The Flaming Luau of Death (7 page)

“He was found this morning. Dead. The waves were pushing him up against the rocks.”

Poor Keniki. So beautiful and happy last night. I remembered her laughing at us, trying to teach us the hula. I remembered her bonding with Wesley and showing him some advanced moves. Keniki was a young woman, and I imagined her boyfriend must also have been young. And now he was dead. “Oh, no.”

“I’m so sorry to be the one to tell you this, Madeline.”

“Was it an accident?” I asked, hoping to get a little more information before Pualani pulled her professional act together and realized she must stop upsetting the spa guest.

“It’s just a terrible thing,” she said, shaking her head, still shocked by the news. “Kelly was her fiancé. Kelly Imo. He was strong, a very strong swimmer, but anyone can get knocked over by a wave. You must never turn your back to the ocean, not even for a short time. Maybe he hit his head on a rock.”

“Is that what happened?”

“They say no one saw him go into the water. He was wearing his work clothes, they said, so how could he have meant to go swimming?”

“I see.”

“It is so sad for Keniki.”

All of a sudden, being wrapped in warm towels and entombed in a mud-crusted cocoon began to feel oppressively confining. That state of blissful relaxed mindlessness, a state I had only just begun to discover for the first time, was, of course, completely shattered. All I could think of was “Poor Keniki.”

“Yes. And with your party right there,” Pualani agreed.

“Right where?”

“Right there at Anaeho’omalu Bay. Didn’t I say? That’s where they found poor Kelly’s body this morning. He was washed up against the rocks near Anaeho’omalu Bay.”

I
finished showering and drying off and then wrapped my squeaky clean, mud-free, detoxified, and completely exfoliated self up in a fresh version of the brown and black batik robes all the guests wear around the Four Heavens Sports Club and Spa. When my eighty-minute mud mask treatment time had been up, Pualani had left me at one of the private shower rooms, all glass and slate tiles, and, apologizing again, hurried away to her next appointment.

I walked over to the mirror-lined room that held the hair dryers and other accoutrements of beauty prep, and began the endless process of combing out the tangles in my long hair.

According to the large clock on the wall, I was scheduled for the next luxury treatment in my Day of Beauty in twenty minutes. But it could wait. First, I would go see Keniki Hicks. And the thought of Keniki, her long hair swaying, spreading Hawaiian cheer at our luau only last night, and now suddenly thrown into such anguish, made my eyes sting. Why had fate brought such tragedy to this nice young woman?

An array of sprays and lotions and creams and ointments were displayed in a row of glass jars along the marble
countertop before me. One of them promised to detangle and condition. I had been making little progress through the thicket of hair, and so I gave a few spritzes to my unruly curls, and then a few more spritzes for good measure, before going back to work with the comb.

And I couldn’t help thinking of Keniki’s boyfriend—his body found right there at our own Anaeho’omalu Bay. Just hours after our luau, it must have been. Just yards away from the beach upon which Keniki had distributed hula skirts and taught us all how to make the hand motions for “a man” and “a woman” and “enduring love.” It was an irony of such bitterness.

I turned away and tried to concentrate on some facts. Keniki’s boyfriend had been washed away, no one yet knew how or from exactly where he entered the water, and then found early this morning among the rocks at Anaeho’omalu Bay. He was wearing his work clothes. Had he been working late at night on some misty path and fallen into the ocean, becoming injured in the fall? Had he been out on a beach, perhaps walking out on the lava rocks that jut into the sea? People got swept away by an unexpected surge all the time, Pualani had warned me.

I looked again in the mirror and was surprised to see the spray-on detangler stuff had actually helped. I picked up the can and checked the label. Perhaps I would have to buy some of this. It smelled faintly of grapefruit. Nice. I gave my head a shake, and corkscrews of redblond hair fell gently into place on the left side. The right side was still a bird’s nest, so I went to town, giving several additional spritzes, and began working out the tangles with the comb.

And yet, I thought again, I knew almost nothing about this couple. Had they been happy? I hated to give words to this question, but having dated a cop, I know how
they think. An accident? And so close to where the girlfriend was working. Could there have been something sinister going on? Had the couple been fighting? I hate this sort of thinking, but I know how predictable investigators could be. In an unexpected death, they would wonder, who had something to gain? Who held a grudge? And always, look to those closest to the victim. Poor Keniki.

What a shock, to have your life planned for happily-ever-after and discover one fresh morning that it simply will not be. It was all too familiar to me, stirring up old memories too difficult to remember.

I’ve had a few shocks of my own, enough to remind me how little control we truly have over the course our lives will take. I thought about Xavier and the pain I’d felt when he left me. And here I was, nine years later, doing just fine, thanks. Doing just great.

I padded over to my locker and then realized I had somehow misplaced the key. Probably left it in the treatment room. But when I made my way back down the hallway, the door to the treatment room was locked.

I tried a few other nearby doors. Several must have led to additional treatment rooms, but they were locked as well. I stood in the dimly lit, narrow hallway and thought it over. There were no spa attendants in view. And the tinkling New Age music was beginning to get on my nerves.

The one door that wasn’t locked was marked:
STAFF ONLY
. I peeked in, looking for help. This room was also empty. It appeared to be a plain-wrap version of the guest locker rooms down the hall, and much larger than I’d expected. I walked in. On a bulletin board were employee notices, including warnings from Workers Comp and OSHA, along with the week’s work schedules for
the spa as well as the staff who worked at the hotel’s three restaurants.

The room must serve as the rest lounge for all the resort’s female employees. The colors were muted, just as in the guest locker rooms, but the lockers for the staff were smaller. A watercooler stood beside a table that held a basket of tea bags and sweetener. On the wall across from the bulletin board was a chart. In the left-hand column was a list of names, presumably the names of each of the employees. I scanned the list and noticed that Pualani Santos was listed. I also saw the name Keniki Hicks.

“Pardon me,” said a female voice from behind me. “This room is for the staff. Can I help you?”

I turned and faced a young woman with a long braid coiled on top of her head.

“Sorry,” I said. “I left my locker key in one of the treatment rooms. Pualani was my aesthetician. My name is Madeline Bean.”

“Don’t worry, Miss Bean,” she said, smiling warmly. “We have a master key to open the lockers. Just a moment and I’ll get someone to help you.”

“I didn’t notice any attendants out in the spa,” I said.

“No. We are very short staffed today. My apologies. We have had three of our girls cancel on us. Very distressing, I can tell you, with a full appointment calendar. Let me take you to your locker and use my own master key.” She led the way back to the luxurious guests-only locker room.

“Staff members haven’t shown up to work? Is that because of what just happened to Keniki Hicks’s boyfriend, Kelly?” I asked.

The young woman’s expression changed. She lost a little of her smooth guest relations veneer and became
just a little more human. “Well, yes.” She looked at me with open curiosity then, and sighed. “I’m surprised you have heard anything about it so soon. I suppose all the guests will be talking about it.”

“Maybe not quite yet. But I am a friend of Keniki’s. She helped me with a luau last night.”

“I see,” said the young woman. We now stood in front of locker 22. She pulled a key from a ring hidden somewhere in the folds of her sarong—did those things have pockets? And used it to open my locker. “There you are.”

“I’m on my way over to her house right now. I want to offer my help if there is anything I can do to help her.”

“How very kind of you, Miss Bean. Keniki is a friend of mine too. It’s her sister Cynthia who didn’t come to work today. She is one of the masseuses here, one of our best specialists. And also two other girls who are Keniki’s best friends. So here is your locker. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“I should cancel my next appointment,” I said.

“I believe you were scheduled for a manicure/pedicure next. No problem. I am happy to cancel that for you. With our staff shortage, it will be a little bit of a relief, actually. Is there anything else?”

“I have Keniki’s address in my room.”

The young woman hesitated only a moment and then said, “I’ll draw a map for you. I’ll be right back.”

As she left, I quickly got back into my shorts and T-shirt, and traded the disposable plastic spa flip-flops for my own beach-worthy pair of flip-flops. Hawaii, gotta love the dress code.

By the time I was tossing the spa’s batik robe into a nearby wicker laundry basket, the woman with the
coiled braid had returned, carrying a bright green shopping bag from the gift shop of the Sports Club and Spa.

“I was wondering if I might ask you to do us a favor?” she asked, speaking softly.

“Of course.”

“I am not sure when Keniki will be returning to work.” She looked sad, and I could imagine that each of the young women who worked at this resort must empathize greatly with one another. They must all have boyfriends or young husbands. How could they not wonder what it would be like if something this awful had happened to them and their loved ones? “These are the items that were in Keniki’s employee locker. There may be something here that she’ll need. If you don’t mind, could you take this bag out to her? I hate to ask you to do it, but the rest of us are going to be working double shifts today. I’m not sure…”

“No, no. That’s fine.” I reached for the bag. “I’m happy to help.”

“Thanks. You’ll find the directions on a slip of paper in the bag.”

I pushed the door out to the main reception area and signed myself out in the guest book.

“Are you leaving us already?” asked the pretty girl behind the desk.

“I’ll be back,” I said. “Is there any way I could leave a message for my friends? They’re all still in the spa, I think.”

“Of course. Just a moment and I’ll look up where they are right now. Can you give me a name?”

“Holly Nichols.” I didn’t want Holly to think I’d abandoned her. I’d leave her a note and let her know I was coming back soon.

“Holly Nichols is currently getting a Lomi Lomi massage.”

“What’s that?”

“Lomi Lomi is a traditional Hawaiian massage that connects the heart, mind, body, and soul,” she recited flawlessly.

“Is it as good as the Dead Sea Mud Mask Body Treatment?” I asked, ever the comparison shopper.

“Oh, it is quite a different experience,” she said, smiling. “But each is magical. The Lomi Lomi is quite popular here, as it is a sacred healing art, passed down from generation to generation in Hawaii.”

“Ah.” I wondered if there would be time enough when I returned to get me one of those. I might yet find relaxation possible.

“Yes, the Lomi Lomi utilizes rhythmic strokes integrating the use of the forearms and elbows.”

“Pardon?”

“The masseuse uses her forearms and elbows. Very relaxing.”

Indeed.

“Your friend, Miss Nichols, will begin her Lomi Lomi in five minutes. You might actually be able to catch her in the inner waiting room if you want to try.”

I thanked the receptionist and went back into the women’s locker room, walking straight through to the spa waiting area. By now I was thoroughly accustomed to the scent of spicy herbs that saturated the air and the sound of tinkly sitar music over the sound system. Three other women were seated, reading magazines, awaiting their treatments. The clock said 9:55. Just then Liz and Holly came in, both wrapped in the standard batik robes.

“Mad!” Holly yelped, happy as a pup to see me.

“Hey, Madeline,” Liz greeted me. “I finally woke myself up. I’m usually an early bird, but what a night we had last night!” She shook her head. “I am now ready to get spa-ed. So how come you’re dressed? Where are you going?”

“Must run a little errand,” I said, raising the large green shopping bag in some vague reference to “things to do.”

“We’re both getting Lomi Lomi–ed,” Liz said, speaking softly so as not to disturb the other spa patrons, who were trying to relax.

“Wonderful.”

Holly looked more blissed out than ever. “Oh, Mad! I’m having such a good time.”

“Excellent. Perfect. I’ll be back in an hour or two. Don’t worry about me.”

Holly pulled me over to the side of the room, away from Liz and the other women. “Where are you off to? What kind of errand?”

I held up the bag. “Remember Keniki from last night?”

“Of course.”

“I’m just going to run something out to her house. No big deal. I have the rental car and I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Oh, okay.” Holly smiled. “Sounds good.”

She didn’t need to hear all the grisly details of Kelly’s death quite yet. After all the time and effort these good spa people were putting into relaxing us, I felt it wasn’t fair to undermine every one of our states of bliss. Liz and Holly took seats and waited to be led away to another hour of beauty.

I took a few steps away and opened the bag I was holding, making sure I had the driving directions I
needed. Inside were several small items. A hairbrush. A makeup bag. A bottle from a local pharmacy, half filled with pills. A framed photograph. I couldn’t help but notice it was a picture of Keniki with a young man. Kelly. I pulled it out of the bag.

The room began to sway. Or maybe it only felt that way. I stared at the picture. Keniki Hicks’s young man was a nice-looking guy with Asian features. And in the photo he was wearing glasses. I looked closer. The oval lenses were held in place by tiny silver arrows. The exact same wire-rimmed eyeglasses I’d discovered in Holly’s hotel room bed.

“Holly,” I said, my voice a little sharp.

She looked up from her magazine.

“Could you come over here?” I whispered, toning my volume way down.

“What’s that you’re looking at? Is that Keniki?” Holly asked, turning my hand so she could view the picture.

I nodded but almost lost my grip on the frame when Holly let go of it abruptly and stepped backward.

“Oh my God, Maddie. Oh my God!” She was still whispering, in deference to the soft tinkly music and spa manners, but her expression had completely changed. She now looked extremely stressed, her blue eyes wide with disbelief.

“This is the guy that was in your room, Holly, isn’t it?”

She stared at me. “He’s the one who grabbed at me. The one who scared the living daylights out of me yesterday.”

“Look at the T-shirt,” I told her.

“It’s the same exact one with the kanji for Mountain Hollyhock. And the wire-rimmed frames.
It’s the guy!”

It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be. “This is terrible, Holly.”

“Who the hell is this guy, anyway? And how does he know Keniki?”

“I’m taking a guess. But I think he could be her fiancé.”

“Keniki’s boyfriend was hiding in my hotel room?” Holly asked, completely befuddled.

“Hey, you guys, what’s up?” Liz asked, joining us.