Melody snuck a glance at me, then sat at the table with Detective Flores. The party girl was now sober and serious. Well, except for the nutty floral tiara she was wearing.
At the detective’s significant look, Barclay and I retreated to a short hallway off the lobby that led to the gift shop. Barclay still carried the bag with the remaining rare rums. We stood next to a display case set into the bamboo-lined wall that showed tropical shirts, leis, island instruments, jewelry, purses and tiki mugs.
“She didn’t do it,” I told him.
“Of course she didn’t. She would never do something like that unless it was self-defense.” Barclay raised an eyebrow. “It wasn’t self-defense, was it?”
“I don’t think so. She was shocked to hear Fizz was dead. But she also asked if he was pissed at her, so I wonder what happened.”
“If my dad was pissed at her?”
“No, silly. Fizz. He must have done something, or she did something, or—frankly, my head hurts.”
“We could get a drink.”
“Always a good idea, but I want to wait and see how Melody does.”
He nodded, and we looked at the display case to pass the time.
“I have a thought,” I said.
“You always have many thoughts.”
“But most of them are dirty.”
He laughed.
“See that big bag?” I pointed to the largest bag in the display case. It featured a cartoony, toothy hula girl with a fringe (actual fringe) skirt, flowers and parrots. “I think we need that.”
“Not my style,” he joked.
“We need it for the rums! If someone is after rare rums, they might want these bottles, too.” I gestured to the bag he carried. “Everybody saw Fizz’s bag on stage. It’s like carrying around a target.”
“Right. And the best disguise at Hookahakaha is the loudest bag we can find. I like the way you think.”
A few minutes later, we’d bought the hula-girl bag and stuffed Fizz’s original bag into it. Then we drifted back out to the lobby, where we could look into the dining room and see the interview in progress. Detective Flores was taking more notes. We could only see Melody’s back.
“That’s some crown she’s wearing on her head,” Barclay said after a few minutes.
“I have one that’s even more outrageous. I made it myself.”
“More outrageous than that?” He grinned, and those amber-green eyes twinkled. It was nice to see someone smiling again.
“Totally. You’ll see. Assuming we get to the point where we get to have fun again.”
“The show must go on,” he said. “Look. I think they’re done.”
The detective and Melody now stood, and we took that as our cue to wander over.
“Stay out of trouble,” Detective Flores told Barclay.
“And take it easy on Luke,” his son replied. “He didn’t do it. He’s a good guy.”
“Good guys sometimes do bad things. But I’ll keep it in mind.” Detective Flores smiled for real this time, and his whole face got in on the action, echoing Barclay’s. Damn. God save me from good-looking men. He handed Melody and I business cards. “Pepper, I’ll let you know if I need anything else. Keep your eyes open and call me if you remember anything. All of you, be careful. If Luke isn’t our man, then there’s still a killer out there.”
And then he was gone, heading back to the kitchen and the crime scene.
Melody huffed. “I need a goddamn drink.”
We had a few minutes’ wait in the crowded bar, where we pretended nothing was wrong. We said hello to Dick and Dale, a couple of handsome guys we knew from Cocoa Beach who were trailed by a posse of ridiculously good-looking guys in matching aloha shirts.
“Bachelor party,” Dick said with a grin. He was the thin, muscular one.
Dale looked more like a husky, hunky bodyguard. “Ours,” he added. “We’re getting married here on Sunday.”
“That’ll be gorgeous!” Melody said. But like all the women staring after the group with longing eyes, I’m sure she was thinking, They are ALL gorgeous, and are any of them interested in girls?
I also ducked behind a pole when Mr. Mixy squeezed by with his entourage. He used to be a barback in Bohemia and, unfortunately for me, a temporary-insanity boyfriend. He’d since become a famous mixologist in L.A. with a big, dark beard that resembled a fluffy Muppet and a pretentious series of popular online videos, making me further regret my past life choices. Not that I broke up with him—oh, no, that’s the one good choice I did make. I regretted being involved with him at all and having to avoid him at conventions. I was better at recognizing narcissists now. At least I tried to learn from my mistakes.
Finally, we got our potions of choice and walked through the dining room to the back part of the building. There were smaller dining rooms there, along with the big Chinese ovens and the double doors that led to our destination: the garden.
The early evening sunlight was a little startling, given we’d been in the dark recesses of Pau Hana for hours. But the faux waterfall in its weirdly green pool was soothing and cooling, and the breeze rustling in the thick palms that crowded around the path eased the pain of the summer heat. Gentle Polynesian music and recorded bird sounds added to the tropical atmosphere.
We found a little path that headed into the middle of the thicket, which was dotted with South Seas tikis, and sat at a tiny metal table amid the rocks and greenery.
“Where’s Neil?” Melody asked.
“He went to get Luke a lawyer.” I took a long draw of my rum-heavy Jet Pilot, with its hint of tart lime, the sweet spice of falernum and a whisper of absinthe, and some of my tension melted away. This was the kind of drink that smacked you in the ass and kissed you silly at the same time. Not that I’d kiss and tell.
“So what did you tell my dad?” Barclay asked, savoring his Mai Tai.
“The truth.” Melody slurped her fresh Cobra’s Fang.
“Yeah, but what’s the truth? What happened when you took Fizz back to the kitchen?” I asked.
“You mean, when he took me back to the kitchen. What a jerk. Sorry. It sucks that he died, but …”
“What happened?” Barclay pushed.
Melody raised her eyebrows, took another sip, then set her drink down. “We went to the back corner, where there was still a little of the cocktail left in one of the buckets. He set down that stupid rum box …”
“You mean stupid expensive,” Barclay said, and I snorted.
“Yeah, whatever.” Melody rolled her eyes. “I think he wanted his hands free. And just to be clear, I set down that overgrown muddler so I could pour him his drink. Not that he couldn’t do it himself. I garnished his mug properly, because that’s what we do. And I handed it to him.”
“And?” I asked. I had a feeling she enjoyed drawing this out.
“He took a sip and said, ‘This is delicious, but I bet it’s not as delicious as you are.’”
“Oh, please,” Barclay said.
“I’ve heard worse lines,” I said. “But not from a married putz.” The dappled sunlight fell across Melody’s pretty face, sexy dress and blond up-do. No doubt Fizz took one look at her, licked his lips and decided she would be his conquest du jour. “What did you say?”
“I said, ‘I’m scrumptious, but you’ll never find out just how much.’ I went to leave, and he grabbed my arm and yanked me in and laid a big kiss on me.”
Barclay grimaced.
“So,” I asked, “does that mean your lipstick will still be on him? And your DNA?”
“Gross. Will you stop with the crime scene forensics already? I told the detective what happened, including that my prints were on the muddler and the mug, since he made me carry them,” Melody said. “The point is, I pulled away and smacked him and got the hell out of there.”
“Ooo, smacked him. So old-school,” Barclay said.
“It felt good,” she admitted.
“So is that when the tiki mug got broken?” I asked.
Melody shook her head. “The good detective asked me that too, and no, I don’t think so. I didn’t see him drop it or hear anything shatter. Plus, Fizz’s phone started ringing as I went around the corner, and I heard him answer it. So Detective Flores said they would look at his phone records and figure out who called him. As I left, I even heard him say something like, ‘Hola, Kokomo! I’m drinking a cocktail I invented, living my best life and looking for my next wahine,’ so if the caller can verify that, they’ll at least know he was still sipping when I left. I was back there three minutes, tops.”
“And then where did you go?” I asked.
“Well, Sergeant Pepper,” she teased, “I went out the back hallway that leads to the lobby.”
“There’s a back exit?” I asked. Multiple exits meant multiple entries. Multiple ways to access the crime scene.
“I believe there are multiple exits from the kitchen to other parts of the restaurant and the outside. I went past the back bar and got out to the lobby. Then I went to the bathroom, and then I figured I might as well check out the gift shop, because they have some adorable dresses, and the last thing I wanted to do was hear more of Fizz’s foolishness. And then everyone was headed to the bar, so that’s where I went.”
“Can someone confirm where you were?” Barclay asked.
“Besides the sailor,” I added.
She quirked her mouth. “The attendant was in the bathroom and took my dollar for the towel, and we had a nice chat about the carvings in there. And the gift shop is holding my purchase for me, so yes on both counts, just like I told your dad. Who said he might have to question me again, by the way, but I don’t think he thinks I did it.”
I breathed out a big sigh. “That’s good. That just leaves us to worry about Luke.”
And whether he killed Fizz Martin.