O'ahu Lonesome Tonight? (Islands of Aloha Mystery Series #5) (3 page)

 “What do
you want to do?” I said. “After all, this is
your
wedding. Jake wants to
stall but I always tell brides they have the final say. This may be your last
opportunity to get your own way on things.” I gave her a smile but she didn’t
return it.

I went on.
“What I’m trying to say is, I’ll do whatever you want me to do.”

The bride was
stunning in a strapless ivory taffeta gown. She’d pulled her glossy auburn hair
into an ‘up do,’ and even with minimal make-up she looked like a Walt Disney
princess. Steve had come home from taking the formal photos and announced that
of all the couples he’d met since he’d been working with me, Rebecca was the
only bride who’d caused him to pause and take notice. He’d even offered to take
twice as many photos for the same price if the couple would allow him to use
some of them on his website.

“I don’t know
what to do,” she said. She stared out the window as if hoping she could conjure
up the missing best man by sheer will.

“We can’t wait
much longer,” I said in my ‘take charge’ voice. “It’s not fair to your guests.
This place has ceiling fans, but no A/C. It’s starting to get pretty sticky out
there.”

“I know.” Her
shoulders sagged. Then she did the unthinkable: she plopped down on the stiff
velvet sofa next to the window.

“Rebecca!” I barked
her name a little louder than necessary. But she was wearing taffeta, and
everyone knows unwrinkled taffeta and sitting are mutually exclusive.

“You know, I
guess I do know,” she said as she stood up. She fluffed out her skirt. “I’m
sorry to do this to you, but I need to go.”

At first I
thought she meant she had to go to the bathroom. Then I realized she didn’t.

“You’re
leaving?” I said.

“Yeah, sorry,
but I can’t do this. I know why Andy isn’t here.”

“Don’t tell
me
you’re sorry. What about Jake?”

“Oh yeah, I’m
sorry about him too.”

“Do you want me
to go get him so you two can talk?”

“No. I don’t
know what I’d say. Just tell him I’m really sorry but this is what’s best for
everybody.”

“Is this about
Andy?” I said. It was none of my business, but hey, it was
about
my
business. How had I not picked up on her hesitancy before?

“I’d rather not
say,” she said.
Which, of course, said everything.

Rebecca
gathered up her things and bustled out so quickly I didn’t have time to round
up the bridesmaids to stage an intervention. I was left with an ugly to-do list
and no clue where to begin.

***

When I headed
home late that afternoon I was wiped out. I’d had
jiltings
before, but thankfully I haven’t become so jaded I can simply shrug them off.
They’re painful and humiliating. The guests had made their way out of the
community center as though they’d just attended a funeral. Hardly anyone spoke
and those who did used hushed voices. There was a lot of head shaking and quick
hugs in the parking lot.

I’d stayed
behind to console the groom and the bride’s parents. The groom’s parents had
huffed out right behind the final guests. Maybe they figured their son had
dodged a bullet but they were wise enough to know this wasn’t the time to point
it out to him.

The groom was
nearly inconsolable. He kept saying things like, “Me and Andy have been friends
since first grade,” and “Rebecca told me she didn’t hardly like Andy.” Jake
didn’t look like he was crying; it was more like he was leaking. He kept
mopping his wet face with the sleeve of his coat and I hoped the fabric
wouldn’t pucker. I had no desire to explain the whole sad situation to the
folks at the tuxedo rental place.

The bride’s
parents were furious. They kept asking how much, given the circumstances, they
would owe and I kept dodging the question. Of course they owed all of it. There
was a seldom read, but quite legal, clause in my contract which stated that
charges would ensue for all vendor services unless the bride or groom fell sick
or were injured in such a manner that the wedding could not proceed as planned.
And even if that happened their only remedy would be to re-schedule.

I felt bad for
them, though. The mother was mortified and the father was angry. They argued
back and forth, each one blaming the other for their daughter’s shortcomings.
Phrases such as “spoiled brat,” “ungrateful bitch” and “she’s just like you”
were bandied about with little restraint.

I was glad this
was my last wedding for a few weeks. I needed a break from drama.

I got home and
collapsed at the kitchen table. Luckily for me, my wise and noble roommate
didn’t comment on the debacle; nor did he ask me if he’d be getting paid for
the zillion photos he’d taken the day before when the would-be bride and
soon-to-be groom were still making goo-goo eyes at each other.

“I made you
curried vegetables and brown rice,” he said.
“Your favorite.”

“There’s a
special corner in heaven for you,” I said.

“Yeah, and a special corner of you-know-where for that gorgeous
girl who trashed that poor loser in front of all his family and friends.”

“She did what
she had to do,” I said. “I’m not happy with how she did it, but I respect that
she didn’t get up there and lie through her teeth while she took her vows.”

“I disagree,”
he said. “I think it would’ve shown a lot more class to go through with it and
then catch a plane to Reno and quietly undo it all.”

“Well, at least
it seems Farrah’s happy,” I said. “She and Ono left this morning.”

“You’d think a
fourteen-hour boat ride would be tougher than a half-hour flight,” he said.

“I know. I’ve
done that trip and it’s not for the faint-hearted.”

“I hope she
doesn’t freak out and want to turn back. I’m looking forward to crashing with
her at the Royal Hawaiian.”

“Yeah, I hope
she’ll be okay,” I said. “So when’s your appointment with
Go Hawaii
?”

“Monday
morning. That gives me the entire weekend to see what I can pick up in
Waikiki.” He rubbed his hands together and grinned.

“Well, whatever
you ‘pick up’, make sure it’s not something that requires penicillin to fix.”

 “Oh,
listen to you, Miss Mother Superior Mary Margaret. You know I’m careful. I’ve
never gotten more than a cold from a date. And that cold was way worth it.” He
sighed and looked off as if lost in the reverie of a very ‘worth it’ evening.

Time to change the subject.
“I need to talk to Hatch before
I leave tomorrow,” I said. “He said he’s requesting extra shifts so we can have
time together when I get back. I hope he gets someone to trade with him.”

“Oh, I’m glad you
reminded me. Hatch left a voice mail while we were at the non-wedding. There’s
a note by the phone.”

“Why do you
always do this?”

“Do what?” he
said.

“Forget to give
me my messages.”

“I don’t
forget. I write them down. Now you want me to write them down
and
tell
you? What am I, your butler?” he said.

“I like the
ring of that, my
butler
. From now on—”

“Don’t get
ahead of yourself, missy. If I score this gig with
Go Hawaii
I’ll be
making enough coin to hire my own butler.”

***

I called Hatch
and he was as giddy as a kid catching his first wave. “You aren’t
gonna
believe this,” he said. He stopped for a dramatic
pause. “I got called out as a Hot Head.”

I knew Hatch
had a temper, but I never thought he’d be pleased about being branded a ‘hot
head’.

“Who called you
a ‘hot head’?”

“The Hot Heads
are an elite
wildland
firefighting unit. My chief put
in a good word and I got picked to go to training in Montana. I leave on
Sunday.”

“That’s great.
So we’ll both be gone at the same time.”

“Yeah, except
my training lasts three weeks. And if something pops up while I’m over there I
may get sent out to fight a fire.”

“Huh.
Wildland
firefighting.
Why would they choose to train a guy from Hawaii to fight
forest fires? It’s not like we have redwoods over here.”

“Because
wildland
fires aren’t just in
forests.
Some of the worst ones are fast-spreading brush fires. And
we’ve got tons of those. Remember when that fire shut down the
Pali
Highway for two days? It was a
freakin
’
mess. Nobody from the West Side could get to the airport.”

“Well,
good
for you. I’ll miss you but I’m glad you get to do
something you love.”

“Babe, if I was
doing something I love, it would be you.”

I let him have
the last word on that and promised I’d call when I landed in Honolulu the next
morning.

***

I tried to pack
for all possibilities. I didn’t know if Jeff wanted to spend time sightseeing,
going to the beach, hanging out in bars and clubs, or what. It had been his
idea to meet in Honolulu for his vacation week but neither one of us had talked
about what we wanted to do once we got there. I think he expected me to play
hostess since I still live in Hawaii, but it’d been nearly ten years since I’d
lived in the city. And, after a decade, both Honolulu and I had changed so much
we were back to being strangers.

I got to bed
early but I didn’t sleep well. I often have trouble sleeping before a trip.
That’s one of the reasons my career as a federal air marshal was so
short-lived. I rarely slept well the night before a flight. So, I’d be already
tired when I boarded my mind-numbing thirteen hour flight to Taipei. An hour
after take-off I’d be pinching my arm trying to stay awake. Two hours later I’d
be deep in the
zzz’s
. Since the whole reason for
having an armed guard on an airplane is to keep an eye on things, it kind of
defeated the purpose if my eyes were closed. I’d been embarrassed and humbled
when I got fired for dereliction of duty, but I didn’t beg for another chance.
There was no point. For me, the hum of jet engines and the cushy leather seats
in first class—they usually seated us in first class to be closer to the
cockpit—just triggered my brain to go nighty-night.

But it wasn’t
just the next day’s flight that was keeping me awake. I was excited to see my
brother again. And, if possible, I might be meeting some new members of my
family, or
ohana
.
Just recently I’d
learned I had a slew of brothers and sisters from my father’s side. I wasn’t
sure how I felt about seeing them after all these years, but I’d decided it
didn’t matter. I’d already lived without them for thirty-five years. If we
weren’t a ‘good fit’—that’s how the feds described my air marshal career, I
wasn’t a ‘good fit’—then more than likely this meeting would be a one-time
thing. Whatever the outcome with my new siblings, I was looking forward to
catching up with the brother I’d been raised with. And I
was
also loving
the idea of an entire week with nary a whiny diva bride,
clueless groom or Devil-Wears-Prada mother-of-the-bride in sight.

Seven days of
nothing but rambling around a vast pulsing city without a care in the world. No
wonder I couldn’t sleep.

CHAPTER
5

On Saturday
morning I drove to the Kahului Airport ticking off the things I wanted to do in
Honolulu. I hoped Jeff was up for playing tourist at least some of the time. I
was looking forward to getting lost in the cheesy hustle of Waikiki’s
International Market. I wanted to hike to the top of Diamond Head and also pay
my respects at Pearl Harbor. I wanted to take a tour of ‘
Iolani
Palace, the home of the last Hawaiian king and queen. No doubt during the
coming week I’d eat too much and probably end most days with a few too many
adult beverages, but I wanted to spend at least a portion of every day
reacquainting myself with my ‘made in Hawaii’ heritage.

I parked the
Mini and took my suitcase out of the back seat. I would’ve used the trunk, but
have you seen a Mini trunk, or as the Brits who made it would say, ‘boot’? It’s
about the size of a microwave oven. Getting anything in through that narrow
hatch is like threading a needle. But I love my new car. For years I drove an
ancient phlegm-green Geo. I’d racked up more mileage on that sorry vehicle than
most mainland truckers. It was the butt of nonstop ridicule so I’d gotten used
to parking out of sight and slinking in through back doors. Now, with my new
car, I was slowly getting used to having complete strangers compliment me on my
cool ride.

I looked back
at the Mini and smiled. Its perky grill smiled back. “See you in a week,” I
said. Then I looked over one aisle and saw a guy shoot me a weird look. I
attempted to salvage my dignity by waving ‘bye-bye’ to a complete stranger in a
passing car.

I landed at
Honolulu International Airport at nine-thirty in the morning. In most big
cities that would be long past rush hour. But Honolulu isn’t just famous for
its sky-high real estate prices. It also ranks as one of the top five most
traffic-congested cities in the world. Forget what you see on Hawaii-Five-O.
All those neck-snapping car chases and squealing tires are just wishful thinking.
It takes
hours
to get from one end of
O’ahu
to
the other. And if there’s an accident it will take mere minutes for the highway
through Honolulu to become a parking lot.

While I waited
for Jeff’s plane—or the worst news possible, whichever came first—I called
Hatch.

“Hey, how’s it
going? I made it to Honolulu but I’m still waiting on Jeff’s plane.” I didn’t
let on about my worst fears. Hatch would tell me I was over-reacting, and I
didn’t want to quarrel.
Especially when he was probably
right.