jabbed Wilson in the ribs, and he re-filled my glass.
“Maybe in a minute.” I held up my now-full glass and returned to the subject at hand. “Of course we made a special point of eating at the Wakilulani to see Rachel, but the folks down there told us she works here now. So here we are!”
“Here we are!” You guessed it—Wilson.
I asked the gang about Rachel’s next shift. “She does work here, no?”
“No.” The waitress Sylvia had joined us with two fresh pitchers.
“No?” Wilson asked.
“She got fired.” Sylvia groaned out loud, as did a few of my pool-playing buddies. “I’m sorry, lady, but your friend was a disaster. She couldn’t, or wouldn’t, keep up the pace.” Sylvia took a credit card from Wilson and left to close out our tab.
I sighed for effect. “I feel like I’m on a wild goose chase.” Sigh, sigh. “I don’t suppose anyone can tell me where I might find Rachel now?”
“At the Primrose Tower,” Tall Guy told me. “It’s that fancy high-rise hotel at the north end of the beach. Rachel’s their new night clerk.”
“Good luck Primrose Tower,” Blond Guy muttered under his breath.
***
Two more pool games and three Hawaiian shirts later, Wilson and I stood outside Shynomore Shirt Shop, debating whether or not we possessed the energy to venture further down the beach to Rachel Tate’s newest place of employment.
“Not,” we agreed and began our trek back toward home base.
We walked in silence. Perhaps Wilson was enjoying the lovely moon and the sounds of the waves crashing on the shore, but I was deep in thought about the Wakilulani—its history, its owners, its staff, its missing staff. Davy Atwell.
Louise Urko might say the place was intriguing, but I was more inclined to agree with the blond guy at pool table two. The Wakilulani wasn’t just intriguing—it was jinxed.
Eventually we found our spot from the previous night, and as we plopped down in the sand, Wilson got right to the point. “Who’s the killer?” he asked.
I reminded him he’s the expert. “Who do you think killed Davy?”
“The only one I’m ruling out is Bee Bee.”
I might have snorted.
“What’s so funny?”
“You are.” I pointed in the direction of Kamakokoa’s. “Sorry, Captain Rye, but you sounded just like Bee Bee down there.”
“Bee Bee?”
“At the bar, Wilson. You kept repeating everything everyone said.”
“Everythi—” He caught himself and mumbled something about just trying to be friendly.
I patted his knee. “If it wasn’t Bee Bee, who was it?
“Could be almost anyone. Right now, I’m thinking Bethany.”
“The waitress? Why, for Lord’s sake?”
“I’m betting all the turnover in staff is significant. For a brand new employee, Bethany seemed pretty involved in that.”
“She found the terrific new chef,” I agreed.
“And she was more than happy to tell us the rumors about the old chef.”
“You did ask her, Wilson.”
He shrugged. “She tried to hide it, but she has strong opinions about these people.”
I remembered how my kiwi sorbet had almost landed in my lap when the subject of Rachel Tate came up. “Bethany certainly didn’t like Rachel,” I conceded. “But considering the reaction we just got at the sports bar, no one does.”
“You were right about her, though.”
I shook my head. “About who?”
“Rachel Tate. Back at Kamakaze’s you said we were on a wild goose chase. I bet Bethany sent us down there to get us sidetracked.”
“Oh, come on. She didn’t order us to go sleuthing.”
“Power of suggestion.” He turned to me. “Okay, Miss Amateur Sleuth. If not Bethany, who?”
I thought about my own prime suspect. “It didn’t necessarily have to be someone staying or working at the resort that night,” I suggested. “I mean, anyone could have driven in, taken the knife, and then hidden in the parking lot to wait for Davy.”
“Anyone like Ki Okolo?”
I jumped. “He’s my prime suspect! How
“Maybe in a minute.” I held up my now-full glass and returned to the subject at hand. “Of course we made a special point of eating at the Wakilulani to see Rachel, but the folks down there told us she works here now. So here we are!”
“Here we are!” You guessed it—Wilson.
I asked the gang about Rachel’s next shift. “She does work here, no?”
“No.” The waitress Sylvia had joined us with two fresh pitchers.
“No?” Wilson asked.
“She got fired.” Sylvia groaned out loud, as did a few of my pool-playing buddies. “I’m sorry, lady, but your friend was a disaster. She couldn’t, or wouldn’t, keep up the pace.” Sylvia took a credit card from Wilson and left to close out our tab.
I sighed for effect. “I feel like I’m on a wild goose chase.” Sigh, sigh. “I don’t suppose anyone can tell me where I might find Rachel now?”
“At the Primrose Tower,” Tall Guy told me. “It’s that fancy high-rise hotel at the north end of the beach. Rachel’s their new night clerk.”
“Good luck Primrose Tower,” Blond Guy muttered under his breath.
***
Two more pool games and three Hawaiian shirts later, Wilson and I stood outside Shynomore Shirt Shop, debating whether or not we possessed the energy to venture further down the beach to Rachel Tate’s newest place of employment.
“Not,” we agreed and began our trek back toward home base.
We walked in silence. Perhaps Wilson was enjoying the lovely moon and the sounds of the waves crashing on the shore, but I was deep in thought about the Wakilulani—its history, its owners, its staff, its missing staff. Davy Atwell.
Louise Urko might say the place was intriguing, but I was more inclined to agree with the blond guy at pool table two. The Wakilulani wasn’t just intriguing—it was jinxed.
Eventually we found our spot from the previous night, and as we plopped down in the sand, Wilson got right to the point. “Who’s the killer?” he asked.
I reminded him he’s the expert. “Who do you think killed Davy?”
“The only one I’m ruling out is Bee Bee.”
I might have snorted.
“What’s so funny?”
“You are.” I pointed in the direction of Kamakokoa’s. “Sorry, Captain Rye, but you sounded just like Bee Bee down there.”
“Bee Bee?”
“At the bar, Wilson. You kept repeating everything everyone said.”
“Everythi—” He caught himself and mumbled something about just trying to be friendly.
I patted his knee. “If it wasn’t Bee Bee, who was it?
“Could be almost anyone. Right now, I’m thinking Bethany.”
“The waitress? Why, for Lord’s sake?”
“I’m betting all the turnover in staff is significant. For a brand new employee, Bethany seemed pretty involved in that.”
“She found the terrific new chef,” I agreed.
“And she was more than happy to tell us the rumors about the old chef.”
“You did ask her, Wilson.”
He shrugged. “She tried to hide it, but she has strong opinions about these people.”
I remembered how my kiwi sorbet had almost landed in my lap when the subject of Rachel Tate came up. “Bethany certainly didn’t like Rachel,” I conceded. “But considering the reaction we just got at the sports bar, no one does.”
“You were right about her, though.”
I shook my head. “About who?”
“Rachel Tate. Back at Kamakaze’s you said we were on a wild goose chase. I bet Bethany sent us down there to get us sidetracked.”
“Oh, come on. She didn’t order us to go sleuthing.”
“Power of suggestion.” He turned to me. “Okay, Miss Amateur Sleuth. If not Bethany, who?”
I thought about my own prime suspect. “It didn’t necessarily have to be someone staying or working at the resort that night,” I suggested. “I mean, anyone could have driven in, taken the knife, and then hidden in the parking lot to wait for Davy.”
“Anyone like Ki Okolo?”
I jumped. “He’s my prime suspect! How
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