Dancing with Danger

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DANCING WITH DANGER

an Aloha Lagoon Mystery

by

KIMBERLY GRIGGS

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Copyright © 2024 by Kimberly Griggs

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.

To Kevin—my rock, my heart, my life.

Acknowledgements:

I wouldn't be able to do anything without the support of my husband, Kevin. It doesn't matter what crazy ideas I have, you tell me to go for it. You believe in me when I don't believe in myself. I love you, and I love doing this life with you!

To my guys, you're the best! Thanks for your patience every time I held up one finger and asked you to wait while I finished a thought and found a stopping place. And to Cadence, I love being the only author you'll read. I hope you enjoy this one!

Thank you to J'nell for your endless support, encouragement, ideas, and laughter! I miss our couch sessions, but the phone calls are a close second. Without our brainstorming sessions, I'd probably just sit and stare at walls for hours on end. Ok, I'd just stare at them more!

A HUGE thank you to Gregg and Lee Ann for gifting me time at The Sandy Sea Turtle in PBC. You'll never know how much that week meant to me. Most of the inspiration and words came during that time, and Ruby and crew would not be here without those moments of solitude away from the hustle and bustle of life.

Thanks Mom and Dad for telling me I could do anything I wanted to do when I grew up. I took that to heart and fill most of my time with things I love because of it.

To my readers, you guys are so encouraging. Thank you for being on this journey with me. I love hearing from you.

And finally, to Gemma Halliday. I started on this journey because you gave me a chance when I'd never written more than a few pages. Working with you has been such a pleasure, and I cannot thank you enough for all of your help crafting and honing my writing skills. Thank you for believing in me!

CHAPTER ONE

That's it, ladies. Let those hips do the talking!

Unfortunately, Mae Jackson, a seventy-something-year-old grandma with more spunk than sense, took my words to heart. Her backside moved to a beat no one else felt, taking out three women in its wake. The grass skirt tied around her waist swished violently, whipping her ankles with a thwack, and her coconut bra bounced in rhythm to the music, dangerously close to spilling out the goods. Thank God, she had on a sports bra underneath.

A chorus of Ouch! Oops! Hey, careful there! rang out as Mae sashayed from one side of the room to the other, her eyes closed, her head thrown back, and a satisfied smile tugging her lips. Although enthusiastic, Mae wasn't very skilled at dancing. It was hard to rein her in on a good day, but when she was in the zone, it was best to just let her do her thing.

You girls might want to back up a little. I bit my lip to suppress my giggles as a couple of newbies scowled their irritation at having their toes stepped on by Grandma Mae. Still, they heeded my warning by backing up a few feet as they continued to correctly follow the steps to the hula-inspired fitness routine.

The ukulele-driven music lilted through the speakers as I watched the women behind me through the mirror. The Judgment Free Zone sticker stared back at me as I noticed the wide berth everyone was aptly giving Mae. Having talent or rhythm wasn't a prerequisite for attending Hula-Fit, which made the classes interesting to say the least. But I loved teaching women to feel good moving their bodies, even if that movement wasn't precisely coordinated.

Step right and lift. That's it. It's all about the hips, girls! You've got it!

My comments were met with titters from the twenty-five women ranging from a few ladies in their twenties and thirties, to more seasoned women in their sixties and seventies, just like Mae. Okay, no one was just like her, but she was part of a group who called themselves the Golden Girls, a la Blanche, Dorothy, Sophia, and Rose from the 1980s sitcom, and they came to every one of my dance sessions.

That was part of the joy of teaching at Aloha Lagoon Resort—so many people from all different walks of life came together to have fun, stay fit, and learn a little hula.

My dream from childhood was to be a hula girl. My mother was a huge Elvis fan, and I'd fallen in love with Hawaii by watching his movies. It was the reason I'd moved to Hawaii after studying dance and fitness in college. Since I wasn't Polynesian by birth, I'd had a difficult time finding a spot on a professional hula dance team when I arrived in Hawaii six months ago.

I understood the deep-rooted culture and preference for Hawaiian-born dancers, so instead of crying over spilt milk, I took my talents to the fitness world and created Hula-Fit, a blend of Polynesian, Latin, and Pop music along with dance moves from each melded together to bring a little taste of Hawaii to everyone.

Hula-Fit had been a hit with Julia Juls Kekoa, the activities director for Aloha Lagoon, when I'd walked into her office with the idea, hoping to spark her interest and secure a job for myself. As soon as she'd attended the one-class trial she arranged for me, Juls had said she'd felt as if she were experiencing Hawaii in a whole new way. High praise from a fitness addict like Juls. That had been precisely my goal when I'd created the program, and I'd been thrilled it had earned me a place on staff at the prestigious resort.

Of course, not everyone wanted to hula, so I also taught Zumba, High Fitness, a multitude of boot camp classes, and even a kick-boxing style fitness routine paired with pounding music and a lot of grunting.

The song ended, and I launched us immediately into the cooldown, cringing when Grandma Mae bent over at the waist and her coconuts tumbled out of their confines—one up, one down. Oh Lord.

I stood to my feet, keeping my eyes diverted from the disaster that was Mae's chest and bowed at the waist.

"Thank you all so much for coming. I hope you had a blast. Mahalo and aloha."

Mae made her way up to the front of the class, barreling through the other students like a bowling ball on its way to a strike and shoving her bongos back into their holder.

Ruby, honey, that last dance was perfection. But I think it might need a little more of this movement. Mae demonstrated a move with her hips—which was neither hula, nor salsa, nor any other dance I could think of—while nearly taking out my sound system.

I caught the console that tipped precariously on its side and smiled through gritted teeth.

That's definitely an interesting take on it, Mae. I'll have to keep it in mind for the next class.

Mae beamed at me, and all my frustration melted away. I loved the old gal. She was spunky and fun and had outlived three husbands and was courting her fourth, or so she said. She was on the upper side of seventies but had the body of someone half her age. If I could look like her when I was over seventy, I'd be pretty darn happy. Let's just hope I danced a lot better.

Mae hugged me and sauntered off with her group of friends. She was replaced by Phoebe Gates, my newest acquaintance at Aloha Lagoon.

Oh my gosh! She's a hoot! You know, rumor has it she and the other Golden Girls leave here and day drink on the beach until their husbands come to retrieve them at dinner time.

Phoebe was taller than me, but then again just about everyone was at five foot nothing, and she was my exact opposite in appearance. Where my hair was long and brown, hers was short, cut into a stylish, swing-like bob, and so blonde it was almost silver. She had blue eyes to my green, and hers always seemed a little sad.

I'd been tempted to ask her why she seemed so troubled, but we hadn't crossed into the really personal conversation point in our friendship. Phoebe and I hadn't known each other very long, a few months really, but I was hopeful that the friendship would grow and evolve. Being new to the area, I didn't have many friends yet, and Phoebe had been coming to my classes from the very first day I started.

I'd only arrived in Aloha Lagoon six months ago, and I'd spent the first three months trying out for different hula teams on the island until I'd spent almost every dime I'd saved up before I'd moved. I'd had the bright idea to develop Hula-Fit after a particularly disappointing audition. In order to burn off some steam, I had turned on some music in a local gym I'd been attending on a month-to-month membership basis and had danced my heart out. When I had finished, I'd realized I'd had the best workout in a long time. And the idea of Hula-Fit had been born! Aloha Lagoon had been the first resort I'd pitched the program to, and, lucky me, they'd loved it.

Phoebe had been my first regular attendee, and each day after class we walked to the Rikki Tikki Smoothie Hut for a boost before she went to work at the resort salon. In addition to both enjoying a hula-inspired workout, we'd also bonded over our mutual love of cheesy rom-com movies and chocolate.

Mae's living the retirement dream, I agreed. Maybe I'd get there one day if I didn't eat myself to an early grave. Ready to go? I asked as I pocketed my keys.

Definitely. I think I'll try the Hawaiian Mama.

The Hawaiian Mama was basically a nonalcoholic Bahama Mama with orange and pineapple juices, coconut crème, Greek yogurt, protein powder, kale, and grenadine. If you left out the healthy stuff, it was basically a fruity protein drink that tasted like dessert.

Living dangerously, huh? I waggled my eyebrows, and Phoebe chuckled.

You know it.

I had classes beginning at 5:00 p.m., so I didn't bother cleaning the room or putting any of the grass skirts away that my students could borrow to wear for class. We also had coconut bras, but except for Mae and her group of eccentric ladies, no one else wore them.

Phoebe giggled as she looped her arm through mine, but as soon as we stepped out into the daylight, her back went ramrod straight as she looked both ways and over her shoulder.

You okay? I asked.

Her gaze jerked to mine, and she unlooped her arm. Of course. Why wouldn't I be?

I don't know. You just seem like you're waiting for the Boogie Man to jump out of the bushes and drag you back to his lair.

She rolled her eyes, but the smile on her lips fell flat. Everyone knows the Boogie Man isn't real.

I turned the key in the lock to the outside studio door that opened onto a lush lawn, where we sometimes held classes. The expanse of turf was shaded by overlapping blue and turquoise triangular sails, making it feel as if you were dancing under the sea. The green lawn, combined with the view of the ocean splashing against the pockmarked boulders, was so beautiful I had to pinch myself sometimes that I actually got to work in such a glorious place.

I pulled myself out of my reverie as Phoebe and I started in the direction of the smoothie hut.

I thought about letting it go. I didn't want to press Phoebe any further than she was offering to share. Still, something was clearly up with her, and I felt maybe I should help.

What's going on? You seem a little jumpy, I started, hoping maybe she'd open up.

Jumpy? Her eyebrows scrunched together, and it was clear by the look in her eyes that she wasn't happy I'd noticed her cautious posture.

I hooked my arm back through hers and started toward the Rikki Tikki Smoothie Hut.

As soon as we walked out of the building, you were looking over your shoulder. Were you expecting to see someone? Or something? I asked, hoping I was probing gently enough to gain her confidence.

I'm just a cautious person. You know, my mother says you should always be aware of your surroundings. You never know when someone might strike. She nodded as if that made perfect sense.

Uh-huh. Last I checked, you weren't a secret agent or super ninja. Who would be waiting in the shadows for you, ready to pounce?

She sighed as we approached Rikki Tikki. It's nothing, Ruby. Honestly. Drop it.

I let it drop. We weren't close enough for me to call her on her B.S., and I knew sometimes people needed time before they felt comfortable sharing their problems. I would be there for her when she was ready to spill her guts.

We arrived at the Rikki Tikki Smoothie Hut and the name suited it perfectly. It was an open-air, thatched roof, tiki-style, palapa dressed in leis and loose flowers and tiny little tiki statues. A giant surfboard was the backdrop for the menu, painted with yellow, squiggly lines and dotted with orange hibiscus flowers. Each smoothie name was Hawaiian or surfing themed—things like Total Wipeout and Mawi's Miraculous Mixture. It was a little over the top, but it was part of its charm.

What can I get for you ladies? Rhett Abbot, the Rikki Tikki Smoothie Hut's owner, and a dead ringer for Charlie Hunnam, with his longish blond hair and baby blue eyes, propped his elbows on the counter, a smile tugging crookedly at his lips.

Oh, um, I'll um… I cleared my throat, my cheeks heating as his grin ticked higher, clearly enjoying my embarrassment.

I'd seen Rhett at the Smoothie Hut almost every day, but he was usually busy in the back with the day-to-day operational stuff, only poking his head out occasionally. Roxie usually waited on us. She was fun and spunky with pink hair, facial piercings, and tattoos, and she pretty much had our orders memorized. Today, however, Roxie was nowhere in sight, and I was having a hard time maintaining my composure in front of her handsome replacement.

Phoebe stepped in. I'll have the Bahama Mama, but only with half a scoop of protein, she said tersely. I wasn't sure if she was upset at my stammering or the fact that she had to spell her order out for Rhett, rather than Roxie having it already started as we approached.

And she'll have… Phoebe waited, her eyebrows darting up to her hairline as she turned her pinched expression on me.

Rhett didn't seem fazed by Phoebe's curt tone. Instead, he winked at me. For you?

My blush deepened, and the wink certainly didn't help the stammering any.

I'll, um, I'll have the um… Oh geez, Ruby. Pull it together. I'll have the Hakuna Colada, but can you use ice cream instead of yogurt? Oh, and leave out the spinach?

He quirked a brow and nodded. Aren't you a fitness instructor?

Yeah. How did you know? And why does that matter?

He shrugged as he moved about mixing our smoothies and adding each ingredient to their respective blenders. He shut the cases, helping to keep the noise down, and leaned back against the counter crossing his arms. The movement made his biceps pop, and I noticed an intricate tattoo peeking out of his shirt sleeve.

Someone mentioned there was a new fitness instructor, and I figured you must be her. He made a motion with his hand to indicate how short I was. Small. Brown hair. Freckles.

My hand flew up to my nose to cover said freckles. He beamed and I dropped my hand feeling a little self-conscious.

And typically, fitness types are all about watching their sugar intake and adding extra green stuff, not less. It's almost as if they get a badge for making the smoothie taste as awful as possible.

I smiled. I'm not your typical fitness instructor.

The truth was, I hid a dirty little secret behind my thin frame and sculpted physique.

I leaned in whispering. Rhett leaned closer to hear what I had to say, and I caught a hint of his cologne. Clean, fresh, manly. I'm kind of a junk-food junkie, I confessed.

Rhett threw his head back in laughter while Phoebe seemed to grow more irritated by the minute. I caught her looking behind us several times and checking her phone.

Junk-food junkie, hey? Like what? he asked, quirking a brow. I detected a bit of an accent and wondered if he was from the south like me.

I tried to ignore my friend's rude behavior and went back to flirting—that was what I was doing, wasn't it?—with the hot smoothie hut owner.

I'm an addict.

An addict? Like an alcoholic? he asked, his smile dropping slightly as concern lit his eyes. I almost laughed at his unnecessary worry.

No, nothing like that. You see, I'm addicted to… I lowered my voice again and leaned closer, hoping I might catch another whiff of his yummy scent. Diet Coke. I raised my voice to the normal level, throwing up my hand to stop any further argument about my drug of choice. And don't start on me. I know all the arguments against artificial sweeteners.

Rhett chuckled, the sound—warm and husky—sending goosebumps trailing down my arms. He turned to remove the carafes, pouring our smoothie concoctions into the biodegradable corn plastic cups—safer for the environment, of course. He put two paper straws in each cup (not a fan of the paper straw, but I understood the environmental concern—wasn't there a better tasting and less flimsy option?) and leaned forward propping his elbows on the counter again. Diet Coke? That's not too terrible, he said.

Yeah, I failed to also mention the chocolate, Little Debbie snack cakes, and fast-food addictions. Throw in a little wine or a cocktail at night and you've got yourself a recipe for obesity by the age of thirty-five. Or diabetes. Whichever comes first.

Rhett barked out another laugh. So that's the reason for being a fitness instructor.

I shrugged. I absolutely adore dancing. And moving my body and lifting weights keeps me grounded, improves my mood, and makes me feel strong and capable. It also has the added benefit of keeping me from being another American statistic.

He nodded. Seems logical to me.

Maybe not a poster child for health, but I keep hoping my activity level will be my saving grace. I should probably eat better, but I hate green stuff.

All of it?

Pretty much. Kale? No thanks. Broccoli? Have you smelled it? My nose wrinkled without me even thinking about it. I was not a fan of stinky vegetables.

I have, Rhett said, his eyes sparkling with humor. Where are you from?

North Georgia.

Ah, that explains it. He nodded knowingly.

What does it explain exactly? My hand found my hip all on its own as I struck the southern girl sass pose.

You like your vegetables cooked within an inch of their lives and loaded down with bacon grease.

It was my turn to laugh. How'd you know?

I'm from East Tennessee. Born and raised just outside the Smoky Mountains.

So that explains the accent, I said as he'd answered my unspoken question from earlier in the conversation.

Been working on it all my life.

I grinned wider until Phoebe elbowed me in the ribs.

Ow!

She turned and walked away, and I took that as my cue to follow. I lifted my hand to wave.

Thanks.

Um, wait. It's Ruby, right?

I turned around nodding, hope bubbling up inside me. Was he going to ask me out? Was he going to try to keep the conversation going?

He tipped his head in the direction of the smoothies.

Should I start a tab for those, or do you want to pay for them now?

My face heated, and I slapped a hand over my mouth. Oh my gosh! I'm so sorry.

I dug in my little change purse attached to my wrist with my keys, nearly dropping the smoothies, but Phoebe moved past me, handing Rhett a ten and a five. Keep the change.

Since the bill was almost fifteen dollars total, it wasn't much of a tip. I smiled apologetically as Phoebe dragged me by the arm to a table as far away from the counter as she could manage.

What was that about? I asked, sipping my smoothie.

Phoebe shot a bored look my way but not before glancing over her shoulder again.

"What was what about?"

You were kind of rude to him.

She rolled her eyes. No, I wasn't. I tipped him.

I mimicked her eye roll. Like a fifty-cent tip was something to brag about. Yes, but you were pretty short with him. Is it because he didn't have our order memorized like Roxie does?

She sighed heavily and stirred her smoothie with her straw. I'm not that petty.

So? What, you don't like blonds?

She frowned, not amused. He's just bad news, Ruby. You should stay away from him.

Rhett? Why? He seemed really nice.

Well, people aren't always what they seem. Let's just say, Rhett isn't who he appears to be, she said.

I glanced behind me, watching Rhett serve another customer. Clearly, there was some history between my new friend and the hottie running the Smoothie Hut. I spun back around and opened my mouth to ask her what that history was, but she cut in.

Would you mind if I borrowed a hula skirt and coconut bra?

I flinched at the abrupt change of subject. But since I could tell it was intentional, I decided to just go with it for now. Hopefully, I'd get the full story later. Sure. When do you need it? I paused. And most of all, why?

It was Phoebe's turn to blush. I have a date tonight.

A date which requires you to wear a hula costume?

We're going to a luau, and he told me to wear traditional Hawaiian attire. That's either a muumuu or a hula skirt. I'm choosing the skirt.

No doubt. I wasn't a fan of the oversized, shapeless, floral dresses either. Who's the lucky guy?

Makai Mahoe. He's a fire dancer.

Wow! I'd never met a fire dancer before. I knew Aloha Lagoon had a fire dancing team called the Aloha Lagoon Ahi Fire Dancers for the nightly entertainment. I'd passed by a few of them moving about the resort, and there were a couple who lived near me. But they were these big, muscular guys who seemed so intimidating, so I'd never even made eye contact with them, much less spoken to them. Phoebe was bolder than I'd given her credit for if she had.

That's a pretty cool job.

She shrugged. I guess. Anyway, I need to borrow the costume if you don't mind.

Of course not. I've got a class at 5:30. Meet me at the studio at 5:00 and we'll get you suited up. I've got some other options besides the coconut bra if you want to try them.

Phoebe let her head fall back in relief. Awesome. I was not looking forward to how I was going to keep the girls covered all night.

We grinned, both chuckling over the idea of Phoebe's coconuts stuffed in the awkward bra.

I'll see you later then, Phoebe said, grabbing her smoothie and standing.

Oh. I looked down at my drink that I'd hardly touched. Um, you're leaving already?

She looked past me, back toward the Smoothie Hut, all smiles from a moment ago gone. I've got to go.

Without another word she took off, almost running toward the resort.

I turned in my seat to see what she might have seen to spur her to