Vacations Can Be Murder: The Second Charlie Parker Mystery Read Free

into a recital of all
the unpronounceable Hawaiian places I'd see, when a man appeared
from a back office.
    He wore a navy blue knit shirt with the
Paradise logo in white on the left side of his chest, and a pair of
navy twill shorts. His wavy brown hair was generously scattered
with gray. His eyes drooped slightly at the outer corners, and
there was a deep worry-crease between the dark brows. He was slim,
and stood with an erectness in his posture that suggested a
military career. I noticed his watch. It was gold, with all sorts
of extra dials on the face. He wore a heavy gold ring on his right
hand, none on the left.
    "Mack!" my exuberant little hostess
exclaimed. She turned to introduce us. "Charlie, this is Mack
Garvey, the owner of Paradise Helicopters. He flies on weekdays, so
today you'll be flying with our other pilot, Drake Langston."
    I held out my hand to Mack. He shot a quick
flicker of a smile my way as he shook it, but I could tell his mind
was elsewhere. He scowled toward Melanie's spandex-clad behind. He
opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, then closed it
again. It seemed like a good time for me to go.
    “Nice meeting you, Mack,” I said, heading
toward the door.
    He grunted a distracted “You, too,” as he
crossed behind the desk to check the flight manifest.
    "Bye, Charlie! Come back here at two-thirty
to check in for your flight." She waved and grinned, like we were
best pals who planned to meet in the high school cafeteria at lunch
time.

    With a few hours to kill, I decided to
explore. Driving west out of Lihue took me inland. According to my
guidebook, there was an old plantation house, now open to the
public, along this road. Apparently, sugar was still big business
here, although the romance of the plantation days was over.
    Now, large corporations own all the sugar
plantations. The work has become mechanized. Long gone are the
hundreds of immigrant laborers working in the fields cutting the
tough cane. Their descendants have gone on to pursue other
ventures—Chinese, Japanese, Korean, Filipino and Portuguese—all
blending into a unique society of their own. I made a right turn
and joined the line of traffic heading away from town.
    A shopping center and several fast food
places passed on my left. I wondered if Taco Bell in Hawaii tasted
the same as ours in New Mexico.
    The historic house soon appeared on the
right. I turned in at the paved drive, between massive lava stone
pillars. The Tudor style mansion sat well back from the road. It
was trimmed with stone accents, and had about a half acre of dark
brown shingle roof. I followed the snaking driveway to a discreet
parking lot at the side.
    Behind the main house, I could see stables
and groupings of small wooden houses. Acres of lawn spread in all
directions, as perfect as a carpet. Bright tropical flowers bloomed
in clumps surrounding the outbuildings.
    A small white gazebo stood in the shade of a
banyan tree. White chairs, decorated with pink ribbons and flowers,
indicated that a wedding would take place later. Two gardeners with
hedge clippers snipped at a hibiscus bush and I wondered how many
workers it took to run a house this size.
    A bored-looking Clydesdale, hitched to an
old-fashioned carriage, stood near the front entrance. A young man
wearing a blousy white shirt, brown knee britches, and a pasted-on
smile stood near the horse's head, waving to passersby and
attempting to drum up business for his carriage rides at seven
dollars a pop.
    Inside the main house the foyer was cool and
shady. I picked up a brochure, showing the floor plan.
    The house had apparently been built in the
1930s by one of the second generation sugar families. The living
and dining rooms were furnished as they had been at the time. I
noticed the covered outdoor lanai was now a restaurant, serving in
"casual elegance" beginning at eleven.
    I made my way up the heavy wood staircase
with its thick handrail, curious to see what a real "morning room"
looked