Something's Rotten in Paradise (Maui Mayhem Cozy Mystery Book 1) Read online

  Something’s Rotten in Paradise

  Maui Mayhem Cozy Mystery

  Aysia Amery

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  Copyright © 2016. All rights reserved. Reproduction of any kind is strictly prohibited unless written permission granted by the author.

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  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons or situations is purely coincidental. A few places will be actual locations (some restaurants, resorts, parks, etc.), while others will be totally fictitious.

  Table of Contents

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  More from Aysia

  Author’s Note

  Many Hawaii-born locals speak in what we call ‘pidgin.’ I’ve used it minimally, if at all, but there will be some local lingo.

  In some places, I’ve also included descriptions of words in parentheses (instead of creating a glossary) so that you’re not taken out of the story to have to look it up. For example: pupu (appetizer).

  I’ve also used ‘god’ instead of ‘God’ in places where it doesn’t need to refer to a particular god and only used as an expression (since there are readers of varying religions).

  I hope you get a little flavor of the islands through my stories. Some restaurants mentioned are ones my husband and I enjoy, so hopefully these tidbits may prove useful in case you visit the islands and want to check them out. Aloha!

  Acknowledgments

  This story was born from a writing game where 8 authors plunged into the challenge. You can read about it in the preface of the Inanna’s Circle: The Game Begins anthology listed on my Amazon Author Page.

  Thanks go out to Kat Lind and her dedicated team at SIL Creative Chaos for sponsoring the game and their SCARE analysis, which helped me gain insights to my story structure and writing, along with the beta readers (who were anonymous to us) for providing valuable feedback to enhance my story and bring it to more life.

  And it should go without saying, but I’ll say it anyway ... to my hubby, who always stands behind me, cheering me on with whatever I do (unless it’s harassing him, lol). Know, you are loved, you are my best friend, and the most important person in my life!

  Chapter 1

  “What? You see dead people?”

  That’s what my assistant and now good friend Jemma Matelli asked when she first realized I was strange. Very strange.

  “Yup.” I nodded.

  “Like that kid in The Sixth Sense kind of way?”

  “But wait, there’s more,” my hubby Blaine chimed in as though he were selling a newfangled gadget on a TV commercial. “She can also see past lives when she touches people. Not always, but with most.”

  “You’re kidding me, right?” Poor Jemma. She took a step back and looked at me as though I were a vampire ready to suck her dry.

  “No, he’s not. We’re not. In fact, I can tell you who one of your past lives was right now. But you won’t like it.”

  “I won’t? Why?”

  “You’ll see.”

  Jemma crooked a brow. She hesitated for a moment, looking back and forth between Blaine and me while pressing her lips together.

  “Okay, tell me,” she said with resignation. Then she rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe I’m falling for this, you guys.”

  “We’re telling you the truth. Have we ever lied to you?” I asked.

  She quirked her mouth. “No, you never have.”

  “Well then, you’ll have to trust that we’re not lying to you now.”

  “Okay, so tell me then, who was I in a past life? It better not be somebody gross or obnoxious. You know how I can’t stand people like that. Good god!”

  “No, she was actually a very loyal person, like you are in this life.”

  I’ve always believed that our past lives were people with similar traits, yet we keep coming back because we have unresolved issues, or need to learn something in the next life that we hadn’t gotten right in the past.

  “Well, get on with it then. Who was I?” She was chompin’ at the bit, curious to know who the heck’s body her roaming spirit occupied.

  “Iras.”

  Jemma’s forehead crinkled, and her eyeballs veered right.

  “Who the hell is that?”

  “Google her,” I said. Yes, I was naughty, wanting her all worked up. Seeing Jemma riled was as hilarious as throwing your pet a Frisbee and a tennis ball at the same time and watching the frenzy.

  She rapidly fingered her cellphone’s keyboard. I smiled at Blaine. We couldn’t wait to hear her response.

  “All I see is early retirement info.” Her hazel eyes looked back at me with question.

  “Oh, sorry, you’ll have to enter ‘Cleopatra’ with your search.”

  She humphed. “Why didn’t you say that in the first place?”

  “Sorry.” I chuckled.

  Her crimson-painted fingernails rat-a-tat-tatted the display as she went at it again.

  “A ‘Charmion’ person is what comes up.” Her eyes scanned the list. “Oh wait, this link says, ‘Iras, one of her women, lay dying at her feet.’”

  We gave her another moment to read the info.

  “So, I was one of Cleopatra’s servants?”

  I nodded.

  “Dammit. I’m still second fiddle. This Charmion servant has got a Wiki page, and I’m just noted as having died at Cleo’s feet. Figures.”

  Blaine and I laughed. Jemma has always complained about being second fiddle to her older sister and most everything else in life. But it was kinda true.

  “Jemma, you’re the ‘behind the scenes’ type of person. You may not get the glory, but you’re valuable nonetheless. Don’t you ever forget that.”

  And she was. Whenever I was in a bind, Jemma came right over to lend a hand. If I needed something done, I could count on her to finish it to the end.

  “I still wish I had a Wiki page.” Her glossy red lips curved a frown.

  That was a few years ago, when I had to tell her about my ‘gifts’ because she caught me talking to a ghost, trying to figure out their message, at a catering event. It was quite embarrassing.

  I wasn’t born with my gifts. Unfortunately, they befell me due to a tragedy—one that haunts me like the poor ghosts who can’t pass on to the reincarnation stage because they’ve got something holding them back. They just can’t move on.

  You see, when I was thirteen I fell into a coma after something tragic happened that I can’t remember. All I know is that when I awoke two months later, I was cursed with these gifts, and my sister, Maile, ten years old at the time, was missing.

  I knew she was dead because I could see her ghost but kept that secret solely to myself. At that age, I was terrified that nobody would believe me, and they’d lock me up in a straitjacket, administering shock treatments to my brain. It wasn’t until I became an adult that I had the guts to tell anybody about it.

  Unfortunately, opening up hasn’t helped in the way of bringing forth the stifled memories. Although somewhere in the recesses of my mind, a voice keeps telling me that I had something to do with my sister’s death. Maybe not so much that I killed her, but that I was with her at the time. Either we went through the trauma together, but somehow I managed to escape and lived, or I might have been responsible for what happened to her.

>   My parents never blamed me for any of it, but I still can’t shake the awful feeling inside. It pains me more than any open wound or blistering infection I’ve ever had. The burden of the ‘unknowing’ weighs on my soul like rocks chained to a drowning body. It pulls me down and down, but I fight to swim up and up, and I dare not surrender or else I’ll be lost forever.

  This mystery is one I’ve been trying to solve for all these years, and I won’t give up on it. I can’t give up on it. I have to do it for Maile. And for Mom, because Mom can’t move on because of it.

  Maile visits me now and then, along with Mom. They never stay very long, and I wish I could hear them, but I can’t. I miss them both so much.

  I know Dad misses them too. I see the sadness in his eyes when he gazes at their pictures on the dusty piano that has turned into a gravesite of remembrances.

  He was never the same after Maile died, and Mom’s death a few years later crushed him to the point he’s deteriorating fast. His hair used to be as shiny and black as licorice, but right after Mom passed, it turned ghostly white.

  I don’t want to lose him earlier than his time too, but how can I relieve his pain when I can’t even relieve my own?

  One day I’ll find out what happened to my little sister, and when I do, that’ll be the day we can all have closure.

  “We’ve got a dinner party to cater this weekend,” I told Jemma as she waltzed into my kitchen.

  Blaine built out our kitchen area to accommodate my catering biz, so it was pretty big, with lots of counter space, a huge granite countertop island the size of Kahoolawe (I’m way exaggerating, of course), and two stainless steel ovens.

  He thought I should just rent out a storefront space, but the stress and commitment of that type of operation wasn’t in my plans. I wasn’t about to be a slave to my work, while paying high rent and overheads.

  Nope, I was happy with just the right amount of business through simple word of mouth. I could turn down gigs anytime, and since the profit was good with even just three catering gigs a month, along with my high-end luxury cakes, that was enough for now.

  I liked the flexibility.

  And catering wasn’t going to be my lifelong profession. I was halfway through my life as it was. My goal was to endeavor into something that earned passive residual income eventually.

  One thing I told myself after having worked in a fast-paced, demanding 16-hour a day, 6 days a week 3-star Michelin-rated restaurant in the past—I wasn’t going to be married to my work ever again. I already had a husband, and he needed a share of my time and attention as well. That past lifestyle would’ve sent me to an early grave, and there’s no way I voted for that.

  “How big?” Jemma asked.

  “Small. Seven people.”

  “Who’s the customer?” Jemma put her bottle of Zero vitamin drink into the fridge.

  “Fiona Duboit. She’s hired us for the weekend. We’re to go over on Saturday afternoon and stay overnight. It’s ‘all expenses paid,’ including shuttling us over to Lanai. Evidently, she’s got a huge home with enough rooms to house her guests, and us as well.”

  “So, does Reese know about this gig yet?” she asked.

  Reese Badua was my other assistant.

  “No, he hasn’t called in, and I’m not going to call him until after 10:00. I think he had a rough night at the bar.”

  “Oh?” Jemma lifted an eyebrow.

  “Yeah. He left a voicemail on my cell last night at around midnight, slurring something about how maybe he should just become a eunuch like his past life. He grumbled about not being able to get laid anymore. At thirty, he feels he’s an old man already.”

  “Oh my god, if he thinks he’s old, where does that leave us?”

  “Hey, speak for yourself. As far as I’m concerned, at forty, I’m still in my prime. What’s that cliché? You’re as young as you feel? Well, I feel darn young still. Okay, maybe not young as a teenager, but I don’t feel like I’m ready for the old folk’s home. I can honestly say that I feel as I did in my twenties.”

  As though in on the conversation and keeping me honest, my hip pain nudged me. “Well, at least my mindset feels that way because sometimes my body doesn’t want to agree, ha!”

  “Yeah. I’m not far behind you, and I surely don’t feel like I’m out to pasture yet. I’m still hot, right?”

  When I didn’t answer, Jemma stuck out her tongue at me.

  I laughed at her juvenile behavior.

  “There you go, you still act like a child, so yeah, you’re surely not an old fart yet,” I teased. “But okay, yeah, you’re still hot, in guy terms that is. I wouldn’t pick you up at a bar myself, but that’s just me.”

  I loved teasing her. Being friends with people who have a sense of humor had benefits.

  “You’re just picky. Anyway, you’re not my type. You’re too bossy.”

  “Thank the heavens!” I put my hands in the air and looked toward the ceiling. I did this with all the dramatics of a stage actor. “I’m spoken for anyway, so I’m off-limits.”

  “Yeah, he can keep you.” Jemma grabbed her apron and tied it around her waist.

  I had to admit, she still had her figure, one that any guy would find drool-worthy. Yes, Jemma had curves all right, and unlike me, her boobs were well-endowed to the point that her cleavage could hide bills from a million-dollar bank heist. She wasn’t as big as Dolly Parton, mind you, but a close second, surely. I, on the other hand, couldn’t create cleavage if I pulled strapping tape from one side to the other across mine.

  “So, what were you going to do if I said I couldn’t do a sleepover?” Jemma asked.

  “You know I can handle a small party by myself.”

  “Yeah, I guess you used to do it yourself before you hired me.”

  “And I can do it again if you ever quit or I have to fire you.”

  “You wouldn’t dare!”

  “Yeah, I know, but it’s nice to threaten you with that every now and then, right? To keep you on your toes?”

  She ignored me. “Oh, hey, that reminds me...did you ever find out who stole your brother’s truck?”

  I had to smile. My brother, Aku—who was named after a fish, while my sister and I were named after flora; go figure—pined for Jemma. I sensed she had an affinity for him too. But the two were so anal and stubborn that they just couldn’t admit they were attracted to each other. Or it could be that both were mortified by their horrible relationships with exes in the past.

  I think they also felt weird about that whole ‘not getting involved with somebody’s brother/friend’ thing. I guess it would become awkward if it didn’t work out and they had to see each other often enough when around me. It’s why I didn’t butt in. I’d let them make their own moves. But sometimes I felt like taking a fly swatter to them when watching those two flirting one moment, then keeping their distance the next.

  Just give it a try already! I wanted to scream at them.

  Oh, and I guess I should mention...I’m part-time amateur sleuth. My ‘seeing dead people’ thing came in handy for that. It freaked me out the first time I found out I could see ghosts, but after realizing they couldn’t hurt me, it was no big deal after that.

  I got that ‘butterflies fluttering in my stomach’ feeling, knowing I was doing something worthwhile and valuable with my gift by helping solve crimes. And a special benefit was getting to see my sister and mom, still. Although I really needed to help them move on. Being in limbo like that had to be as fun as walking all alone down an endless trail where you couldn’t talk, touch, smell, or taste anything along the way.

  “No, not yet. Unfortunately, there are no truck ghosts I can garner clues from.” I grinned like Laurel from that old comedic duo of the 1930s and 40s. “You ready to work?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Point me to the poison.”

  “Gee, thanks, that’s a nice way of referring to my creations.” Sarcasm oozed from my face and tone.

  “Good poison. You know that’s what
I meant.” Jemma grinned as the devil would. “Your creations are one of a kind, and nobody has to tell you that. You know you’re amazing.”

  “Well, okay, you’ve redeemed yourself, but I was this close to firing you.” I showed her the inch space my two fingers made.

  “Yeah, right, keep telling yourself that.”

  Chapter 2

  It was Saturday. We were to be at Maalaea Harbor at 2:00 p.m. Jemma and Reese were in my kitchen at 9:30 a.m., helping me prep whatever couldn’t be prepped last night. The rest we would complete at the event site.

  Blaine popped in, greeted the others, and headed in my direction as I whipped meringue. My attention stayed with the egg whites, but soon strong arms wrapped around my waist and warm lips pecked and tickled my cheek.

  “Awww, you guys always seem like a newly married couple.” Reese’s expression looked somewhere between happy for us, yet sad for himself.

  Aw, Reese, one day you’ll find that Ms. Wonderful you’re looking for. Don’t be envious; it’ll happen for you someday.

  “Every couple has their moments. There are times I wanna strangle this guy. I’m sure he feels the same. Right, honey?” Hope that made Reese feel better. But somehow I doubted it.

  “Huh? You wanna strangle me? After all the love and attention I shower you with?” Of course, Blaine overdramatized his hurt feelings with the bad acting all of us were guilty of. Yup, we were all candidates for the stage, all right. I had to admit, we were an oddball group with never a dull moment.

  Before I could retort, Blaine stuck his finger into the meringue and planted it on the tip of my nose.

  “Watch it!” I slapped his hand away and wiped off the foam while everyone laughed. “That will cost you, buddy. Sunday, when I get back, it’s boxing gloves in the bedroom.”

  “Ooo, sounds kinky,” Jemma said in a Marilyn Monroe-ish sexy voice.

  “Really? How can you even imagine doing something kinky with boxing gloves? I’m just not seeing the picture here. Sorry.” I was actually trying to imagine kinky ways to utilize the bulky things. Umm, okay, not going there.

  “If you need me to draw you pictures, then forget it. You know how bad an artist I am. In high school, I once drew a nose that almost got me expelled. The teacher thought it was vulgar. She actually thought I drew a penis on the face.”