Dying for a Daiquiri by CindySample Page A

belongings, ready to dash to shelter.
    Heaven forbid a sudden tropical shower disturb Mother’s perfect coiffure. She whipped a tiny satchel out of her purse and transformed it into a lightweight slicker. With a matching rain hat.
    We hustled across the expanse of lawn that felt like it had grown to the size of a football field. By the time we reached the lobby everyone except my mother was soaked. Steve’s wet polo shirt molded nicely to his chest, displaying an impressive six-pack. My soggy sundress clung to my derriere, emphasizing my need to enroll in a Polynesian dance class.
    “Thanks for the dance lesson,” I said to Steve. I grabbed a towel from the stack the hotel staff dispersed to their drenched luau guests. “Do all ship captains have to learn how to hula?”
    He threw his head back and laughed. “It’s not a requirement for our license, but I was lucky to get lessons with…” He paused and a pensive expression crossed his face.
    I ventured a guess. “Did Keiki teach you?”
    Steve nodded. “Keiki occasionally substituted for the Sea Jinx’s principal dancer. I managed to pick up a few moves from her.”
    My nosy self was curious what “moves” Keiki and Steve had shared, but I decided to focus on Keiki’s movements with my brother instead.
    “I guess you could tell from Regan’s outburst that she thinks Dave and Keiki were having an affair,” I said. “Did Dave ever confide in you about Keiki?”
    Steve’s eyes flicked toward Dave, who was leaning against a pillar. “Your brother and I are tight, but we don’t pry into each other’s personal stuff. Don’t you think that’s a good policy to maintain?”
    Not prying into a pal’s love life? As far as I was concerned, true friendship means being there to support a friend’s decisions. Also being there to tell them when they are about to screw up.
    I sighed. Men seem to have different codes about stuff like this. No wonder they’re so clueless when it comes to communicating with the opposite sex.
    I glanced at Dave. His eyes were fixed on his wife who conversed with our mother. I wondered what the couple’s plans were, or if they were even going home together. This might be my only opportunity to get him alone. I said good-bye to Steve and joined my brother.
    “Hanging in there, Dave?”
    He nodded but remained silent.
    “I spoke to Walea after the show.”
    That got his attention. “What did she say?”
    “Um, she kind of cursed you.”
    “What?” He rolled his eyes. “C’mon, Laurel. Don’t tell me you believe that Hawaiian mumbo jumbo.”
    Not really. Although that mini-monsoon had erupted within seconds of that scary guy yelling at me. Just thinking about his threat made goose bumps or what the locals call “chicken skin,” appear on both arms.
    “Walea was with a nasty fella. About your height, dark hair, with lots of acne scars on his face. He played the ukulele at the luau tonight.”
    “That’s Henry Gonzalez, Walea’s husband,” he replied. “Not the most cheerful guy on the island, but an excellent musician.” Dave rocked back and forth on his heels. “I should stop by their house. See if there’s anything I can do to help.”
    I rested my hand on his freckled forearm. “I’m not sure they’re in the mood for company from you or anyone in our family. Walea sounded like she blames you for Keiki’s death.”
    Dave rapidly blinked away the water that had started to pool in his eyes. “What if they’re right and the ropes weren’t secured properly? Maybe it really is my fault she’s gone.”
    “No point worrying yourself sick until you find out if it was an accident or not. Did the police say when you can open up again?”
    “They said they’d be done tomorrow, but I’m not sure I can handle reopening the restaurant after what happened.” He rubbed the corner of his right eye. “It won’t be the same without her anyway.”
    Her? I was about to grill Dave further when Mother joined us. Darn. Any