Aloha Betrayed by Donald Bain, Jessica Fletcher Read Free Book Online Page B

whether or not we found a nest, I was convinced that the birds already knew what I only suspected: that Mala’s death was no accident, that she didn’t go rock climbing at midnight, that someone wanted to shut her up—permanently. That realization overrode the heat of the day and sent a chill through me.

Chapter Five
    Kōkua —Help or Assistance
    M ike was in a hurry to get home. He bought takeout sandwiches for us at a fish restaurant in a shopping center and, before dropping me off at the small resort where I was staying, reminded me that I was invited to his family picnic after class the next day.
    I took my paper-bag lunch out to the lanai, a shaded patio off my room with a view of the bay, and sat at a round metal table to unpack my meal. The sandwich—grilled fish with lettuce, onion, and tomato—was delicious, but so spicy that I was grateful Mike had gotten me an iced tea as well. The warm breeze, combined with our morning exertions and a filling meal, made me sleepy. I changed seats, relaxing back into a padded wicker chaise, and soon dozed off, visions of Mala and the rocky cliff and a flock of loud birds fighting for space in my dreams.
    She was teetering on the edge of the rock, peering down into the water. I tried to call to her to be careful. She looked up and waved to me. Just then a flock of francolins rose into the air, startling her. Mala’s arms wheeled, her body tipped sideways, and she tumbled out of my sight down the precipice. The birds shrieked, their calls piercing in the night.
    I awoke with a start, the dream fading but leaving a persistent sense of unease. The sun was high, the afternoon heat oppressive. I could still hear the birds calling. No, that was the telephone in my room. I pulled myself out of the chaise, shaking my head to clear the remnants of my daytime nightmare, and walked to the bedside table.
    “Yes?” I said, snatching up the receiver. “Hello?”
    “I’m sorry to disturb you, Mrs. Fletcher, but someone left a message for you at the front desk this morning. My apologies if no one informed you earlier. Would you like us to have it delivered to your room?”
    “Thank you for offering, but I’d prefer to pick it up,” I said, thinking I could use a little walk. “Is the café open?”
    “Yes, ma’am. It’s past lunchtime, but you can get a snack. Dinner service begins at five.”
    “I’ll be there in a while.”
    “We’ll have your message at the front desk. My name is Jack. If for any reason I’m not here, Eileen will have it at her station.”
    I thanked him and hung up the phone. I briefly debated changing into a bathing suit. A swim would surely clear the cobwebs, but I decided a cup of tea would do the same without the bother of undressing and then dressing again for dinner. I checked the contents of my shoulder bag for a book in case I wanted to read, and reminded myself to stop at the newsstand to replace the water bottles Mike and I had consumed.
    The resort where the foundation was putting me up was situated on Maui’s north shore and maintained a rack of bicycles for the convenience of its guests. Since the college was a short ride away, a bike was going to be my preferred choice of transportation, as long as it wasn’t raining. If the weather didn’t cooperate, there was a bus stop a block away, or the bellhop could call me a cab. The main lobby, an open-air space, faced the street, but the café in the back overlooked Kahului Harbor. I stopped at the front desk for my message and was handed a white envelope with the college’s return address and my name printed on the front.
    “Would you like to sit outside?” the hostess asked when I approached her podium in the café. A pin in her lapel read: LIVE THE ALOHA SPIRIT .
    “That would be lovely.”
    She led me to a table for four, shaded by a large umbrella, and pulled out a seat for me. “May I get you something to drink? We have POG, piña colada, iced tea, or you can choose a drink from the