Ukulele Deadly Read online

  "I need to make a few calls before I can tell you for sure what's going on," Dr. Chang says. "Don't worry about it for now."

  That's easy to say. He didn't just find out his mother has been replaced with a pod person or Stepford Wife. A blockage? I have no medical training, but I do know that a blockage can lead to a stroke or heart attack. I feel my face grow hot as my stomach flip-flops.

  "When will you know?" I wring my hands. "We have this investigation, and I'd like to tell the police if something's up with Mom."

  Mom having a mental breakdown might save us in the end. Yeesh. I'm counting on my mother being nuts so I don't go to jail for murder.

  "It depends. Probably a few days." Dr. Chang stands and motions for the door. This meeting is over. And I'm no closer to finding out what is going on.

  Somehow, with all this happening, I manage to make it to the resort for the noon 'Ohana luau. Murderer or not, I'm still scheduled to perform. I'm a professional. Besides, I'm sure the guests at the resort don't read the Aloha Sun. They won't know that I'm under investigation.

  I stand backstage, and my jaw drops. The place is packed. To the gills. I've never seen so many people at an Aloha Lagoon event. Maybe there's a huge conference or something?

  "Pssst! Nani!" Juls Kekoa whispers from behind me.

  I turn to see every single performer staring at me. I guess the local rag is more popular than I'd thought.

  "I know this will sound weird. And maybe insulting," Juls says. "But you being front page news has brought out the biggest crowd we've ever had."

  I stare at her. "You say that like it's a good thing…"

  Juls shakes her head. "No, I know it's not good for you. But it's great for us. Sorry."

  She squeezes my arm and shoots a look at the other entertainers, who all scatter like roaches exposed to the sun. "I think we have guests from all the other hotels on the island! Knock 'em dead!"

  I wince as she walks away. What is going on?

  The first act, an all-male fire-dancer troupe, heads out and starts performing. I stand in the wings in shock. These people are all here for me? I guess it would be interesting to see an alleged killer play ukulele. And it's public, so I'm not likely to take out a knife and start stabbing folks…even if I really want to right now. Or they've finally realized that this might be their only chance to see me perform before I'm locked up forever.

  "This is crazy, right?" Nick wraps his arms around me from behind, and I melt back into him. Normally, we don't show a public display of affection at the resort. We both work here and aren't eager to mix personal with professional, but I'm so glad this time he's ignoring that.

  "It'll be okay," he soothes in my left ear.

  I close my eyes and try to pretend it will be okay. Maybe it will.

  "Besides—it's your biggest audience yet. That's something good, right?"

  I nod. "You're right. I'll be cleared of the murder any day now, and people will be talking about me. Granted—I wish it would be about my talent, but it is publicity." And didn't Mom say there's no such thing as bad publicity?

  Nick releases me, and I turn to give him a quick smile. "Thanks."

  He kisses my forehead and turns to go. Nick's right. I can put a positive spin on this. I'll make it my best show ever. Then when the smoke clears and the murderer is caught, I'll have new fans. Right?

  The loud roar of applause tells me that it's my turn. As the performers come off the stage, I can't help but notice everyone giving me a bit of a wide berth. Shake it off, Nani. This will all be over soon.

  "And now, ladies and gentlemen," Oaf the announcer says. Why is he back? "Our own virtuoso, who has killer talent."

  Are you kidding me? Killer talent? If I bludgeoned him onstage right now with my ukulele, would it be considered justifiable homicide?

  "Nani Johnson and her magical ukulele!"

  Ugh. This guy always calls it magical. No matter how many times I've corrected him, he still does it.

  Forget about it. You have a show to do, I tell myself as I walk out onto the stage, my head held high. A gentle breeze blows, and the sky is bright blue, which helps. I take a deep breath, and begin to play one of my hardest pieces. It's a new arrangement of a very old Polynesian work that I do finger-style. If anyone in the audience has half a brain, they'll see how difficult it is and be impressed.

  Closing my eyes, I allow the music to flow through me. That's how I see it when I play. My fingers strum the strings, sound echoes from the instrument, and the impact is…well…magical, I guess. Maybe I won't kill the emcee after all. Today.

  The song ends, and I open my eyes. The applause is deafening. Andy and Ed are sitting at a table down front with Binny and Nick, and they are giving me a thumbs-up. Yay! It worked. Once the applause dies down, I start strumming an old Hawaiian ballad composed by Queen Liliuokalani. It's one of my favorites. And while the Hawaiian language is quite lyrical with it, the audience is mostly visitors from the mainland, so I usually sing the tale in English.

  It's about a pair of star-crossed lovers who meet secretly every night under an old banyan tree. One night, the boy doesn't show up. The girl waits, but he doesn't show up the next night either. After a few more nights, the goddess Pele takes pity on the girl and turns her into a lovely bird of paradise, and she flies away. The boy finally appears with the explanation that he was held captive by his tribe. Pele appears to him and tells him what happened to his beloved. The boy's sorrow is so great that she turns him into a bird as well, and he flies off across a golden moon, in search of his love.

  Normally when I play this, there isn't a dry eye in the house. Today is no exception, and as I finish and look out, more than one audience members have tears running down their cheeks. I usually save this song for evening luaus, but with a huge audience in attendance, I need to make an impact today. I finish with a rousing performance of "Aloha O'e"—also written by the Hawaiian queen—and invite the crowd to join me in singing.

  Applause swells from the audience and recharges me. This is what I came here to do. I smile and wave before walking offstage.

  "That was wonderful!" Juls is waiting for me. "Great job!"

  She walks off, and Allison Tarawa walks over. She doesn't look happy.

  "I was supposed to sing that," she says. "You should've waited for me."

  My eyes pop. "Sorry! You weren't here, so I thought you weren't playing. You don't perform every day…"

  Allison keeps looking offstage at the audience. "I was picking up my check and saw that the crowd was huge. I came right over. This could've been a big break for me."

  This is a side of the singer I haven't seen before. But then again, I've only known her for a week. Is something in the water turning people into stranger versions of themselves?

  "How can I know that? You've only been here a week, and the schedule isn't set. Why would I have even expected you?"

  Allison looks upset, but I'm wondering if it's because of something else. I totally get that this is a large audience—maybe half the tourists on the island. Anyone would want to perform for a group this size.

  I definitely need to talk to Juls about this after the show. If she wants Allison in every lunch luau, I'm more than happy to do that. Besides, Allison wasn't here when it was time to go on. Either I totally misread the situation, or she was late.

  I become aware that there are people staring at us. The other performers can hear us arguing. I try to take a deep breath and relax. One of the dancers runs over to us.

  "Allison—" She holds out the singer's asthma inhaler. "You dropped this." Allison snatches it out of the woman's hand, and the dancer flees.

  "After the hula dancers," Allison says, "you are going out there to accompany me."

  I shake my head. "No. My set is done. You can't just change the schedule because you want all the attention."

  Did I imagine it, or did I sound a little bitchy? Oh well, this woman deserves it. I'm going to stand up for myself. I look around for Juls but d
on't see her. I need to let her know what happened.

  Allison isn't watching me—she keeps peeking through the curtain. Once again I have a little voice in the back of my head that tells me she's really mad about something else. There might even be someone in the audience she's trying to impress. She takes out her inhaler and takes a couple of puffs. Is she going to have an asthma attack?

  I walk around to see if Juls is around somewhere. The backstage area is deserted. The biggest group is onstage, and the rest of the performers, being done with their sets, have left. For fifteen minutes I scour the area to find the activities director.

  But no luck. Oh well. I'll find her later and fill her in. It's just so bizarre. If Allison wasn't here, how would I know she was performing? She's only been in the show for the past week.

  I give up the search and walk back to where I left the singer. We don't really have a proper stage because the ocean is the backdrop. For lunch luaus, the back stage is basically moveable silk banners placed side by side. We use more when there are more performers, less when small groups play.

  The hula dancers are wrapping up their performance, and the backstage area is deserted. I don't see Allison and feel a sigh of relief. I didn't need another confrontation today. And it's been a very long morning. I don't want to do anything but sit on the lanai with a cold glass of sangria and the latest issue of Ukulele.

  I hear the lead dancer announce that they will bring audience members up to try their hand at the hula. Wow. They're putting on their best show too. Not that I can blame them. This is big. I listen as I hear people giggling as they are led up to the stage. The drummers begin drumming, and I hear laughter from the crowd. Good for them. I hope it gets the dance company some new bookings.

  I'm just about to go, when I spot something. One of the banners closest to the stage is crooked, and something that looks like a scarf has snagged on it. I'd hate for the performance to be ruined by a wayward screen. I set down my ukulele and creep toward the banner. Maybe I can correct it without anyone noticing. There's a lot of laughter from the audience, so I think I can pull this off with no one the wiser.

  As I get closer, I see that there's something else there. A roar of applause startles me. I pull myself together and am almost there when I see a beautifully manicured foot sticking out. Oh no! Someone's hurt!

  I race over and fall to my knees beside the body of Allison Tarawa. Her eyes are open and glassy.

  "Allison!" I put my hand on her wrist.

  There's no pulse. I put my fingers on her neck, just in case I'm wrong. Please let me be wrong. All at once, a huge gust of wind picks up the banner like a sail and tosses it up over my head. I hear a loud gasp from the audience.

  Here I am, my hand on a dead woman's neck, in front of the largest audience I'll ever have. Andy looks stunned as Nick and Ed are climbing out of their chairs and running toward me. People are screaming, and I hear someone shout to call 9-1-1.

  Well. I guess these people got the show they expected. Because it looks like the killer uke player has just killed again.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  "I didn't do it," I say weakly as Nick and Ed join me. Ed tries to find a pulse as Nick helps me to my feet.

  "I swear I didn't do it!" I say a little louder.

  "I know you didn't," Nick says, pulling me against his chest.

  That's so nice. It's wonderful to have a boyfriend who, even though you look completely guilty, still believes you are innocent.

  I look at Allison. Ed shakes his head. Allison is dead, and in spite of the fact that it could be natural causes, half of Kauai now thinks I did it. Hell, if I wasn't so sure, I'd think I did it too.

  The police arrive in minutes, along with an ambulance. I don't know how they did it, but the staff of the resort managed to empty the area. It's just me, Nick, Ed, dead Allison, and Aloha Lagoon's finest. The detective tells me to head to the station immediately. I agree, but my heart sinks. I'm no expert, but if he interviews me downtown, doesn't that mean he thinks I'm guilty?

  "I didn't do it," I say for the thousandth time to Detective Ray.

  He hasn't said anything. We're in some kind of interrogation room. There's a cup of coffee sitting in front of me, but I don't need it. Finding a dead body and being accused of murder works better than any caffeine.

  I can only assume that the detective's silence is some sort of strategy. Either that, or he's a puppet missing his puppeteer. That image strikes me as inappropriately funny, and I start to giggle.

  "You were found," Ray says at last, "standing over the body with your hands on the victim's neck, and there are over five hundred witnesses who saw you."

  Five hundred? Then it really was my biggest audience ever. I guess from now on it can only go downhill. Unless there's a need for performers in prison. That thought also makes me giggle. You know, when you start giggling at the worst time? Like at funerals or the quietest part of a wedding? Yeah, it was like that. I just snapped. The giggling grew louder and harder, and I couldn't do anything about it.

  Tears were streaming down my face, and I was doubled over. Laughing. It takes a few moments and all the self-control I have before I finally stop laughing and look up to see Detective Ray watching me. I'm so screwed.

  "I didn't do it," I say again. And this makes me laugh.

  The detective sighs heavily and pushes off the table to stand. He shakes his head as he walks out the door, leaving me alone.

  The giggle fit tapers off, and I'm exhausted. My forehead hits the table, and I stay there. How could this happen? From the stiff in the parking lot to Allison's death, I'd say they have a real talent for getting me into trouble.

  Allison. I barely knew her and had just started to work with her. She'd been so nice. So professional. I guess underneath it all, she was an attention seeker. Well, she sure had everyone's attention now. So did I.

  I think about how so many people showed up to watch a "murderer" (that would be me) play at the luau. They got what they came for. They got to see me kill again. Even though I hadn't killed at all. That's what they would believe.

  I hear the door open and close and sit up. A woman in a suit holds out her hand.

  "Miss Johnson? I'm Angie Hunt. I'll be your attorney."

  "Did Nick hire you?" Nick had a guy from Honolulu on retainer. Maybe he couldn't get here in time.

  "No." The woman looked confused. "The resort called. Juls Kekoa. She thought you'd need representation."

  I relax. At least the resort thought I was innocent. Or at least worthy of a lawyer. That was good. Mom couldn't have called anyone, and I didn't have an attorney. Although, with the way dead bodies seem to stack up around me, I suppose I should find one. Or just go with Angie here.

  "Thanks." I shake her hand, and she sits in the chair vacated by Detective Ray.

  Angie opens her briefcase and pulls out a pad and pen. I watch her as she starts to take notes.

  "Can you tell me what happened?" Angie asks with a smile.

  "What have you heard?" I mean, come on—it has to be all over the island by now.

  She shakes her head. "I don't listen to gossip. I want to hear it firsthand from you."

  I tell her everything from the appearance of the dead fake Ed Hopper to the death of Allison Tarawa. I fill her in on my cousin and his friend—the real Ed Hopper, but I leave Mom out of it. I can't deal with Mom yet.

  Angie nods as she writes, letting me do all the talking. I have to admit that I'm grateful the resort sent her. She seems to be on my side. Which is nice.

  "Have the police told you anything about today's murder?" she asks.

  I shake my head. "No. All I know is what I saw. Actually, I have no idea what I saw. I'm not a forensics expert."

  "They think she was poisoned."

  I stare at my attorney. "Poisoned?"

  "They won't know for sure until the autopsy."

  "Do they think I poisoned her somehow? What did I do? Shove a spoonful of arsenic down her throat without her knowing
?" Well, that should exonerate me because I have the aim of a blind mole rat with Parkinson's.

  "Meanwhile." Angie gets to her feet. "You've been released. You are warned not to leave the island."

  I stand up so fast my head spins. "I can go? They're letting me go?"

  She nods. "No one actually saw you kill the singer. They've found no poison anywhere on your person. They even searched your ukulele."

  "It would make too much noise if I'd stashed it there," I say without thinking.

  Angie gives me a sharp look but says nothing.

  "Well…thanks, Miss…"

  "Angie will do." The lawyer smiles. "I'm going to stay here and see what I can find out. You should head straight home. And even though they said don't leave the island, I'd stay pretty close to Aloha Lagoon if I were you."

  I agree and follow her into the hallway. Nick and Binny are waiting for me in the lobby, and both throw their arms around me. I stand there, encompassed in a bizarre but wonderful Nani sandwich.

  "Andy and Ed went back to your house. They're waiting for us."

  I fill Binny and Nick in on what happened. They're very supportive, thank goodness.

  "What do you know about Ed?" Nick finally asks.

  I shoot him a look. "What do you mean?"

  "It's just that while Andy's been open and talkative, Ed doesn't say much."

  I think about this. "That's true. But maybe he's just like Detective Ray."

  Binny speaks up. "Maybe he's shy?"

  Nick shakes his head. "There's something off about him. He hasn't really relaxed, you know? You'd think anyone here in Hawaii would loosen up, soak up the islands. But he just seems—I don't know—quiet."

  "You say he's at the house?" I ask. Nick nods.

  "Okay, let's try to talk to him, then. It could be he's shy like Binny said, or maybe he's just mulling over the case."

  "And that's another thing." Nick isn't ready to give this up. "He's working with the police but hasn't told us anything. Don't you think that's weird?"