Deadly in High Heels (16 page)

I swung a panicked look around the room. I'd never make it back over to the closet in time. The bathroom was out of the question. That left only one option. I dove under one of the beds, wriggling forward on my belly to pull my feet completely out of sight. A colony of dust bunnies billowed up into my face, and I pinched my nose to stifle the sneeze that rose in my throat. It was clear that the maids at the Royal Waikiki didn't live for their jobs.

I peeked out from beneath the bed skirt and caught sight of a killer pair of Gucci stiletto sandals, nude suede with crystal embellishment. Maxine might be a train wreck in the grace department, but she had impeccable taste when it came to footwear, I had to give her that.

After a few minutes of muttering to herself and clomping around in search of her earrings, Maxine found them and hurriedly left the room again. I gave her two minutes' lead time in case she'd grabbed the wrong earrings. When she didn't come back, I hauled myself out from under the bed and across the hall into my own room. That had been much too close for comfort, and it had served me right. I shouldn't have been in Maxine's room in the first place. Even though I had found Jennifer's stolen bikini top and gotten a great idea for a new shoe design.

I slapped the dust off of my clothes, splashed some cool water onto my face, and stood on the balcony looking at the ocean until my heart stopped pounding and I felt like myself again. I wasn't sure what I'd accomplished across the hall, other than to further muddy the waters by adding yet another suspect to a list that already seemed to include most of the people in the hotel. And I knew Ramirez would not be happy about my methods. With any luck, he wouldn't have to know about it for a while. Tonight was the final night before the pageant, and it was being celebrated with a private luau on the beach. Tomorrow I'd be tied up with the pageant itself. If Ramirez took his time interviewing hotel staff, I might be able to avert full disclosure until we were on the plane heading home.

I turned away from the ocean with a sigh and noticed the alert light blinking on my cell. I picked it up and saw I had a voicemail from Ramirez. He was going back to the police station to accompany Detective Whatshisname to check out Xander Newport's alibi.

I placed a quick call home to check on Livvie and Max and assure Mama Ramirez that everything was perfectly fine in paradise, before heading down to the auditorium for my afternoon of scheduled fittings. With the televised pageant set for tomorrow, it was a whirlwind of stilettos and slingbacks as I quickly fit in the last of the remaining forty-nine ladies. Though, the fact that Laforge had decided to cut out the talent portion of the competition to compensate for the lack of rehearsal time did cut down on the number of shoes per girl. I was just finishing my last one, Miss Wyoming, when I heard a text message coming through. I grabbed my cell phone, hoping it was Ramirez with some news for the police station. No such luck. Instead, it was Dana, letting me know the judging session was over, and she wanted to recover with a drink. That sounded like music to my ears, so I grabbed my purse and headed up the escalator.

I found Dana at the Lost Aloha Shack, getting a head start on the drinks. Considering her sagging shoulders and drooping head, I guessed the last couple of hours hadn't gone so well for her. I slid onto the stool beside her and noticed that in addition to the libations, she had what looked like a slice of chocolate cake (not carob or soy product but actual chocolate!) in front of her. Whoa. Things must really not be going well. "Tough day at the office?"

She dredged up a dramatic sigh. "Hey, Mads. I swear, I don't know what I'm doing here."

I eyed her half-empty Lava Pit and had some idea.

"This was just supposed to be a fun little pageant," she went on. "Judge some beauty queens in the usual categories, admire some evening gowns, blah, blah, blah. There's nothing fun about it. There's nothing
real
about it."

I saw Dirk headed our way and warded him off with a tiny head shake. He lifted his chin in acknowledgment and veered off to take care of a group in duck shirts farther down the bar.

"Have the judges gotten any more instructions about how to score it?" I asked her.

She shook her head. "And we probably won't. As things stand now, Whitney is clearly the front-runner. That's what everyone wants, right?"

I didn't know about everyone, but it seemed that it was what
someone
wanted.

"For this I gave up two weeks with Ricky?" Dana slurped some of her drink through a straw. "I don't know what I was thinking. I'm never getting involved in a pageant again. I don't want to be asked. I don't even want to get an invitation to
attend
one."

"Well, it's almost over," I told her. "The telecast is tomorrow. And then we can all go back to our regular lives." All except for Jennifer and Desi, that is.

Dana removed the straw, lifted her glass, and motioned to Dirk for a refill. "So what's going on in your corner of paradise?" she asked me.

I gave her a rundown of the latest developments, glossing over the juju cleansing fiasco and focusing on my suspicions about Xander and the discovery of Jennifer's stolen bikini top, though I remained sketchy on the details of exactly how I'd come to be in the room in the first place. Dana had enough problems. I wanted to give her plausible deniability. She remained quiet, but that might have been because the couple of drinks had left her a little sleepy.

"I knew there was something about Xander," she said when I was through.

"We don't know anything for sure," I hedged. "Ramirez is looking into his alibi."

She stared moodily into her fresh drink. "The only thing is, why would Xander want to kill Desi?"

While I disagreed it was the
only
thing, it was a
big
thing.

"I can't find any connection between Jennifer and Desi," I admitted.

"Except for Miss Hawaiian Paradise," Dana said. I nodded. "That's a lot," she said. "But then maybe it isn't."

"Exactly." I eyed her Lava Pit, which was already half gone again.

"None of it makes any sense. The only thing they had in common is they're both dead." She sucked another quarter inch through the straw. "I'm sorry—I'm just in a lousy mood. I think I'm going to go grab a nap before dinner. Maybe everything will look better after some sleep." She stood. "You'll be at the luau tonight, right?"

I nodded as I watched her wind her way along the path toward the hotel lobby, and I couldn't help but think this pageant couldn't end soon enough for everyone.

*

With a couple of hours before dinner, I decided to enjoy my last days in paradise poolside. I texted Marco to see if he wanted to join me, but he said he was busy with "a project." Considering his last project involved chicken bones and juju war paint, I didn't ask. Instead, I'm proud to say I managed to conquer my skittishness about being in the vicinity of the pool all by myself. Mostly. I still avoided the chaise where I'd found Jennifer's lifeless body. It almost seemed like the experience had left an unpleasant imprint in that precise spot, and to even look in the direction conjured up the image all over again. Luckily, it seemed a number of families were at the pool today, and the energy and boisterousness of the splashing kids playing Marco Polo left me feeling relaxed and safe. If I closed my eyes, I could pretend I was listening to Max and Livvie at play. That happy thought, coupled with the warm sun on my skin (slathered in sunscreen) and the gentle, soothing breeze, soon lulled me to sleep.

When I woke up, I was shocked to see it was nearly six. The sun had shifted from overhead, sliding farther across the sky as the afternoon waned, and the kids were gone. Only a few couples remained at the pool, and the immediate area had quieted down considerably. I gathered my things and headed back to my room to shower and dress for the evening. In all honesty, I wasn't 100% looking forward to it. The celebration luau for pageant contestants and staff was generous in concept, but I wasn't sure how celebratory the general mood would be. From what I'd seen during the past week, everyone was either frightened or suspicious or both, and the mood was grim.

I settled on a gauzy sapphire blue sarong, spent twenty minutes blowing out my hair and doing a light makeup, and by seven thirty, a far less gloomy Dana, Marco, and I were making our way down to the beach.

The dining area had been closed for the evening to all but the pageant personnel, most of whom seemed to be already in attendance. Jeffries and Ruth Marie were chatting, sipping cocktails, their heads close together, his arm draped protectively across her shoulders. I spotted Laforge playing the part of the attentive host as he roamed, dressed in island chic white with his shirt unbuttoned halfway to his navel and his trademark sunglasses in place. Ashton Dempsey had affixed himself to Whitney, likely trying to align himself with a winning contestant again, talking in her ear as his bulging belly in a screaming Hawaiian shirt nearly brushed against her hip. Even from a distance I could see he was wearing more makeup than she was. Surfer Dirk chatted with himself as he circulated, serving food and drinks. From the looks of it, he was the happiest person on the beach.

Most of the contestants stood in nervous-looking clusters, occasionally glancing outside their private circles like frightened deer watching for a predatory mountain lion. Whether their nerves stemmed from the next day's pageant or fear for their personal safety was anyone's guess. I found it interesting that only Whitney didn't seem to share their apprehension. Was it because she knew she was the front-runner now?

A live trio was set up on the stage, providing a soothing musical backdrop while native dancers swayed in mesmerizing rhythms to the beat. Despite the laid-back island vibe, no one seemed particularly relaxed or festive. In fact, there was an air of somberness layered over the entire affair.

"Doesn't feel much like a party," Marco commented, glancing around.

"Can you blame them?" I sipped my drink. "I know I don't feel like celebrating."

Dana nodded. "I can't believe I'm anxious to leave Hawaii." She paused. "Uh-oh."

I looked at her. She was staring over my shoulder with a mixture of amusement and horror.

"I've been looking for you, dear!"

I turned to see Mom and Mrs. Rosenblatt making their labored way toward us through the sand. They were impossible to miss. Mom was wearing a basic black twinset with two leis draped around her neck and enough flowers in her hair to plant a garden. Mrs. Rosenblatt was in a flesh-colored muumuu that for a moment was scarier than anything else that had happened during the week. "You know this party is for pageant personnel only," I told them in a mock scolding tone.

Mrs. Rosenblatt shrugged. "As if we'd miss a good luau. And this—" She tipped her nose up in the air and sniffed. "—is a good luau."

Mom studied me. "How are you feeling, dear?" She leaned in closer. The scent of frangipani washed over me. "Are you carrying the mojo bag?"

I'd forgotten all about the mojo bag. I think I'd
accidentally
left it in the wastebasket in my room after the juju cleansing. From what I'd seen of the housekeeping service, it was probably still there.

"What's a mojo bag?" Dana asked.

"Well, let me tell you—" Mom began.

"Look, here come the fire dancers," I cut in. "We should find a seat."

As we made our way to a viewing spot, I couldn't help but cast another casual glance over the beach. Assuming that Xander Newport's alibi held up—and if it didn't, chances were good that he was now at the police department—my instincts were telling me that the killer had to be among the assembled group here at the luau. It was an unsettling thought. It wasn't easy to put it aside and trust that there was safety in numbers, but eventually I found myself lost in watching the performance of the skilled fire dancers. The breeze was warm and gentle, the ocean calm and unhurried as it rolled onto the beach in frothy ringlets. Overhead, the palm fronds rustled quietly in answer to the breeze. It was an idyllic night.

Until my cell phone buzzed with a text. I tried to ignore it, but my curiosity got the better of me. After all, it might be Ramirez with news of the arrest of Xander Newport. Shielding the phone from Mom's curious eyes, I stared at the message on the screen, which I noted had been sent from an unavailable number:

I know who the killer is. Meet me by the pool at midnight
.

My head shot up, and I quickly scanned the group, hoping to spot the source of the text among our companions. While the gathering darkness and shifting shadows created by the fire dancers made it difficult to read faces, I saw several cell phones out. Most pointed at the stage, taking pictures and videos. My gaze whipped from one beauty queen taking selfies to a coach intently hunched over his smart phone screen. The text could have come from anyone here. They all had a copy of the pageant personnel contact list. I scrutinized anyone with a phone, but no one looked back or paid me the least bit of attention.

Dana nudged me. "Are you alright?"

I gave a start and dropped the cell phone back into my purse. "I'm fine. It's just a…shoe thing." I forced a smile, and Dana's attention went back to the dancers. But my concentration was broken. I wished it was a shoe thing. That, I could handle. It was familiar, comfortable ground. But this was unnerving. Any one of the people surrounding me could have sent the text. I had no way of knowing, and no one seemed to be jumping up to volunteer the information.