“Yeah, sure,” Ned said and waved his hand. He turned, grabbed a baseball cap and his empty knapsack out of the closet, and hurried out of the room before Artie tried to make any more plans. No two ways about it, Artie was a strange agent. His late-night walks on the beach. His constant flexing and unflexing of his hands. His total lack of savoir faire with women. Ned had seen him in the bar trying to make time with a couple of the ladies. No one was interested. When Dorinda Dawes took his picture, he tried to flirt with her. Even though she was a world-class flirt, she moved on quickly. First Bob had hit on her and then Artie. She must have had some opinion of the Lucky Seven. Poor Dorinda. To think we both started working here at the same time.

Ned walked out of the room and called information from his cell phone for the address of the Seashell Museum. He hadn’t been there in a while. He bought a map in the store that sold newspapers, postcards, and travel guides, and pinpointed its location.

In the front of the hotel he jumped in a cab and gave an address several blocks from the museum. He didn’t want any taxi driver saying he had brought a guy from the Waikiki Waters to the museum. They took off, drove for several miles, and finally stopped along a stretch of lonely road in front of the beach.

“This it?” the driver asked.

“Yes.”

“Nothing much around here.”

“I want to take a quiet walk.”

After fifteen minutes of strolling along the sand, the museum was in sight. His pulse racing, Ned remembered the feeling he’d had thirty years ago. He had been a kid; now he was older, but it made no difference. He felt the same excitement, the same pounding in his heart. But everything was quiet. There was no one on the beach, and the museum was set off on its own. He wandered over, approached the steps to the museum, and noticed that off to the side there was a picnic table. A guy with a toga was sitting there facing the westward-moving sun, his back to the table. It looked as if he was meditating. His eyes were closed and his palms outstretched, facing up. Is that the guy who made such a stink about the robbery thirty years ago? Ned had seen him on TV the day after the theft. He seems to be wearing the same outfit, Ned thought.

As Ned got closer he could see the two historic shell leis lying on the table. He was astonished. There they were, just feet away. Do I dare? he wondered.

Of course. How could I not? So close and yet so far. He could always say he was only taking a look.

Ned crept over as quietly as he could. With his index fingers he picked up the leis just as the meditator opened his eyes, smiled contentedly, and started to turn around. Before he knew what hit him, the large man was shoved violently and fell headfirst onto the pavement.

The pain in the meditator’s head was tremendous, but it was only when he pushed himself to his feet, turned around, and saw that the leis were missing that he began to scream. Jimmy’s ungodly howls could be heard for miles.

R egan walked around the hotel and spotted Jazzy sipping coffee and going over papers in the coffee shop where Regan had eaten breakfast. She decided to go in and have a little chat with the queen of the gift bags.

“Mind if I join you?” Regan asked.

Jazzy looked up. She had reading glasses perched on the bridge of her nose and was looking very efficient. She tossed back her mane of blond hair and urged Regan to sit down. “Things are a little hectic getting ready for the ball. It’s really going to be exciting.”

Regan nodded and ordered a cup of tea from the waitress who had served her breakfast. “You’re still here?” Regan asked.

“Another kid called in sick,” Winnie noted matter-of-factly. “I guess the surf’s pretty good today. Oh, well. If my feet hold out, I’ll be fine. More money for my eventual retirement.”

Regan smiled and turned to Jazzy. “I understand the ball is sold out.”

“It’s crazy and a little strange. People are intrigued by the auction. All the press about Dorinda and the antique lei has sparked a lot of interest in the whole evening.”

“Here you go, honey.” The waitress placed Regan’s tea on the small table. “Drink it in good health.”

“Thanks.” Regan picked up the metal container of milk and poured in a few drops, added a touch of sugar, and stirred.

“How come you’re not down on the beach?” Jazzy asked. “You’re on vacation. Steve and Kit surely wouldn’t mind having you join them.”

“Oh, I know. Steve seems like a nice guy,” Regan answered evasively.

“He is a nice guy. I’d get a little bored being retired at such a young age, though.”

You’ve got to be kidding me, Regan thought. House-sitting on the Big Island for a rich guy isn’t exactly like being part of the labor force.

As if Jazzy could read her thoughts, she continued, “I know I’m no longer working as a big-city lawyer, but that’s okay. I like working for Claude. It’s much less stressful than being an attorney. And getting his Hawaiian clothing business off the ground is really important to us.”

Regan couldn’t help but wonder what the “us” meant. Maybe that explains why Jazzy hadn’t zoned in on Steve. She certainly is an operator. “This whole Dorinda thing,” Regan said, “is so puzzling. I spoke to someone today who had been interviewed by her years ago and said that Dorinda really burned her.”

“Was that your mother?” Jazzy asked coolly.

“My mother?”

“Your name is Regan Reilly,” Jazzy said quickly. “Her name is Nora Regan Reilly. Even though you have dark hair, you look a lot like her.”

“You’re quite a sleuth, Jazzy.”

“And so are you.”

“Dorinda did interview my mother. She didn’t exactly endear herself to her with the article, but my mother actually felt sorry for her.”

Jazzy waved her hand at Regan. “She had her whole journalist act down pat. I’m telling you, she manipulated people. She was talking about interviewing Claude for the magazine Spirits in Paradise. Then she backed off. Then she thought she might. Then she said that she decided he was too rich, that he didn’t need a second career out here because he had enough money to live no matter what happened. She wanted to focus on go-getters who had the courage to leave their safe jobs on the mainland and try to make it in Hawaii. Please! Claude would have been a wonderful interview subject. He had the courage to try something different. Just because he had been successful, it shouldn’t be held against him. And the last thing Claude needs is to be embarrassed if his business flops. After all, doesn’t everyone just love to see someone fail in a new career when they’ve been so very successful at something else?”

Not everyone, Regan thought. She raised her eyebrows and sipped her tea. Well, I guess she answered my question about her boss-and I do think their relationship runs a little deeper than just business. “Did Dorinda ever meet with Claude?”

“We had a big outdoor party at the house at Christmastime and invited her. This was when she said again that she was going to interview Claude. She was so nosy, it was unbelievable. She was snooping around everywhere.” Jazzy laughed. “Inside and out. She was even wandering through our woods, taking pictures. I put glass marbles in Claude’s medicine cabinet because I’d heard how meddling people can be at parties. Well, wouldn’t you know, it was Dorinda who used the bathroom at the end of the hall in the master bedroom. She opened the cabinet, the marbles went rolling, and they broke all over the bathroom floor. I was nearby and got the broom. She claimed she had a headache and was looking for aspirin.”

It sounds like Dorinda and Jazzy were birds of a feather, Regan thought.

“That’s when I knew she was trouble,” Jazzy continued. “You know how sometimes you just get an instant reaction to a person? And it’s often right?”