Dying for a Daiquiri by CindySample Page B

revelations would have to wait. Mother’s arm wrapped snugly around Regan, who looked prepared to bolt the second her mother-in-law loosened her firm grip.
    “Dave, your wife and I were discussing our expedition tomorrow.” Mother placed a special emphasis on Regan’s marital status. Subtlety was not Mom’s middle name.
    “I heard you’re all driving to the volcano in the morning then Regan’s taking you on the coffee tour,” he said.
    Regan shook her head. “We’ll have to delay the plantation tour until the next day. I’m meeting with a Detective Lee tomorrow afternoon at the police station.”
    Dave’s eyebrows jumped an inch. “Why are they talking to you?”
    It might be time for Dave to stop watching cooking shows and start catching Law and Order reruns.
    “Regan is co-owner of the restaurant,” I said. “They’re probably going to interview all your staff. Most likely they’ve already spoken to Walea and she’s…” My voice dropped off as I realized interviewing Walea and her family wouldn’t make the authorities more sympathetic to our family.
    “It’s not like I have anything useful to share.” Regan narrowed her eyes at her husband. “I took a sleeping pill last night so a troop of dancers could have paraded through our condo without waking me up. Should I have heard anything?”
    Dave’s face paled and his left eye twitched, but he shook his head.
    “I’m sure you two have much to discuss.” Mother released her hold on Regan and gently pushed her toward her husband. “Go home and get a good night’s rest. Brian can drive us to the volcano tomorrow. You can take us on the tour of Koffee Land the next day.”
    Regan appeared hesitant. I didn’t envy her position but Mother was right. It was time for Regan and Dave to sit down and discuss Keiki. And their marriage.
    Dave placed his hand on the small of his wife’s back. As the couple receded into the distance, I noted the gap between them increased.
    Liz, Brian and Stan joined my mother and me.
    “We can’t do the coffee tour until Tuesday,” Mother said. “So why don’t we visit the black sand beach at Punalu’u and the volcano tomorrow?”
    “Great idea,” Stan said. “That beach is loaded with honu , huge green sea turtles. I’d love to get a photo of them sunning themselves.”
    “We can also squeeze in a stop at the Punalu’u Bake Shop,” Liz added. “I’ve been dying to sample their malasadas .”
    “What are malasadas ?” I asked.
    “Very sweet, light and airy pastries. Similar to doughnuts but better. Full of custard or fruit. Some are even stuffed with chocolate cream.”
    Forget the giant turtles and the volcano.
    Liz had me at the chocolate cream-filled doughnuts.

 
     
     
CHAPTER TWELVE
     
     
    By eight o’clock, we’d all gathered in the lobby. Despite Mother’s objections, I skipped my heart-and-colon-healthy oatmeal breakfast. My daily calories were reserved for delicious fried carbs. The sugar-filled pastries might sweeten the grumpy mood brought on by two voicemails I’d just played back.
    Last night I’d turned my phone to silent for the luau performance and missed a call from Tom. I couldn’t decide if I should be pleased or annoyed that he’d finally phoned. His brief message said he hoped we were all having a great time.
    No mention that he missed me. Or longed for my return. Or that he wished he could have joined me at this beautiful tropical resort. My fingers hovered over the phone itching to send an equally curt text message, but I decided to wait. Maybe the magic of this island would restore my spirits.
    Jenna, my sixteen-year-old, had also left a message. Though her voice mail kept cutting in and out, I heard her mention something that cost “only two hundred dollars.” I texted and asked her to elaborate. With my new stepfather, a retired detective babysitting both kids, I wasn’t worried about either of them getting into trouble. The request for something that cost only two