Three Odd Balls

by Cindy Blackburn

  Louise and I stared at our decidedly pink drinks as Tessie took her first sip. “Oh! Taste them, too,” she said. “Ki got the recipe right this time.”

  Sure enough, the drinks were perfect—Davy Atwell perfect.

  “Bethany saw how unhappy you guys were with the drinks last night,” Chris explained. “She’s up there right now, teaching Ki what to do before the evening rush starts. She says it’s getting the guava juice just right. It’s what makes them pink.”

  Wilson lowered his glass. “Bethany Iverson knows how to make a decent pink drink?”

  “Decent?” Louise wiggled her Pele’s Melee. “Earth to Wilson! Clearly the woman knows a lot more than that. These are perfect!”

  No one argued, and as the rest of us enjoyed our beverages, sipping gratefully and emitting the occasional squeak, Chris regaled us with the events of his busy day. Bethany had been thrilled to spend some time with him and had talked non-stop—kind of like Chris himself was doing. He described the coral reef surrounding Halo Beach, which apparently was teeming with sea life.

  “I’ve got to get you geezers snorkeling,” he said and turned to his father. “The butterfly fish make those shirts you keep wearing look dull.”

  Wilson defended his wardrobe only briefly and reminded his son of his main purpose with Bethany. “What did she have to say about the Wacky Gardens” He pointed toward the bungalows and Chris glanced over at Misty Breezes.

  “She complained a lot about her boss.”

  “Who can blame her?” I said. “Ki is impossible.”

  “No, Jessie. It’s Buster that bugs her. Bethany says he makes stupid mistakes.”

  “Such as?” Wilson asked.

  “Well, like he’s always wasting time in the garden and not really doing anything. And he hired that Rachel Tate woman Faye was telling us about. Bethany really didn’t like Rachel. And here’s the dirt.” Chris turned to me. “Because I know you live for dirt.”

  I rolled my eyes and quietly sipped my Pele’s Melee.

  “The dirt?” Louise reminded him.

  “Rachel definitely dated Davy. Remember what Faye said this morning? Well, Bethany definitely knows for sure.”

  “Intriguing!” Louise said. “Since we now know Carmen Dupree also dated him.”

  “We’re not sure about that,” Wilson reminded her, but Louise wasn’t listening.

  “I’m seeing a love triangle,” she said. She passed her glass to my mother and used both hands to draw another of her imaginary triangles in the air.

  I thought about this new triangle. “Rachel, Carmen, and Davy?” I asked.

  “Exactly, Jessica! Nothing but trouble, I tell you. Nothing, nothing, nothi—”

  “What about Bethany?” Wilson interrupted. He held up his Pele’s Melee, and we all blinked at the perfectly pink beverage. “Bethany and Davy,” he elaborated. “Think about it, people.”

  Chapter 15

  “Bee Bee’s a clue.” I leaned over Buster Okolo’s brand new pool table, took aim, and broke. “I can feel it in my bones,” I said as the four ball disappeared. “I’m calling solids, by the way.”

  Wilson turned around from the game room window in time to see the six ball sink. “Bethany’s still up there talking to Ki.” He jerked a thumb in the direction of the tiki bar. “Maybe we should be there, too.”

  I argued that one happy hour spent with Ki Okolo had been plenty for me. “Besides, Wilson, you promised me a game. You know I need to think.”

  “Jessie always does her best thinking at a pool table.” Mother had tiptoed into the room. “Who’s winning?” she asked as she closed the door behind her. “And who killed poor Davy Atwell?”

  Wilson frowned at the yellow ball as it disappeared and asked Tessie how she knew where to find us.

  “Intuition,” she answered. “I was about to lie down for a few minutes after my shower. But I just knew Jessie would be in here thinking. You don’t mind if I join you?”

  We assured her three heads were better than two, and while Wilson took a turn at the table, I stepped over to the window to take a turn at spying on the tiki bar. Sure enough, Bethany was still talking to Ki—showing him something about the blender.

  “I’m surprised Louise isn’t up there,” I said. “But perhaps she’s back to Bee Bee hunting.”

  “Maybe so,” Mother said. “She drove off someplace with Buster.”

  Wilson missed the fourteen ball. “She’s driving again?” he asked, and I grabbed the cue stick he had let go of before it fell to the floor.

  “Silly Wilson. Buster was driving.” Mother clapped as I made the five ball. “They were in his jeep. Now then, who killed Davy?”

  “I’m not sure,” Wilson said. “But your daughter says Bee Bee.”

  “That is not what I said.” I appealed to my mother. “But I do think his disappearance is significant.”

  “Oh, absolutely,” she agreed. She studied the table and pointed me toward the two ball before sitting down. “Poor Bee Bee witnessed something important the other night.”

  “The bird?” Wilson remained unconvinced. “But the murder happened out in the parking lot, and Bee Bee was inside, in his cage, covered up.” He shook his head in dismay. “And I cannot believe I’m standing here discussing the possibility of a parrot being a viable witness.”

  “The killer could have spoken to Davy before they moved outside,” Mother argued. “Bee Bee could have been listening, even if his cage were covered up. Bless his little heart, he does pick up on things, doesn’t he?”

  “Exactly.” I hit the seven ball off the back bumper and into the side pocket. “Bee Bee might have heard the killer’s voice. He might have started repeating something the killer said.”

  Wilson gave it some thought. “So you’re saying the bird needed shutting up. So the murderer killed him.”

  Mother and I gasped in unison.

  “Can’t we just say he’s been kidnapped?” I asked.

  “That’s right, Jessie. Let’s just say kidnapped.” Mother pursed her lips. “I do not believe Bee Bee’s dead.”

  “So we think Bee Bee was kidnapped.” Finally, Wilson was catching on. “But why didn’t this happen yesterday? Bee Bee had all day to inform on the killer. If,” he emphasized the if, “the bird is that smart.”

  “Maybe the killer didn’t realize Bee Bee was a witness until later,” Mother suggested. “It is a rather far-fetched notion, isn’t it?”

  “Or maybe the killer had a hard time catching him,” I said and sunk the three ball. “Bee Bee flies, remember.”

  I called the eight ball and was about to take aim when Wilson asked if I planned on giving him any chance whatsoever. I took a haphazard shot, told him to have at it, and went to sit with Tessie. It was only then that I noticed the background music. The Hoochie Coochies, but of course.

  I watched several balls disappear and wracked my brains to identify the tune wafting toward us from Song of the Sea.

  “Highland Cathedral,” Mother answered my unasked question.

  I groaned out loud. “Don’t you need bagpipes for that one?”

  “They have a fascinating repertoire, don’t they?” she said as Wilson took aim at the twelve. “I can’t wait until the luau tonight.”

  I stifled another groan and asked if she thought the Coochie brothers might be involved in the murder.

  “No, I don’t think so. They’re such nice boys.”

  “They’re close to my age, Mother.”

  “And you’re such a nice girl,” she said defiantly and patted my knee.

  Wilson asked her about Bethany as he took aim at the ten. He missed the shot and looked up. “Is she a nice girl?”

  “She’s a smart cookie,” Mother answered. “And isn’t she clever to teach Ki how to mix Davy’s Pele’s Melees?

  Wilson took my seat as I stood up to finish the game. “I don’t want to scandalize you,” he told my mother. “But I get the impression there was only one way for a woman to get that recipe out
of Davy.”

  “You mean sex?” she asked as an ear-piercing scream interrupted my shot at the eight ball.

  Before I could even drop the cue stick, Wilson was out the door.

  Mother and I followed. We had made it to the lobby and were rounding the Christmas tree when a young woman in a chef’s uniform emerged from the dining room.

  She stopped short when she saw us. “Call the police!” she shrieked and fainted into Wilson’s arms.

  ***

  “Call the police!” Wilson ordered me as if I needed reminding.

  He knelt down to place the woman—Makaila Isiano, presumably—onto the lobby floor. He checked for a pulse, and headed toward the dining room.

  Mother ran to the woman, I ran to the phone behind the counter, and Ki and Bethany ran in from outside.

  “Makaila!” Bethany screamed and leapt across the room.

  I dialed 911.

  While I listened impatiently to the ring tone on the other end, I caught a glimpse of Ki. Unlike the rest of us, he stood stock still. He slowly turned his head toward me, and for some reason I felt compelled to tell him it wasn’t our fault.

  “What isn’t your fault?” the dispatcher asked.

  “Makaila Isiano,” I said into the phone. “She’s fainted!” I added and explained the situation as best I could.

  My best wasn’t very good, however, since I really didn’t know the situation, even after Wilson emerged from the dining room, and even after Makaila came to. Wilson held his hands, palms up, and announced he couldn’t see what the problem was, either in the dining room or in the kitchen behind it.

  We looked at Makaila, who had her head in my mother’s lap, and her hand in Bethany’s. Speechless and shaking, evidently she wasn’t capable of enlightening us either.

  Meanwhile the dispatcher continued giving me a hard time. “You want us to send the cops out because someone fainted?” she asked and became even more belligerent when I mentioned that Makaila had woken up. “What’s the problem then? You need an ambulance?”

  I didn’t think so. I tried reasoning that Makaila was clearly upset by something, and had told us to call the police.

  “Is this a crank call?”

  “No, this is not a crank call! The chef wants the police. And considering the recent murder on the Wakilulani premises, it seems only fit—”

  Wilson took the phone from me. “Tell Vega to get his ass over here,” he ordered and hung up without further ado.

  ***

  “Where’s your son?” Ki asked Wilson.

  “Where’s your brother?” Wilson asked Ki.

  “That’s the million dollar question, Sherlock.” Ki pointed to Makaila. “The dinner rush is about to begin, my stupid chef’s sprawled out under the stupid Christmas tree, and my stupid brother’s gone AWOL.”

  “Makaila is not stupid,” Bethany argued as she and Tessie got the poor woman into a chair.

  Makaila was beginning to focus again. Everyone watched as she reached out, took her chef’s toque from my mother’s hands, and carefully adjusted it back onto her head. With her headgear only slightly askew, she looked up at our expectant faces. “The knife is back,” she said quietly.

  “What!?” we said loudly.

  “The butcher knife,” she elaborated and pointed a shaky finger in the direction of the kitchen. “It’s in there. It’s back in its slot in the butcher block and everything.”

  Ki muttered a four-letter word and started toward the dining room, but Wilson reached out and grabbed him. “No one goes in the kitchen until Vega gets here.”

  “Oh? And what about you, Sherlock? Weren’t you just in there?”

  Chapter 16

  Captain Vega slammed the bagged and tagged butcher knife onto the patio table and sat down. “Where’s your son?” he demanded.

  Wilson stared at the murder weapon. “I don’t know,” he said.

  “What do you mean, you don’t—”

  “I know.” Mother raised her hand to interrupt. “He’s at Emi Ulii’s place. She’s such a lovely girl, isn’t she? Chris is taking her to the luau tonight.” Tessie smiled serenely. Indeed, she seemed completely unconcerned that, along with Wilson and me, she, too, had been ordered to have a seat to discuss the knife incident with Captain Vega.

  But Ki, Bethany, and Makaila? Vega had seen fit to dismiss those three after ten whole seconds of questioning. Apparently the needs of the Wakilulani Gardens dinner crowd were deemed far more urgent than some silly old murder investigation. The Hoochie Coochie Brothers were also off the hook. They claimed their presence was needed down at the luau, and Vega had shooed them away, too.

  Vega directed his frown at me. “And where’s your friend? The loud-mouthed redhead?”

  I folded my arms and glared. “I understand Louise went off somewhere with Buster. You know, Captain Vega? Buster Okolo, the co-owner of this place? He’s missing also.” I pointed to The Big House, and the four of us watched the early bird diners stream in.

  “You sure you want people traipsing in and out of there right now?” Wilson asked Vega.

  “Shut up, Sherlock,” he snapped and delved into a bitter diatribe, scolding Wilson for daring to enter the kitchen himself. “How much of my investigation do you plan to screw up?

  Wilson stared at the stupid cop until he saw a slight squirm. “You want me to shut up, or tell you what happened?”

  “Talk!”

  Wilson did so. Valiantly ignoring Vega’s many and assorted grunts of disapproval, he explained the basics of Makaila Isiano’s rather dramatic reaction to finding the murder weapon.

  “And you took it upon yourself to run into the kitchen and take care of things. Is that it?”

  Wilson raised an eyebrow. “That was the plan. I assumed someone was hurt. I’m trained to help in emergencies.”

  “You’re trained to do nothing on this island, you hear me.” Vega leaned forward and pointed an index finger in Wilson’s face.

  Wilson slapped it away. “Point that at me one more time, and I’ll twist it off.”

  “You wiped it clean, didn’t you?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “The murder weapon,” Vega clarified. “You told your son to return it where it belongs and get the hell out of here.”

  “You’re an idiot, you know that? Anyone and his brother has had access to that kitchen. On the night of the murder, and ever since.”

  Ignoring simple logic, Vega continued his fantasy. “But you didn’t trust Christopher to do it right, did you? So when the cook gets all upset about finding it, you take the first opportunity to run into her kitchen and cover your kid’s tracks.”

  While the two men snarled at each other, I turned to my mother. “If only Adelé Nightingale had as much imagination as this guy.” I tilted my head toward Vega, and Mother giggled.

  Vega redirected his snarl at me. “Adelé Nightingale,” he said. “You of all people should understand what’s happened here.”

  “Oh?”

  “Oh yeah, lady. I’ve been looking into you. This is just like those books you write.”

  “It is?” Evidently Wilson was as confused as I.

  Vega shook his head at our obtuseness. “The knight in shining armor crap? Christopher Rye wanted to protect his new girlfriend’s honor, so he killed Davy Atwell. He was trying to prove himself to Emi Ulii.”

  “Silly Captain Vega.” Mother was also shaking her head. “Adelé Nightingale’s heroes don’t murder people. Haven’t you read her books?”

  Vega failed to respond, which Mother took as a no.

  “Well then, let me recommend A Deluge of Desire,” she said. “Men tend to enjoy that one the best, you see. But of course my favorite is Temptation at Twili—”

  “You can cut the senile old lady act,” Vega interrupted.

  A very long moment of stunned silence ensued until Wilson finally spoke. “You want to apologize.” It was not a question.

  Vega frowned at my mother. “I’m sorry,” he said. �
��You’re not senile, but you’re not all that innocent, either.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Leon Cue-It Hewitt,” he announced proudly, perhaps under the impression that the rest of us needed reminding about who my mother’s husband, and my father, had been.

  “Dear Leon.” Mother sighed at some distant memory. “Now there was a knight in shining armor.”

  “He was a pool shark, lady.”

  “That was one of his talents, yes.”

  Wilson cleared his throat. “What’s your point, Vega?”

  “My point is—the whole Hewitt family is a bunch of criminals. Pool sharks and pornographers.” He curled his lip and pointed that index finger at my face. “Some of them are both.”

  Wilson reached over to help me out, but my mother beat him to it. She slapped Vega’s hand away. “My daughter is not a pornographer,” she said indignantly. “She writes romance fiction. Jessie can’t help it if she’s just better at it than everyone else.”

  Vega might have intended to argue, but my most loyal fan was on a roll. “You really should read A Deluge of Desire,” she continued. “It would do you a world of good.”

  I bit my lip to keep from laughing out loud, but Wilson wasn’t quite so diplomatic.

  Vega considered his response, but must have decided he was no match for Tessie. He turned to Wilson instead. “I’ve been looking into to your history also,” he said.

  “Oh goody.” Wilson stopped laughing. “What do you got?”

  “I got all your dirty little secrets. And you’ve got a history of protecting the people you care about.”

  “Damn straight.”

  “Darling, darling, darling,” Mother interjected with a fond smile aimed at my beau.

  I was once again biting my lip when Vega reached out and actually poked me in the bicep. “He protected you from a murder rap.”

  I straightened my face and stared at the finger until Vega reeled it in.

  “You know about Dianne Calloway?” he asked.

  I blinked twice, and an “Umm” was my less than brilliant answer.

  “Ask your boyfriend about her,” Vega ordered. “He protected her, too. But that didn’t quite work out. He—”