Carol Clark - Burned

The phone on Janet’s desk rang. She rolled her eyes. “I bet this is about the ball.”

“I’ll get out of your way.” Regan closed her notebook and stood. “I’ll take a look at everything in here.” The manila envelope was in her hands.

“I’ll be in all day. Give me a call or stop by if you need anything.”

“Thanks very much,” Regan said and walked out of the office and into the bustling open-air reception area. A poster for the Princess Ball was propped on an easel next to the concierge desk. SOLD OUT! was written across the top. ACCEPTING NAMES FOR THE WAITING LIST.

Oh, Dorinda, Regan thought. Maybe not the way you wanted, but you certainly have made your mark.

B ob and Betsy were in their room sitting together at the desk where their laptop computer was open and running. Handwritten notes were scattered all over the bed. A pot of room service coffee was at their side, and Bob had just proposed a way to do research for their chapter of the relationship book.

“I don’t know,” Betsy hesitated. “It doesn’t seem that exciting to go out in the world and pretend to be Bonnie and Clyde.”

“It doesn’t?”

“Not at all.”

Bob took off his glasses and used the bottom of his T-shirt to give them a good cleaning. It was something he did many times a day, more out of habit than the fact that his glasses were fogged. “I think it would help our marriage.”

Betsy looked aghast. “What’s wrong with our marriage?”

There was a pause. “Nothing,” he muttered. “Nothing that can’t be fixed with a little old-fashioned excitement.”

“By acting like we’re criminals?”

“Yes. If we’re writing a chapter about how to keep a relationship exciting, then we should offer a smorgasbord of ideas to keep the fires burning. Pretending to be devilish is one of the choices.”

“That’s what Halloween is for,” Betsy replied as her face developed a pinched look. She was beginning to think there was something seriously wrong with her husband. Ever since he’d gotten into a chat with that book publisher who wandered into town looking for a couple from Hudville to write a chapter for his book, Bob had started to go nuts. The publisher had traveled the country looking for couples from all different backgrounds to share the ways they kept excitement in their relationship. Bob had leaped at the chance for him and Betsy to represent the rainy states. The only problem was, he was not exciting in the least. Neither was she, but that was his fault. He’d made her boring.

As Betsy looked down and folded her hands, she thought longingly of her college boyfriend Roger. Where was he now? If only they had ended up together. If only he hadn’t met that other girl who got her hooks into him during a semester at sea. Betsy couldn’t go because she got seasick. Roger said he’d go for five months and get in enough cruising for a lifetime. Huh! I should have gone and taken Dramamine, Betsy reflected. Her mother had tried to comfort her by singing “Que Sera Sera,” but it only made things worse. Then she’d heard that Roger and Nautical Nancy had had their reception on a boat.

If I’d married Roger, she mused, I wouldn’t be living in depressing, soggy Hudville. If I were vacationing with Roger in Hawaii, we’d be out on the beach with a mai tai in our hands instead of sitting in the hotel room thinking about ridiculous ways to liven up other people’s lives. Roger and I would have paid for the trip ourselves instead of having to win a lottery to get here. If only…

How had she stood thirty years with boring Bob? It was impossible to believe. He’d had the same menial job for twenty-eight years in a store that sold drain pipes. Business was brisk in Hudville. The book publisher had spotted the store when he was driving through town, and the rest, as they say, was history.

Now Bob put his hand on her thigh. Inwardly she cringed.

“Itsy Bitsy?” he whispered softly, using his nickname for her.

“What?”

“It’s important that we write this chapter.”

“Why?”

“It’ll make our lives more exciting. When the book is published, we’ll travel with the other couples in the book. It could change our lives. But most important, it’s a gift for our children.”

“Our children?” Betsy’s voice went up an octave. “How is it a gift for our children?”

“Our children are wonderful, but they’re a little dull. I don’t know how they got that way. I just don’t understand it. They’ll need this guidebook. They are both married, thank God, but if they don’t liven up, I’m afraid their spouses will leave them.”

He must be on drugs, Betsy thought. That’s the only answer. “Jeffrey and Celeste are wonderful people,” she cried indignantly.

“You never hear a peep out of them.”

“Yes, but they have deep thoughts.”

“Deep thoughts don’t get you anywhere unless you share them.” Bob patted her thigh again. “Now, I was thinking. Little Joy says there are problems going on around the hotel. Why don’t we walk around the hotel today and pretend we’re the criminals? Let’s just see what trouble we might be able to find.”

“Around the hotel?”

“Yes. The hotel is having problems. If we think like criminals, maybe we’ll figure out what’s going on. It’s called role-playing. Who knows? We could end up being heroes. It’s just a little game.”

At this point Betsy felt it was useless to protest. “All right,” she relented. “But only if we start at the bar.”

R egan passed the sign for the Princess Ball, with Princess Kaiulani dressed in native garb smiling down on the hotel guests, then went over to the house phone and dialed her room. There was no answer. She then pulled out her cell phone and called Kit’s cell. Kit answered after three rings.

“Regan, I’m out on a boat!”

“Where?”

“In back of the hotel. I met some people after breakfast who were going out for a quick sail. I’ll be back in a little while. Steve is coming over at lunchtime. Let’s meet in the bar by the big pool at noon.”

“Sounds good.”

Regan walked out to the smallest of the Waters’ five pools and took a seat in the shade of a large striped umbrella. Elvis was crooning “Blue Hawaii” from poolside speakers. Regan pulled out the newsletters from the envelope Janet had given her and retrieved the notebook from her purse.

Well, it was clear enough that Dorinda Dawes could make enemies. Regan couldn’t believe that even her mother had an unpleasant experience with her. Regan clicked her pen and started jotting down a few notes.

Dorinda had started working at the hotel in mid October. The problems at the hotel had started around that time. I’m sure Dorinda would have loved to expose the culprit on the front page of the newsletter, Regan thought. She unfolded a sheet of legal paper that was behind the newsletters. It was a handwritten list of the hotel’s problems.

Regan’s eyes scanned the offenses. Leaky pipes. Toilets overflowing caused by foreign objects not meant to be flushed, such as full tubes of suntan lotion. Oversalting of food. Complaints from guests that small convenience items were missing from their rooms: toothpaste, body lotion, the coffeemaker. A faucet turned on in an empty room that caused a flood. Jars of bugs opened and left in guests’ rooms. Complaints from numerous guests that one of their sandals or sneakers went missing from their room.

A thief who steals one shoe. Regan pondered what that meant, if anything. The Waikiki Waters had a phantom who was clearly out to annoy.

How does someone get away with this for three months without being discovered? Regan wondered. Maybe there’s more than one phantom. This could be the work of several people.