Chapter Nineteen

 

To prepare for the reunion dinner-dance, Malia hadn’t done anything like lose weight, suffer through Botox shots, or get a sassy French haircut like many of the women had done. However, at Kiki’s insistence, she had purchased a two-piece, red silk evening ensemble. At the time, she expected to attend the function to party and reunite with old friends. Instead she was here on police business wearing black, knee-length, running tights under her skirt. And if trouble went down, the skirt would go.

Malia checked her watch. It was nearly six. If lucky, the window of daylight could work in her favor. The two plainclothes cops she’d sent ahead were already stationed at each of the hotel exits. Everything was going as scheduled. Taking a deep breath, she walked through the lobby to the banquet reception area. Jammed with locals and out-of-towners, the noise level was deafening. People she barely recognized hugged her and moved on to someone else. Others she recognized milled past, but their names eluded her.

Kathy Ward Saiki, the bubbly stand-in reunion coordinator, ushered Malia into a line to get her picture taken. Scanning the crowd, Malia looked for anyone suspicious who matched her attacker’s body type. Was Damon here? Heat rushed to her face thinking about what would have happened between them last night if Ku hadn’t called with the reunion security problem.

Kelly had fallen off a ladder and broken his shoulder, and Martinez’s wife went into labor. Malia had solved the sudden manpower shortage by regretfully calling Officer Morales and Officer Daniels in from their well-earned and much needed weekend leave.

It wasn’t as easy to sort out the dilemma between her and Damon. That would have to wait. She had more pressing problems than trying to figure out why she’d relented and left him a ticket at the door. She only knew her heart craved a glimpse of him.

Music and the buzz of excited chatter flowed from the banquet entrance. The killer wouldn’t miss this get-together. This was the highlight event: buffet dinner, music, dancing, no host cocktails. Even those classmates who didn’t attend the other events were here for this.

People in line with Malia wore office or aloha clothes. Only a few of them flaunted fancy cocktail dresses or Armani suits. The overpowering fragrance of pikake leis floated in the air.

The line moved ahead several steps, aligning Malia with a beveled mirror with a gilded frame. Two classy blondes strolled by. She couldn’t place them, but they looked damned good. Their snooty once-over gave her an uncharacteristic urge to check her appearance in the mirror. Her breath caught when she realized it wasn’t her own image staring back, but the likeness of her murdered twin as she imagined Melody would look now if she were still alive.

Malia reached out to touch the reflection. The past rushed back, vivid, hard hitting. Melody would have cut the blondes off at their dark roots with one of her pithy compliments meant to sweetly destroy. But in spite of the few catty people, her gregarious sister would have loved this reunion …would have loved to have lived her life instead of dying at the hands of a sadistic killer much like the bastard who had taken Kiki’s last breath. Malia blinked, forcing back the threat of tears. Although she had been too young to find and capture her sister’s killer, she would stop this bastard.

Her cell phone rang. She cleared her throat and snapped, “Reed here.” It was a member of her team, apprising her of their positions and unusual behaviors by the partygoers. “Check everything out,” she said, putting her hand over the phone and speaking only loud enough to convey her message. “If we step on toes, so be it. We can apologize later.”

Malia hung up and turned to talk with a classmate. Pretty soon a few more acqaintences dropped by and huddled together chattering and laughing. Malia mostly listened, watching for anything suspicious going on around her. When one woman suggested a trip to the restroom, she declined. She had no time to rush to the privacy of the powder room to whisper about nothing. She had to stay centrally located and alert for anything. She watched them head off together, feeling older and weighted down by her responsibily to keep them all alive.

Carlos Yoneda stumbled in looking like a bull dog, blurry-eyed and pouchy-faced. Once a Warrior, buff and handsome, he now looked like his only exercise was lifting shots of bourbon. He passed her by, too drunk to recognize her. She sighed in relief.

“Malia!” Rick Krehl, another guy she would have preferred to avoid, lifted Malia off her feet and swung her around. He was solid as a Hummer and square all over, including his jaw, a perfect model for a marine recruitment poster. Cigarette smoke clung to him, fouling the air between them.

Malia coughed and cleared her throat. “Rick, what a surprise.” He’d been captain of the football team in their senior year. He was always asking her out, and she had finally agreed and gone to the prom with him. It had been a mistake.

“I hear my little Malia is a cop,” he said in a booming voice.

She winced. His big, loud mouth had gotten louder, equal to his weight gain. At social gatherings she never liked to tell people that she was a cop, but unfortunately those who knew seemed to enjoy broadcasting it. His tobacco smell mingled with the odor of beer and half a bottle of some cheap shaving lotion. She dangled in the air, about four inches above the floor, with his hot, beefy arms hugging her to him. “Put me down, Rick,” she barked with her tone of authority.

“Yes, Ma’am, Lady Cop, whatever you say.” Laughing, he lowered her until her high heels once again touched the floor. “If your dance card isn’t full, maybe we could show ‘em how it’s done. You always were the best dancer in school, and after my divorce I brushed up with Arthur Murray. Promise I won’t embarrass you.”

He already had in ways she didn’t even want to contemplate. Smoothing and straightening her clothing, Malia forced a smile. “I’m with someone, and he’s the jealous type.”

Rick’s face turned serious. “Better dump him, Malia. Guys like that are dangerous.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Rick glanced around. “Say, is Al Lee here? I know you two were friends.”

“He isn’t on the list. Besides, I’d be surprised to see Al here. His memories about our graduating class probably weren’t something he’d want to relive.”

Rick looked down at his shoes. “Yeah, I know. The way we treated him has eaten away at me all these years. I want to apologize. It was so dammed wrong. My son lives with his mother, and he’s going through the same kind of hell now. It’s changing him from a happy kid to a moody loner.”

Sympathy for the boy tore at her heart. She wondered if part of the problem might be the divorce. She pressed her lips together, not wanting to encourage Rick by delving deeper into his life. “I’m sure your apology would help, but for Al, it’s probably water under the bridge.”

The tension around Rick’s mouth eased, and she was glad when he let the subject drop. Her stomach knotted when she thought about the way her classmates had treated Al, and it knotted even tighter hearing that, in this day and age, another little boy was being tortured.

For a few minutes, she and Rick brought each other up-to-date on their lives, him doing most of the talking. She discovered that under all the brashness he had turned into an okay guy. Still, she was relieved when the photo line moved forward. “It was good to see you again, Rick. Have a great time.”

The photographer motioned her forward. “Alone?” he asked.

For a moment she wished she’d allowed Damon to escort her. The picture taken the evening of the cruise would be her only memento of them together to cherish when this was over and they parted company.

Malia waited until the photographer finished taking her picture before she opened her evening bag and flashed her badge. “I need a copy of all reunion attendees with a list of names ASAP.”

He studied her a moment, then nodded. As Malia left him, she got two more calls on her cell phone canceling previous concerns. Officer King told her that the scream in the restroom was a false alarm. It turned out to be the excited shriek of a woman greeting her best friend for the first time in ten years. Ku advised her that the something tied around another potential suspect’s waist turned out to be a bunched up girdle, not a bomb.

Malia entered the Pagoda Ballroom. It was already set up for buffet banquet. She took a seat at her table in the back section just as the room darkened and the video of school events flashed on a big screen located on the center of the stage. She answered another cell call. Someone had seen a guy dressed like a gardener peek in a window. Another false alarm. It was a gardener.

She glanced up at the video. The names and pictures of the classmates who’d passed away flashed on the screen. A sadness rose in Malia at the parade of young hopeful faces whose lives had been cut short. Suddenly, Malia froze. Pictures of Kiki, Ainsley, and Nancy loomed on the screen. The efficiency of the reunion committee stunned her. Tears blurred her vision. The dead weren’t even in the ground yet, and their faces were plastered up there.

When the lights brightened, Malia sat numbly for what seemed like an eternity. People around her talked about taking up a collection for a memorial with the names of those who had died. She pulled a twenty from her purse and tossed it into the plate, wishing she had more with her. Malia closed her eyes, fighting the anger. If she didn’t get the killer, more classmates would be added to the list.

Malia sensed someone behind her. She turned and looked up at Damon. Her breath caught; he filled out his black tuxedo better than anyone she’d ever seen, or ever hoped to see. His shoulders looked wider than usual, and he looked taller.

“Whoops,” she said, her face burning. “I forgot to tell you that most of the guys would be wearing slacks and dressy aloha shirts.”

“No problem. It doesn’t bother me.”

But Damon’s dark good looks bothered Malia enormously, and she wondered about the wisdom of letting him sit next to her during dinner.

He leaned on the back of the only empty chair at the long table. “My seat, I presume?” he said, easing into the chair next to her. He leaned forward to bring the chair closer to the table, and she caught a whiff of a musky shaving lotion that was more intoxicating than inhaling one of the mysterious Hawaiian passion potions. His eyes glinted with approval as he took in her long, red evening skirt.

“Looks like I’m not the only one who overdressed.” He stared at her for several heartbeats. “You look sensational.” His words came out in a deep breathy murmur that vibrated through her.

She shrugged. “Thanks. You, too.” The laughable understatement was meant to downplay the stirring truth; he looked like the man of her dreams. Always had.

He held her gaze, saying things with his emerald-green eyes that sent heat rushing through her veins. In self-defense, she looked away. She intended to keep her fantasies about him only in her dreams.

The other cheerleader left their tables in a group to get in the banquet line. They motioned to her to join them, but she smiled and mouthed, talk to you later. They wouldn’t understand that she was only here to catch a killer. Her friends looked great, figures better than in high school. Later, if she had the chance, she’d tell them so. Their escorts remained at the tables, looking bored, their faces flushed from drinking too much. They clearly wished they were home watching TV, or flaked out on the couch.

A husband and wife team strolled by, both wearing black aloha shirts and white slacks, looking like Mutt and Jeff penguins. It was Margene Halsted and Micky Dun. How had those two ever gotten together? Margene had lived on a ranch like those on the Big Island and was always bringing animals to school for show-and-tell. She’d wanted to become a veterinarian.

Micky was the kind of guy who would kick dogs and put cans on cats’ tails.

Malia shook her head. Her negativity about her classmates had nothing to do with them. In truth, it was herself she didn’t like very much, right now. Sitting next to Damon with her heightened awareness of him brought images of last night’s kiss – and her guilt. She had wanted him – and as much as she loathed herself for it, she still wanted him.

The man on the other side of Damon was Luke Tamara. He was showing Damon pictures and bragging. Luke hadn’t changed one iota since high school; he’d been a bragger then, too.

Good grief, she was being negative again. She had to stop that. Damon turned and showed her Luke’s pictures. The twin toddlers in the photo were beautiful; Luke had every right to brag.

Thinking of her twin’s grisly murder, Malia closed her fingers around her cloth napkin in her lap, squeezing it into a tight ball. Before she could get past that wave of sadness, an image of Kiki in the trunk of her Mercedes flashed in Malia’s mind. Dear God. The only way I’ll make it through this night is to numb my feelings and keep my mind on the job.