Michelle threw her purse inside the car, put Luce in her lap, and gunned the car toward the exit out of the garage, taking the turns at dangerous speeds to get to a place outside where her cell would have a signal.
Once outside she came to a shrieking stop and tried the phone. Thank God, it had a signal. She pressed the speed-dial for Heather.
Chapter 3
Heather clapped her hand over her mouth. She tried to hide her distress, but the tiny shriek was impossible to hold in. Mike was looking at her, wide-eyed with concern. He slowed down and stopped at the edge of the road.
Just as he was asking her what was wrong, Heather heard her phone ringing in her purse.
She smiled at Mike. “That was embarrassing, but it’s nothing. Gas attack from a bad Mahi-Mahi sandwich. It happened earlier, too, but I’m fine. Do you mind if I get this?”
“Sure. I’ll get back on the road.”
Heather saw the call was from Michelle.
“Sorry to bother you on your date, but it might be urgent,” Michelle said. “We can’t take any chances. Omar’s out on bail. I just saw him in the elevator. Anyway, he said there would be dangerous consequences if anyone else had the diamond. I know it might sound strange, but you need to take it off right away. Put it somewhere safe where no one can get to it. Mike’s taking you home, right?”
“Yes.”
“When you get back here call me up, no matter how late—or tomorrow morning, I don’t care when. I’ll come get it. I don’t want you to touch it, and don’t let Mike touch it, either.”
“He already did,” Heather said. She was pulling her hair out of the way to take the chain off over her head.
“I don’t mean to panic or anything. Omar might have said that just to scare me. But to be on the safe side, maybe you could store it in Mike’s glove compartment?”
“It’s off,” Heather said. “I’ll put it in there. That’s real bad news about Omar. We’ll talk about what to do later.”
“You have a great time tonight,” Michelle said. “I think Mike’s the one for you. You’re always dangling about five guys at a time, but he sounds special.”
Heather laughed and said, “Perhaps.” She snapped the phone closed.
She looked at Mike and held the necklace up. “Can I put this in your glove compartment?”
“You’re not going to wear it?”
Heather shook her head and pressed the button for the glove box. She lay the necklace on top of some maps Mike stored there and shut the door. A couple of seconds later she thought she heard a thump from inside the compartment, but it could have been a bump in the road.
Mike parked the car at the Japanese Cultural Center and they went inside the banquet room. It was a dinner-dance, and the room was decorated in a motif of gold and red with hints of the Orient in the designs on the walls. The tables were decorated with lace linen, fine crystal goblets, and ornate silverware for the dinner. There would be an auction later that night with proceeds going to the Queens Medical Center. A dance band was on a raised stage, now playing softly as people got drinks at the bar and mingled.
Since Mike was on local TV almost every night as a weatherman, known for his great on-camera personality, he was practically a celebrity on Oahu. He and Heather were greeted by the mayor of Honolulu, and they were surrounded by his friends from the TV station.
Heather was not as well known, but appeared familiar to many because she was featured in many TV commercials and magazines advertising Hawaii. Since she had been injured by lightning, she couldn’t be photographed in bikinis anymore. Still, she was a popular model in spite of her tiny stature. Most models were extremely tall, featured in snarky, arrogantly fashionable magazine spreads, but Heather was au courant in Hawaii, and especially well known in Japan, where she did a lot of modeling work. She had a sweet, wholesome, golden blond California look; plus she made the Japanese businessmen appear gigantic in commercials while standing next to her—something they enjoyed very much.
The evening was fun; the food superb. Later, after the auction, Heather felt like she was dancing with a Hercules. Mike wasn’t an especially tall man, but he made it up in strength, whirling her around the dance floor untill they were both laughing. At the end of one fast number Mike asked, “Are you good at planking?”
“Planking?” Heather asked, puzzled.
“We’re going to show off,” Mike said laughing. “Plank: make yourself stiff as a board. Bring your arms straight up over your head. Don’t worry, I won’t drop you.”
Mike lifted Heather up by her waist, raised her up horizontally, his arms high up over his head. Heather planked.
He turned around quickly several times, along with the musical beat. Then he gently lowered her to the floor. She felt his arms lock around her tightly, so she wouldn’t fall if she was dizzy. He felt solid as a rock.
Heather suddenly noted people around them were clapping enthusiastically and flashbulbs were going off. It was the most fun she’d had in ages.
The night was still balmy when they got in Mike’s car, the stars twinkling above and a big full moon showing through the tree-lined streets as they made their way back into the Honolulu area. Heather heard that strange thump again from the glove box as they went down Ala Moana. Then the door to the compartment fell open, almost hitting her knees.
“Strange,” Mike said. He leaned over and slammed the box closed, but it fell open again. As he was reaching to close it again, Heather yelled, “Mike!”
A car was racing directly toward them on the wrong side of the road, the headlights blinding. Mike grabbed the wheel with both hands and swerved to the right. The car
