Carol Clark - Burned

“What are you talking about?” Regan asked.

Kit didn’t seem to hear her. “I don’t believe it,” she said with alarm.

Regan’s grip tightened on the phone. “Kit, what’s going on?”

“People are suddenly running down to the water’s edge. I think a body just washed ashore!”

“Are you kidding?”

“A woman just tore out of the water screaming her head off. It looks like she came across the body when she was out for a swim.”

“Oh, my God.”

“Regan, you’re not going to let me stay by myself here this weekend, are you?” Kit inquired meekly. “This place could be dangerous.”

“I’ll call the airlines.”

N ora Regan Reilly looked up at the snow falling on the skylight of her third-floor tower office at home in New Jersey. Normally a little snow would contribute to the cozy setting where she wrote her mystery novels. But the blizzard was causing havoc in her life and, it seemed, everyone else’s in the tri-state area.

“Regan, I’m so sorry you won’t be in New York this weekend.”

“Me, too, Mom.” Regan was in the bedroom of her Hollywood Hills apartment packing a suitcase with summer clothes.

“ Hawaii doesn’t sound so bad.”

“It will be good to spend time with Kit. Things have been so busy, I know I’d never take a weekend like this otherwise.”

“Your father has a big funeral scheduled for tomorrow. I don’t know how it can possibly happen. They say the roads will be treacherous. Most of the relatives are from out of town. They’re staying at a hotel nearby.”

“Who died?” Regan’s question was not an uncommon one at the Reillys’ dinner table. Her father, Luke, was a funeral director. And with her mother, Nora, being a suspense writer, there was a lot of talk about crime and death around the house. The Waltons they were not. Regan was an only child, and as a result she had been privy to more adult conversations than most kids growing up. It seemed to be common with only children, Regan had long ago decided. Jack was one of six kids. She loved that. Soon they’d have the best of both worlds.

“Ernest Nelson. He just turned a hundred and had been a championship skier. He lived in an assisted-living facility in town, and his family is scattered all over. His wife just died last year.”

“He was one hundred years old?”

“He celebrated his hundredth birthday in a very grand style two weeks ago. The family threw him a big party. Now they’re all back to bury him. And there are a lot of them. He has eight children who all have numerous grandchildren. I think they’re going to be here for a while.”

“He sounds like the type who wanted to reach that milestone before he gave up. Somehow the weather seems fitting for his funeral.”

“That’s what they’re all saying, Regan.” Nora paused. “Have you told Jack your plans?”

“Of course. We’re both disappointed that I’m not in New York for the storm, but I’ll be there next weekend.”

“How long will you stay in Hawaii?” Nora asked as she sipped steaming tea from the Imus in the Morning mug she was given the last time she was on his radio show.

“Just until Monday morning.”

“Do you and Kit have any big plans out there?”

Regan dropped a red one-piece bathing suit into her suitcase. With her pale skin she wasn’t a sun worshipper, but she did enjoy taking a dip and then sitting under an umbrella. She had inherited her black Irish looks from her father. Raven-haired, blue-eyed, and fair-skinned, she was five feet seven inches tall. Luke was six-foot-five and his hair was “long since silver,” as he liked to call it. Her mother was a petite blond and had a more patrician look. “We’ll sit on the beach, maybe do some sightseeing. I think Kit has her eye on a guy who lives in Waikiki.”

“She does?”

“Well, she mentioned something about a few people she met who have retired young out there or gone to start second careers. One of them sounds interesting.”

“Kit’s probably happy she can’t get home then.”

“I think you’re right, Mom. She only admitted it to me when I called her back with my flight information. But as she said, a long-distance relationship takes on new meaning when you’re talking about Connecticut to Hawaii.”

Nora laughed. “I’m sure you two will have fun. Be careful in the water. Those currents out there can get pretty strong.”

She has that Irish intuition, Regan marveled. Or was it her motherly radar? Regan was not going to mention that a body had washed ashore in front of Kit’s hotel room, but her mother probably had a sense of something. When Regan had called Kit back, Kit was down on the beach. The body had been identified as Dorinda Dawes, a woman in her forties who was an employee of the Waikiki Waters. She had started there three months ago and was the hotel’s roving photographer and reporter, in charge of their newsletter. Kit had met her at one of the bars at the hotel where Dorinda was taking pictures of the guests.

When she washed ashore, Dorinda wasn’t wearing a bathing suit. She was wearing a tropical print dress and had a shell lei around her neck. Which meant she wasn’t out for a casual swim.

No, Regan had decided. No sense mentioning it to her mother. Let Nora think she was going to have a relaxing weekend at a peaceful Hawaiian resort. Who knows? Maybe things would turn out that way after all.

But knowing her pal Kit, she somehow doubted it. Kit could find trouble at a church picnic. And once again it looked as if she had. Sometimes Regan thought that’s why they were such good friends. In their own ways, they both had an affinity for the hazardous side of life.

“We’ll be careful,” Regan assured her mother.

“Stick together. Especially when you’re swimming.”

“We will.” Regan hung up, zipped up her suitcase, and glanced at the picture of her and Jack on the dresser. It had been taken moments after they got engaged in a hot air balloon. Regan couldn’t believe how lucky she was to have found her soul mate. They’d met when her father had been kidnapped and Jack was on the case. Now Luke always joked that he never knew he had such good matchmaking skills-after all, Regan and Jack got to know each other while he was tied up on a boat with his chauffeur. But they were terrific together and had so much in common, especially their senses of humor. What they both did for a living also made them kindred spirits, and they often discussed their cases with each other. She had dubbed him “Mr. Feedback.” At the end of every conversation he always told her he loved her and to be careful!

“I will, Jack,” she said now to the picture. “I want to live to wear my wedding dress.” But somehow as Regan spoke the words aloud, they seemed to get caught in her throat. Brushing off the odd feeling of uneasiness that came over her, Regan pulled the suitcase off the bed and headed out the door. Here I go on my bachelorette weekend, she thought. How bad can it be?

A s Regan’s plane made its descent into Honolulu, she peered out the window and smiled at the sight of the red neon letters on top of the airport tower-A-L-O-H-A.

“Aloha,” she murmured.

When she got off the plane, a rush of warm fragrant air hit her. She immediately pulled out her cell phone and called Jack. It was late in the evening in New York.

“Aloha, baby,” Jack answered.

Regan smiled again. “Aloha. I just arrived. The sky is bright blue. I can spot a row of palm trees swaying in the breeze, a pagoda in a garden below, and I really wish you were with me.”

“Me, too.”

“What’s happening in New York?”

“The snow is coming down fast and furious. I had a couple of drinks with the guys after work. People are out on the streets having a great time, throwing snowballs and pulling kids on sleds. Someone already built a snowman that is standing guard outside my building. But he doesn’t have much to do. Crime goes down during snowstorms.”