Carol Clark - Burned

“Do you have any other family?” Regan asked.

“A few distant cousins on my mother’s side, but they’re strange.”

“How long are you planning to stay in Hawaii?” Will asked.

“I figured as long as I’m making the trip and have a place to stay, I may as well make the most of it. I figure about ten days. I want to see the Dole plantation and do some sightseeing. Hey, I hear that a few months back thousands of pounds of bananas were stolen from a farm up north. I hope those thieves acted fast. After a couple of days what are you going to do with them? They start to smell and they attract flies.” His eyes crinkled as he laughed. “I say they should check and see if there’s a cereal convention going on around here. That’s the most likely spot for all those bananas!”

Will smiled trying to be polite. “So you will clear Dorinda’s things out of the apartment when you leave?”

“Oh, yes. I spoke to the woman at her apartment in New York. She has Dorinda’s apartment for a few more months. Then I’ll take a trip to New York and clear things up there. It’s a good thing I love to travel. It’s good to get away. Who knows? Maybe I’ll stay here until Dorie’s lease is up.”

“Gus,” Regan began, “I was wondering if I could go with you to Dorinda’s apartment. I want to see if there’s anything there that might be helpful in figuring out what might have happened…”

“Be my guest,” Gus said. “I was told I could get a set of keys from the superintendent. Do you want to come with me now? Because, let me tell you, once I get in that bed and fall asleep, I’ll be out for twelve hours. But tomorrow I’ll be ready to rock and roll.” He turned to Will. “I see you’re having a big ball tomorrow night. Any chance I could get a ticket? I love to party.”

“I’m sure we could arrange that,” Will said.

“Grand! Let’s go, Regan. I’m dying to get out of these clothes.”

Will looked at Regan and smiled.

“I’m ready,” Regan said, winking at Will. Wait till Jack hears about this, she thought.

N ed went back to his room, not quite believing that the people he had sold the lei to thirty years ago could be Will’s parents. How is it possible? he wondered. But how many other people could be called Bingsley and Almetta? It was thirty years ago, and I still remember being surprised by their names. And he remembered how intently Almetta had stared at his feet. Maybe she had forgotten. Not that it mattered. He had no intention of exposing his feet to them even though Will wanted him to take them swimming and boating tomorrow.

When he got to the room, he was grateful that Artie was nowhere in sight. He flipped on the TV. A reporter was talking about the theft of the shell leis.

“In broad daylight a brazen criminal went up and grabbed them off the picnic table outside the Seashell Museum, but not before brutally shoving the owner to the ground…”

“It wasn’t that hard,” Ned protested to the television.

“…The owner did not get a look at his assailant but says he’s sure he saw a flash of some sort of yellow. It’s not a lot to go on, but the police are determined to track down and put the coward who perpetrated this horrendous act behind bars.”

Ned went white. My yellow knapsack. I left it in the alleyway. Did it have anything in it that would identify me? He raced out of the room and, too impatient to wait for the elevator, took the stairs to the main floor two at a time, and once again jumped into a cab. I can’t get caught, he thought. No matter what, I can’t get caught.

W ill arranged for a driver from the hotel to take Regan and Gus to Dorinda’s apartment. It was located several blocks from the beach in a two-story pink building with a small parking lot right in front.

“Not exactly glamorous,” Gus declared when the car stopped, “but the price is right.”

This guy is classic, Regan thought. He’s about to enter the apartment where his dead cousin has been living for the past couple of months, and all he’s thinking about is that he can stay for free. The driver offered to help with Gus’s bag, but Gus had a suitcase with wheels and seemed pleased to cart it himself. He rang the super’s bell and identified himself as, once again, the cousin.

The super handed over the keys and shut the door.

“She lived on the second floor,” Gus proclaimed cheerfully.

There was no elevator, so he lifted his suitcase, and Regan followed him up the steps. On the second-floor landing Gus turned and announced, “Here we are!” He unlocked the door to 2B and pushed it open. He reached for the light switch and flicked it on. A small but cozy living room lay in front of them. Straight ahead a round diningroom table was pushed up against a bay window. The table was covered with papers. A desk against the wall was also overflowing with clutter. Photographic equipment was scattered around.

“From the way it looked out front, I expected worse,” Gus declared, “but this place is kind of cute.”

“It is,” Regan agreed, wondering if the bright blue couch was a Bernadette Castro special. A multicolored area rug, two beige over-stuffed chairs, and a coffee table filled with Hawaiian knickknacks filled the room. Framed prints of various sunsets covered the walls. Regan glanced briefly in the bedroom, which was tiny. The bed was made, but some clothes were thrown on a chair. In the bathroom, toiletries filled the shelves. A compact kitchen was located just off the dining area. The place was clean but messy. Dorinda had clearly made her mark.

Gus walked around. “I have to say it is a little depressing to think that Dorinda is dead. Now that I see her things, I wish we’d seen each other a little more.”

“I can understand. I’m sorry.” Regan walked over to the desk and looked at the framed pictures. One was a group shot obviously taken at a party. A beaming Dorinda was gazing up with adoring eyes at a tall guy in a tuxedo. Regan picked it up, inspected it closely, and was shocked to realize that the guy Dorinda was gazing up at was Steve! I can’t believe it, she thought. She looks like she’s in love with him.

“No family photos,” Gus commented as he looked around. “Well, everyone except me is dead, and Dorie was hardly the sentimental type.”

“You don’t mind if I go through a few of the things on her desk?” Regan asked.

“It’s all the same time to me. I’ll bring my suitcase into the bedroom and start to get settled. I’m going to need to lay down soon.”

“I won’t be long.”

“Take your time,” Gus practically ordered in his booming voice. He took out his handkerchief and heartily blew his nose. “I get so stuffed up on planes,” he commented. He waved his handkerchief around and then crammed it back in his pocket.

He must have driven Dorinda nuts, Regan mused. She turned and picked up the photo once again and looked at Steve and Dorinda. He obviously knew Dorinda but hadn’t said much about her. Regan sat down and sorted through the papers that were all over the desktop. There were scribblings on various sheets of paper. Notes to do errands and take pictures. She pulled open the top drawer where she expected to find a jumble of pens and paper clips. Instead there was a lone tan file marked PROSPECTIVE DIRT. Regan’s heart skipped a beat. She opened it. The first thing she saw was a last will and testament of someone named Sal Hawkins.

Who’s that? Regan wondered as she started to read.

“I, Sal Hawkins, being of sound mind and body, do hereby leave all my earthly possessions, including cash and the proceeds from the sale of my house, to the Praise the Rain Club for future trips to Hawaii.”