The Flaming Luau of Death Read Free Page B

guests, and Wes smiled at me as it had its predicted effect.
    The two of us had been designing and organizing this surprise Bachelorette Party weekend for months, each of us over-the-topping the other in creative party planning insanity. Hey, we’re event planners. It’s our deal. The big thing at the moment is the “destination” party, where you invite everyone on your guest list to meet you someplace exotic and magical and party over there—so we decided to take the ladies on a “destination” bridal shower and spring the location on them at the last second. I had pulled in several important markers, getting us comped into the amazing new Four Heavens Resort.Our bridesmaids’ beauty weekend was all about dropdead glamour. What fun.
    In fact, it was my knowledge that we were leaving Los Angeles in just a few hours and taking Holly away that allowed me to relax a little over the strange e-mail she’d received. By the time we got back in three days, I was sure we’d have plenty of ideas for how to handle it.
    “So where are you taking us?” Holly asked, dimpling with anticipation.
    “To the…” Wes said, raising his own glass of sparkling apple juice in toast, “Big Island!”
    “Hawaii!” shrieked Azalea and Daisy, the twins, in unison. The decibel level of squeals set a new high.
    Who says surprise parties are tough? You just have to make sure you know your guests’ tastes and then overwhelm them with luxuries big and small. I sipped my own mimosa and looked over at my partner.
    Wesley Westcott smiled back at me kindly. He knows how hard I try to plan things to perfection, and we both know how impossible perfection is—but this party was not just another business event. This party was personal, a celebration for one of our own. And we owed Holly big-time for her years of loyalty and friendship.
    “Everything okay?” Wes asked under the din of reveling sisters and the percussive drive of the music.
    I crossed my fingers and took another sip of mimosa, the wave of happy chatter sweeping me up in our guests’ delighted anticipation. This big bad bachelorette party ship had left the docks, and come what may, we were on our way. Plans had been made. And confirmed. Bags had been packed. Our guests had arrived. Our surprise was sprung. And now, despite whatever fate might want to throw at us, this party weekend was launched.
    Wes drained his glass and looked happy. He was, as always, well dressed for the occasion. Today, for instance, he was wearing the perfect khaki cargo shorts with the perfect light blue shirt open over a white T. What else would a good-looking guy wear on the morning he was taking seven chicks to Hawaii?
    “Can you believe it?” he asked me under cover of the party noise. “Can you believe our baby is getting married?”
    “More than you know,” I said. I would need to fill Wes in on the recent startling developments, but for now, I let him enjoy the rewards of springing a most successful surprise. “Let me help you get breakfast going.”
    “No problems. It’s all set.”
    Wesley had earlier prepared the fresh waffle batter, whisking together eggs and milk in a large blue ceramic bowl. He’d measured in the oil, vanilla extract, and coffee, hot and rich, made from freshly ground Kona beans of a medium-dark roast. He had then blended the wet ingredients with the dry, the flour and sugar mixture protecting the tender dry yeast from the heat of the coffee. It was Wes’s trick; just one more instance where his chemistry degree from Stanford had come in handy in the kitchen. The coffee-flavored batter, covered in cellophane, had been rising in a warm spot for forty-five minutes now, and it looked fluffy and fabulous.
    The breakfast area was at the back of the large kitchen, against the wall of French doors, and was this morning filled with flowers. Last night I’d set the pine farm table for eight, using heavy yellow pottery plates and our best silver. Now there was a carafe of