Carol Clark - Burned

“No doubt I would. It’s a small hotel, and rumor is that they’ve already run out of gin.”

“Nothing like a good snowstorm.” Regan laughed as she gazed through her sunglasses at the clear blue sky.

“What’s going on in sunny Hawaii?” Nora asked.

Regan looked out the window of the cab at the beach in the distance. “Well, Mom, I’m on the job again.”

“What?”

“A hotel employee drowned yesterday. Her body washed ashore early in the morning. The police think it was an accident, but the hotel manager isn’t so sure. And she was wearing a royal shell lei that had been stolen from a museum here over thirty years ago. The manager asked me to check things out.”

“That’s terrible. What did she do at the hotel?”

“She wrote and took pictures for their newsletter. Apparently she wanted to start her own gossip paper. She moved here from New York just a few months ago. She had written for several different publications back there.”

“Oh,” Nora said as she turned up the heat in the kitchen. “What’s her name?”

“Dorinda Dawes.”

“Dorinda Dawes!”

“Yes. Do you know her?”

“Regan, she interviewed me about twenty years ago. I’ll never forget that name. I really got burned by her.”

“What do you mean?”

“She was young and aggressive and had the ability to get you to say things you normally wouldn’t. I guess that’s what a good interviewer does. Up until then I had never talked about the time when Dad and I were on our honeymoon and I got into serious trouble out in the water. We were down in the Caribbean. I was in the ocean and started getting pulled under. I waved to Dad on the beach. He waved back. I waved again. Finally the lifeguard realized I was in trouble. He rushed into the water and saved me. Dad didn’t realize I needed help.”

“He thought you were just being friendly.”

“Regan!”

“Sorry, Mom.”

“For some reason I started telling her the story. It didn’t seem like a big deal. We had been talking for a couple of hours, and this was just before she left the house. It ended up being the headline of her story. ‘MY HUSBAND ALMOST LET ME DROWN,’ LAMENTED FAMED MYSTERY WRITER NORA REGAN REILLY.”

“I don’t remember that,” Regan said.

“You were about ten years old. It was during the summer. I think you were away at camp.”

“The article must have made Dad really upset.”

“Not as upset as I was. All his friends teased him that he was looking for more business. It ended up being a funny story that our friends would tell at cocktail parties, though when it first came out, we weren’t laughing. But, Regan, I find it hard to believe Dorinda drowned. The way she got me to open up about that story was because she admitted to me she was afraid of the water. She said she’d been at the beach right before a hurricane when she was a kid, got knocked over by a big wave, and pulled under. She told me that she hated going in the ocean from that day on, but she loved swimming in pools.”

“She hated going in the ocean?” Regan repeated.

“According to what she told me that day. She said she never told anyone that story because it made her feel weak and vulnerable. The discussion started because she flattered me that a scene in one of my books where someone drowned was so real that it gave her chills.”

“Then Will might be right. This wasn’t an accident.”

“It’s hard to say. She could have been just trying to soften me up to say something stupid, which I did, but she was so convincing. Be careful, Regan. If she wasn’t acting, the Dorinda Dawes I met all those years ago made it clear that she would never even dip her toes in the ocean alone, day or night. I wonder what happened.”

“That’s what I’m working on.”

“And what was she doing with a lei that was stolen even before I met her?”

“I’m working on that, too.”

“Where’s Kit?”

“I think she’s on the beach with the new guy.”

Nora sighed. “I wish you were there with Jack.”

“Believe me, Mom, so do I. I’ll talk to you later.” When Regan hung up the phone, she tried to absorb what her mother had just told her. One thing seemed certain: More than twenty years ago Dorinda was already writing stories that embarrassed people. Had she done that here and antagonized someone who wanted revenge? Regan was anxious to go back and read everything that Dorinda had written since she’d stepped off the plane in Hawaii three months ago.

W ill shut the door of his office. He dreaded making the call, but he knew he had no choice. He poured himself another cup of coffee. It had that muddy look that comes from being on the burner so long a lot of the water has literally dried up. But he didn’t care. He could barely taste a thing.

He sat at his desk, pulled the phone closer to him, and buzzed his secretary. “Janet, hold my calls.”

“Whatever.”

Whatever is right, he thought to himself as he dialed his sister’s number in Orlando. Will’s parents had gone there for Christmas and were staying for the month of January, taking side trips to other Florida cities to see their retired friends. He steeled himself for their reaction to what he had to tell them. The last thing he needed was for his parents to give him a hard time.

The owners of the hotel were already on his case. They were warning him that the “Be a Princess” Ball had better be a huge success, critically and financially. They weren’t happy that an employee had drowned and then washed up on their beach. “It’s all image,” they told him. “We want the Waikiki Waters to have a happy, positive image. People come from all over the world to enjoy themselves at our fine establishment. They don’t want to come to a place marred by scandal and overflowing toilets!”

Will swallowed as his sister, Tracy, picked up the phone.

“Tracy, it’s Will,” he began, attempting to sound cheery. He hated having to call his parents at her house. She’d be hanging on to every word of their conversation with him, sticking her nose into his business. She wouldn’t miss one word despite the fact her three kids were screaming in the background.

“Hi, Will,” Tracy answered. “How’s it going out there? Any toilets overflow today?”

“No, Trace,” he said, gritting his teeth. “I need to speak to Mom and Dad.” Some ohana I have, he thought-ohana being the Hawaiian word for family.

“Hello, Will!” his mother chirped as she picked up the extension. “Bingsley!” she yelled to her husband. “Pick up the phone in the bedroom. Will’s on. Are you there, Will?”

“I’m here, Mom.” Will could hear his father’s breathing as he slowly brought the phone to his mouth.

“I’m on, Almetta,” his father grunted. “Hey, big guy. What’s up?”

“Hi, Dad. Trace, would you mind hanging up? I have something to discuss privately with Mom and Dad.” He knew she’d hear about it anyway, but he wanted her off the phone.

The phone clicked in their ears. No more sounds of screaming kids.

“She’s off,” his mother said gaily. “What’s going on, dear?”

“You know that lei you gave me when I moved to Hawaii?”

“My gorgeous shell lei?” his mother asked.

“That would be the one. Where did you get it?”

“Son,” his father said, “you know that we bought it in Hawaii thirty years ago.”

“I know in Hawaii, but where in Hawaii?” Will asked, trying not to sound impatient. “Did you buy it at a store or at a stand on the street?”

“I remember that day very clearly,” his mother declared triumphantly. “Do you remember, Bingsley? We bought the bathing suits for the kids and then we saw that boy at the airport who sold us the lei. You wanted to buy a special present for me, but we hadn’t found anything. Then right before we got on the plane to go home, I spotted that lei the boy was trying to sell! It was so beautiful. I have always loved and treasured it, and I just know it brought me luck. That’s why I gave it to you, Will, so you would have good luck in Hawaii. If you had to move so far away, I wanted you to have something that would remind you of me every day. You promised to always keep it hanging on your living room wall.”