Carol Clark - Burned

Regan smiled. “Especially if their group members are stealing your towels.”

Will chuckled and rubbed his eyes.

“When are your parents arriving?” Regan asked.

“Tomorrow.”

“And your wife?”

“Tonight, thank God. It’ll give me a little time to help her get used to the idea of their being here. And then the lei…”

Regan stood. “I’m going to see if Jazzy is around. I understand Dorinda’s cousin is coming by later. Could you please call me when he gets here? I’d like to talk to him. Maybe he’ll let me take a look at her apartment. There might be something there that will be helpful…”

“Okay.”

“And don’t worry, Will. You’re doing the right thing. I would love to find that kid who sold the lei to your parents.”

“They’ll be here tomorrow. I’m sure my mother will be happy to describe his toes to you.”

Regan smiled. “I can’t wait to meet her.”

“I think I inherited ESP from my mother,” Will said, his face very serious. “I know it sounds crazy, but I have a very strong feeling that the person who killed Dorinda and the thief who stole the lei are among us.”

“I’m doing my best to find them,” Regan said as she walked out the door. The storm of the century in New York City would have been a lot easier to handle than this, she thought.

W hen Ned, Artie, and Francie returned to the hotel after their surfing expedition, Ned felt as if he was being propelled by a jet engine toward the Seashell Museum. He was desperate to see the lei that he had worn around his neck ever so briefly thirty years ago. And he wanted the lei to be his. He knew it would give him a feeling of power if he stole it again. He also knew that was kind of pathetic. He hadn’t spent ten years in therapy for nothing, but he didn’t care.

It was three o’clock when the van dropped them off at the hotel.

“Shall we get a bite to eat and then go to the beach?” Francie asked.

“I can’t,” Ned replied quickly.

“But I thought you said you were hungry,” Francie protested.

“I am. But I’m going to take a shower and then check in at my boss’s office. He loves you guys, but he might want me to pay attention to some of the other hotel guests. I’ll have a drink with your group later.”

Francie made a face. “Then maybe I’ll go to the spa and see if I can get a lomi lomi massage and a seaweed wrap.”

“I feel as if I just had a seaweed wrap,” Artie commented. “Getting knocked over by a couple of those waves made me feel like I was one with the ocean.”

“But you liked it, right?” Ned asked.

“I suppose,” Artie agreed begrudgingly.

Back to his friendly old self, Ned thought.

The two of them walked to their room, and Ned jumped in the shower. Artie pulled a bottle of chilled water out of the mini bar and went out on the lanai. They had a nice view of the beach, and it was pleasant to sit and relax as the heat of the day and the strength of the sun started to fade. It was as though the world were mellowing out.

But not in the shower. Ned soaped up as fast as he could, rinsed his muscular body, and turned off the faucet. He grabbed a towel and dried off. Back in the room, he pulled a pair of shorts and a shirt from his drawer and quickly dressed. He slipped his feet into a pair of worn Top-Siders, glancing at the pair of sandals he’d bought on a whim in one of the hotel clothing stores. I should make myself wear those, he thought. Who cares what people think of my toes? But not now. He didn’t want to be conscious of his feet at a time like this, even though it would be fitting. The last time he stole the lei was the last day he ever wore sandals. For a brief moment he considered that wearing the sandals might bring him luck.

But he decided against it.

And what am I thinking wearing these Top-Siders? he mused as he kicked them off. I might have to do some running. He picked a pair of socks out of the drawer, sat down on the bed, and put them on. He slid his feet into his sneakers. I could use the PF Flyers I had when I was a kid, he thought with a smile. He always loved their commercials. Kids could run and fly and help people in danger. Ned always thought of the ways he could get into trouble if he could fly. And I blame that on my childhood. I can’t help it. Always being made fun of doesn’t exactly lay the groundwork for a healthy, well-adjusted adult. But I’ve stayed out of trouble these past few years. Now this lei! The thought of it made him move faster.

He dashed over to the terrace door. “See you later,” he called to Artie.

Artie spun around. “Come down to the beach when you’re free. Francie’s going to join me there after her spa treatment.”

“Yeah, sure,” Ned said and waved his hand. He turned, grabbed a baseball cap and his empty knapsack out of the closet, and hurried out of the room before Artie tried to make any more plans. No two ways about it, Artie was a strange agent. His late-night walks on the beach. His constant flexing and unflexing of his hands. His total lack of savoir faire with women. Ned had seen him in the bar trying to make time with a couple of the ladies. No one was interested. When Dorinda Dawes took his picture, he tried to flirt with her. Even though she was a world-class flirt, she moved on quickly. First Bob had hit on her and then Artie. She must have had some opinion of the Lucky Seven. Poor Dorinda. To think we both started working here at the same time.

Ned walked out of the room and called information from his cell phone for the address of the Seashell Museum. He hadn’t been there in a while. He bought a map in the store that sold newspapers, postcards, and travel guides, and pinpointed its location.

In the front of the hotel he jumped in a cab and gave an address several blocks from the museum. He didn’t want any taxi driver saying he had brought a guy from the Waikiki Waters to the museum. They took off, drove for several miles, and finally stopped along a stretch of lonely road in front of the beach.

“This it?” the driver asked.

“Yes.”

“Nothing much around here.”

“I want to take a quiet walk.”

After fifteen minutes of strolling along the sand, the museum was in sight. His pulse racing, Ned remembered the feeling he’d had thirty years ago. He had been a kid; now he was older, but it made no difference. He felt the same excitement, the same pounding in his heart. But everything was quiet. There was no one on the beach, and the museum was set off on its own. He wandered over, approached the steps to the museum, and noticed that off to the side there was a picnic table. A guy with a toga was sitting there facing the westward-moving sun, his back to the table. It looked as if he was meditating. His eyes were closed and his palms outstretched, facing up. Is that the guy who made such a stink about the robbery thirty years ago? Ned had seen him on TV the day after the theft. He seems to be wearing the same outfit, Ned thought.

As Ned got closer he could see the two historic shell leis lying on the table. He was astonished. There they were, just feet away. Do I dare? he wondered.

Of course. How could I not? So close and yet so far. He could always say he was only taking a look.

Ned crept over as quietly as he could. With his index fingers he picked up the leis just as the meditator opened his eyes, smiled contentedly, and started to turn around. Before he knew what hit him, the large man was shoved violently and fell headfirst onto the pavement.

The pain in the meditator’s head was tremendous, but it was only when he pushed himself to his feet, turned around, and saw that the leis were missing that he began to scream. Jimmy’s ungodly howls could be heard for miles.