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  Mele shook her head, a tense, jerky movement, her face enflamed with panic.

  "Where were you?" Detective Ray asked again.

  Mele shot up, toppling her chair. Heads turned. Conversations came to a halt mid-sentence. Waiters and waitresses stopped in their tracks. Kitchen noises went dead. Even the swish of the trade winds seemed to silence.

  And as soft as her voice was, I was certain it carried like the blast of a foghorn and that everyone in the Loco Moco heard her say, "Sorry, Detective, but I don't have to tell you that."

  And simple as that, she rushed out of the café.

  "Huh," Detective Ray said, looking after her.

  It was surprising that Mele had reacted to the question so dramatically, but I was focused on something else. "You've referred to Val Markson as a victim several times now, Detective," I interjected. "And you're all over people who knew him with questions. Does this mean you're conducting a homicide investigation?"

  Detective Ray turned a hard look in my direction. "I guess you don't watch much TV, eh, Ms. LeClair?"

  "TV?" I asked. What on Earth did TV have to do with what I'd asked him? "Some, not a lot. Why?"

  "Because anyone who watches TV knows that police never discuss an ongoing investigation."

  A-ha! An investigation.

  He leaned an elbow on the table and propped his chin on it, his smile deceptively pleasant—his voice even more so as he turned his attention on Janet. "But I am glad you're here, Ms. Belinski. There are a few things I'd like to ask you about your visit with the victim last night."

  Oh, swell, here we go. I reached for Janet's hand and squeezed. I'd seen Detective Ray Kahoalani conduct interviews in the past. It was seldom a stroll in the park.

  Neither his expression nor tone changed. "Earlier you mentioned that the deceased had come to the island to hook up with a woman."

  Janet looked at me, appalled. "Did I actually say hook up to a policeman? What was I thinking?"

  "I'm pretty sure you didn't say 'hook up.'" I shot Detective Ray an impatient look. He was doing that cop thing and trying to get a rise out of Janet. I disliked him for it. "I think what you said was that Val was here because he was 'invited.'"

  Her expression relaxed. "Oh good, a bit more classy than hooking up."

  Detective Ray pulled our attention back to him. "And you said this woman's name is"—he flipped a page on his little notepad—"Chelsea Westport? Is there anything you haven't told me about Mrs. Westport's relationship with Mr. Markson? For instance, was last night the first you learned of his liaison with Mrs. Westport?"

  "Oh, no," Janet said. "He told me about it a couple of weeks ago when he learned the consortium would be coming to the island to consider buying Gabby's Island Adventures."

  "Really?" The look of surprise on Ray's face was unmistakable. "You're leaving us, Miss LeClair?"

  I shrugged. "That hasn't been determined as of yet."

  "Well, keep me posted on that, will you?" he asked.

  "Probably not," I said. This guy was worse about having to know everyone's business than my great aunt, Eleanor. That woman had to know all your business all the time, but she pretty much limited it to family and friends. Detective Ray was neither, but he probably couldn't help it—it was probably a trait built into his cop DNA.

  He looked back at me, surprised, but he didn't reply. Instead he turned back to Janet. "Did it hurt your feelings that he was interested in another woman?"

  "I already told you I didn't think about him that way."

  "Uh-huh," Detective Ray said. "Right." He rubbed his chin. "You see, Miss Belinski, the problem I'm having here is that you admit to being with the deceased last night. You admit you'd been seeing him socially. You even admit that he'd been seeing other women on a regular basis. Why should I believe it isn't possible that you made advances toward him, and when he didn't respond, you flew into a jealous rage and hit him over the head?"

  Janet began to sputter.

  So did I. "Well, that's just…just…"

  "And since your only alibi here is Miss LeClair, your—what do they call it—BFF? I'm finding your story a little weak."

  "Are you calling me a liar?" I said, wishing Janet had more to back her up than just my assertion she'd been too knocked out by her sleeping pills to have murdered someone.

  "Oh, no, Miss LeClair," Detective Ray said. "Not at all. I'm just wondering if when you came in at three in the morning and tried to awaken your friend Ms. Belinski here, if maybe she wasn't giving an Oscar-worthy performance."

  Janet finally stopped sputtering and said, "You think I was pretending to be asleep."

  Detective Ray pushed back from the table, stood, and tugged his colorful aloha shirt down over the holster at his waist. "Just saying what if, Ms. Belinski," he said easily. "Oh, and also, don't leave the island."

  CHAPTER TEN

  We headed back to our own table, both of us upset. I didn't know about Janet, but Detective Ray had me so mad I was shaking.

  "Can you believe the nerve of that guy?" Janet gasped. "He can't possibly believe I'd…" She broke off, took in a long, ragged breath, and began to cry softly.

  "Oh, Jan," I said. "Don't cry. Detective Ray doesn't really think you killed Val Markson." I hoped she bought it—I'd always been terrible at lying.

  She reached into her tote bag and brought out one of those tiny little packages of tissue, pulling one from the pack to wipe her eyes and blow her nose. "It's not that. Well, not just that. I'm sad about what happened to poor Val." She sat up straighter and pulled her shoulders back. "Maybe he was kind of a schmuck when he was younger. I didn't know about that until today. But when I was with him at The Lava Pot, he sounded sincerely repentant for how he'd been when he was younger. I don't think he deserved to die. Everybody makes mistakes."

  "He deserves justice, and that policeman just seems to be spinning his wheels in the mud. I don't think he has clue one about what really happened to Val, but it's obvious he believes someone killed him." She was quiet for a minute, looking out onto the beach. "I think I'll start nosing around some and see if I can't help the police move this investigation along, like they do in those Hallmark movies."

  "Janet, is that a good idea?" I'd done that very thing in the past and knew what I was talking about when I said, "That can be dangerous."

  She waved a hand at me. "Not likely."

  The waitress was a welcome interruption as she walked up to the table. "Hi, Gabby."

  I looked up and saw that it was Carrie Jorgenson. "What can I get for you ladies today? The usual?"

  "Hi, Carrie." I smiled at her. "I'm getting too predictable. But yes. The usual."

  "And what is the usual?" Janet asked.

  "They have this awesome lomi lomi salad here." I brought my fingertips to my lips and kissed them. "To die for."

  "She almost always orders it," Carrie said.

  "I'll have it too," Janet said. When Carrie started to turn away, Janet called her back. "I'm pretty hungry, so I believe, I'd also like a side of fries and some garlic bread. And maybe…" She began to look over the menu again.

  I took the opportunity to consider the implications of what Detective Ray had said and couldn't deny the fact that he seemed to like Janet for the homicide, also Mele. If I wanted Detective Ray to begin to look around at others, I was going to have to ferret out another possible suspect.

  When Carrie walked away, I said to Janet, "If you have your mind set on looking into this, I'm onboard too. "

  "You will?" The light in her eyes told me that was good news for her. "Oh, thank God, because I don't even know where to begin."

  * * *

  Satiated with lomi lomi salads and peach-flavored iced teas, Janet and I made our way across the property to the spa where weeks ago, when I'd first learned Janet was coming to the island, I'd booked hot stone massages.

  The atmosphere at Aloha Lagoon's Moana Spa was so Zen that the moment we walked in a sense of tranquility settled over me like a gossam
er drape. And the way Janet's breathing slowed and her posture relaxed, I knew she felt the same way.

  The reception area was cool and dim with directional beams spotlighting the stone slab top of the reception desk as well as the original island art on the sea-mist green walls.

  Kiki the receptionist, a petite Asian girl with waist-length black hair, skin like satin, and a demeanor so graceful and calming she could have been a geisha, came around the desk and presented both hands to me. "Gabby." She leaned in briefly to touch cheeks with me. "It is so wonderful to see you here once again."

  Kiki stepped back and repeated the greeting with Janet. "Welcome."

  "Kiki." I kept my voice low. Somehow speaking in normal ranges in this tranquil place seemed the equivalent of shouting out loud in church. "This is Janet, my friend from the mainland. She's visiting us for a few days."

  Hmm. When had I stopped referring to Chicago as back home and begun calling it the mainland? Also, when had I begun to see a distinction between myself and others just "visiting" from Chicago? Now there was something to ponder.

  "Aloha, Janet," Kiki said, her voice silky as the warm oil I was anticipating. "I hope you're enjoying your visit to our island."

  "I've been here before," Janet said. "Many times." She didn't mention the house she kept here. "I'm looking forward to my massage today. I so need this escape time."

  Janet and I went into the changing room, found a couple of wonderfully soft robes and some spa slippers. We stowed our stuff in the lockers, went out into a waiting area next to the massage room, and sat sipping cups of complimentary sweet jasmine tea.

  Janet was quiet, and I was lost in my own thoughts of what had happened earlier in the day. I couldn't help but remember how strikingly handsome Val Markson had been. Tall, muscled, curling black hair, dark eyes, square jawed. The gash and knot on his forehead had marred those good looks and taken his life.

  The sound of female voices rose as, just a few feet away, the door to the massage salon opened and Sarah Goldberg and Dolly Lancaster walked out.

  Sarah looked right at home in spa mode with her long golden hair pulled up in a charming messy bun and her moist unlined skin alight with a healthy glow. She was quite animated, and I couldn't help but notice how different she was when not in the tamped down presence of her overbearing husband, Hershel.

  Dolly Lancaster on the other hand looked like a woman completely out of her element. While she had also pulled her hair up and out of the way, it was heavy and unshaped, and the better part of it sagged down onto the back of her neck. Rather than glowing, the sheen on her skin looked more like oily perspiration. As she walked her glasses kept sliding down her nose, and what looked like massage oil was smeared across one of the lenses. She shuffled along like a little old man as if afraid of losing the slippers if she lifted her feet. I could tell that if given a preference she'd rather be outdoors with her hubby and a pair of binoculars seeking endangered species.

  The two women stopped at the door and continued their conversation. I didn't think they'd noticed Janet and me.

  Sarah Goldberg was doing all the talking. "Well, when Hershel and I were having trouble, I actually contacted that Val Markson." She laid her hand on Dolly's arm. "Only a time or two, of course, and I'm not all that crazy for word of that to get around, so if you wouldn't mind keeping it to yourself?"

  Dolly shrugged and appeared disinterested. "Sure." Then she noticed Janet and me sitting on the sofa in the waiting area and shuffled toward us. "Hi, Miss LeClair. I'm glad you're here. I was hoping you'd know if there's a bird sanctuary on the island."

  Sarah sighed and hung back, obviously not as overjoyed about the prospect of our fine feathered friends as Dolly. "Yes," I said. "Well, I don't know precisely about birds, but there's the Kilauea Point National Wildlife Refuge over on the northwest side of the island near the lighthouse."

  Dolly fisted her hands in excitement. She was practically giddy. "Oh, boy. Wait till Freddy hears. Can you get us a rental car so we can drive up there?"

  "I can," I said.

  Sarah yawned. Well, she had just indulged in a massage, and I wanted to think maybe she was so relaxed she couldn't keep her eyes open, but in reality I figured it was boredom not fatigue making her yawn.

  "Mrs. Goldberg," I began.

  "Please call me Sarah."

  "Sarah. " I started over. "Did I just overhear you say you'd used the services of Val Markson?"

  Janet interrupted. "Oh my God, Sarah. You've heard of course. Isn't this just the most terrible thing. Poor Val."

  Sarah didn't speak right away, but her facial expression had gone dark and suspicious. "Why are you asking me about him?" She looked from Janet to me.

  "Well, because I heard you say—"

  "Look, Miss LeClair." Somehow her tone made my name sound more like an insult than a mere address. "Since you were eavesdropping, you probably also overheard me ask Dolly not to repeat that I ever had anything to do with Val Markson. Yes. When I was separated from my husband, there were a couple of times I needed someone to escort me. And Janet had recommended him. And, yes, he was good-looking, and, yes, it was kind of exciting to be seen around town with him. But when Hershel and I worked things out, I was done with all that. I was. Done. Really."

  She'd said it all in one breath and was now breathing a bit hard to catch up.

  So as not to distress her further, I tried to sound as matter-of-fact as possible. "I noticed yesterday when Val arrived at the hotel, your husband Hershel seemed quite upset. Did he know Val too?"

  Sarah blinked her eyes several times, her expression blank. Finally, she licked her lips and said, "Of course not. Why would my husband know him? He never dated Val." She barked a laugh that sounded shrill and forced.

  "Sure," I said slowly, looking sideways at Janet. "Why would he know him?"

  Understanding dawned on Sarah's face. "Oh, I see. You've heard the police suspect foul play, and you're trying to tie my husband into this ugliness." She nodded smugly.

  "No," I objected. "I just—'

  "Sorry to disappoint you, but Hershel and I were together here at the resort all night. The island ambiance here at Aloha Lagoon put us in the mood for, shall we say, some quality time alone. Together. That's what I'll say to the police if they come around asking, since it's actually their business and none of yours." Her voice had risen in the Zen atmosphere to an uncomfortable level.

  I kept mine down. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Goldberg—Sarah. I didn't mean to upset you."

  She looked at me hard and straight in the eye, but bobbed her head in a curt nod.

  Sarah was obviously lying about Hershel not knowing who Val was. He had cursed when he saw Val and called the man a filthy parasite—not exactly something you might say about some random guy in a hotel lobby. But I didn't press. Before I talked further to Sarah about Val's murder, I decided I wanted to talk to her husband. If she'd lie about one thing, she'd lie about another.

  Janet couldn't read my mind of course, and she interjected. "Wait a minute, yesterday Hershel—"

  I was saved from having to step on Janet's toe or poke her in the ribs by two strapping young men in spa uniforms who came from the massage salon.

  "Janet? Gabby?" one of them asked.

  That stopped Janet dead in her tracks.

  "Did you request a male masseuse?" I asked.

  "Does Francis rock the popemobile?" She tossed out before breaking into what was almost a full-on run toward the massage salon. "Look at those two hotties. Get a move on, Gabby. I want to take advantage of every minute I'm paying for."

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Our tandem massages by the two strong guys were absolute heaven. By the time all the oiling and warming and kneading was over, I was as limp and relaxed as a noodle cooked to al dente perfection. Even Janet was talking less and smiling more. We went out on the spa patio and took over two of the chaises where we indulged in a couple of tall mango iced teas and reveled in all that lovely mellowness.

 
; I called the office and checked in with Lana who said business was steady but not overwhelming and that everything was running smoothly. "Take as much time as you want to enjoy your friend," she said. "Koma and I, we got this. And we know how to get in touch if we need you."

  The Pukui twins were a gift from the island gods.

  Janet slurped down the last of her tea. "If you sell the travel agency and come back to Chicago, we could do this every weekend. Heck, every day if we wanted. Wouldn't that be just perfect?"

  I smiled but didn't answer. It was obvious Janet missed me. Would it be mean to tell her I loved my life here at Aloha Lagoon with my friends and my lover and wouldn't be going back—not even if I did decide to sell the agency?

  "Gabby?" Janet gave one last pull on the straw. "What do you say we head over to The Lava Pot and get ourselves a real drink? I'm not going to karaoke with you tonight, so I'm done with the bosses for the day. It's time for Janet to do whatever Janet wants. And a Lava Flow sounds divine right about now. Maybe two." She grinned. "Or three."

  With everything that was going on, I wasn't really in the mood to imbibe, but Janet was my guest. "Sure. Let's catch a quick shower then head on over there."

  It wasn't more than half an hour later before we walked into the dim cool atmosphere of The Lava Pot. The tiki bar was so iconic it was like taking a step backward into an old movie. Humphrey Bogart, in the role of the haggard beachcomber or South Seas island pilot, might have strolled in any second, slapped some coins on the bar, and demanded, "Rum, and bring the bottle."

  We headed toward a table in the corner where we could watch the comings and goings of happy hour patrons.

  Casey, my favorite British mixologist, was busy behind the bar, but he saw us come in and head to a table.

  "Hi, Casey," I called to him. "Can we get one Lava Flow and one club soda, please?"

  He nodded.

  Casey brought the drinks, smiling when Janet added, "And keep 'em coming, cutie."