eyes.
“The officers around here are the man and woman waiting outside to escort you to the bathroom. Should you need to go.” Tori shifted in her chair. It was metal, wobbly, and not at all comfortable. It made a grating noise when she moved. She sat still.
“I don’t need to go anywhere but back to the mainland. Home.”
“You’re not going home.”
“Oh, but I am. I watch Law and Order. I know my rights and I know you can’t hold me.” She stopped herself for a second, thinking about the possibility of using the Flirt she knew so well. The Flirt was definitely a skill not to be wasted.
“My lawyer will be here in five minutes.”
“All right,” he said.
“Maybe you’ll want to pass the time telling me about your husband and his little swimming accident. I talked with the rental house owner. Says you two weren’t getting along.”
“She’s a bitch,” she said, pressing her palms into the table.
“I won’t say anything more about it.”
“What happened out there at the beach, Ms. Campbell?” She stared at him. Her eyes were now glacial. She wasn’t saying another word.
“Don’t want to talk about it, do you?”
“I don’t—I won’t—talk about any of it. None of it whatsoever. But nice try, officer.”
“Detective.”
“So you keep reminding me. Or maybe you’re just reminding yourself.” Tori had meant to get a rise out of him and she could see by the redness of his cheeks she’d been somewhat successful. Rikki Tyler’s lips tightened. His tenseness and anger made Tori relax. It was as if she was sucking the power from him and she wound him tighter and tighter around her finger. He wanted her, she was sure. All men did. He wanted to rip her clothes off right then and there, and make love to her on that crummy metal table. Banging around. Dragging its legs over the cement floor where all the people on the other side of the two-way mirror could just watch. Sure, he wanted her. They all did. Tori didn’t say another word. She let the detective stew in his own juices. He’d be better at that than what he was trying to do with her. That’s how she saw it. The pair sat there silently, fluorescents buzzing overhead, the rat-tat-tat of a woman’s heels against the tiled floor outside. People were moving on the other side of the glass, and then the door swung open. Lyndon Knox, a fiftyish man with a slight belly but the posture of a man who knew how to wear a really good suit, entered the room. He was sweaty and in a hurry. He was well known among Honolulu law enforcement as a gun for hire who delivered the goods.
“She’s done,” he said.
“I’m here. We’re all done.” The detective gave the lawyer an almost sheepish grin.
“Hi, Lyn. Didn’t figure she’d have the dough and the connections to hire the likes of you.” Tori smiled at her newly hired lawyer.
“I’m tired. Can I go home? Maybe we could stop somewhere and get something to eat. As rough as this ordeal has been, I still find the need to have something to eat.” The detective held his tongue. He wanted more than anything to say to her, Eat? Said the spider to the fly? Instead, he stood, poked his head out of the interview room. He spoke in low tones with a couple of other police department suits and returned.
“Okay,” he said.
“You’re right. She can go.” He spoke directly to the lawyer, without even looking at the beautiful woman sitting there.
“Don’t go far,” he said.
“We’re not done with you.” Tori looked at her lawyer.
“Tell him that I have plans. My sister’s in from out of town and I’m going to take her on a little trip.” Lyn Knox didn’t see any need to relay the message. It was clear what she said.
“I’ll make sure Ms. Campbell is available if you need her again.” Tori Campbell uncrossed her long, shapely legs and stood. She smoothed out the wrinkles in her sheer skirt and swung her big white leather purse with the oversize silver buckle over her shoulder and started walking toward the door. She rounded her shoulder with a stretch of her arm, exhaled.
“Lyndon,” she said, sweetly, “I really want to have dinner with you tonight. I’ve been so lonely. I’ve been through so much.” The detective shook his head. This lady has game. And I doubt I’ve heard the last of her.
“One more thing,” Kendall said, getting out the photos that Lainie had sent to her. From her side of the table, she slid the image of the Hawaiian boy, his dark eyes flashing fear into the lens of the camera.
“Do you know why this photo was among Tori’s things?” Rikki held the photo in his fingertips to the flame of the candle in the center of the table. He shook his head, thinking.
“Wait a second,” he said.
“That’s Ronnie Jonas.”
“Who’s that?”
“He’s a local kid. Died the same week that Zach Campbell did.”
“Is there a connection?” Kendall asked.
“There is now.”
Her bag packed, Kendall Stark made a beeline through the hotel lobby past the brochure rack that touted all of the luaus, booze cruises, and authentic lei-making classes that promised tourists “a real Hawaiian” experience. She’d had none of that on this trip. She got in her rental Jeep and drove past the farmers’ market and along the beach road to the highway to Honolulu. She had one last stop before heading home. She wanted to say good-bye to Kiwana at Bali House. She found her just inside the turtle-decorated gate, cutting a bouquet of bird-of-paradise, long green stems topped with spikes of orange and purple.
“Did you find what you were looking for?” Kiwana asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe. I talked with the detective last night. He told me something that got me thinking a little.”
“What was that?” She put down the flowers and opened the gate. She pulled her rental car inside and Kiwana shut the gate.
“Come on. I have more of the tea you loved so much.” Kendall didn’t have the heart to tell her host that the tea was beyond sickeningly sweet.
“No, thank you.” Kiwana laughed.
“No worries. I know it wasn’t your favorite. I have pop, too. Come and sit. Let’s watch the ocean. Turtles are coming today.” They sat on the white wooden lounge chairs facing the pummeling surf. Kiwana looked over at the spa and shook her head.
“Darn thing’s turning green.” She got up, fished around the closet that held the boogie boards and tiki torch oil, and produced a bottle of Clorox.
“Seawater is lovely when the sea can churn it and keep it clean.”
“The spa is seawater?”
“Yes. Don’t tell anyone, but I do spike it with chlorine bleach. Just enough to keep it fresh.” Kendall set down her cola, but she missed the rattan side table and the plastic glass scuttled to the patio.
“Oh, no,” she said.
“I’m sorry. I have to leave.”
“It’s all right, dear. That’s why we use plastic.”
“It isn’t all right. Not at all,” she said, getting up.
“I have to go. I have a flight to catch.” And, she knew, the truth to confront.
Across the Pacific, another dream came. Lainie reached for a sleeping pill. She curled up in the empty bed, pulling the sheets up high to her neck as if she would choke the life out of herself just to get some sleep. Sleep without dreams. Slumber without nightmares. Was that too much to ask? The
