing. All we’re saying is that we're just leaving now.”

  I watched a vein in Aki's neck bulge to epic proportions as we made our way out of the gym.

  “Well, that was enlightening,” Dana said as we hit the sunshine outside and let out a collative breath.

  "That's one word for it," I agreed. Another might be "terrifying".

  “I think he killed her,” Marco said. “I mean, why divorce her when he could kill her and inherit everything?”

  “Yeah, but if that was the case, why file for divorce at all?” I asked, mulling over that fact. He hadn’t struck me as the brightest bulb, but surely he must know that filing cast him in suspicious light.

  “Maybe it wasn’t planned," Marco countered. "Maybe he found out that he wasn’t getting any money, then strangled her in a fit of rage.”

  “Maybe,” I conceded. “Or maybe it was the other man after all.”

  “Temoe?” Dana asked. “Why?”

  “Well, Aki said that Ahlia begged him to take her back. Maybe she broke it off with Temoe, and he wasn’t happy about it. Strangling is a crime of passion, after all.”

  Dana nodded. “So it had nothing to do with the money?”

  “I wouldn't say that,” Marco said. “Maybe Temoe saw his sugar mama slipping away when she wanted to get back with her husband.”

  “So, we’re back at square one," I sighed. "Either of them could have done it.”

  “So how do we figure out which one?” Marco asked. “It may be just me, but neither seems like the cooperative type. I couldn't see a spontaneous confession forthcoming.”

  He had a point. Which meant one thing: If we couldn't get a confession we had to catch the killer in the act.

  * * *

  Forty minutes later we were back at the Island Paradise Village, standing in front of Don at the front desk.

  “I need to leave a message for a couple of people,” I told him.

  He gave me his customary bored expression. “Fine.”

  “Can I use some paper?” I asked.

  He pulled a couple pieces of hotel stationary from a drawer and handed them to me.

  “And a pen?” I asked, flashing him my best smile.

  He rolled his eyes, then slid a pen across the counter to me, before turning to go help a couple check in.

  “Thank you,” I called to his retreating back. Then I quickly scrawled out two identical messages as Dana and Marco read over my shoulder.

  I have proof who killed Ahlia.

  “You do?” Marco asked.

  I shook my head. “No, silly, I’m bluffing.”

  "Oh. Clever," Marco said, nodding.

  "Thank you."

  I continued writing.

  Meet me on the beach after the luau tonight, or I take it to the cops.

  I stood up straight, surveying my work. “What do you think?” I asked Dana.

  She pursed her lips together. “You really think this will make the killer confess?”

  I shook my head. “No. I think it will make the killer come after me.”

  “You’re bait!” Marco cried.

  I squirmed. I wasn’t keen on the word, but I guess that was generally the idea.

  “I don’t like it,” Dana said, shaking her head. “It sounds dangerous.”

  Marco waved her off. “Don’t worry. We’ll protect Maddie.”

  Dana and I turned to look at him as one. He was still wearing his pink ensemble, but to it he'd added hot pink sunglasses and a floppy silver hat shot through with sparkling threads.

  “Okay, fine,” he conceded. “Dana will protect Maddie.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I said. “Look, you two hide on the beach, and whichever one of Ahlia’s men shows up, we know that’s the killer."

  Okay, I’d be the first to admit that as far as plans went, this one was kinda flimsy. But the truth was, unless someone had a better idea, this was my best bet to getting Ahlia’s killer behind bars and my husband into a hot tub.

  "And what happens when you confront the killer?" Dana asked, hands on hips.

  I shook my head. "No confrontation. As soon as he arrives, you two pop out of hiding. He can't very well strangle all three of us, right? Chances are, he'll just run off. But, we'll know who the guilty party is and can tell Ramirez."

  Dana pressed her lips into a thin line, but didn't argue. Truth was, I didn't think she had a better plan either.

  I folded both pieces of paper, then wrote Aki's and Temoe’s names on the outsides before hailing Don again.

  He looked up from his intent staring at the walls, then slowly ambled over to our group again. “Yes?” he sighed.

  “Can you make sure that these get delivered before the luau tonight?” I asked.

  Don looked down at the folded papers. “Aki and Temoe?” He frowned.

  “Yeah. I’m, uh, still looking for those dance lessons,” I lied.

  I wasn’t sure if he b
elieved me, but he finally shrugged and grunted in the affirmative. “Fine.”

  “Thanks so much,” I said, as we walked away.

  Now, all I had to do was wait and hope the killer stuck to my plan as well.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Since there were a couple of hours left until that night’s luau, Dana, Marco and I figured we might as well put them to good use. So we went shopping. Marco and Dana for souvenirs and me for a fabulously sexy outfit to wear that night. If all went well, I planned to be kicking off my honeymoon for real this time.

  Marco finally settled on a pair of huarache sandals dyed bright turquoise, and Dana bought a hand-beaded bikini. I went with a bright blue sarong, tall strappy heels, and a tight white top that showed off every curve my pre-wedding dieting had blessed me with. Once back at the resort with our purchases, we parted ways, promising to meet up again at the luau for Operation Catch-A-Killer. (Okay, so we weren't any better naming these things sober than we were drunk.)

  I did a quick shower and blow dry, and was just putting the finishing touches on my make-up when I heard the door to our suite open, a card key drop onto the dresser, and a man sink into the king-sized bed with an audible sigh.

  "Is that you?" I called out.

  “Yep,” Ramirez responded.

  I popped my head out from the bathroom to find him laying spread eagle on his back. I frowned. "What are you doing back?”

  He turned his head toward me. “Gee, happy to see you, too, honey.”

  “Sorry.” I felt myself blush. "I didn't mean it that way. I am happy to see you. Very. I'm just surprised. I thought you were working the case.”

  “I was,” he said, propping himself up on his elbows. “All day. Autopsy reports, witness interviews, fingerprint analysis.”

  “Fingerprints?” I asked, honing in on the word.

  He nodded. “None that amounted to anything. Fellow dancers, her husband. All the usual people that you’d expect her to come into contact with.”