03 - Three Odd Balls (24 page)

“Were you okay with that?”

He shrugged. “I liked Dianne. She made Dad laugh. There were a few years after my mother died—” Chris stopped talking.

“When Wilson didn’t laugh?” I asked gently.

He nodded.

“What happened?”

“Dad got arrested the night of my senior prom.”

“What!?”

“It sucks, huh?”

“What for?”

“Murder.”

“Murder, murder, murder,” Bee Bee said gleefully.

I shook my head and tried to concentrate. “Let me get this straight. Dianne Calloway was murdered?”

“No, Jessie. Dianne’s ex-husband got killed. They blamed it on Dad, but he had nothing to do with it.”

“Of course he didn’t.”

“Dianne did it,” Chris said. “But the guy was really beaten up. She killed him with a—” He took another deep breath. “Let’s just say they decided Dianne had to be innocent because of her size. No one thought a woman could have done it.”

I cringed. “Wilson, however.”

“Could have done it,” Chris said, and I cringed some more.

“I assume your father figured out the truth?” I asked.

“He said it wasn’t that hard since he knew he was innocent. What was hard was convincing everyone else. He was on mandatory leave of absence from the police force so he didn’t have access to much.” Chris glanced over and actually grinned.

“What?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, Dad stinks at amateur sleuthing. You’re way better at it than he is, Jessie.”

I shrugged humbly and asked how the truth had come to light.

“An old friend on the police force finally helped him out,” Chris answered. “Dianne was arrested on my graduation day.”

“Oh, my Lord. Wilson arrested her, didn’t he? She’s in prison now, isn’t she?”

“Yep, and yep.”

“Yep, yep, yep,” Bee Bee verified.

Again, I tried to concentrate. “So, this is why you’ve been,” I hesitated, “let’s say, hesitant about me?”

“Dad did almost arrest you the night you guys met, right? For murder? And you’ve had lots of problems with your ex-husband, right?”

I frowned at Bee Bee. “Yep, yep. And yep.”

“Dad keeps telling me you’re not like Dianne,” Chris said quietly.

“I’m not like Dianne,” I agreed.

He scowled at my hair. “But you are a little scary.”

***

Speaking of scary, we finally encountered some other hikers. You’d think this would have solved our most immediate problems. But our would-be rescuers, a middle-aged couple who clearly prided themselves on their hiking prowess and insane love of nature, took an instant and intense disliking to us.

We tried to explain our unusual appearance and arduous ordeal—the murder investigation, the kidnapping, our escape, et cetera, et cetera—but the Harveys, Wendy and Roger, remained unimpressed.

“You two were involved in the murder at the Wakilulani?” Wendy pursed her lips.

“We hear a couple of tourists did it.” Roger was even better at pursing his lips than his wife. He looked us up and down while Chris and I squirmed.

“We didn’t kill anyone,” Chris said.

“Although we are staying at the Wakilulani,” I added. “Did you happen to know Davy Atwell? I understand his Pele’s Melees were something of a legend.”

“We do not consume pink beverages, alcoholic or otherwise,” Roger informed me with another prim pursing of lips. “My wife and I drink nothing but green tea, pomegranate juice, and spring water.”

“Water!” Bee Bee exclaimed, and Chris and I nodded enthusiastically.

“We could really use some water if you guys have any extra.” Chris gestured toward Roger’s backpack. “Jessie and I are parched.”

“Missing happy hour, are you?” Wendy asked.

I folded my arms and glared. Clearly the we-should-be-rescuing-these-poor-dehydrated-creatures theme that Chris, Bee Bee, and I were ourselves so clear about was somehow lost on the Harveys.

Mr. Harvey directed the next scolding at poor Bee Bee. “Pets are not allowed on Kekipi Crater,” he said. “It is against trail rules.”

“Oh, for Lord’s sake!” I stopped glaring and stepped forward to once again explain our dire circumstances, but Roger was having far too much fun tut-tutting.

“Where’s your shirt?” he asked Chris. “We are not surfing here, you know? Kekipi Crater is not an amusement park. I’ve been saying for years that proper hiking gear should be required before any tourist is even allowed on these trails.”

He pointed smugly to his own outfit—a tee-shirt embossed with a save the planet logo, khaki cargo pants, a knapsack, no doubt filled with canteens, water bottles, and high-energy snacks, and last but not least, a pair of worn but sturdy-looking hiking boots.

I made the mistake of sighing forlornly at those boots, and the Harveys switched their attention back to me. Wendy kept her eyes planted firmly on my one bare foot while her husband produced my wayward flip flop from his backpack.

“Yours, I presume?”

I leapt for joy and lunged for my shoe. But Roger jumped back and, I swear to God, refused to hand it to me.

“Littering is a crime,” Wendy informed me.

I blinked at the fake daisy dangling just out of my reach. “Excuse me?”

“Littering,” Roger snapped. “I found this on the banks of this lovely river.” He pointed to the lovely river with one hand and flapped my flip flop in front of my nose with the other. “How dare you deface these pristine waters.”

Have I mentioned I was having a very rough day? I reminded the stupid Harveys of this fact and commenced wrestling Roger for my stupid shoe.

“Watch it,” Chris said, and we both turned.

He jerked his head toward me. “Jessie is one very tough woman, Roger. I’d give her the shoe if I were you.”

“Give her the shoe. If I were you.” Bee Bee liked the little rhyme of that.

I pried the shoe out of Roger’s stunned hand and slipped it on. Meanwhile Wendy reminded everyone that pets are not allowed on Kekipi Crater and poked her finger at our parrot. Chris stepped back, but bless his feisty little heart, Bee Bee lunged forward to take a bite. Wendy pulled away just in time.

“Bee Bee is one very tough bird,” I told her.

Chris cleared his throat. “We’re tough, but we need a lift. If you guys have a car anywhere near here, we really do need help.”

“That you do,” Roger agreed. He and his wife stepped away from us, apparently to discuss their options.

I turned to my companions. “Are they actually considering leaving us out here in the state we’re in?” I whispered. At that exact moment a swarm of particularly vicious biting insects decided yours truly was not in enough of a state. They zeroed in for the kill, and I lost it.

I stormed over to the Harveys. “If I do not get off this damn volcano this minute I am going to die!” I shouted. “Die!” I repeated. “Have you people not heard of the heebie jeebies!?”

I flapped my arms and took a couple more steps forward as Bee Bee commenced a sing-song round of “heeeebie-jeeeebie.”

But Wendy remained unimpressed. She told me my behavior left her no choice, and pulled a cell phone from her husband’s knapsack. It was hard to miss the other item she pulled out and handed to her husband. Was that really a mach—

“Stay back!” Roger shouted as he unsheathed his machete.

“What the hell?” I heard Chris say as I stumbled away from the blade.

Roger crouched into a ready-to-pounce stance. “We’re armed!” he informed us.

“No shit,” Chris said, and what with the absurdity of it all, I lost control yet again. But this time instead of having screaming-shouting-stomping-hissy-fit tantrum, I laughed. Oh, it was a downright psychotic laugh. But also downright cathartic. And apparently a bit contagious—Chris laughed, too.

“You might be armed,” I told Roger when I could speak again. “But trust me, you are no Skylar Staggs.”

“Huh?”

“Green tea and pomegranate juice,” I sputtered in disgust and returned to Chris and Bee Bee.

While my back was turned the Harveys took the opportunity to hide behind the nearest banyan tree. Roger poked his machete out so we could see it. “Don’t try anything funny!” he said, and Chris and I melted into another fit of laughter.

Wendy waited until we were quite finished to pop her head out from the other side of the tree. She announced she had just called the police, and they were on their way to come arrest us.

She waved her cell phone where we could see it. “I got reception!” she bragged and scurried away into the brush.

Roger swished his machete one last time. “Do not try to follow us,” he warned.

“As if,” Chris mumbled, and I laughed some more.

***

“You think she really got through to 911?” Chris asked after the Harveys had disappeared.

“Oh, absolutely,” I lied. I limped my way over to the nearest boulder and plopped down. “And I for one am not moving another inch until help arrives.” I glanced down the road. “Hopefully in a limousine equipped with running water and a shower.”

Chris told me a limo was about as likely as Alexis Wynsome’s white stallion, but he argued no further, set Bee Bee on a nearby branch, and sat down beside me.

Lo and behold, about ten minutes later the cops actually did arrive. We leapt for joy as two cars with flashing blue lights rolled up the road. Two police cars! They weren’t limos, and in fact were funny-looking things likely suited for off-roading on places like Kekipi Crater. But this was no time to quibble.

We waved enthusiastic greetings, but once again we seemed far happier to see others than they were to see us.

Two uniformed cops, one from each car, strutted over and surveyed us from head to toe. From the frowns on their faces, I gathered we weren’t all that pleasant a sight to behold.

“Names?” the female cop demanded, and we gave them our names.

“And this is Bee Bee.” I gestured toward Bee Bee who was perched back on Chris’s wrist.

“They fit the descriptions,” the male cop said to the female cop. “Except for her hair.”

My hair?

I turned to Chris, and he informed me I had a very bright, very large patch of purple hair on the top of my head. “From, umm, you know.” He tilted his head toward Bee Bee.

I closed my eyes and prayed for strength.

***

And strength I needed. Because the cops, Officers Higashi and Oskeen, seemed even less impressed with our plight than the Harveys had been.

They weren’t interested in our theory about Davy Atwell’s killer either. We had barely begun explaining Buster’s motives when Officer Oskeen the female cop interrupted. “What have you done with the Harveys?” she demanded.

I waved a dismissive hand. “They deserted us hours ago.”

“It was more like minutes ago,” Chris said quietly and pointed toward the brush. “They went that-a-way.”

Officer Oskeen frowned in said direction, and when she told us they were taking us down to the station, we bounded for her car.

“No!” Officer Higashi the male cop yanked Chris out just as he started climbing in behind me and pointed him toward the other car. “You come with me.”

“Wait a minute!” Chris and I protested in unison as I climbed back out.

“We’ve been through hell together,” I informed the cops. “Chris rides with me.”

“No.” Higashi none-too-gently shoved Chris toward the other car. “We don’t want you working on your story together.”

Our story?

Bee Bee must not have liked the ominous implications of that. The poor thing panicked and flew off into the bushes. And meanwhile the stupid cops continued pushing and shoving us into their cars, apparently under the impression we would desert the bird.

“Nooooo!” Chris and I shouted in unison. We struggled against the closing car doors and wrestled our ways out of the respective vehicles.

We stumbled back to each other and together stood our ground. “We don’t leave without Bee Bee,” I said.

“Never.” Chris spoke with as much authority as a bare-chested, severely dehydrated twenty-two-year-old could muster.

“So you’re resisting arrest?” Ms. Oskeen asked.

“Arrest!” we shouted.

“Arrest!” Bee Bee screeched and flew back to Chris.

Chris faced Officer Higashi and ordered him to back off. “I’ll get him into the car.” He tilted his head toward Bee Bee. “But it may take a minute. He’s kind of scared.”

Bee Bee finally allowed Chris to lower him into the back seat, and the three of them drove off without further ado.

I turned to Officer Oskeen. “Are we really under arrest?” I asked wearily.

Chapter 26

Disapproving cop-eyes followed my every move as Officer Oskeen escorted me through the Halo Beach Police Station and toward what I assumed was the closed door of Captain Vega’s office.

She rapped once, opened the door, and shoved me in. “Good luck,” she said. “You’ll need it.”

I stumbled into a rather crowded office. Chris and Bee Bee were already there. And an even nicer surprise, so was Wilson. Bee Bee offered me a welcoming bob-bow from his spot on top of Vega’s desk, and Vega snarled unpleasantly from his seat behind the desk. But Rye Senior was too busy hugging his son to notice me.

I smiled at Chris, especially when I saw the silly Hawaiian shirt decorated in bikinis that someone—Wilson?—had seen fit to loan him. Chris freed one arm and flapped it in my direction. “Hey, Jessie.”

Wilson spun around and caught me in his arms. Eventually he let go and held me up by my shoulders. It was hard not to notice the frown—make that, the grimace.

“I have had a very rough day,” I mumbled.

“What happened to your hair?”

Luckily, Vega saved me from answering. He ordered us to sit, and he and Wilson immediately dived into a heated argument about “what the hell was going on.”

I had no idea, so I stayed out of it and concentrated on Bee Bee. I might have descended into a zombie-like stupor, but Bee Bee still had some spunk. He rustled around in the papers on Vega’s desk making quite a mess of things. For some reason I found this most gratifying.

“I took one look at your laptop, still open and sitting out on our porch, and I knew Tessie was right to be worried.” Wilson was looking at me. Evidently he was speaking to me.

“Huh?” I said.