Too Hot Four Hula: 4 (The Tiki Goddess Mystery Series) (12 page)

19

LOUIE HAD ALREADY left by the time Em wrestled all the bags and boxes back up the elevator to the suite. She hurried into her bedroom and locked the connecting door in case he came back. She really wanted to see if he could recognize her or not at the party. The less he knew about her plan the better.

She zipped open the garment bag and laid out the costume pieces: fishnet stockings, a short red full skirt, and black crinoline to wear beneath it along with a black leather bodice that laced up over a low-cut red peasant blouse. She stepped out of her comfortable capri pants and knit top and started by pulling on the fishnets. When she had the outfit on, she sat on the bed and pulled on the stiletto boots. They were far more comfortable than they looked and slid on like butter on hot toast. She pinned her hair up and tugged on the wig before she finally looked in the mirror.

Cleopatra goes pirate
.

She put on hot red lipstick, black eye shadow, and brushed on a light bronzer, all of which the shop clerk had talked her into at the last minute. When she slipped on the black satin eye mask, she didn’t even recognize herself.

Em left the suite and took the elevator down to the Ali’i Tower lobby. She hadn’t worn stilettos for so long she was a bit wobbly. The uneven stone walkways that threaded through and around the resort didn’t help. She took her time, ignored the stares and wolf whistles, but secretly smiled to herself as she walked to the Hilton Convention Center.

Carrying her ticket in one hand and a small woven purse in the other, Em entered the building and followed the music. It was the same kind of music Louie loved, mid-50s exotica at its best—pure South Pacific meets Asia. A piano and stand-up bass player were joined by musicians on a vibraphone, bongos, a conga, gongs, and bells. They let out occasional high-pitched shrieks mixed with bird calls, inspiring jungle fantasies.

A huge banner was draped above the entrance to the ballroom warning that guests should PREPARE TO BE BOARDED! Em handed her ticket to the pirate at the door, a short bald man in a blue and white striped shirt who looked like Disney’s version of Mr. Smee in
Peter Pan
.

“Ah, my fine wench! Careful, or you’ll be taken captive and held for ransom!”

“Ransom?” Em stared at him for a moment then realized he was making a joke.

“Right you are! Arrrggghh! Be sure to grab a mug of grog. You can keep the mug.” He indicated a table behind him covered with brown ceramic barrel mugs. Shake Off Waikiki 2014 was emblazoned across the front. “You can bet those will be hot ticket items on eBay under Tiki Mugs and Collectibles after the conference.”

Em picked up her grog. Obviously the other partygoers had weighed anchor an hour ago, and most of them were three sheets to the wind already.

She wasn’t two feet into the room when a tall man—made even taller by a black tricorn hat with a skull and crossbones on it—walked up to her.

“Tell me now, wench, what’s a fine beauty like yourself doin’ wanderin’ on her own among these landlubbers?”

She wanted to suggest he stick a sword in his
okokle
but figured she had to play the pirate game and make nice if she wanted to get close to someone on the committee.

“I’m meeting someone, captain, or I’d shiver your timbers.” She lifted her mug, toasted him, took a swill of grog, and coughed. The beverage consisted of plenty of extremely spicy dark rum, a trace of unrecognizable fruit juice, and not much else.

As Captain Hook wandered away, Em checked out the huge room. Tables covered in white linen cloths were scattered around the room, but not many of the attendees were seated. Thick rope was draped along the walls, and fake parrots hung from the ceiling on swing perches. The band was set up on a stage decorated to look like a main deck. A raised quarter deck, complete with a rail and mounted ship’s wheel, was at one end of the stage.

A bar was set up on the floor in the opposite corner, stacked wooden barrels that held a long wide plank. Behind it, Hilton bartenders had bandanas tied around their heads and were outfitted in white open-throated shirts with billowing sleeves. A skull and crossbones flag was draped above the liquor shelves behind the bar. A mile long buffet table stretched along another wall.

She took a step toward the bar but stopped when she spotted Louie across the room in deep conversation with a man dressed like a British sea captain. Then taking a deep breath, she made a point of walking right past them and even smiled Louie’s way. He smiled back but didn’t recognize her. If her uncle couldn’t see past the costume, her two hundred and nine dollars and eleven cents had been well spent.

She spotted Lamar dePesto, contest founder, standing with his committee chairmen and cohorts at one end of the long plank bar. She took a few more swigs of grog to muster her courage.

She almost made it to the edge of the group when someone bumped into her and actually copped a feel of her behind.

“If ’ye are free tonight I’d be ’appy to show you me longboat.” A smiling, bald, suntanned man nudged her with his elbow and winked. He reached for her again.

“Hey, matie, no fair.” The stilettos gave her a good three inches over him. She slapped his hand away.

“’ave pity on a poor castaway, lass.” He reeled closer. She stepped back and checked out his outfit—cut-off raggedy shorts, a ripped and faded aloha shirt, and a very real sunburn beneath a fake shaggy beard. “I been all alone on a deserted island for three years, pinin’ away for someone like you to wash up on the beach.”

He listed forward, fell against Em, and almost toppled her. She navigated the stilettos better than she thought she could and quickly regained her balance. When she reached up to shove him away, she accidentally sloshed nearly all of her barrel of grog down the front of his shirt.

“Listen, Robinson Caruso, how about you sail off and find another port?”

“Sheesh, what a poor sport,” he mumbled as he walked away.

Finally Em reached the group near the bar. All four men standing together in a knot turned to stare, apparently rendered brain-dead by the sight of deep cleavage. If she’d walked by as herself, they wouldn’t have given her more than a casual look, but “Pussy in Boots” had them all salivating.

“What can I do for you, my lovely?” DePesto separated himself from the others.

Em held up her mug with a smile. “I’m out of grog.”

“Can’t let a buxom wench like you go thirsty. Not around here.”

“Do you have anything other than grog? Like tequila?” She scanned the back of the bar. All she saw was rum and gallons of juice.

“I like your style, but sorry. We’re keeping it simple tonight. Only premix.”

He slid her mug across the bar and yelled, “More grog for the pretty lady.”

She laughed and had to raise her voice to be heard over the music and pirate banter in the room.

“Too many bartenders in one place?”

“Something like that. We didn’t want anyone grandstanding tonight. This party is purely for pleasure. May I say the same about you?” He reached for her refilled mug and handed it to her.

“What’s that?” She took a small sip. Even more rum this round.

“That you’re purely for pleasure too.”

Oh puh-lease
. Em fought to keep her smile pasted on. Did dePesto think she was one of the hookers walking up and down Kalakaua?

She took a step closer. “Tell me all about this Shake Off. I’ve never heard of one before.”

He told her way more than she wanted to know, not only about the Shake Off but how he had founded the event nine years ago and managed to win, at least the Western Regionals every year. Then he went on to assure her that he’d rounded up some of the toughest judges in the business, and
no way
were they biased.

She wondered if the idea of a conflict of interest ever entered his mind. He was probably surrounded by yes men who spent a lot of time telling him how groovy he was. The heels made them just about the same height. Em noticed he had leaned forward to look down the front of her low-cut red blouse until Mr. Smee crashed past them chasing a plump matron in a silk period costume that looked like something Marie Antoinette would have worn in a smaller size.

Smee, waving a rubber sword, yelled, “When I get a hold of you, my beauty, I’m going to keelhaul you over my yardarm! Blow me down if I don’t!”

DePesto watched them tumble over a table and shook his head in disgust.

“I’m thinking of a new theme for next year. This pirate thing is getting old.”

“Any ideas yet?” Em took another sip. Flirting would be far easier if she had a buzz going.

“Zombies. They’re still popular.”

“Zombies are popular? Not much personality though. A lot of growling and shuffling.”

“Tiki Zombies or Zombie Tikis? Which do you like better?”

“I’ll have to think about that one.” She thought about batting her lashes at him, but they kept sticking to the eye holes in the mask. She fingered his official badge covered with small replicas of the golden swizzle stick award.

“Lamar dePesto. Is that your real name?”

“Do you
think
it’s my real name?” He cocked his eyebrow and waited.

“Do you
want
me to think it’s your real name?”

“Catchy, huh?”

She nodded yes and didn’t add that it made her think of an oily green sauce.

She thought she might be getting somewhere when suddenly her uncle joined them. Em held her breath. All Louie said was, “Nice boobs.”

Nice boobs? Her uncle complimenting her boobs was disgusting.

Before she could say anything, Louie asked, “Where did you get them?”

“My boobs?”

“No.” Louie’s face turned very, very red. “Your
boots
. I was just thinking my niece might like a pair.”

“Oh, she probably wouldn’t,” Em said a bit too quickly. She cleared her throat and lowered her voice. “You’d hate for her to break her ankle or something.” She buried her face in her mug until Louie picked up a fresh drink and wandered off.

Lamar dePesto waited until Louie walked away.

“Some of these guys would do anything to win,” he said.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Take that guy. Some old dude who had a reality show on cable. Everyone is touting him as an original, like Don the Beachcomber or Trader Vic. The press is calling him the front runner.”

“Not only that, but there’s something secretive going on with him,” he went on. “He’s been lurking around the lobby looking bummed. I think he might be worried he won’t be able to pull off an upset. I know personally that he’s so worried about his recipe he’s rented a taste-tester.” DePesto didn’t add that the tester was a monkey.

“Isn’t that against the rules?”

He shook his head. “Not if you use this particular taste-tester.”

“Wow. I guess some of these guys would do anything to win.”

“You’re right about that.”

“How far would you go, Lamar?”

“All the way, baby. Whatever it takes,” he said.

Em felt like she’d just fired a cannonball and made a direct hit.

“Hey, I have some tequila in my luxury suite. It’s one of the huge perks of being the founder of the Shake Off and booking the contest here. Wanna run up for a quickie?”

“Sure, why not.”

“You would? I mean, hey, that’s great.”

She couldn’t figure out why he was acting like he’d just won the lotto. He waited for her to turn toward the entrance before he rested his hand at the small of her back.

“Maybe I’ll try my contest entry on you. How does that sound?”

“Arrrggghhh! Time to set sail. Let’s go.”

She figured she had as much expertise as a monkey.

20

LAMAR DEPESTO’S SUITE was on the top floor of the Ali’i Tower with a three hundred sixty degree view of the Pacific and Waikiki. He ushered Em inside and headed straight for the wet bar lined with top shelf liquor. She walked out on the balcony to enjoy the view and took a deep breath of fresh air.

“Would you like me to make you a margarita? The real deal? Or maybe a tequini? How do you like your tequila?” he asked.

After swilling a mug of pirate’s grog, switching to tequila sounded terrifying.

“Straight, with a water back up.” She smiled and sauntered, as well as she could in the stilettos, back into the room.

“May I use the bathroom?”

“Of course.” He paused with a bottle of Hornitos in hand and nodded in the direction of a short hallway. “Help yourself.”

Em locked the bathroom door behind her and set her little woven handbag on the counter top.
If
dePesto had stolen the Booze Bible and
if
he’d hidden it in the bathroom, the only place big enough would be on one of the shelves under the sink. It was a place to start.

The shelves were lined with towels and various items emptied out of his toiletry bag.

She knelt down and ran her hand around under the pile of folded towels. No ring binder. In the process she knocked her tricorn hat on the counter top. It slipped back, nearly pulling her wig off. She straightened the hat, smoothed down the wig, and opened her purse. She reapplied the hot red lipstick. Then Em took a deep breath and walked back into the living area.

Lamar was holding an ice bucket in one hand and a tumbler in the other. The tumbler had a good three fingers of tequila in it.

“There you go.” He smiled.

Em smiled back. Lamar waited.