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She’s local. From Oahu. ” He looked up. ” Em wished she hadn’t brought it up. “As I said before, who hasn’t? None of us would kill Harold and be dumb enough to toss him into our own luau pit, would we? ” She thought she was making a joke, but apparently, Roland Sharpe wasn’t fond of smiling. Detective Sharpe opened the office door. Just beyond, customers were lined up cheek to jowl at the bar. The dining room and the front lanai were jammed packed, or as the locals would say, the place was choke.

It’s…” The woman’s eyes rolled up and she collapsed. All over the packed room, chair legs scraped against the scarred wooden floor. Dozens of rubber soled thongs slapped skin as locals and tourists grabbed cameras and ran for the door. There was a strange odor in the air. Em glanced around the nearly empty room. Danny Cook was still singing. Only Buzzy, the aging hippie who lived down the road, continued to gnaw on some barbequed ribs. Nothing had fazed Buzzy since he had some bad mushrooms back in the 70’s.

Em’s blond ponytail was slipping. Her white tank top was covered with a rainbow of fruit juice spatters and kalua pork grease. From the little Sophie knew of Em’s past, the woman’s life on Kauai was completely opposite from the one she left behind in Orange County. “Sorry I’m late,” Sophie said. She couldn’t afford to lose this job. There wasn’t another person on Kauai willing to hire her without references. If Em Johnson hadn’t been so desperate the day Sophie appeared, she would have never landed the job.

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All Washed up


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