Killer Confections8 Delectable Mysteries(27)

I didn’t recall my mother offering to provide any collateral when I was almost arrested. All I could remember her telling the detectives was that I was too disorganized to commit murder.

Some witness for the defense!

“How did you find an attorney so quickly?” I asked Steve. “You don’t hang out with the criminal element, do you?” I snatched another onion ring, expecting him to smile in response.

Steve’s gaze drifted out the window and he paused a few seconds before he answered.

“Hawaii may be the Big Island, but it’s a relatively small community. You meet people from many walks of life, never knowing if there’s a particular reason why you crossed paths with one another.”

Steve stretched out his palm and his fingertips grazed mine. His touch startled me, and I inadvertently shoved my chair into the unlucky server standing behind me. Seconds later, waves of molten heat rolled down my body, all the way to the tips of my toes.

My very clammy toes.

Was this what Regan meant by paradise being rife with pitfalls?





Chapter 19





There is nothing less romantic than having a bowl of clam chowder dumped on you. The creamy soup coated every inch of my body. I could feel a couple of clams nestled in the frizzy curls just above my left ear.

On a positive note, Dave smiled for the first time that evening. Steve proved to be a perfect gentleman. He not only refrained from laughing, but he dabbed his napkin in his water glass and slowly, almost sensuously, wiped the creamy chowder off my thighs and calves.

If you’ve never had a hot guy clean hot soup off your legs, you’ve really missed out. It was difficult to distinguish whose cheeks burned brighter––mine, or the server who accidentally dumped dinner on me when I bumped into her.

Mother, Liz, and I retired to the ladies’ room to determine if there was any permanent damage from my soup shampoo. The two women circled me like hawks assessing their prey.

“I don’t know, luv, you’re going to need some extra powerful conditioner. Assuming we get it all out.” Liz wrinkled her nose. “You may have every feral cat on the island following you down the sidewalk.”

My mother scrambled around in her straw tote. She pulled out a pair of scissors and pointed them at me.

My eyes widened. “Where did those come from?”

She shrugged. “I always keep a pair in my purse, along with duct tape. It’s my Realtor first-aid kit. I was kind of surprised they missed them at the airport.”

I was kind of surprised my mother hadn’t been classified as a terrorist.

“So where do we go from here?” Liz snipped off a few strands of hair so thick with goop they resembled string cheese.

My mother, head cocked, leaned against a wall papered in a palm tree motif.

“More to the right,” she directed my new hair stylist. “What’s your plan, honey? We need to prove Regan didn’t do it, and we only have three more days on the island.”

I whipped my head to the left. Not a good idea. My sudden movement surprised Liz.

“Whoopsie, daisy.” She quickly dumped something in the trash that looked like a big chunk of my hair.

“Enough with the trimming. I’d rather have birds pecking at my head than leave myself in your lethal clutches. Mom, do you really expect us to find the killer in your time frame?”

“Robert says the first forty-eight hours are the most important. By tomorrow morning it will be,” she peeked at her watch, “seventy-two hours give or take. You have your whole team here to assist you. I’m sure the local police will welcome our input.”

Somehow, I doubted that.

“We certainly can’t fly home with Regan stuck in a cell and a killer still on the loose.” Liz handed the scissors back to Mother. “And Brian has a big trial starting on Monday so we can’t miss our Sunday flight. C’mon, Laurel, get a move on it.”

I rolled my eyes. My team was such a bunch of amateurs. As was I. But I knew just the professional who could help us out. There was nothing like a dead body to get Detective Tom Hunter’s attention.

Two hours later, I perched on the rim of the hotel’s oversized marble-covered bathtub, cell phone in hand. My mother was already in bed, worn out from the day’s activities and the stress of worrying about her son and his wife. It was close to midnight in California so there was a possibility I would wake up Tom, especially if he had his cell sitting close to his bed. Knowing him, he probably slept right next to it.

I would love to switch places with that phone.

The shrill ring of my cell made me jump. “Tom?” I was thrilled the detective was intuitive enough to call me when I needed him most.