Burned Read online

  “Thanks, but a friend is picking us up in a few minutes. Can we get a rain check on that?” Kit asked.

  “Of course,” he answered. “Perhaps tomorrow.”

  “We’ll be here.” Kit smiled. “Now we’re just going to drop Regan’s suitcase in the room.”

  As they walked off, he could hear Regan Reilly ask, “What’s the story with the lei?”

  Will hurried back to his office, his heart racing. A computer whiz, thanks to all the organizing he had to do at the hotel, he quickly looked up Regan Reilly on the Internet. She was a well respected detective who was the daughter of the mystery novelist Nora Regan Reilly. Will had seen guests reading Nora’s books by the pool. Maybe Regan could do some work for him. Thank God he’d been nice to Kit and extended her room. Goes to show. Be nice and it’ll often pay off. One hand washes the other and all that.

  Will thought about going home but decided to hang around. What would he do if he went back to his empty house anyway? Watch the TV reports about Dorinda Dawes? No way. I’ll stay here until they get back. Hopefully it won’t be too late. Then I’ll buy them a drink and see if I can get Regan Reilly on the case.

  6

  “I can’t believe she was wearing an antique royal lei that belonged to the queen and was stolen thirty years ago!” Regan said to Kit as she wheeled her suitcase into the room that had two double beds covered with pale green and white floral quilts. Sand-colored carpeting and dressers and a sliding glass door that opened onto the balcony with the water view gave an immediate feeling that one had stepped into a zone of calm and relaxation. Just like the travel brochures promised.

  Instinctively Regan walked over to the door and slid it open. She stepped out, leaned against the rail, and stared at the vast turquoise ocean. A warm tropical breeze fluttered around her, the sun was gently sinking into the West, and the sky had a beautiful pink cast. It all seemed so peaceful. People were meandering along the beach, palm fronds swayed gently below the balcony, and the reporters covering the Dorinda Dawes drowning were gone.

  Kit came up behind her. “It’s a perfect time for a piña colada.”

  Regan smiled. “I suppose it is.”

  “Steve will be here in a few minutes. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all. I’m a little tired from the flight, so it’s good to keep moving. I want to meet this guy.”

  “He thinks we have a lot in common,”

  “Like what?”

  “We both have grandmothers who are eighty-five.”

  “It’s a start.”

  “You’ve got to start somewhere,” Kit laughed.

  “True enough.” Regan turned and looked back at the beach. “It’s hard to believe that Dorinda Dawes was probably walking this beach last night. When did you meet her?”

  “Monday night at the bar. A bunch of us from my company were there after our last seminar. She was taking pictures. She sat down with us for a few minutes, asked a lot of questions, then moved on to the next table. You could tell she was the type who tried to get people to say things they’d regret.”

  “Really?”

  “Nobody in our group took the bait. She was a lot nicer to the men than she was to the women.”

  “One of those, huh?”

  Kit smiled. “One of those.”

  “Was she taking notes?”

  “No. She was just acting like the life of the party. And she asked everyone to speak their names into the camera after she took their picture.”

  “Was she wearing a lei?”

  “No. But she had a big orchid in her hair.”

  “So where did she get the lei she was wearing when she died? And who stole it thirty years ago?”

  Kit shook her head and looked at her best friend. “I knew it would get to you, Reilly.”

  “You’re right. It does. You know, drowning is the most difficult form of death to diagnose. It could be murder, suicide, or an accident.”

  “The police believe it was an accident. She used to walk home on the beach every night. Well, Steve will be here soon,” Kit noted, hinting that Regan should get moving.

  “I’ll be ready in fifteen minutes,” Regan promised. She could tell that Kit was excited about this guy and didn’t want to keep him waiting. When you find out your grandmothers are the same age, the sky’s the limit, Regan thought with a smile.

  Twenty minutes later they were standing in the reception area when Steve pulled up in his big, expensive Land Cruiser. Kit waved enthusiastically and hurried to open the front door. Regan hopped in the back and breathed in the new-car smell. Steve turned around and extended his hand to Regan.

  “Hello there, Regan Reilly.”

  “Hello, Steve,” Regan said, having no idea of his last name. He certainly is cute, she thought. He looks like that clean-cut Wall Street I-deserve-to-be-rich kind of guy. He had on a baseball cap, khaki shorts, and a short-sleeved shirt. He was tanned, with brown hair and brown eyes. On the seat next to him Kit was glowing. They should be in an ad for something that makes you happy, Regan thought.

  “Welcome to Hawaii,” he said as he turned to face front. With style he pulled out of the driveway and onto the road filled with hotels, shops, and tourists that led through the heart of Waikiki. He turned up the volume of the CD player, a little too loud for Regan’s taste. It precluded much chance for getting-to-know-you conversation. People were out in force, many wearing shorts and flip-flops and floral leis around their necks. It was a beautiful night. Soon they passed a large park where locals were barbecuing and playing guitars and ukeleles. The ocean glistened just beyond the picnic tables. They passed more hotels and then Diamond Head -the famous volcanic crater where Santana once gave a concert.

  Steve’s cell phone rang-a loud, jarring noise obviously designed to be heard over the stereo. He looked at the caller ID. “I’ll let it go to Voice Mail,” he said.

  Interesting, Regan thought.

  When they got to Steve’s house, which was in an exclusive neighborhood up in the hills not too far from Diamond Head, several people were already there. “A few of my friends dropped by,” he told them when they walked into the house where loud music was also playing. “I thought we’d make it a party.”

  7

  T he Mixed Bag Tour group came from a little town in the Pacific Northwest where it had rained 89 percent of the time over the last one hundred years. Hudville, nicknamed by the residents Mudville, could get a little depressing. So a club was formed twenty years ago called Praise the Rain. Twice a month members got together and sang and danced and bobbed for apples in buckets of rainwater. They played songs about rain and raindrops and rainbows, and did rain dances just for fun. It was a pleasant release from the leaky basements, waterlogged lawns, and soggy shoes that they dealt with on a daily basis.

  “Into every life a little rain must fall,” was their motto. “Or maybe a lot.”

  “But we have the best complexions in the world,” the women cried.

  In other words, they did their best to cope. But when an elderly member, Sal Hawkins, got up at a meeting three years ago and announced that he knew his days were numbered and that he was leaving a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow to the group, there was reason for cheer. Sal planned to leave the group money to go on trips to Hawaii. “Those who go to Hawaii must bring back sunshine in their hearts for the rest of you,” he said. “I want my money to make the people of Hudville smile after I die.”

  Five people would be chosen by lottery every three months, and they would be led by Gert and Ev Thompson, sixty-something identical twins who owned the general store in town where they sold lots of umbrellas. Lucky for Gert and Ev they lived next door to Sal and always gave him rides to the Praise the Rain meetings. They also baked him casseroles and cakes just to be nice. He appointed the twins as leaders of the tour group, and as soon as Sal kicked the rain bucket, they arranged for the first trip to Hawaii. He was barely in his grave when their bags were packed and they were on their way. On that firs
t trip Gert and Ev dubbed the group the Lucky Seven.

  They’d had eight trips now. Membership in the Praise the Rain Club had increased tenfold since the lottery for the trips started. But everyone was glad because it made the meetings more interesting, and it brought the town together. On the lottery nights every member was in attendance. With all the excitement over whose name got picked, you’d think they were giving away tickets to heaven.

  Gert and Ev loved being in charge of the Lucky Seven trips. They were now the most relaxed people in Hudville. But some of the townsfolk quietly griped, “Who wouldn’t be relaxed if you went on a free vacation to paradise every three months?”

  The Waikiki Waters Playground and Resort was their choice of hotel. Every three months the twins booked four rooms and stayed for a week. Sometimes the group did things together; sometimes members broke off and went on their own. Every morning those who had risen early took a walk on the beach. They had been taking that group walk when Dorinda Dawes’s body had washed up. It had been upsetting. Gert and Ev quickly herded everyone off to the breakfast buffet so they’d feel better. “Don’t forget,” Gert advised, “we must keep a positive attitude about everything. We must bring sunshine back to Hudville.”

  Now the Lucky Seven were sitting around one of the pools under the hau trees as they did most nights. Cocktails in hand, they talked about their day as the sun slowly sank over the horizon and the sky filled with streaks of red and blue and gold. There was one couple and three singles who ranged in age from their twenties to their sixties. To have called the group eclectic would have been an under-statement.

  Gert, clad in her favorite flowered muumuu, held up her mai tai punch, which naturally had a floating umbrella bobbing happily among the ice cubes. “First we must have our nightly toast to our deceased benefactor, Mr. Sal Hawkins.”

  “Here’s to Sal,” they all agreed, and clinked glasses.

  Ned, the hotel’s tour guide/physical trainer, had joined them for cocktails. He had worked at the hotel for three months and spent his days swimming, surfing, jogging, and doing push-ups in the gym with any hotel guests who cared to join him. His boss, Will Brown, had hired him to be a roving Jack La Lanne who lived at the hotel, moving in and out of whatever room was available. Will had told him to pay special attention to the Praise the Rain group. They were steady customers, and the hotel liked to keep them happy. So happy that they saved the group the cost of a room by having Ned bunk in with the only single man on the trip.

  “How can I help but pay attention to them?” Ned had joked to Will. “This guy is sleeping three feet from me!”

  In his forties, Ned was physically fit and attractive, with a bald head and dark brown eyes. He always had a five o’clock shadow by lunchtime. His thick dark hair had had a tendency to frizz. When he had separated from his wife the previous year, he’d decided to shave it off and start over with a new look. He hadn’t yet found a woman to his liking but was always on the prowl. I don’t have anyone to calm me down, he often thought. I need that. But she has to be athletic. He sipped his scotch, then turned to Gert. “Why don’t we go up to the surfing beach tomorrow? I’ll get one of the hotel vans. We can rent surfboards.”

  The beaches up north on the island of Oahu were some of the best surfing beaches in the world. The waves were twenty-five feet high in the winter months, and the scenery was gorgeous. The mountains in the background were an inspiring sight for the surfers hanging ten as they steered their boards toward the beach.

  Ev snorted, “Are you out of your mind?” She and Gert were both hefty-sized women who only shed their muumuus for a quick dunk in the pool. They loved their dunks and found them most refreshing. Very occasionally in the evenings they went to the water’s edge and flung off their muumuus for a dip in the ocean. They were modest and didn’t like walking around on the beach in their bathing suits in the light of day.

  Ev had opted for blond hair at this stage of life, and Gert decided on red. Otherwise their round, pleasant faces framed by oversized glasses looked strikingly similar.

  “We can bring a picnic lunch. I’m sure some of the others would like to try surfing, wouldn’t they?” Ned looked around the group hopefully.

  Artie, the thirty-nine-year-old masseur who believed his hands were healers and was Ned’s unlikely roommate, replied, “I was thinking that I’d like to swim with the dolphins. I hear there’s a great place on the Big Island where they really communicate with humans.” Artie was fair and blond and usually quiet. He’d moved to Hudville from sunny Arizona because he figured with all the rain there must be a lot of aching bodies in town that could use a massage. He claimed that he could reduce the size of swollen feet by placing his hands over them and drawing out the negative energy. So far most Hudville residents had continued to ease their swollen feet by putting them up on a hassock while watching television. It was a lot cheaper.

  “I would absolutely adore the idea of surfing, I would just adore it!” Frances cried. Francie was an exuberant fiftyish woman who never divulged her age and believed she was the most talented, gorgeous, insightful woman on the planet. Self-confidence was not something she lacked. She had curly black hair, a pretty enough face, and after a mostly unsuccessful acting career, she’d moved to Hudville to teach drama at the high school. Francie always wore heels, even on the beach, and plenty of jewelry. Every day she went out and bought herself a new lei.

  “Francie, I can’t picture you on a surfboard,” Gert said practically as she fished out the sliced orange in her drink and bit into it.

  Francie placed her hand on her chest and smiled. “I’ll have you know that when I was sixteen I surfed in my hometown of San Diego. I got on the board and was exhilarated!” She now threw her arms up in the air. Her bracelets jangled and slid till they were halted by her elbows.

  “Well, that’s one taker,” Ned said. He looked over at the Wiltons, a couple in their late fifties who were writing a chapter in a book on the joys of an exciting relationship. Only problem was they were dull as dishwater. How could they not have writer’s block? Ned wondered. “Bob and Betsy, what do you say? Want to go up to the surfing beach?”

  They stared back at him. The Wiltons were both thin and expressionless. Everything about them was nondescript. If you walked away from them, you couldn’t remember what they looked like. They just kind of blended in.

  “I’m sorry, Ned, but we’re working on our chapter, and we need to be alone,” Bob informed him.

  Gert and Ev both rolled their eyes. The Wiltons were clearly not the best people to bring sunshine back to Hudville. They were downright drippy.

  The last group member, Joy, was twenty-one and had no interest in hanging out as part of the Lucky Seven. Winning the trip had thrilled her, but she really wanted to go off and find people her own age. She’d rather go surfing with the lifeguards she’d met. Sharing a room with Francie was driving her crazy. “I have, like, plans for tomorrow,” she said meekly as she licked the salt on her margarita glass.

  Ned looked disgusted. Because he was a most athletic tour guide, he liked people to do things as a team. “What about the good of the group?” he asked.

  Gert put her foot down. “Ned, we appreciate your spending time with us, but the Praise the Rain group is free to do what they want. We come together in the mornings and the evenings and share occasional activities. That’s it. We don’t want to get on one another’s nerves.”

  “Ned, I’m going with you!” Francie exulted.

  “Doesn’t anyone want to go to the Big Island to swim with the dolphins?” Artie asked mournfully.

  “Our budget doesn’t cover trips to the Big Island,” Ev noted somewhat sternly. “And Gert and I can’t go on a surfing expedition tomorrow.”

  “Why not?” Betsy asked, her expression belying no curiosity whatsoever.

  “We are conducting a private survey of the hotels and services in the area. See what we can do better for the next trip. See how we can save money.”

 
“You’re just doing that to drive Will crazy,” Ned half-joked. “You know you’re not going to get a better deal than what he gives you here.”

  Ev shrugged and smiled a Mona Lisa smile at him, then pulled the straw of her drink close to her lips.

  “Come on, Artie, why don’t you join us?” Ned asked. “We can swim with the dolphins here in Oahu on Saturday.”

  Artie slowly rubbed his hand back and forth. “All right, Ned. But we’d better get life preservers. I hear that surf is treacherous. I can’t bear the sight of another dead body in the water.”

  Francie was the only one who laughed.

  8

  S tanding out on the deck of Steve’s house, Regan was awestruck by the panoramic view. Oahu’s most famous landmark, the magnificent Diamond Head crater, could be seen in the distance. On the plane Regan had read that the volcano had risen from the sea half a million years ago and earned its name when British seamen mistook its calcite crystals for diamonds. Those poor guys, Regan thought. Talk about getting bummed out after months at sea! But diamonds or not, the volcanic crater was a sight to behold. It stood proud and majestic as it watched over Waikiki and an endless stretch of sea. Glints of light from the setting sun were bouncing off the water below.

  It looks like a postcard, Regan thought, taking a seat in one of Steve’s comfortably padded outdoor chairs. The music was blaring, but there weren’t as many people as Regan might have guessed when she first walked into the brand-new house with its gleaming blond wood floors and floor-to-ceiling windows. The walls were white, and the furniture was pale wood, simple but expensive. The state-of-the-art kitchen opened onto the living room/dining room area, and the deck ran the length of the whole room.

  Five of Steve’s friends were seated on the deck. A painter and his wife, who crafted Hawaiian dolls, two guys who were Steve’s fraternity brothers from college and had just looked him up, and a woman who minded a house on the Big Island for a businessman from Chicago who was almost never there.