Maui Widow Waltz (Islands of Aloha Mystery Series) by JoAnn Bassett Page B

of
yourself, man. ”
    “Yeah,” Number Two chimed in. “Get
well. My wife’s been bitching about all the overtime.”
    “Since when did your ‘never met a
gold bracelet she didn’t need’ wife decide she doesn’t want you doing
overtime?”
    Everyone laughed and the door
slammed a minute later.
    I tiptoed up the stairs, trying to
avoid the creak on the second-to-the-last step. I wondered if Steve knew what
was going on with Hatch. Maybe I wasn’t the only one he was hiding secrets
from. But for the hundredth time, I reminded myself it was none of my business.
     
     

 
     
     
    CHAPTER 9
     
    M onday
morning I called my suppliers—one more time—to confirm everyone was still on
board and things were proceeding as scheduled. My level of micro-management
borders on harassment, but everyone’s come to expect it of me. Long ago I
decided I’d rather be known as an anal retentive nag than a bridal consultant
who doesn’t deliver.
    “I knew it’d be you,” Keahou said
as she picked up the phone in her Kula bakery. “Don’t worry. I’m baking the
layers tomorrow. Then I let them temper for a day; then I’ll frost it early
Thursday morning so the icing’s nice and fresh. What time you want it
delivered?”
    “Two o’clock would be good.
Remember, it’s at Olu’olu.”
    “Couldn’t forget that. I hope they
let me in.”
    “When you get to the gate, tell
them you’re bringing the wedding cake.” As soon as it was out of my mouth, I
realized she probably could have figured that out on her own.
    “Is that place really owned by some
mafia kahuna ?”
    “I don’t know. And it’s not polite
to gossip.”
    “Ooh,” she said. “Touchy.”
    “Sorry to snap, Keahou, but this
wedding’s been nothing but pilikia from day one. You know, with the dead
groom and all.”
    “Yeah. Seems like a pretty hupo thing
they’re doing. Oh well, we need the business.”
    “Yes we do.”
    “Will you be down there when I
bring the cake?”
    “I’ll get there around ten that
morning. And don’t worry, I’ll have your check all ready for you.”
    “Good girl. This cake is going to
be lani nui , I promise. I have lots of time to make it extra special.”
    After making all the critical
calls—cake, dress, videographer, limo—I was batting a thousand. Of course with
tourist business at a standstill all over the island only a vendor with a
family emergency—or one who’d already gone belly-up—would blow me off this
week.
    The weather was finally
cooperating. Now we had long sun breaks interspersed with only quick showers. I
couldn’t be sure it’d be sunny at the time of the wedding though, so I’d
ordered a canvas canopy.
    At around ten I headed over to the
Gadda-da-Vida. It was break time and I wanted something to go with my fourth
cup of coffee. I also had Farrah on my vendor list and I needed to confirm the
ceremony details and flowers. As I pushed the front door open, I heard a deep
male voice off to the right by the cash register. I halted halfway in,
straining to hear. I try to avoid bothering Farrah when she has paying
customers, but she also has a steady stream of local folks who stop by to talk
story , so I listened to see which this was.
    “What do you think?” It was Kevin.
I recognized the deep rumble of his voice.
    “I think you’re my knight in
shining Hummer,” said Farrah. Her voice had inched up a couple of octaves, just
shy of kittenish.
    “Well, thanks to you, I’m feeling a
lot better about stuff,” he said. “I’m happy to return the favor.”
    I stepped back onto the sidewalk
and eased the door shut, hoping to avoid rousing the tinkly bell on the door. I
didn’t need a trail-mix bar bad enough to barge into the middle of that .
And besides, once Kevin left, Farrah would break a leg rushing over to fill me
in on the details.
    Back in my shop I scrounged through
my desk and found a shriveled piece of fruit leather and a sleeve of stale
crackers filled with a peanut butter-like