Carol Clark - Burned

A tan young waitress in a short, flowered shift approached Regan. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“An iced tea, please.”

“Certainly.”

Could Dorinda Dawes have stumbled onto something? Regan wondered. Did someone murder her because she found out who was causing trouble at the hotel? It was certainly possible.

The big Princess Ball was tomorrow night. If someone was trying to tarnish the reputation of the hotel, the Princess Ball was a perfect target. With all the press that would be there, as well as more than five hundred people from all over Hawaii, anything negative that happened would be written about, discussed, and rehashed for days.

She picked up the Waikiki Waters newsletter that had been published in early January, the last one Dorinda had worked on. Pictures of parties held at the hotel in the month of December filled the pages. The men looked great, but the pictures of most of the women were very unflattering. Everything from wide-open mouths to messy hair to clothing somehow out of place. One photo in particular caught Regan’s eye. A woman was laughing with her head thrown back. The camera seemed to have been pointed up her nose. She was standing next to Will. Regan read the name below.

It was Kim, Will’s wife.

The newsletter had been printed when Will was on vacation, Regan realized. Dorinda’s photo captions included descriptions like “only twice divorced,” “recently slim,” and “planning marriage number four.” She glanced through the rest of the newsletters, and they all seemed fairly tame-obviously Will’s influence.

Oh, Dorinda, Regan thought. It does seem that you had a talent for striking a nerve-a lot of nerves. But did you get someone upset enough to kill you?

Every instinct told Regan that the answer was yes. But who? And what did the shell lei around Dorinda’s neck signify?

J azzy awoke in one of the downstairs guest rooms at Steve’s house. It was ten-thirty. She and Steve had stayed up until nearly four o’clock shooting the breeze. She got out of bed, wrapped herself in a luxurious white terrycloth bathrobe, and went into the spacious marble bathroom that was bigger than many people’s bedrooms.

First she brushed her teeth with the toothbrush she now left in residence at Steve’s house, and then splashed water on her face. “That helps,” she murmured as she patted her face dry with an Egyptian cotton towel. Staring at herself in the mirror, she again analyzed her cute, almost tomboyish reflection. She knew that guys didn’t feel threatened by her and were comfortable having her around. Work it, baby, she told herself.

Her cell phone rang in the bedroom. She hurried over and checked the caller ID. It was her employer, Claude Mott.

“Good morning!” she answered.

“Where are you?” Claude asked. Jazzy could picture Claude with his wispy goatee and head of thinning gray and black hair. He was slight in stature but had been a powerhouse at buying and selling companies. Now he wanted to stretch the left side of his brain by designing Hawaiian shirts, bathing suits, and muumuus. His first line would debut in the gift bags at the “Be a Princess” Ball, the ball that Claude Mott Enterprises had helped to underwrite.

“I’m at Steve’s house. I stayed here last night, and today I’m going over to the Waikiki Waters to do some work on the gift bags. How’s everything in San Francisco?”

“It’s a business trip. Business is business is business. Deals, deals, deals. That’s why I have my house in Hawaii, so I can get away from it all and design my Hawaiian clothing.”

“I know, Claude, I know.”

“You know, I know, we know. As we speak it becomes apparent to me that you have not yet read this morning’s papers.”

“What do you mean?”

“I spoke to Aaron. He’s at the house. He told me that there’s an article today about the dead woman that focuses on the royal shell lei around her neck. I hope this doesn’t mean that people will get disturbed and not want to wear my clothes with the same beautiful shell lei design.”

“That won’t happen, Claude,” Jazzy assured him. “The chairman of the ‘Be a Princess’ Ball committee called me last night to report that all this attention has helped ticket sales.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“What else are you putting in the gift bags?” he asked in a grumpy tone.

“A bunch of junk so that your items will be the big treat.”

“What kind of junk?”

“A key ring with a miniature plastic palm tree, pineapple soap that smells like ammonia, and a small bag of macadamia nuts that will have people running to the dentist. Believe me, your Hawaiian shirts and muumuus will stand out.”

“Good. That’s good. Because you know, Jazzy, I think that’s where my true genius lies.”

“I agree, Claude. I am doing my best to make sure everyone in Hawaii takes notice of Claude’s Clothes. The shell lei you drew for the fabric is so beautiful, so intricate.”

“Well, how many days did I go to that Seashell Museum to study the royal lei they’re auctioning off? How many? You think that idiot Jimmy would have trusted me with the lei. I could have taken it home and done an even better replication. But no.”

“After the robbery all those years ago, I guess he was afraid to let it go.”

“He’s not a good businessman.”

“I don’t think many people would accuse him of that.”

“I should say not. If I showed up at a meeting with bare feet, I don’t think people would want to do business with me.”

“Claude,” Jazzy began in her most comforting tone, “the ‘Be a Princess’ Ball will be a huge success for us. You will get the attention you deserve.”

“I hope so. I’m flying in tonight. Will you be there to pick me up at the airport?”

“Of course.”

“Did you get me a room at the Waikiki Waters for the weekend? I want to be there and make sure my clothes are in those bags.”

“I booked you a suite.”

“What would I do without you?” Claude wondered aloud.

“I don’t know,” Jazzy answered.

After she hung up the phone, Jazzy went upstairs where Steve was reading the sports section of the paper and sipping coffee.

“Where are the guys?” she asked as she helped herself to a cup of delicious Kona coffee.

“They went out to the beach.”

“You didn’t go?”

“No. I’m going to spend the day with Kit at the hotel.”

“That’s where I’m heading. Can I grab a ride with you?”

“Sure. I have to be there at lunchtime.”

“Perfect. We can all have lunch together,” Jazzy said breezily.

Steve looked up from the paper. “That should work.” At least I hope it will, he thought. He liked Kit and was hoping that they could spend some time alone today. Her friend Regan was around but didn’t seem like the type to get in the way. Not like Jazzy.

“So,” Jazzy cooed as she took her first sip of coffee. “You seem to like this Kit. Maybe you should bid for the princess lei for her.”

“I don’t know.” Steve handed her the paper with the article about Dorinda Dawes. “These leis must have a curse on them. What is it they say about lava from the Big Island? If you take a piece of it home with you, you’re in for trouble. Something tells me it’s the same story with the two royal leis. They originally belonged to a queen who was forced to abdicate her throne and a princess who died young. Who would want them?”

“Well, don’t spread that word around,” Jazzy replied a little testily. “Claude will have a fit. He wants everyone to love those leis. It’s the signature of his fabric.”

“And we don’t want to upset Claude,” Steve muttered with a tinge of sarcasm.