As beautiful as Hawaii was, her heart was heavy. She'd come a hell of a long way just to be alone. She thought again of the moment in San Francisco when she finally got it: the fact that Alan Rychman wasn't going to be meeting her there to fly on to the Hawaiian islands with her after all. His city. New York, had won again, just as on earlier occasions. Still, she was honest enough to agree that her own profession had called her away from him more than once.
Perhaps their relationship had been doomed from the start, as her friend J.T. had said in his less-than-comforting certainty when she'd called to cry long-distance on his shoulder, inviting him to join her and knowing how foolish it sounded the moment the words left her. She just didn't want to be alone so far from home. It wasn't like she was trying to muscle in and take advantage of J.T.'s recent change of status to single and less-than-carefree. Nothing was certain in a world where even J.T.'s supposedly perfect marriage had gone aground on the jagged rocks of divorce. There hadn't been a single clue, so closed-mouthed had he remained about it.
“ Life as medical cops,” she muttered to herself, sipping at some wine she'd found in the dry bar. She had an M.E. after her name, and she was an FBI agent, but it all boiled down to the work of a cop, after all, and it left little in its wake for what others might consider a normal life.
“ A relative term at best,” she reassured herself with another of her father's favored phrases. She recalled him saying these words when, as an army brat, she'd protested his lifestyle as less than normal; so uprooted were they time and again.
“ But when do you get to slow down, enjoy life. Dad?” she'd asked.
“ I do enjoy life, Jess. I love my work.”
“ And what about me and Mama?”
“ I love you guys, too.”
She felt a tear well up at the memory. It was not long after that her father was filled with regret at not having loved her mother enough, at not having spent more time with them both. She had had to reassure him thereafter until his death that he'd been a terrific husband and father, and he had. He had raised her to be independent, to be a self-starter, a hard worker, a self-thinker, and to be obsessive about caring. He had taught her the tactics of the deer hunter, the methods of the hunt and how to deal with the prey once you caught it. He had taught her strength and gentleness in the same lessons.
She wiped away her tears and stared out at the expanse of ocean, getting dreamily caught up in the ebb and flow of the current far below her balcony. Lovers walked among the palm- lined paths in the distance where Waikiki Beach was lit with the torches of a luau just getting underway. The trade winds blustered about the balustrades and rattled the small outdoor furniture, threatening to lift her robe to reveal her nudity beneath, but the feel of the wind against her skin was warm and pleasing as if it were alive and interested in her alone.
“ More than I can say for Alan Rychman.” Her sad little joke was followed by a pout.
She allowed her mind to play with the wind as it poured over and through her, at first not hearing the phone, which was ringing insistently inside her room.
Blowing out a long thread of exasperated air, she stepped back inside, out of the wind and stars to lift the receiver.
“ Have you eaten?” It was Parry.
“ No, I mean, yes… I mean, I was about to order from room service.”
“ I'm downstairs… and if you'd care to have someone to dine with, well… I just thought…”
He sounded like a nervous boy. She cleared her throat. “I'm awfully tired.”
“ Maybe a little wine and some decent opaka-paka will-”
“ Opaka-paka?”
“ Best fish dish in the islands, the way they do it here.”
“ Downstairs, you say,” she considered aloud.
“ At the restaurant.”
She sighed, gave him time to worry and then said, “All right. Give me a moment to dress.”
“ C-casual,” he intoned.
“ Island casual?”
“ And I promise, no shoptalk.”
When she hung up, she wondered if she'd made the right decision, and if he'd stick to his word about no shoptalk, or if he was chomping at the bit to glean as much information as possible from her about the earlier autopsies. Still, she wasted no time in dressing in a light, rainbow-colored, muumuu-style dress she had picked up at a hotel shop in Maui. As she quickly blow-dried her hair, using a little gel to style it comfortably and nicely, allowing the gentle, auburn curls to flow freely to either side, she wondered about his intentions. She also questioned her own. Then again, why shouldn't she enjoy herself here in the world's most lovely resort city; why shouldn't she have a place to wear her new dress; why shouldn't she taste this opaka-paka delicacy? And Alan Rychman and Paul Zanek be damned-for different reasons. And by God, why shouldn't she enjoy the company of another man? She found her cane and took a moment to appraise herself in the full-length mirror before stepping out, glad she'd bought the pullover island wear with the tie about the waist as opposed to the one without. She quickly cautioned herself about Parry, reminding herself that all men were the same the world over, and that despite his good looks, she didn't intend to get romantically involved with any goddamned, workaholic bureau chief, Hawaii or not.
Dinner was delightful, served in an open-air atmosphere on the rim of the Pacific, tracings of lavender and purple aproning the horizon as the sun abandoned sky for sea. Remarkably, Parry remained a man of his word, not once broaching the subject of the double autopsy earlier or the case he was building against a phantom killer stalking Honolulu's Waikiki resort area.
After a delicious dinner of thick, fresh opaka-paka served up with wine, he took her for a walk along Waikiki's busiest strip. Life teemed here on the streets and in the hotels as it did below in the ocean, the schools of people in their weaving groups swimming in relaxed but controlled fashion, going in, out and among the doorways and concrete pillars, the shopping on Kalakaua Avenue going on all night.
Parry needn't have pointed out the dazzling one-of-a-kind shops lining the way. Here shops known worldwide competed with local oddities. To her uninitiated eye, it seemed as though the people were mad; having come halfway around the globe, most of them were fixating on an activity they could do at their local malls in Upper Sandusky or Idaho, or Tokyo. People seemed both astonished and pleased to find familiar shop names alongside the unfamiliar, the gaudy neon alongside the tasteful designs that announced such places as Endangered Species, The Wyland Art Gallery, and exotic Korean, Japanese and Hawaiian restaurants; there was also Woolworth's, Burger King, Hilo Hattie's, ABC Liquor and Pharmacy, Thom McAn Shoes. There were three- tiered shopping malls in the International Market Place in the heart of Waikiki. It was all dizzying, exciting and a good deal disheartening, she thought. Maui, too, had high-rise hotels dotting its coasts, but there was nothing to compare to this for the atmosphere that only a major world city might provide.
“ You could spend a hefty fortune here before you got halfway down the block,” he said in her ear as they walked casually along the brightly illuminated street.
Her thoughtful “Hmmmm” was a purr. She'd drunk a bit more wine than she ought to have. “I can see that,” she managed. “But it's not what I came to Hawaii for.”
“ It's certainly an allure for a good many others, though, Doctor. Big bucks, big time… Honolulu attracts millions each season.”
She looked across at him as they continued to stroll along amid the bustle, adroitly maneuvering about the human quagmire they now found themselves in when they came to a standstill in front of a small grocery that specialized in Vietnamese goods. “Some unusual delicacies in there,” he assured her.