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Maui Macadamia Madness: Summer Meadows Mysteries, Book 4 (Volume 4)

By Cynthia Hickey

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1
The plane dropped fifty feet. A woman screamed.
I closed my eyes and gripped Ethan’s arm like a pit bull to a steak. I—Summer Meadows, uh, Banning, having been married less than twelve hours, I tended to forget my new last name—did not like to fly. Not one iota. “Whose idea was it to fly to Maui?”
Ethan laughed and pulled me as close as the armrest between us would allow. “Yours. I wanted to cruise, but you said you didn’t want to leave Aunt Eunice with the store for too long.”
“You should have stopped me. I was delusional.” I buried my face in his shirt front. “Out of my mind with marital bliss.” My stomach leaped as the plane jumped again. Please, don’t let me lose my dinner. Why couldn’t the airline have a direct flight to Maui instead of their having to fly a prop plane from the main island to their destination?
Ethan rubbed my head. “Did you manage to sleep? I’d hate for you to arrive in Maui with gritty eyes.”
“A little. You?” I peeked up at him, wanting to run my fingers through his mussed hair. One night as his wife, and I loved him even more than before.
“Like a baby.”
I’d hardly slept a wink. Something about there being nothing but air between me and the ocean kept me awake and white knuckled. Not to mention the man behind us who snored like a bulldog with sinus problems. “I’ll sleep once we reach the Bed and Breakfast in Kihei.” I grinned. “But hopefully not too much.”
Ethan bent and gave me one of his heart-stopping, lip-searing kisses. Normally, people might think getting married on April Fool’s Day a bad omen, but not me. I thought it funny and unique. Just like me and my new husband. Doing things out of the ordinary kept life interesting.
I loosened my grip on his arm and grabbed the arm rests as the plane began its descent. Fun with the most handsome man on God’s green earth, no dead bodies or internet scams, no one shooting at me, all pointed to the most perfect ten days a woman could hope to have.
The plane landed smoothly. Passengers stood and reached for their carry-on bags before the fasten seatbelt light blinked off. I stepped aside and let Ethan handle ours while I tried to peer around people and out the windows. From what I could see, the airport looked like any other one I had been in. A squat white building on a tarmac. I sighed and took my makeup bag. Ethan placed his free hand on the curve of my lower back, sending delicious tremors up my spine, and steered me off the plane.
We made our way to baggage claim, waited until our suitcases arrived, then headed outside to the van that would take us to Wahine’s Bed and Breakfast. Lovely young women, arms loaded with leis, welcomed us with “Aloha.” The fragrant scent of flowers and ocean filled the air. I breathed deep, certain I was as close to heaven as a woman could get and still be on earth.
Excitement rose like champagne bubbles and colored the day rosy. I fairly skipped to the transport van and showed the driver our registration papers while Ethan lugged the bags. Strong as he was, he groaned under the weight. I tended to over pack, as evidenced by the extra fees for the luggage weight and extra bags. But, a girl had to be prepared for anything.
Three other couples joined us on the van ride, two obviously married, and one that ignored each other. Either they were a couple angry with each other or strangers. Maybe the beauty and romance of Maui would soothe whatever ailed them.
As the driver moved to close the door, another man ran up, shouting for us to wait. The driver scowled and motioned for the man to sit in the front passenger seat. Once everyone and their bags were secure, he slid behind the wheel.
“This is it.” I glanced at Ethan. “We’re really here. On our honeymoon. On Maui.”
He grinned back and squeezed my hand. “Yes, we are.”
“Oooh, honeymooners.” A plump woman sitting in front of us beamed over the back of the seat. Her greying brown hair was clipped back in flower barrettes and the colors on her tent-of-a-housedress would blind a man with no eyes. “I’m Sharon Aldrich, this is my husband, Ron. We’re celebrating our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. We spent our honeymoon here, too.” Her husband, a round, balding man, nodded and unfolded a newspaper. Sharon tapped the other couple. “Since we’re all going to be spending the next few days together, we should get acquainted.”
The other couple looked to be in their mid-twenties. “We’re Bruce and Maryann Franklin,” the young man said. “On our honeymoon.” He landed a loud smack on his wife’s lips. She reddened and cupped his face. They rubbed noses like a couple of Eskimos.
Sharon turned to the last two. “And you two are?”
“Not married and strangers.” The woman pulled a lipstick and compact from her purse. She reminded me of Ethan’s ex-girlfriend, Terry Lee. Dark hair, shapely figure, legs that went on forever. I disliked her on the spot. “I’m Susan Wood, here on vacation.”
“I’m David Hatcher. Business.” He was good looking in a California surfer kind-of-way with longish sun-bleached brown hair and brown eyes. His gaze flicked over Susan’s shoulder and landed, for a moment, on the back of the front passenger’s head.
“And you, sir?” Sharon leaned forward, trying to gain the attention of the man in front.
“Here on business.” He continued to stare out the window. A gold Rolex watch winked from his left wrist.
“Do you know each other?” Sharon motioned between the man and David. When David shook his head and the other man didn’t reply, she shrugged and turned back to Ethan and me. “The other honeymooners?”
“Summer and Ethan Banning.” I reached out my hand to shake hers. “From Arkansas.”
“Well, well,” Susan simpered. “So am I. I thought you looked familiar. You’re the wannabe sleuth from Mountain Springs. I read about you in the Arkansas River News.”
“Nothing wannabe about it.” I lifted my chin. “I solved three crimes.” And almost died solving each one of them.
Ethan placed a restraining hand on my leg and leaned close. “We’re on our honeymoon, Tinkerbell. No crime talk.”
I got the warm fuzzies at the nickname he used to tease me with because of my petite size. What a turnaround from when I used to take offense. I felt the love in his words. I patted his leg. “I know.” I transferred my attention to the lush greenery passing outside the window.
Wahine’s Bed and Breakfast sat on a private beach, its pristine white siding a brilliant contrast to the azure sky. Off to the sides sat quaint huts with thatched roofs and cascading blossoms dripping from the eaves. Opposite the hotel, the beach sparkled like diamonds, inviting a person to indulge in an oceanic dip. I couldn’t wait to sink my toes into the wet sand at the water’s edge.
“Aloha!” A brown-skinned couple, him in a tropical shirt and her in a purple muumuu, held their arms wide in welcome. “Your home awaits you,” the man said. “I am Larry Wahine, and this is my princess-of-a-bride, Anna.”
How sweet of him to call his wife his princess. I glanced up at Ethan, who grinned and planted a kiss on my nose.
“You’ve been my princess from the moment I first laid eyes on you when you were a skinny, freckle-faced, twelve-year-old.”
He always knew exactly what to say to heat up the water.
“We have lots of fun planned,” Mr. Wahine explained. “From snorkeling to luaus, parasailing to whale watching. We hope that all of you will join in the group activities, but if not,” his smile never faded. “We will guide you where you want to go. Now, to show you to your rooms. Come, follow me.”
“I hope you paid attention to my reservation requests,” Mr. Businessman said. “I requested a cottage set apart from the others.”
“Yes, Mr. Jamison, we’ve set you aside as far as possible.” I wasn’t sure, but I would have sworn Mr. Wahine actually rolled his eyes.
“This way, Mr. and Mrs. Banning.” Mrs. Wahine headed left, motioning for the other honeymooners to follow us. “Our honeymoon cottages are this way. It allows for a little more privacy.” She winked and opened the door to our suite. “We do rent a few rooms in the main house, but folks tend to enjoy it out here more.”
Wicker furniture and tropical fabrics welcomed us. A large basket of fruit with a platter of cheese and bread beside it sat on a coffee table. Although this was our second night as husband and wife, my face burned at sight of the king-sized bed draped with mosquito netting.
Ethan sat our bags beside the bed then moved to open the French doors. “Look at this view, Summer.”
I slipped under his arm and took in the scene in front of me. Waves caressed the beach, palm trees swayed, and the last of the day’s wind surfers filled the ocean with bright colors. “Paradise.”
He squeezed me. “Do you want to eat in tonight, or join the others?”
“I’d like to eat right there from the fruit basket.” I motioned at the small bistro table on our deck. “Do you think the Wahine’s will mind?”
“I’m sure they expect it from newlyweds.”
“Most likely.”
“Sit while I get the basket.” He moved inside. “There’s a bottle of sparkling cider and one of grape juice. Which do you want?”
“The cider, please.” I sat in a wicker chair and the fuschia cushions let out a whoosh. I set my feet on the small footstool in front of me. I could sit there every night and watch the sun go down past the water. Especially if Ethan sat beside me. He placed the basket and tray on a wrought iron patio table, then went back inside for our drinks, leaving me to cut the bread with the knife provided.
“Look, Ethan, a box of chocolate-covered macadamia’s.” I lifted a white box wrapped with a sunshine yellow ribbon from the basket. I had started serving them in my store, but the nuts had a tendency to spoil so quickly, I didn’t stock them as often as I would like. This was a rare treat. I opened the box, picked out a couple of pieces, and settled back to enjoy the view.
Did the natives of Hawaii ever get used to the sight of a crimson sun lowering over water painted with magenta and pumpkin, or did they take the sight for granted? I sighed and watched as the last wind surfer strolled across the beach and past the hotel.
“To us.” Ethan handed me a wine glass and bent to kiss me.
“To us.” I raised my glass in toast, returned his kiss, and then transferred my attention back to the beach.
Someone ran through the deepening shadows.
“Looks like one of the guests is enjoying an early evening jog.” I took a sip of my drink as he or she ran past our balcony, a dark-colored hoodie pulled over their head. I shrugged. To each their own, my Aunt Eunice always said. With the sun setting, the weather cooled off, but not enough to warrant even a light weight jacket, at least in my opinion. The person glanced toward us. Their steps faltered as I raised my glass, then the person sprinted off.
A scream shattered the peace of the night.

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