Beachboy Murder

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  BEACHBOY MURDER

  by

  SALLY J. SMITH &

  JEAN STEFFENS

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  Copyright © 2018 by Sally J. Smith & Jean Steffens

  Cover design by Estrella Designs

  Gemma Halliday Publishing

  http://www.gemmahallidaypublishing.com

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  For Paul and Nicole. I love you kids

  —Jean

  For Dale, who loves Hawaii...and me

  —Sally

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  CHAPTER ONE

  "Janet!" I shouted and waved, even though she couldn't hear me through the layers of thick glass in the airport door. "Over here."

  Janet Belinski walked down the airstairs and stopped on the tarmac lifting her face to the bright Hawaiian sun.

  I owed this woman—big-time, and I made it a point to let her know she'd changed my life, helped me breathe again, and that I'd never forget it. My best friend and ex-boss was the one who'd chastised me to stop wallowing in my suddenly single existence and get on with my life, to yank off and throw away the ticking clock I'd been chained to that had ruled me in the Windy City. Janet was even the one who'd discovered the small boutique travel agency for sale at the Aloha Lagoon Resort in Kauai and had convinced me to buy it and live the life that both she and the inner me knew I was destined to live. I loved her dearly, and this was the first time I'd seen her since moving to Kauai.

  The sight of her made me want to shove open the door, run out, and pull her into a huge bear hug. That would have surprised Janet. The Gabby LeClair she knew from the old nylons and business suit days in Chicago wouldn't even have thought of such a public display of affection.

  But that was before I'd been lulled by the siren song of the sweet island melodies in the trade winds and the music in the soft voices of the islanders and had taken them into my soul. That was before Rick Dawson had called me "Princess" and shown me the lights of Waikiki from his helicopter at night and then taught me, Miss All-thumbs And-proud-of-it, to drive a stick-shift shuttle bus.

  While Janet waited on the tarmac, a diverse group came down the stairs of the sleek Gulfstream chartered jet that had just landed at Lihue Airport. Twelve in number, including my friend, they comprised a consortium that had contacted me a few weeks ago, saying they were interested in buying Gabby's Island Adventures. I hadn't said yes. I hadn't said no. In fact, I hadn't said anything about their offer, but they came to Aloha Lagoon anyway.

  Janet looked around and finally saw me standing inside the terminal waving at her like an AirDancer at a 4th of July car sale. Her face lit up and broke into a wide grin. She shouted into the wind and grabbed onto her wide-brimmed hat to keep the trades from snatching it off her head before turning to speak to the man who'd come down the stairs behind her.

  His back was to me, so I couldn't tell much about him. But the way he dressed spoke volumes. In heavy army-style boots over thick white socks, multi-pocketed photographers' vest, bushman's hat, and too-short khaki shorts, he looked more like he belonged on an outback adventure than an island sojourn. The shorts were a little comical. The style that was more than fine on Tom Selleck's long, lean legs lacked appeal on this man's pale, furry drumsticks.

  He and Janet exchanged words before he turned back to take the hand of a small, schoolmarm-type woman disembarking behind him who was dressed exactly as he was.

  After his twinsie made it safely down the stairs, the man stood watching as others followed behind her.

  Janet turned toward me then and threw an enthusiastic, wide-arcing wave before breaking into a run, which wasn't an easy thing to do in the form-fitting pencil skirt and gorgeous black-patent Christian Louboutin five-inch stiletto pumps. I sighed, remembering the days of tackling stairs in that kind of skirt—and forget about getting in or out of a taxi with any dignity at all.

  The shoes? The shoes I got. I hadn't yet had the heart to give up my own red-soled beauties, although I wore them less and less often these days. One tended to forego eight-hundred-dollar footwear when driving a standard transmission shuttle or boarding an inflatable Zodiac boat or leading a group of tourists on a zip line.

  But Janet did look good. In fact for a fifty-eight-year-old woman, she looked terrific—slim and straight-backed, her lovely face unlined courtesy of regular visits to her dermatologist for Botox injections. Janet still wore her hair as I remembered, perfectly silvered at one of Chicago's premier salons and in a shoulder-length smooth pageboy. Back in the day when she'd been my boss at Corporate Worldwide Travel, I'd always joked I wanted to grow up to be like her.

  At thirty-two, I still had a couple of decades to get myself together, although my B-cups and the rest of my boyish shape would never compare to her womanly curves. Maybe if I took care of my skin, let my short-cropped blonde hair grow long and silvered it, I might come close to her elegance. I could always buy blue contact lenses to disguise my brown eyes. What's that song about making my brown eyes blue? Anyway, my friend was stunning.

  The aspiration to emulate Janet in personality and career had ended with my divorce and my intense need to uncoil the tight spiral I'd wound myself into. That Gabby had slowly begun to take life at a less intense pace than a strict goosestep. And I was ever so thankful she had.

  I pushed open the door when Janet was just a few feet away, and she stumbled at the threshold, practically falling into my arms, the skirt and heels finally getting the better of her.

  We hugged and laughed, and when we pulled away, while I was smiling, I was a little surprised to see tears in her eyes.

  "Oh, Gabby. I've missed you."

  "Me too." My happiness at seeing her bubbled up in me like fizzy champagne. "It's been way too long."

  Taking a few deep breaths and yanking off her hat, she turned with a huge smile to greet the others who were now approaching the concourse.

  The twelve were made up of five couples, Janet, and another woman traveling by herself. They seemed to range in age from mid-thirties to fifties with the exception of the Bobbsey Twins couple who were still outside and were obviously younger than the others. The twins stopped halfway from the plane to the door where they stood looking at the terminal—well, more like looking at the roof, pointing and discussing something with so much animation, I almost went outside to see what that was all about.

  The two were laughing—well, snorting, really—as they finally came to the concourse. I held open the door for them.

  "Holy extinction!" The young man's eyes were open wide as he grabbed my hand and pumped it. "That's a honeycreeper out there. Do you have any idea how rare it is to see a honeycreeper these days, why, Miss…"

  "LeClair. Gabby." />
  "…Miss LeClair, professional ornithologists can go months without seeing one these days."

  The woman with him joined in, gushing, "And we spot one within five minutes of our arrival?"

  They high-fived and said in unison, "Whaaaat?"

  I pasted a smile on my face. "Orinthol…?"

  "Chasers," he said. "Bird chasers or watchers."

  "Oh. I see." Actually, I didn't. But they sure made it sound exciting.

  He'd just seemed to realize he was still pumping my hand and let it drop. It was clammy, and I had to fight the urge to wipe it on my skirt.

  "I'm Freddy Lancaster." He tipped back the brim of the bushman's hat and pushed the heavy glasses back up on his nose.

  His companion stepped forward and offered her hand. "Dolly. Lancaster, too. We're married."

  There was a brief moment of the two gazing into each other's eyes before Freddy grinned back at me. "Gonna be a super time on this island, Miss LeClair. I feel it in my bones. Just super."

  "Yes." Dolly was just as enthusiastic. "Superdooper."

  "If it's birds you're after, the environs around Aloha Lagoon are rich with them." I followed them inside then double-timed it up to the front of the group. "Aloha and welcome to the island. If you all will just follow me outside to the shuttle, we'll be on our way as soon as…"

  Janet finished. "As soon as I make sure your luggage is being taken care of."

  I pointed Janet in the direction where the baggage would be brought in then turned and led the group through the terminal outside where my gorgeous shuttle bus was parked at the curb.

  Standing by the door, I did my usual head count as they all boarded.

  These eleven comprised the consortium that Janet now worked for, overseeing the string of international travel agencies they owned. Evidently Janet had recommended that they investigate the plausibility of buying out my agency, Gabby's Island Adventures, to add to their list of companies. She hadn't consulted me before making that recommendation, and I truly wished she had. The thought of selling hadn't occurred to me, but I figured I might as well hear what they had to say.

  After scrutinizing my little company—in what I was sure would be in both broad-spectrum and minute detail—they would decide if it met their standards and if they wanted to make me an offer.

  Problem with the whole scenario was that ever since that day three weeks ago when I'd spoken to Janet on the phone and she'd said they were coming, I'd been vacillating.

  Yes. You could have just called me Prince Hamlet. To sell or not to sell. That is the question. What if they offered me a lot of money? It would be nice to have money, sure, but then what would I do with myself? Would I be able to make up my mind by the time the consortium had made up theirs?

  CHAPTER TWO

  Janet sat behind the driver's seat as I drove the group from the Lihue airport back to Aloha Lagoon Resort. She whispered in my ear the entire time.

  "Oh, little sister, I'm so impressed you can woman-handle this brute of a vehicle like it's nothing more than a minivan. I mean, you're Wonder Woman. Who would've thought?"

  I had to laugh. "Brute? I've been trying to come up with a name for this thing ever since I bought it, and I believe you've just done it. Brute."

  She laid her hands on my shoulders and squeezed affectionately. "Just wait'll the back-home crowd hears you've gone renegade, shifting this thing and careening around like Mad Max or something. When I first talked to you about coming here and buying the travel agency, I had high hopes you'd find the life you need. I never dreamed it would turn out so smashingly." She raised her voice to sing out so the quiet passengers in the back could hear. "I'm very proud of my friend. And I love this brute she's driving around."

  In reality I'd also thought of the bus in terms of being a brute until I'd learned to drive it. The twenty-passenger shuttle bus with my Gabby's Island Adventures decals on both sides was near and dear to my heart. It was the first, and so far the only, business loan I'd taken out since buying my travel agency and moving from Chicago.

  I said over my shoulder, "This bus has turned out to suit my needs perfectly. Good thing, too. I still have four years of payments on it."

  "Back in Chicago, you either took an Uber or the L. I didn't know you could handle anything more complicated than a cab fare. How'd you figure out all this?" She reached over the seat and pointed at the manual shift.

  "Rick taught me."

  "Rick Dawson? Ooh, what is it they call him? Mr. Coffee, Tea, or Me? Is he teaching you anything else?" she teased.

  "Wouldn't you like to know?" I teased back.

  We pulled up under the portico at Aloha Lagoon Resort. I'd called ahead, and Lana and Koma Pukui waited under the overhang with leis hung across their arms.

  I opened the door, and Janet got up and went down the steps. Koma met her, hung a lei around her neck, and kissed her on both cheeks.

  She twisted her head to look at me over her shoulder with a lustful expression on her face and a growl in her throat. "Rowwr."

  "Down, girl," I said so she could hear but the others toward the rear of the bus couldn't. "No cradle robbing."

  The twenty-four-year-old Pukui twins, Lana and Koma, both worked for me while they were learning other trades and trying to figure out which direction they wanted their lives to take them. Lana handled phones and bookings in the office and escorted the occasional group, while Koma helped me with driving the shuttle, also acting as tour guide, and just being an all-around supportive team member. The twins were full-blooded Hawaiians, and two of the most beautiful people I'd ever met, both inside and out.

  Janet grinned, gave me a thumbs-up, and headed into the lobby, while the twins positioned themselves on either side of the shuttle door.

  I stood and turned, addressing the group. "Well, here we are. Janet's made all the arrangements for your rooms and will be back to hand out room keys and information packets on the resort and the island. We've made arrangements later in the day for you all to take a circle island helicopter flight with Rick's Air Paradise. So after you've had a chance to go to your rooms and put your feet up a little while, let's all meet again at the travel agency just off the lobby, and Koma will drive you out to the air field for your flight."

  Janet came back out with several packets in her arms and waved at me.

  I made the welcome official. "Your rooms are ready. Your island adventure awaits."

  The group began to stand and move out into the aisle, murmuring among themselves. I stepped off the shuttle, joining Lana and Koma, watching as they did their charming greeting.

  The first person off the bus was a short, stocky man with thinning grey hair that frizzed out from his head in only a slightly less chaotic way than Einstein's and looked to be around fifty or so, with penetrating dark eyes under bushy brows.

  While he didn't smile, he did thrust his hand at me, which I shook. "Hershel Goldberg. You must be Miss LeClair."

  His grip was firm.

  "Gabby, please."

  "Aloha, and welcome to Aloha Lagoon Resort," Lana said, hanging a lei on him and demurely kissing his cheek.

  "Thanks, sweetie," he said to Lana before taking one of the packets from Janet.

  "Hershel," Janet said. "You're in Bungalow 15-B. The bellman will show you the way."

  Hershel turned and helped a smartly dressed woman down the step, a diminutive but curvy blonde with intentionally dark roots and soft, pretty features. She wore a black and white striped maxi dress under a white shrug and a pair of black patent Loubies platforms. The outfit, while simple, most likely had set her back a couple thousand dollars. Not my wheelhouse, at least not these days. Once I might have lusted after that chic look, but lately, I've tended to look at two thousand dollars as an ad campaign to promote a tour group to the big island or the Shakespeare festival in Honolulu. Ah, yes, how things do change.

  The stylish woman opened her mouth to speak, but before the words were formed, Hershel said, "This is Sarah, my wife."
>
  She cast him an irritated look, gave me a tight smile, and leaned in to accept her welcome lei from Koma.

  The single lady came next. "Chelsea Westport," was all she said before dropping her head down so Koma could drape the lei over her, but when he leaned in to give her the traditional peck on the cheek, she pulled back and wagged a stern finger in his face. "Oh, no, you don't. You're just like all the rest. I know what you're after."

  Chelsea looked like an ad for a Beverly Hills boutique. The odd thing about her was that above the neck she looked like the last woman on Earth to be wearing stylish clothes. Guessing her to be forty or so with an unlined olive complexion and dark, straight hair that hung Cher-style from a middle part to her waist with long blunt-cut bangs, her features were without makeup and as plain as a slice of white bread.

  Koma looked as if she'd slapped his face.

  Chelsea moved on, and I mouthed don't worry—it's okay to Koma.

  I looked at Janet who shrugged and whispered, "Right, lots of fun that one.

  And that's the way it went, the bigwigs from Chicago getting their first taste of aloha. The three other couples were middle-aged and older with that look of Lake Shore Drive about them—translate that look of old, serious money.

  Freddy and Dolly Lancaster were the last couple off the bus. The Bobbsey Twins.

  Freddy was a little on the soft side with short, curly hair, and a pretty good-sized honker holding up heavy-rimmed eyeglasses. The eyeglasses sported a snazzy pair of clip-on sunshades.

  Dolly Lancaster was the yin to his yang—right down to the black-framed glasses with the clip-ons. She was medium-height with those stringy, lean lines of a runner. Her dark hair had been pulled back up under the same style bushman's hat as Freddy's.