A/N: Chapter 10 was posted yesterday. However, for whatever reason, this site did not show this story as having been updated. This site seems to have a problem when I post chapters in less than 24 hours of each other. Sigh. Anyway, wanted people to know that they may have missed Chapter 10 yesterday. That could be good news for some of you. You have two chapters to read. :) Enjoy, and thanks for the reviews!

Chapter 11

The sun rose in the morning sky, sending its warmth and light across the ocean and land. Most people on the Big Island woke, tumbled out of bed, and welcomed the new day – Tuesday to be exact – but not all.

In a small efficiency apartment, a dark haired woman with dark flashing eyes fretted. Rosita had called in sick yesterday, not because she was sick, but because she was worried. She was a maid at the Aloha Hilton, the brand new, five-star hotel where that lady had been murdered. And yes, Rosita was pretty sure it was murder. What had Rosita worried was the fact that she might know who the murderer was.

Absentmindedly, she poured a cup of coffee, added cream, and stirred. For the hundredth time, she wondered what the best course of action was. What exactly should she do?

She stopped stirring the coffee and rubbed her temples. Her head throbbed and a headache threatened. For two days she'd asked herself the same question. What should she do? Two days later, she'd arrived at an answer. The problem was, she didn't like the answer.

Mona, her supervisor, would be livid if she knew Rosita had given – yes, given – her pass key to a hotel guest. Looking back on it now, Rosita had to admit it was stupid, not to mention against hotel rules. The rules she'd signed and agreed to uphold when she was hired. She could be – no – would be fired the minute she told Mona what she'd done.

Sure, she'd gotten the key back, but by then it was too late for that poor lady in room ten-eighteen. Rosita and Mona worked the tenth floor at the Aloha Hilton. All the rich people stayed on the tenth floor. It had all the fancy suites. It was the best floor on the hotel, the cream of the crop, and Rosita had worked hard to get it.

The toaster popped and Rosita flinched. She was so distracted she'd completely forgotten about breakfast. Of course, she hadn't had much of an appetite since Sunday, the day of the murder.

Maybe he had nothing to do with that lady's murder Rosita thought as she buttered her toast. Maybe she was making more of the situation than it deserved. She carried her coffee and toast to a small table and plopped wearily in a chair. Really, she had no proof of anything. She took a bite of toast. Just suspicions. That's all she had. But the police had said to call them with anything, no matter how trivial. Let them decide what was important or not was what that detective had said. His name was Detective Lau. His card was lying on the kitchen counter. Every time Rosita looked at it, it seemed to scream at her, call him!

Rosita thought back to Sunday. The way he looked at me and what he'd said, that's what made me think later that maybe, just maybe, he was involved.

When he'd asked for the pass key he was very polite and apologetic. To her, he'd seemed kind and trust-worthy. The perfect gentleman. Hadn't he said, over and over, how he didn't mean to trouble her? Well, trouble her he had – and plenty! He'd disappeared with that pass key for four hours!

The only reason she'd given him the pass key was because she'd thought he'd locked himself out of his room. She had assumed he would retrieve his key card and returned the pass key to her. He hadn't said any of that though. It was later, after the lady was found dead, that Rosita realized he'd never said what he needed the pass key for.

She'd cleaned the two rooms she had open when he took the key. After an hour and a half of waiting and worrying, she became frantic. What if he never returned the pass key? She couldn't bear to think of how much trouble she would be in.

Finally, she'd been forced to get a replacement pass key from the front desk. She'd told a flimsy lie about leaving her key at home. Luckily, the desk clerk had been busy checking in a large group of businessmen and hadn't asked many questions. He had glared at her and given her a replacement pass key.

"I'll have to write this up," he'd said still glaring at her.

She'd inconvenienced him, added another chore to his already long list of duties. Rosita didn't think he would forget her incompetence. She'd hurried away – back to her cleaning – his angry eyes boring into her back. This transgression would be duly noted on her evaluation and tarnish her perfect record. And all for what? She'd worked so hard!

By the next day, she'd decided to tell Mona the truth, face up to her mistake and accept the consequences. Rosita was on her way to see Mona when he suddenly appeared, standing in the hallway, grinning like the cat who'd eaten the canary.

"You saved my life," he'd whispered and pressed the pass key, wrapped in a fifty dollar bill, into her hand. "There's a little something for your trouble." He'd smiled, looked contrite, and hurried away.

The fifty dollar bill was lying on the counter next to the detective's card. Rosita couldn't bring herself to use the money. Not until she was sure about him.

She rubbed her temples. The headache was building. Today she really did feel sick, but she couldn't afford to use up another sick day. If she took off today it would be 'leave without pay' and Rosita desperately needed the money. She was living paycheck to paycheck.

A miserable, sick feeling grew in her stomach and she pushed her uneaten toast away.

"I need to tell Mona the truth."

It was the right thing to do. Then she would contact the police. They could decide if her information was important.

With her mind made up, Rosita gulped the last of her coffee and put the dishes in the sink. She needed to hurry. She didn't want to be late for work.

# # # #

It was past nine when Nancy rolled out of bed and discovered Bess was already gone. Nancy felt a bit lazy. It wasn't like her to sleep so late. She took a quick shower and attempted to make a cup of coffee from the room supplies.

"Ugh." She cringed in disgust at the nasty brown liquid. It wasn't even hot. She poured the whole mess down the sink.

Time to call Frank.

He picked up on the first buzz. "Morning, beautiful. Ready for breakfast?"

Nancy smiled. Suddenly, she felt very lighthearted. "Yes, my handsome partner, and I'd like a decent cup of coffee."

"You tried the stuff in the room, didn't you?"

"How'd you guess?"

Frank chuckled. "I did the same. Won't make that mistake again."

"It was beyond vile," Nancy said and they both laughed.

"Meet me in the lobby in five minutes?"

"Make it three," Nancy said. "I'm desperate."

"Three it is."

Soon, Nancy and Frank were comfortably seated in the hotel's Sunrise Café. The favored café for breakfast.

Nancy lifted a cup of Kona coffee and inhaled the aroma. "Ahh, now that's coffee."

"Real coffee," Frank said and leaned close to her.

His shoulder touched hers and an electrified tingle traveled down Nancy's spine. That wonderful, little tingle reminded her of how much she liked Frank Hardy. It was nice it was to be sitting next to him.

Ah, small pleasures, she thought and took a delicious sip of coffee.

Breakfast orders had been placed. It was time to turn their attention to the case.

Nancy set her coffee on the table. "I've been thinking about the case and what the facts tell us."

"What's that?" Frank knew Nancy would have thought over every little detail of the case. It was something he, himself, had done last night.

"Fact one: the killer came prepared. He had a gun. Fact two: he killed one person and immediately got rid of the gun. That tells me his mission was complete. He came prepared to kill one person – and only one."

"Gwen Airedale." Frank had come to the same conclusion.

"Yes. But more importantly, the killer knew about that stretch of beach and how isolated it was. He must have found it earlier in the day, or days before. He was very thorough. He'd made plans to dispose of the weapon there."

"He definitely knew his way around the surrounding area. He was able to disappear quickly and quietly in the dark without tripping or falling." A crooked grin broke across Frank's face.

Nancy playfully smacked his arm. She knew Frank was just ribbing her about falling when they'd pursued the mysterious man.

She cleared her throat and returned to the case. "Ahem, anyway, it all comes back to Gwen." She sipped her coffee and fingered her napkin. "Any news from your dad?"

"Not much. They're still searching peoples' backgrounds."

Frank pulled a notepad from a pocket of his cargo shorts and flipped it open. "I wrote down what they found out so far." His eyes darted over the page as he read, "Gwen Airedale, formerly Gwen Hughes, bounced from company to company before landing a job at Frazer and Frazer Designs as a fashion designer. She worked at Frazer and Frazer for approximately three years. Lance Airedale spotted her designs at a prestigious fashion show in Chicago and offered her a job working for him at Airedale Fashions. She accepted and they were married shortly thereafter. They've been married five years." Frank flipped the note pad shut. "Like I said, not much information."

Nancy's fingers drummed the table. "Hm, we already knew she didn't do much work for Airedale Fashions. This show would have been the first one she would have attended since marrying Lance Airedale."

"That begs the question of, why? Why was this the first fashion show? What made her change her mind?"

"That's what we need to find out," Nancy said.

# # # #

Rosita rushed up to Mona ready to admit her mistake and deliver a profuse apology.

Mona was in a hurry and brusquely waved Rosita off. "You're late!" she scolded. "You need to get cracking. The rooms have to be turned out pronto today. There's a big luau scheduled tonight and I'm helping with it. Extra pay." Mona rubbed the tips of her fingers together. Extra money was always welcome in her household of five.

"Mona?" Rosita mumbled. She was starting to lose what little nerve she'd gathered.

Mona pulled fresh towels off her cleaning cart. "Now listen, Rosita. Be prepared, those detectives were here yesterday interviewing everybody again. They missed you cause you were out sick, but they said they'd be back today."

"Oh." Maybe that was good. Maybe Rosita could tell the detectives everything when they interviewed her. She could tell them all about the man and the pass key.

Hopefully, she wouldn't lose her nerve by then. Be strong, she told herself. A lady was killed! Your information could help the police catch the killer. That might save your job. If she helped the police apprehend the killer the hotel would probably let her keep her job.

"Now don't just stand there," Mona chided her. "Get your rooms done! And for heavens' sake, don't spend too much time with the detectives when they show up. You're behind schedule as it is." Mona stormed off carrying a load of towels.

Rosita took a deep breath and pushed her cart to the other end of the hall. You can do it, she told herself as she pushed the cart. You can tell the detectives all of your suspicions. They'll know what to do.

She came to the end of the hall and checked for her pass key. There it was, safely tucked in her pocket. She quietly knocked on the first door. No answer.

She used her pass key to open the door and called out, "Housekeeping."

Still no answer. Cautiously, she stepped into the room, her eyes darting all around. The room was empty. Good, she could start cleaning.

She returned to her cart and gathered her cleaning supplies. Behind her, she heard a door open. She stiffened and turned.

He stood there staring at her.

She stared back, her blood cold as ice. She gripped the spray bottle of cleanser so tightly she thought the cap might pop off. Calm down, she told herself, you have no proof he's the killer. Besides, he'll see that you're afraid and that would be very bad.

If only she knew. It was too late for Rosita. He'd seen the look, the unmistakable look of fear on her face and knew that she suspected him. Suspected him of .. Well, it didn't matter what she suspected. It only mattered that she had suspicions regarding him.

He was good at the game of deception.

He flashed a well-practiced smile. It had fooled many. "Good morning," he said with charm and grace. His eyes locked onto Rosita's face and studied her reaction.

"G .. good morning," she stammered. The way he stared at her made her uncomfortable. Extremely uncomfortable. She felt as if he could probe her mind and read her thoughts. She turned and hurried into the room to clean it. She laid her supplies on the bathroom counter and breathed deeply. One thought rose in her mind. His room number. She now knew what room he was in. She would give that information to the detectives when she talked to them later.

The detectives were now very important to her. She couldn't wait to talk to them. She only had one question, would they take her information seriously?

# # # #

He entered the elevator, glad it was empty, glad he was alone with his thoughts. They were not pleasant thoughts. He had a problem, a very big problem. The maid. There was no mistaking the way she'd looked at him, as though she'd seen a ghost. Or worse … a killer.

Fear. That's what he'd seen in her eyes. Unadulterated fear. She suspected he was the killer. All because of the pass key, he reasoned.

She's probably not sure, he figured, but what would stop her from telling the police her suspicions? Nothing. Nothing in the world would stop her once they started asking questions.

Yes, he had a problem and he intended to fix it as soon as possible.