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  DEATH OF THE BIG KAHUNA

  by

  CATHERINE BRUNS

  * * * * *

  Copyright © 2017 by Catherine Bruns

  Cover design by Estrella Designs

  Gemma Halliday Publishing

  http://www.gemmahallidaypublishing.com

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  There are always people who assist me with my writing process and play such pivotal roles while asking for nothing in return. It is an honor and a privilege for me to know them. Thank you to Retired Troy Police Captain Terrance Buchanan for his willingness to always answer my questions, no matter how numerous they might be. Judy Melinek, M.D., Forensic Pathologist, provided much needed assistance in the medical field. Beta readers Kathy Kennedy and Krista Gardner are true gems with their honesty, and I adore you both! Special kudos to reader Constance Atwater who also lent her knowledge about the State of Hawaii, as it's been a while since I last visited the island. Any Reger and Sharon Hmielenski provided some of the original recipes in the back of the book, for which I am deeply grateful. Thank you to my family, especially my husband Frank for always believing in me and to publisher Gemma Halliday for the opportunity to be a part of the Aloha Lagoon series.

  CHAPTER ONE

  When I was a little girl, playing waitress was one of my favorite pretend games. Together with my friends who lived next door at the time, we'd rush around and serve imaginary people at my mother's dining room table. In nice weather, we would use the back deck of my house. The state of Vermont has beautiful foliage during the autumn season, and we enjoyed gathering the multicolored leaves, pretending they were different types of entrees. The customers never complained about how long the food took to arrive, nothing was undercooked, and we always received hefty tips. And I never spilled food or broke glassware.

  Yeah, only in a perfect world…

  "Carrie Jorgenson?" A deep male, accented voice boomed in my ear.

  I jerked myself out of my thoughts. A tall, powerful-looking Polynesian man was standing to my left, glancing down at me with a somewhat impatient look upon his face.

  With trepidation, I rose from my chair. "Yes, I'm Carrie."

  The man looked me over without comment and extended his hand. "Hale Akamu. I'm the owner of the Loco Moco Café." He gestured for me to sit down again.

  "It's very nice to meet you. This is such a wonderful location for a restaurant." The café was close to the beach and situated smack in the middle of the highly popular Aloha Lagoon Resort in Kauai.

  It was a perfect day weather-wise, something I had learned not to take for granted growing up in snow-ridden and rural Vermont. The sky was a cloudless blue like the ocean, waves were gentle, and the temperature warm without nagging humidity. Hale and I were the only ones inside the building, besides a server and two customers at the counter.

  He ignored my comment, perhaps thinking I was sucking up—which, of course, I was. Desperation can do strange things to an unemployed person.

  Hale eyed me sharply. "References?"

  I swallowed hard and produced a manila folder from my shoulder bag. "Yes, they're from back home on the mainland. I just moved here a few weeks ago."

  He gave a curt nod and glanced at the page while I took a moment to study him. He was very good looking, similar to Tom Selleck from his Magnum, P.I. days, with thick, dark hair and eyes black as coffee without a hint of cream. I knew he was in his early forties because I'd checked him out on Google the night before. In addition to the restaurant, he owned a mammoth-sized shopping mall on the island of Oahu. Hale had inherited a vast amount of wealth from his parents when they'd died in a car accident about twenty years ago. It sounded like a horrible tragedy for a child to endure—anyone actually—and for a moment I pitied the man. Unfortunately, there was something about him that immediately registered high on my radar in terms of dislike.

  Even during our brief exchange, he managed to puff his chest out in an exaggerated manner while looking down his nose at me. He clearly thought I was beneath him. As if this wasn't enough to repulse me, I saw his eyes focus on my chest for the briefest of seconds. When he raised them again and found me staring back at him, his mouth twitched into a small grin.

  Yeah, not in a million years, buddy.

  Hale tapped his pen on the tabletop with an authoritative air. "I don't see any serving experience here."

  Darn. Kim was right. I had called my best friend from back home last night, and she had advised me to lie about my experience. "Make up some hole-in-the-wall restaurant," she'd advised. "He'll never check."

  But I couldn't do it, especially now, not with those calculating eyes pinned on me. "I-I did work in customer service."

  Hale pointed at the sheet of paper. "Walmart. You worked for a Walmart. It's not the same thing."

  This was not turning out the way I had hoped. It was my third interview in as many days, and I was slowly running out of options. Brad, my boyfriend, worked as a surfing instructor at the resort and had told me that the Loco Moco was hiring.

  I decided to level with the man. "Please, I really need the job. I'm willing to do almost anything."

  He narrowed his eyes, and a sly smile formed at the corners of his mouth. "Oh really?"

  Ugh. Bad choice of words, and this guy had letch written all over him. I heard myself babbling. "Um, I meant wash dishes or sweep the floor."

  His eyes swept over me, and my discomfort grew. "Well, that's a shame."

  Yikes. Yes, Hale was a pig. I was almost certain of it.

  "Excuse me, Hale."

  Hale glanced up. "Yeah, what is it?"

  A man about my age glanced from me to Hale and seemed embarrassed. "You asked me to let you know when Carmen got back from lunch."

  Hale scowled and rose to his feet. "I'll be back in a minute, Miss Jorgenson. Don't go anywhere."

  As he spoke the words, I noticed how quickly the color rose in his neck and cheeks. Whoever this Carmen was, I sensed she might be in for a bit of a tongue-lashing. Hale swaggered behind the front counter on his long, powerful legs, head held high and erect. His dark eyes circled the restaurant while he walked, as if afraid he might miss something, and the well-defined nose stuck out so far I feared he might suck up all the air in the place. He disappeared through the double swinging doors with portholes, which I assumed led to the kitchen.

  I let out a long, steady breath and tried to calm myself. I seemed destined to strike out again. Maybe panhandling on the beach was in my future.

  I looked up to see the other man watching me with unabashed interest. Well, he wasn't just any man. This guy was as hot as the inside of a volcano.

&nb
sp; He flashed me a perfect, gleaming white smile. "Interview?"

  I nodded. "I don't think my chances are good."

  "Ah, I wouldn't say that. We've all been working overtime because the place has been so busy. And Hale does not like to pay overtime." He extended a hand. "I'm Keanu Church."

  "Carrie. Nice to meet you." His hand was smooth and cool to the touch.

  "Likewise." Keanu had dark wavy hair, a natural tanned look to his skin, and crystal blue eyes the same color as the ocean. Although he was slim, powerful muscles bulged underneath the short-sleeved white T-shirt that said Loco Moco Café on it. The jeans he wore fit him perfectly everywhere, and I do mean everywhere. He was tall, but anyone was tall when compared to my five-foot-four-inch stature.

  Before we could exchange any more pleasantries, the sound of a woman shrieking met our ears. I glanced around. There was now one lone customer at the counter, reading the newspaper, and he seemed disinterested.

  "I don't care what he did," Hale yelled. "The customer is always right. And since you have no idea how to treat the public, you're fired."

  "You're not firing me because of that idiot, and you know it."

  Hale's voice was similar to a low, angry growl. "Get your stuff and leave."

  The woman's tone was menacing. "I would advise against firing me, Hale. For your own sake."

  "It's Mr. Akamu to you now. And your empty threats don't bother me. You're no longer an employee here. Pick up your things and get out."

  I expected more sobbing, but instead the woman's tone was venomous. "You'll be sorry for everything you did to me. I'll make you sorry."

  Hale laughed. "Threatening me, huh? Yeah, like that's the first time I've heard that line before. Get your pathetic self out of here."

  Keanu's expression was grim while his eyes remained focused on the swinging doors.

  Less than a minute later, a woman who looked to be in her midthirties pushed through them, a purse in one hand and a tote bag in another. She turned and lifted her middle finger in salute toward the kitchen. "You haven't heard the last from me, you freaking tyrant."

  Only she didn't say freaking.

  As I watched the woman depart amidst a sea of sobs, my insides filled with dread. I turned to Keanu. "Why did he fire her?"

  Keanu sighed. "A patron left her a nickel tip, and she made a snide comment to them. Hale overheard and went nuts. It's nothing new. Believe me. He fires someone at least once a month. It's like he needs to make a quota or something."

  A giant knot formed in the pit of my stomach. Do I really want to work here? Uh, no. But then again, what other choice did I have? All of my life I'd wanted to escape from my hometown and had dreamed of living on a tropical island. When my boyfriend had landed a position as a surfing instructor, I'd asked if I could tag along. Although his reaction had been less than favorable, he'd agreed.

  Brad and I had been dating for close to a year, but instead of becoming closer over time, it seemed as if we were growing apart. He'd come out a few months ago to get settled and had recently started to ask around about a job for me. Another surfer had told him there might be an opening at the café.

  Keanu broke into my thoughts. "It sounds like your chance for a job might have improved."

  Before he could say anything further, Hale pushed through the swinging doors and strode back over to us. He had papers in one hand and a giant coffee mug that read Hale Rules in the other. He placed the papers in front of me.

  "Carrie, is there any chance you could start work right now?" Hale pointed outside to where the tables were starting to fill. "Our dinner rush will be starting soon, and as you might have overheard, we're suddenly shorthanded."

  I wasn't a superstitious person. Plus, I needed the job. Yet I had a bad feeling about coming to work at a place where the owner was obviously disliked. Plus, what if he came on to me? I didn't need that hassle. Maybe I could accept the position for now but still look around for something better.

  Hale waved an impatient hand in front of my face. "Hello? Are you still with us, Miss Jorgenson?"

  I gulped and forced the words out before I had a chance to change my mind. "Ah, yes, I can start right away."

  He nodded and pointed at Keanu. "Good. Take her into the kitchen and show her around until Vivian frees up. Then she can shadow her around for the rest of the day—get drinks and stuff for the customers. A little later on you can show her how to run the register."

  Keanu nodded. "Sure thing."

  Hale pointed at the papers on the table. "Fill out your W-4 and I-9 and give these to Keanu before you leave."

  "Of course. Thank you very much."

  He looked down at me, but it felt more like a leer and practically made my skin crawl. When he reached for my hand again this time, I flinched. It was moist and clammy and sent a shudder of repulsion through me. Ick. I hastily pulled away.

  "I look forward to having you here."

  Before I could muster a reply, he was over at the register, laughing with a customer who had come inside to pay his bill. Hale slapped him on the back and rang the man's credit card through the machine, between taking sips of coffee from his egotistical mug. He then turned and disappeared into the kitchen again. I turned to Keanu, who gave a slight shrug.

  "I guess congratulations are in order. Come with me. I'll show you where you can put your purse and find you an apron. I'll get a name tag made up for you too."

  I followed him through the swinging doors into the shining kitchen, still shocked that I actually had a job. I couldn't wait to tell Brad.

  "You're an import, aren't you?"

  It took me a moment to realize that Keanu was talking to me. "Yes, I've lived in Vermont my whole life."

  Keanu grinned, and for the first time, I noticed the adorable dimple on the left side of his mouth. "Did you get tired of all that white stuff?"

  I laughed. "Something like that. Plus, I've always wanted to live in a tropical paradise."

  He ran a hand through his dark hair, and I found myself wondering if it was as soft as it looked. "Tropical, yes. Paradise—eh, not so much. So tell me, what's snow like? I've never seen it."

  "Shut up."

  He smiled. "I'm dead serious. I've always wanted to ride a snowmobile. Maybe I'll go check out Vermont sometime."

  From his physique, he seemed better suited to a pair of swim trunks and a surfboard than a ski parka. "You were born here?"

  Keanu shook his head. "I was born on the mainland, but my parents moved here when I was a baby. The island's all I've ever known. Don't get me wrong—I love it here, but I really want to see other places. Experience other seasons. You know, watch the leaves change and maybe shovel a driveway or two."

  I raised an eyebrow at him in disbelief. "Believe me—you're not missing much. So, did your parents name you after the actor?"

  "Keanu means 'cool breeze' in Hawaiian. My mother tried to convince me she came up with the name because of the long walks she loves to take at night, but I wasn't fooled. Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure is one of her favorite movies, and it happened to premiere the same year I was born. Coincidence?" He grinned. "Nah, I don't think so."

  I glanced around at the gleaming, stainless steel kitchen. A short, balding man in a white chef's hat was stirring something on the enormous ten-burner stove. There was a walk-in freezer, two dishwashers, two three-bowl sinks, and endless counter space. The one nearest to the chef held a whole pineapple, red peppers, and spices. My stomach rumbled as the smell of whatever he was stirring hit my nose. I hadn't eaten yet today—primarily because of nerves—but now I was starved.

  Keanu brought me to a smaller room that branched off from the kitchen and pointed at an open, empty locker. On the opposite side was a flight of stairs that I assumed led to an office overhead.

  "You can put your purse in here," Keanu said. "We don't have locks for them. Your welcome to bring one in, but no will bother your stuff. Only the employees are allowed back here." He reached over it into a cubbyh
ole above the locker and produced a white apron that said Loco Moco Café on it. "Put this on." Then he glanced at my hair. "Hmm."

  "What's wrong?"

  "I'm not sure if Hale will insist that you wear a hairnet or not."

  I made a face. "But I'm not cooking, only serving. Plus my hair's in a braid." It fell way below my shoulders. I'd been growing it for what seemed like forever.

  He nodded. "You've got a point. Still, the man rules with an iron fist around here."

  "Yeah, that's pretty obvious."

  "It's a shame to cover up something so beautiful." Keanu's tone was so low that I barely made out the words. "I hear Viv out in the kitchen. Come on. I'll introduce you."

  I followed him out the door. Did he mean I was beautiful? Oh, get a grip, girl. "Are you a server here?"

  Keanu shook his head. "I'm the assistant manager, so I run things when Hale isn't around. I keep the books for Hale but also help out with serving when needed. Hale lets me make my own schedule, but I usually put in ten-hour days. I'm studying to be a CPA."

  "Wow, when do you find the time?" I asked.

  He shrugged. "I'm here so much these days it's getting tough, but I manage."

  The portly male chef was standing in the doorway of the walk-in-freezer, chatting on the phone with someone. A pretty woman who appeared to be about my age was writing something down on an order pad. As we approached her, she looked up and flashed me a genuine, warm smile.

  "Viv, this is Carrie Jorgenson," Keanu said. "She's starting work tonight. Hale wants to know if you can show her around."

  "No problem." Vivian extended her hand forward. She was pretty, with delicate features and short, blonde hair worn in a pixie cut. Slim and about my height, she moved around the kitchen in a graceful manner that reminded me of a bird.

  "Nice meeting you," Vivian said. "Mainland, right?"