03 - Three Odd Balls (7 page)

“What did you two talk about?” I asked.

“You and Wilson. I asked Chris why he doesn’t like you. Surely you’ve noticed?”

“What did he say?”

“Well now, you know about Christopher’s mother? Wilson’s wife?”

“I know nothing!” Louise complained, and so I filled her in on the details. Lisa Rye had died of cancer when Chris was twelve.

“But how completely and totally awful! Poor Chris. Poor Wilson. Poor Lisa!”

I nodded. “Wilson doesn’t like to talk about it.”

“Both of the Rye boys were devastated for years,” Mother added. “But things got better once Chris entered high school. And when he started dating, he convinced his father to give it a try also.”

“But neither father nor son ever got serious about anyone,” I explained. “Until Wilson and me, that is.”

Mother cleared her throat. “I don’t think you have the full story there, Jessie.”

I tilted my head and contemplated Bee Bee. “Oh?” I squeaked.

He tilted his head. “Oh?” he squeaked back.

“Wilson had a lady friend when Chris was in high school,” Mother informed us.

“Oh?”

“Oh, indeed!” Louise exclaimed. “At long last—the mystery man’s deep dark secret!”

“Secret!” Bee Bee said.

“Deep dark,” I elaborated and scowled at my mother. “Why haven’t I heard about this mystery woman before?” I asked. “What’s her name? Where is she now? What happened?”

“Her name is Dianne Calloway. But I didn’t have a chance to find out what all happened between her and Wilson. When I asked last night, Chris said he needed a pink drink.”

“No pink drinks yet,” Buster called out. He was carrying a tray of food up the path to the swimming pool pavilion. “It’s time for your lunch, and then we’re decorating.”

“Lunch?” Louise asked.

“Decorating?” Mother asked.

“Dianne Calloway?” I asked, but no one was paying the slightest attention to me, since Buster had set down his tray and was distributing plates of seafood salad sandwiches, replete with potato chips, pickles, and some sort of tropical fruit slices. Okay, so maybe I was hungry.

Mother asked Buster to join us, but he refused a seat and instead wandered around our chairs, picking up the occasional stray leaf or twig and scolding us for missing breakfast. “Breakfast is new here.” He frowned at a fallen flower petal. “I thought the Wakilulani should give it a try. I make good pancakes.”

“Pancakes!” Bee Bee said enthusiastically.

“Bee Bee never misses breakfast on the patio,” Buster informed us. “He likes my pancakes.”

“Your sandwiches are fantastical, too,” Louise said. She tore off a corner of bread for the bird, and Bee Bee stepped over to share.

While Louise and the bird communed over the remnants of her sandwich, Mother and I made excuses for missing breakfast. Buster fretted, but eventually agreed we had needed to sleep in—what with jetlag, and murder, and cops, and not getting to bed until after sunrise.

He dropped his handful of debris and pointed down to The Big House. “But now that you’re rested and fed, I need your help with the Christmas tree. I set it up this morning. And I bought all new ornaments this year. Come see.”

“A Hawaiian Christmas tree!” Mother said. “Doesn’t that sound like fun?” She and Louise stood up and donned their cover-ups, but I refused to budge.

“Dianne Calloway,” I reminded them and turned to Buster. “We were kind of in the middle of something before lunch.”

“Oh, Jessie,” Mother scolded and gestured for me to stand up. “Surely that can wait until later? There’s a tree to decorate.”

“But what about Wilson’s mystery woman?” I whined from my lounge chair. “What about his deep dark secrets?”

“Mystery woman? Secrets?” Buster bent over and stacked our empty plates back onto the tray. “Is this about last night?”

“Nooo,” I said. “It is not.”

“We are quite certain Jessica’s paramour has an intriguing past,” Louise said casually. “But we can worry about that some other time. There’s a tree to decorate!” She gestured to Bee Bee, he hopped onto her outstretched wrist, and the two of them meandered away toward The Big House.

Buster looked at my mother. “Paramour?”

“Louise is just being silly,” she assured him. “Wilson Rye is as darling and wholesome as can be.”

Wholesome? I might have scowled at that assessment, but Buster didn’t notice. He picked up his tray, offered my mother a cocked elbow, and they, too, began to wander off.

“Don’t you be a Scrooge, Jessie,” Mother called over her shoulder. “Come help us.”

I gave up on pouting and was buttoning my own cover-up when I noticed the Hoochie Coochie Brothers waving their ukuleles at me.

“We’ll play Christmas carols to get you in the spirit,” Hal, or maybe it was Cal, said, and the two of them clamored off their porch toward The Big House.

I was about to follow, but the Song of the Sea bungalow suddenly captured my rapt attention. Hadn’t a light been on at the Coochie cabin the previous night? When I was taking my walk? I tilted my head. When Davy Atwell was stabbed?

I glanced down at The Big House, where the first chorus of “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” was just getting underway. Santa was making a list of who was naughty and who was nice.

Taking a wild guess as to which category I fell into, I flip-flopped over to Song of the Sea.

Chapter 7

Bless their ukulele-playing hearts, Hal and Cal had neglected to lock their door.

I tiptoed inside and stood at the foot of one of the twin beds. Wilson and I hadn’t spent much time checking out this bungalow when we were settling in the previous day. We had seen the twin beds and moved on without further ado.

“Time to rectify that,” I whispered to myself and took a closer look around.

Two open ukulele cases were tucked away in one corner, and a stack of fliers advertising the ukulele jamboree was piled on a nightstand, but otherwise the place was neat and tidy. No murder weapon, no bloody clothes, nothing.

I walked into the bathroom. A couple of towels were hanging over the shower rack. But again, no blood.

I went back into the main room, where one of the dressers caught my eye. Reminding myself I was on the naughty list anyway, I opened the top drawer. Lo and behold, a wallet stared up at me. Reminding myself I was on the naughty list anyway, I picked it up and studied Hal Coochie’s driver’s license.

“Anything interesting?”

I jumped ten feet in the air. And Hal’s wallet flew across the room and landed in one of the ukulele cases.

Once I was steady on my flip flops again, I hazarded a glance in the direction of the doorway. Wilson Rye. Frowning. His big, intimidating, cop-like frown.

“Umm,” I said. “How was the hike?”

“What the hell are you doing?”

I had absolutely no idea.

“What are you doing?” I tried.

“Your mother sent me to look for you. They’re almost done with the tree.” He raised an eyebrow. “And you?”

“Almost done!” I jumped again. “Well then, I need help!” I dived into gathering up the contents of Hal’s wallet, which were now scattered everywhere. But at some point I realized I was working alone. Wilson had not moved.

I looked up from the credit cards that had landed on one of the beds. “Help me!” I pleaded. “They’ll be back any minute.”

He stepped inside and finally, finally started to pick up a few things. “I cannot believe I’m helping you cover your tracks.” He found the wallet and assembled the miscellaneous wallet-stuff from the other bed.

“Come on, Wilson,” I said as I handed him the stack I had gathered. “It’s not like I was going to steal anything. I’m not a criminal, for Lord’s sake.”

He stopped his sorting and stared at me. “Probably not,” he mumbled after far too much contemplation.

We put the wallet back together as best we could, put it back where I had found it, and got the heck out of there.

***

Personally, I was ready to join in all that Christmas cheer happening down at The Big House. But as soon as we rounded the swimming pool pavilion, Wilson grabbed my elbow and held me back.

“Go ahead,” I told him. “Get it out of your system.”

He did so, and in hushed but stern tones, reminded me how we had agreed to leave things to Captain Vega. Then he moved on to the part about how I could have been caught pilfering the Coochie bungalow. He concluded with a scathing assessment of my questionable character and poor judgment. Yadda, yadda, yadda. Naughty about sums it up.

I waited patiently until he was quite through. “Dianne Calloway,” I said, and it was his turn to jump ten feet in the air.

Thus I launched into a scolding of my own. Yadda, yadda, yadda. I commenced a lengthy rant, questioning why his deep dark secrets needed to be so very deep and dark, and why I was reduced to learning the vital details about his past from my mother of all people. “My mother!” I stamped my flip flop and offered an indignant huff.

“Tessie told you the details?” he asked.

“No!” I practically shouted, and we both jerked our heads toward The Big House. “She doesn’t know the details,” I said more quietly, and Wilson breathed a sigh of relief.

“Yet,” I added ominously.

“Well then.” He took another deep breath. “Let’s get back to Vega, shall we?”

I folded my arms and glared. “Go ahead, Wilson. Change the subject.”

Unfortunately, he did so. “I know it’s hard to leave things to Vega.” He was back to his annoyingly calm and sensible self. “It’s hard for me, too. You get it?”

“Let me guess. It’s out of our jurisdiction.”

“Our?”

“Okay, your. It’s out of your jurisdiction. But Captain Vega doesn’t seem all that interested in what happened. He hasn’t been here all day.”

“What? No way.”

“I certainly haven’t seen him.” I turned to face the Song of the Sea, this time from a safe distance. “They stay here every year, you know?

“The ukulele players?”

“They come for The Yuletide Ukulele Jamboree.”

“And?”

“And therefore,” I glanced back at Wilson, “both of the Hoochie Coochies must have known Davy Atwell. At least one of them could have had a motive.”

“Such as?”

“Heck, I don’t know. But they arrived just hours before the guy got killed. And their light was on when I walked by their bungalow last night.” I shrugged. “It seemed suspicious when I thought about it, so I decided to check it out.”

“What? In hopes of finding the murder weapon?”

“Exactly.”

“You’re a little scary. You know that?”

***

“Kekipi Crater rocks!” Christopher Rye announced the minute we entered The Big House.

“That tree rocks.” I pointed to the huge Christmas tree, which now dominated a significant portion of the lobby.

“Rocks,” Bee Bee agreed from his vantage-point up in the rafters.

“It’s fantastical,” Louise said, and Bee Bee agreed with her also.

Mother stood up from where she was hanging miniature leis on the lower branches. “Aren’t these just darling, Jessie?” She jiggled a little orange lei. “Buster did a good job selecting ornaments, didn’t he?”

Buster was wringing his hands as usual, but was clearly pleased with the results of his efforts. “We need to remember the season, no matter what happened last night,” he said. “Ki would be very upset with me if the tree wasn’t up.”

“Your brother?” Wilson asked.

“He’ll be here any minute. He has to help out now. You know, now that Davy’s gone.”

Everyone murmured inane sentiments about the recent tragedy. But lest the party become too morose, the Coochie brothers hopped up and delved into a rousing rendition of “Oh, Christmas Tree.” Remembering the season, as it were.

“So!” I said loudly as the last chord was struck, or strummed, or whatever. “Speaking of trees, how was your hike?”

I had turned to Wilson, but it was Buster who answered. “It must have been great,” he said. “They went up the Maka Koa trail to Flint Ridge. That’s always been my favorite spot. Ki’s, too.”

“Flint Ridge rocks!” Chris said.

“But we never did find Pele’s Prison,” Wilson added.

“Excuse me?” I asked.

“It’s a cave,” Hal, or maybe it was Cal, Coochie said. “Locals know about it, but few tourists ever find it.”

“Technically it’s a lava tube,” the other Coochie added and then explained the geological process on the formation of lava tubes. “Pele’s Prison isn’t the largest tube, but it is the most interesting.”

“You guys like hiking?” I asked as the incongruous image of the Coochie brothers playing their ukuleles in a cave struck me.

“Oh yes! Kekipi Crater has some of the best trails on all the islands,” one of the brothers informed me, as the other waxed poetic about the bird-watching opportunities near a place called Juniu Ledge. “We make a point of going up there every year while we’re here,” Coochie Number One continued.

“I’m sure it’s beyond fantastical,” Louise said. The hikers might have missed the sarcastic drip, but I noticed. Geez Louise is about as interested in wilderness exploration as I.

“No heebie jeebies?” I asked and began looking Wilson up and down for bug bites, rashes, and other assorted, jungle-related, red itchy spots.

Chris shook his head in disapproval. “I can’t believe you’re scared of the woods.”

“Jessie isn’t scared of anything,” Wilson mumbled. “Unfortunately.”

“It’s not the woods, it’s the bugs.” Mother looked on as I lifted Wilson’s arms and inspected them for any tell-tale signs of the heebie jeebies. “Jessie’s hated bugs ever since she was two and toddled into an ant hill.”

“But you must do some hiking while you’re here,” Buster encouraged me. “Some of the trails are very easy. I promise.”

“Are there shoe stores on any of them?” Louise asked.

***

“I suppose I can’t claim the ocean gives me the heebie jeebies,” I said.

“Why do I know this will be completely and totally un-fantastical?” Louise said.

“This should be interesting,” Wilson said.

“I can’t wait to hang ten!” Mother said and scurried off toward Christopher Rye and the five surfboards he had lined up at water’s edge.

Wilson patted my bottom and followed Tessie.

Louise and I continued staring aghast. “I barely know how to swim,” she murmured.