Carol Clark - Burned

The next paragraph in Dorinda’s notebook was about the planning for the Princess Ball at the romantic Waikiki Waters Playground and Resort-the excitement about auctioning off one of the royal leis that had been in the Seashell Museum for years; the food; the decor; the clothing with the shell lei design in the gift bags; and the charity that would benefit young artists in Hawaii.

Gus dabbed at his eyes when he came to the end of the unfinished article. Dorinda had written, “Finally the night of the ball arrived.”

“She never got to write the outcome,” Gus whispered sadly. Didn’t Beethoven have an unfinished symphony? he wondered. It sounded familiar.

Gus put down the notebook and sipped the coffee. I’ve always had a knack for reporting, he thought. In high school I wrote a few articles for the paper. He glanced over at some of Dorinda’s clothes that were thrown on the armchair in the corner. Poor little D, he thought sadly. She could be a brat, but she didn’t deserve to die like that.

“I’ll finish the story for you, Dorie,” Gus said into the air. “I’ll make it a tribute to you from your beloved cousin Gus. Or Guth, as you called me when you were a baby.” The more Gus thought about it, the more excited he got. I’ll bring the notebook over to the hotel today and show it to Will, he thought. I’ll tell him my plans. Then I’ll spend the day on the beach and come back to get ready for the ball.

Cousin Dorie, I won’t let them forget you.

A t a little after eight Regan snuck out of the room as quietly as she could. Kit had gotten in at about three. Regan had heard her, glanced at the clock, and fell right back to sleep. On the way home last night she had called Mike Darnell. He told her to drop off the beer bottle at the police station and he’d take care of it in the morning. Regan tossed and turned when she went to bed, wondering again if she had gone overboard.

Down on the beach, Regan began to walk. It was still early, and there weren’t many people around. A few morning strollers were out, but only a couple of diehards had already staked their claim of land with their towels, beach chairs, and umbrellas. Regan walked out to the end of the jetty and sat. The water was splashing up against the rocks. Everything felt so peaceful and calm. It was going to be another beautiful day in paradise.

She sat for about ten minutes and then got up. It was easy to imagine how someone could slip on these rocks, she thought. They’re wet and a little slimy. Carefully Regan walked back to the sand and, carrying her shoes, headed toward the hotel. She passed a group of six people in Hawaiian print shorts who were obviously out for an early-morning constitutional.

Regan spotted Jazzy sitting at a small secluded table by the pool with a man who looked like a sourpuss. Regan wondered if he was her boss. She took the path that would bring her closest to the table on her way to the breakfast buffet and made sure to catch Jazzy’s eye.

“Oh, hello, Regan,” Jazzy said when Regan waved.

“Hi, Jazzy.” Regan couldn’t believe she was calling her Jazzy. “All set for the ball tonight?”

“Oh, yes.”

She’d better introduce me to this guy, Regan thought. He’s buried in the breakfast menu, but he’ll have to lift his head sometime soon. “I’m so glad the leis are back, aren’t you?”

“You better believe it,” Jazzy answered. “Regan, have you met my employer, Claude Mott?”

“I don’t believe I have.” Regan approached with a big smile and extended her hand to Grumpy. “Regan Reilly. Nice to meet you.”

He looked up and smiled wanly. “I’m sorry. I am no good before I have my coffee.”

“I can understand that. I always feel more human after my first cup of the day. I’m looking forward to seeing your clothing tonight.”

“You won’t be disappointed,” Claude muttered. “After tonight we’ll go back to my house on the Big Island, and I will design, design, design.”

“Jazzy told me you have a wonderful home over there,” Regan said, doing her best to be endearing. She wanted to get some inkling as to why they ended up in Dorinda’s dirt file, and she figured graciousness was the best approach. “Where is your house?”

“It’s up in the hills a few miles from the Kona airport.” Claude kissed his fingers. “It’s magnificent. The only problem is that there are people building a house on the next piece of property. I haven’t met them, but believe me, they have no taste.”

“The problem will be solved when you sell that house and build one here near Waikiki,” Jazzy noted coyly.

Regan got the impression that was something Jazzy was pushing. She wants to be where the action is. The Big Island is beautiful but much quieter. “Well, fences make for good neighbors,” Regan commented, wanting to prolong the conversation even though it was clear they weren’t going to ask her to join them.

“The problem is the fence!” Claude exclaimed. “They just put up a barbed wire fence lining my property. What are they building up in the woods there? A prison?”

“You can’t see the house because it’s a very wooded area,” Jazzy explained. “Very rural and very wonderful. But Claude can’t understand the need for the barbed wire.”

“When are they moving in?” Regan asked.

“Word is, in the spring sometime. I can’t wait to get a look at who these people are. Two women, I’m told.” Claude’s focus went back to the breakfast menu. Regan took that as a sign that he didn’t want any more small talk.

“Enjoy your breakfast,” she said. “See you later.”

Will was already in his office, looking a little more relaxed. “Today’s the big day, Regan.”

“I know. Did you have a good night last night?”

“I’m so glad my family is back. Kim is terrific. I told her everything. She didn’t even get too upset about my mother being on her way.”

“That’s great. I just saw Jazzy and Mr. Personality outside.”

“Claude?”

“Yes. What a charmer.”

Will laughed. “Tell me about it.”

“Will, did you get the number for that couple I met on the beach the other night?”

“Yes, I did.” He handed her a piece of paper with their room number and extension. “Regan, you’ll be interested to know I just got a report that the girl’s mother called this morning. She’s worried because she hasn’t heard from her daughter since early yesterday morning. She called several times, and no one answered the phone in the room or their cell phone. She was sure Carla would be calling nonstop with ideas for her wedding.”

Regan looked concerned. “Have you gone into the room?”

Will shook his head. “Not yet. They could be sleeping. They could have unplugged the phone. We can knock on the door in an hour or so, but I don’t want to disturb them yet. It’s still early.”

“But if they’re not there…” Regan began.

“Sometimes people take a room for a week but go off for a day or two to one of the other islands. They’ve already paid for the room, and they don’t want to pack up everything. Our guests have that right. If they just got engaged, they could have gone anywhere to celebrate.”

“I suppose,” Regan said. “But please let me know when you go into their room. I do want to talk to Carla. You know, Will, if this young woman did indeed see something suspicious the night Dorinda died, she might be a target-”

“For whoever might have killed Dorinda,” Will finished. “Let’s hope that they just had a lot of champagne yesterday and are sleeping it off.”

“Believe me, I’ll be happy if the worst thing they’re suffering from this morning is a hangover,” Regan commented. “Now, about that tour group that escapes the rain to be here thanks to the guy who left them ten million dollars-where would I find them?”