Try and sort things out. It was a reasonable proposition, sure. Phil also knew it was likely going to be easier said than done.

Cricket was perky and upbeat as ever, dressed, and warmed, up for a whole evening's worth of shows onstage at the Shell Bar. She turned her head. "Are you nervous?" Her blue eyes were brimming with secondhand worry as she studied Phil.

Yes.

"Should I be?"

She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. "If you are, then yes. If you aren't, then no."

Easy for her to say.

There was no denying he was on edge when Sanford Winfield II and his friends crossed the bar. It was just dawning on Phil that for as little as he knew about his perfect double, he knew even less about the man's traveling companions. They'd parted ways without much of an introduction, and on his suggestion, no less.

He just didn't want to keep them, and honestly, he was at a loss for what to say. It wasn't everyday he was staring at his own face somewhere other than the mirror.

As Sandy and his party drew closer, Phil stood up and gestured for them all to come and take a seat at the table he'd secured: a six-top near the stage with an extra chair pulled up. He couldn't help but dwell on the last detail of that arrangement.

He suddenly felt like a fraud. A piece of glass passed off as a diamond. Dyed rabbit in place of mink. Sandy, as he'd asked to be called, was the real deal, though. And his was an authenticity that extended beyond the name, the clothes, the entourage.

Sandy, Phil recalled, was a bona fide private investigator. He'd found, or maybe bought, his Geppetto, unlike Phil, who just loitered and nosed around over at the Hawaiian Eye office more often than he'd like to admit. Sort of like a kid saving up for baseball camp pestering all of his neighbors to let him mow their lawn or haul their garbage can to the curb.

Everyone was soon seated boy-girl, boy-girl and pleasantries were exchanged. More thorough, if belated, introductions offered, and drinks ordered—Mai Tai's, per the petite Spanish woman with the million watt smile.

"Weren't you saying we should save the Mai Tai's for after supper?" Daphne asked. The indomitable blonde bombshell with the husky voice intrigued Phil. She had been so forward with him earlier, when she thought he was Sandy.

Cha Cha was nonchalant. "Before dinner, after dinner, what's the difference?"

"Nothing much, except the amount of aspirin you take tomorrow morning." If ever a man was fit for Hawaii on appearances alone, it would be the one who'd been introduced as Ken. Even through his suit jacket and tie, Phil could tell he looked like he ought to be on the beach giving surf lessons to mid-western housewives, rather than staking out their skirt-chasing husbands with a telephoto lens.

"Tomorrow is tomorrow." Cha Cha was resolute. "And we don't worry about tomorrow until tomorrow."

"We might not have a choice, honey." Dave's tone was almost remorseful, still, the dark-haired detective expertly toed the line between fatherly and patronizing.

"First things first, though. We've got a few yesterdays to sort out." Ken was similarly rueful, cautious. He turned his attention to Phil. "If you don't mind me getting a little personal, when's your birthday?"

"January 27th, 1936."

There was no missing the looks that were exchanged.

Phil knew what that meant even before Ken declared, "Winner winner chicken dinner."

Now Daphne chimed in, "You said you're from Boston, right? Is that where you were born?"

"That's right."

"Well, that settles it," Cha Cha said, far too calmly for things to actually be so simple. "Sandy is from New York."

"Ah-ah," Sandy interjected, "I grew up in New York. But my parents lived in Boston when they were first married, up until I was about a year old."

Cricket leaned forward on her elbows and rested her chin in her hands. She glanced back and forth between Sandy and Phil, studying them both. Eventually, and somewhat dreamily, she asked, "What are the odds of that?"

"I imagine they're pretty slim," was Dave's no-nonsense reply. "That'd be one heck of a coincidence."

Ken was right there to continue his thought, and Phil couldn't help but notice how seamless it was. "And I believe in coincidences like I believe in unicorns."

"So, what you gonna do?" Cha Cha asked no one in particular, yet, everyone, in a way.

"I don't know about you guys, but it's about time I earned my keep." Cricket stood up. Once on foot, she offered the tiniest bow. "It's been really nice meeting you all and I hope we can get together again before you leave."

Everyone's eyes followed her all the way to the stage. Then the lights came up, demanding the attention of all of the Shell Bar's patrons. The MC, Paul, stood at the mic, the rest of the band just behind him as he announced, "Kānes and wahines, the Shell Bar is proud to present Miss Cricket Blake."

There was applause as the lights dimmed once more, fading into anticipatory silence as the spotlight shone on Cricket, center stage. The bodice of her dress sparkled and shimmered, but there was no music. She must've said something to Paul during that split-second in the dark, told him and the rest of the boys to hold off a minute.

Instead of singing, she spoke, "Thank you. Now, I usually do a solo number, but tonight I'd like to do something a little different."

Phil had known Cricket to shake it up with her performances from time to time. He had no clue what she was playing at here, although he suddenly remembered her telling him she'd once claimed she had a cold and told the audience Tom was going to fill in for her.

He did.

He threatened to murder her, but he did it.

"It just so happens," Cricket continued, "we have a special guest in the audience tonight who knows a little bit about carrying a tune. All the way from Fontainebleau Hotel in Miami Beach, I'd like everyone to give a very warm welcome to Miss Cha Cha O'Brien."

Cha Cha pointed to herself as the spotlight hovered over her, and the rest of the table by proxy. The surprise on her face couldn't have been manufactured. No, Cricket hadn't cleared it with her, Phil was certain of that. He was equally confident she didn't mind.

She was graciousness personified as she took Paul's outstretched hand and stepped onto the stage.

"Did you know she was gonna do that?" Daphne leaned in toward Phil. Her voice was low in both volume and register this time. The band had begun to play and she was clearly trying to be respectful.

"I'm as surprised as you are. I rarely know what Cricket's going to do."

"We're back to square one," Ken lamented. He, too, spoke in a hushed voice.

"How's that?"

This time it was Dave who continued his partner's thought. "We haven't decided what we're going to do. That is, what you two want anybody to do. Or not do."

"I can only speak for myself," Sandy began, "but if there's a connection between us, I want to know what it is."

Phil couldn't agree more. "I feel the same way."

"Right now, though, I'd really like to sit back and enjoy the show."

They really were birds of a feather. Phil also had an inkling that things were about to get very complicated and he didn't want to squander these last moments of ignorance.


"You're back!" Cricket's embrace was tight and even when she let go she hardly backed away from Tracy.

The proximity, her warmth—it was all very welcome, but there was no denying it felt odd just the same. There had never been a lack of affection between the two of them. But there was also always something of an invisible barrier neither of them crossed. An odd counter to the overabundance of lighthearted flirtation that neither of them acted on, no doubt.

Factor in Cricket's well-intended harrumphing whenever she seemed to think Tracy was getting a little to close to a client. And Tracy couldn't forget the occasional a bit of under the table detective work if he didn't like the looks of someone who took a shine to Cricket. Follow that with a healthy dose of ribbing when he (whoever he was) turned out not to be a threat at all. To her, or to them.

Or a warning that Cricket needed to be more careful if he was.

After all, what if Tracy ever wasn't there to look out for her?

"Don't sound so surprised, lover," Tracy halfheartedly chastised. It wasn't lost on him that he was holding Cricket at arms-length, hands cupped around her elbows, fingers gently squeezing the soft warmth of her skin.

Cricket pulled from his light grasp, spun around, and declared, "You've been gone so long I was starting to wonder if I'd ever see you again."

Tracy wasn't sure what it meant that she made that particular statement with her back to him. "Come on, now. I wouldn't just up and disappear without so much as a goodbye."

And just as quickly as Cricket had turned away, she was facing Tracy again. She linked her arms behind her back and leaned forward on her toes. "I'd prefer it if you didn't disappear at all."

"Absence makes the heart grow fonder." Even to himself, Tracy sounded like he was reading the line off of a script, or pamphlet, or a fortune cookie. He shrugged. "Or so I've been told."

"Yeah? And just who told you that?" Cricket asked. But before Tracy could respond, she had another question, rhetorical as it were. "Haven't they ever heard about too much of a good thing?"

Cricket had once said Tracy couldn't string her along forever. Clearly, she meant it, and Tracy was reminded that every coin has two sides. It would appear this one had, 'absence makes the heart grow fonder' on one, and, 'out of sight, out of mind' on the other. He'd just as soon toss it all.

Cricket sighed. It wasn't exactly an exaggeration—a calculation, if anything. She offered yet another sentiment to the ether. "It all makes me wish we could just figure it out without the absence part."

"We?" Tracy echoed.

"Never mind. You must be tired. From your trip." Cricket's words, rather, her delivery, felt so abrupt. Awkward and uncalled for. Cold, almost, and Cricket didn't do cold. She did hot under the collar and easily riled, and she attempted cool from time to time. But never cold.

Tracy was tired, but not from the trip. Maui was just a hop, skip, and a jump away, after all. "I think I can manage."

"I just mean, you must have a lot of catching up to do."

Indeed Tracy did.

"Just a little bit," he admitted. "Have I missed anything?"

"No, nothing really." Cricket was suspiciously flippant, but only briefly. "Although these guys from Miami Beach just showed up..."

Tracy resisted the urge to interrupt, despite the intentional pause Cricket offered him to do just that.

She continued, "Anyway, one of them says you were in Korea together. Dave somebody."

"Dave Thorne." Tracy wasn't guessing. He'd already had the pleasure to run into his former Air Force buddy. He hoped they could properly reminisce soon.

But there was someone else Tracy longed to catch up with even more. Weeks away—enough to be categorized as months—had taken their toll. Everything felt both nostalgic and foreign at the same time. Even the old office seemed different. Tracy needlessly glanced around. It really did feel like one of those 'spot the difference' picture games where the differences were so subtle they often went unnoticed and only the most astute of observers could nail them all down. It was as if everything'd been painted from a false, or maybe just a rose-tinted memory.

"That's him, Dave Thorne!" Cricket snapped her fingers. "Anyway, he and his friends showed up, and wouldn't you know it: one of them is a dead ringer for Phil. It's sort of spooky."

"Phil...?" Now there was a name that evoked zero familiarity. Oh, sure, Tracy had to have known at least one Phil in his life. But Cricket just uttered the name with such nonchalance it was clear she thought Tracy knew this one. Or ought to.

She caught on relatively quickly, though. "Oh!" She flushed and there was no hiding the look in her eyes; an expression of something just remembered that Cricket wished she hadn't revealed so earnestly. "That's right, you still haven't met him."

"Is there something wrong with him?" Tracy could only hope. Shifty eyes, extra fingers, webbed toes—something like that.

"No, not at all," Cricket was honest. "It's just, he sort of- well, he's kind of been filling in is all." Her demeanor was some mix of backpedaling, placating, and dare Tracy think it: floundering. Defensively, she insisted, "But only because you were away."

So he asked, "Filling in for who?" even though that part couldn't be more obvious. "Filling in how?"

"Oh, you know. Helping out with clients and whatnot." Cricket's tone shifted from cool to downright indignant. "Well, I mean everyone moonlights around here. Has more than one job. Wears more than one hat. It isn't my fault!"

"I wasn't blaming you for anything." Tracy meant to reassure her, but came off as chiding instead. He didn't like the way he sounded. So much older but not any wiser. Or any the wiser. About... Phil. Whoever he was. And whatever he'd really been doing while Tracy was away.

"Besides, Phil's not a detective and-"

"And...?" Neither was Cricket, nor Kim, and that sure never stopped them from nosing in on Hawaiian Eye business, or just plain getting tangled up in it. It sure never kept Tracy or Tom or Greg from asking them outright to pitch in on an investigation, either.

"Anyway, I'd better get going. I'll see you around." With that, Cricket practically backed out the office door. Half-retreat, half-unwillingness to take her eyes off of Tracy, he presumed.

He couldn't claim he didn't deserve it for the way he just up and left. He did it with even less attempt at an explanation, even if it was all in the name of business. Even if he'd rather not have gone. Especially now that it seemed his spot was filled while he was away and without so much as a word from anyone else about it. As if it was the sort of thing no one would notice. This Phil person may well have a double but it sure wasn't Tracy.


Morning two in paradise and nobody knew quite how to deal with the elephant in the room. Or on the terrace. Or was it a lanai? In any case, conversation all but ceased when Sandy approached everyone else at the table Daffy had set up for breakfast. She'd obviously arranged for quite the... arrangement, as there was practically a buffet in front of and between everyone else. Cha Cha and Daffy were seated on one side, and Ken and Dave on the other, with an empty seat between them.

The silence quickly shifted to a cacophony of, "Good morning, Sandy," and the like.

"Morning," he replied.

Daffy stood up from her seat and grabbed him by the hands. "Come, sit." She drew her thumbs across both of his palms. "We were just talking."

"I heard." Until he didn't. "Feel free to continue. I have to warn you, though: Pig-Latin's no good; I'm fluent. But if you like, you can spell things out so I don't understand."

"Looks like somebody got up on the wrong side of the bed," Dave muttered into his coffee.

Daffy's grip was somehow both soft and vice-like, and she was leading now. Pulling. "Okay, so we were talking about you." She didn't sound particularly apologetic. "Not just you, though."

Sandy didn't need to ask who else featured in the conversation. He was honestly a little surprised not to see his double at the breakfast table. Between the collective curiosity and bleeding heart level philanthropy of some of his friends, he was sure they'd have brought Phil in.

Not that Sandy would've minded; he wanted to know more himself.

Cha Cha seemed to sense his line of thinking and chimed in, "We ask Phil to come but he said he has to work." Her eyes followed him as he took his seat next to Daffy.

"No one's trying to keep anything from you, Sandy." Ken was placating. "None of us is, anyway. But you're right. We shouldn't have been discussing the case behind your back."

"Case?" everyone, including Sandy, echoed.

"Isn't it? You and Phil both said you wanted answers."

"And I meant it."

"And there's some real obvious similarities between you two that go just beyond looks."

"Good looks." Sandy offered a correction. He reached for the carafe in the center of the table.

"They sure don't act alike." Cha Cha was studying Sandy again.

He considered asking if Phil poured his coffee differently, even though he knew that a: Cha Cha would have no idea, and b: that wasn't what she was getting at. He kept his mouth shut and reached for a slice of toast.

"Well, that has a perfectly reasonable explanation." Daffy's hand made its way to Sandy's knee, but only long enough for her to give it a quick pat. Reassurance, but under the table and awkwardly intimate as a result. "Phil is the obviously the good twin."

The very word sent a shiver down Sandy's spine. He never would've considered such a possibility just a day ago, that he had a long-lost brother out there somewhere. But it wasn't just the identical features. They had the same birthday, were born in the same place.

Sandy could feel every crumb of the piece of toast in his hand. He wondered to no one in particular—the butter dish, by where his eyes were directed. "I just can't figure how it is that we both ended up here."

"We're visiting one of the most sought-after tourists destinations in the whole world. Phil works here. He's seen plenty of our kind before." Dave seemed unfazed.

Ken was likewise unaffected. "And vice-versa." It was a fundamental tenet of private investigation Sandy still struggled with, objectivity that bordered on callous.

He knew both Ken and Dave better than to be insulted by their disconnected demeanor. Aloofness was a sort of insulation, he'd learned. It kept a person from getting too hot if a case threatened to get personal.

"Surely you're not suggesting that Phil is just staff." Daphne sounded terribly offended.

"He would be if he wasn't a dead ringer for Sandy. Someone we'd have crossed paths with here and there, but wouldn't have otherwise made an impression. It's not an insult, Daffy. It's just the way it is. Our interaction would've been professional, and that's that."

Daffy pouted. She seemed almost disgruntled. "I guess I just don't have much experience with professional interactions."

Cha Cha waved her fork, dismissively. Thankfully, the piece of pineapple in its prongs stayed put. "You're not missing anything," she declared confidently. She raised the fork to her lips and popped perfect yellow cube into her mouth.

"Nobody here thinks of Phil as just staff." Sandy shook his head. "Truth be told, I don't know what to think of him."

"I like him." Cha Cha was sincere.

"I think we all do, honey," Dave agreed. "As for why he and Sandy are just now meeting? I can't say."

Daffy sipped her coffee. She then placed the cup down on its saucer without a sound—must be all the charm school. She said, "You know, I once read a study about twins-"

"You really think we could be twins?" Too? Sandy left that part unasked.

"Let's be honest here, Sandy, we all do." Daffy glanced around the table. "Don't we?"

The silence and the half-nods spoke volumes.

"Alright, so, this study of yours?" Sandy asked. Kind of.

"Well, it said that twins tend to lead very similar lives to one another. Often work the same kind of jobs, prefer the same kind of people, romantically. Have almost identical taste in fashion, food, hobbies.

"Sometimes they even name their pets or children the same thing." Daphne took a breath. Her fingers were still curled around her coffee cup but she didn't pick it up this time. "Even if they didn't grow up together."

Sandy asked the obvious follow-up question, and somehow managed to beat both Ken and Dave to the punch. "Whose study was this and how was it conducted?"

"Huh? Oh, I'm not sure. Why?"

"Because I don't see just anyone putting an ad in the newspaper. Wanted: twins, separated at birth."

Dave's voice was low, his tone suspicious. "What are you suggesting?" He already knew the answer to what he was asking.

"Just that there's only so many reasons someone could be sure they were studying twins who'd been separated."

"Alright, then." Ken rested both of his elbows on the table, careful not to disturb his, or anyone's plate. He linked his fingers and rested his chin on his folded hands. "This is your game Sandy. More than that, it's your life. What do you want to do next?" he asked.

"There's still too much I don't know," Sandy admitted, putting his napkin over his barely-touched toast and standing up.

The action didn't go unnoticed. Daffy's gaze reeked of disapproval. "Coffee and toast, Sandy? Really?"

"I'm watching my figure."

"So am I. Sit back down and eat a real breakfast. We have a big day planned."

"Sorry Daffy." Ken stood up, too. "Looks like we're on the job now."

Dave rose to his feet as well. "Considering that, I think that we oughta check in with Hawaiian Eye. Keep the local sheriff abreast of what we're up to and all that."

"Right now?" Cha Cha asked.

"We'll catch up with you two later." Dave neglected to offer any tangible guarantee on that—no timetable, no, 'pinky swear' or 'scout's honor'. He was being vague on purpose. Dave was as good as his word and he was careful not to make promises he couldn't keep.

"When?" Cha Cha's question was simple.

Dave offered an estimate. "This afternoon."

"This afternoon?" Daffy echoed, incredulous.

"Evening at the latest."

Daffy crossed her arms and let out a little huff. Sandy suppressed a wince. He knew she had a laundry list of things for them all to do, and that it kept getting longer and longer each time Cha Cha whispered in her ear. Attempting to get the whole of Surfside 6 out of the doghouse and back in Daphne Dutton's good graces, he offered a reminder. "There must be something you had in mind to do without us guys around."

"Shopping." Daffy shrugged. It had to be the first time ever that Sandy had seen her seem disappointed over the idea of spending her day hopping from boutique to boutique. She perked up slightly. "Hula lessons."

Cha Cha put on her best puppy dog face. "You three not gonna come to hula lessons with us?"

"Well, I'd love to, but you see," Ken feigned deep remorse, "I just don't think they'd have one of those grass skirt getups in my size."

"That's a shame," Dave murmured, looking Ken up and down. He was oddly thoughtful about it all. Sincere.

"It is?"

"I think you'd fill out a coconut brassiere real nice."

Ken grinned. He was equally earnest, or maybe just equally good at taking a bad joke too far. "Well, thanks, Dave. That means a lot coming from you."

"Enough with the fooling around." Now Cha Cha seemed offended. "It's no getup. Hula is a very, very important part of Hawaiian culture."

"I know that." Now Ken seemed genuinely remorseful.

Sandy silently wished him luck getting the lid back on that can of worms. He tried casting Daffy a glance without her noticing. She was already looking at him, and directed her own gaze downward the moment their eyes met.

Cha Cha demanded—or was it commanded?—everyone's attention shortly after. "You don't see me dressed up for a number at the Boom Boom Room, going, 'Everybody gather 'round, Cha Cha got a nice getup'. Get outta here."

Dave's expression was thoughtful bordering on confused. He brought his index finger to his lips, deep in thought, then wagged it halfheartedly in Cha Cha's direction. "Didn't you make one of the Boom Boom Boys dress up in a horse outfit for your show just last week?"

"Sure," Cha Cha answered, without the slightest hesitation. Somehow, with a perfectly straight face, she added, "And it was very significant to the performance."

"That you serenade a fella pretending to be a horse...?"

"Ah, you just don't understand music."

"I'll give you that. One thing we do understand," Ken paused, purposefully, "is investigation." He looked to Dave first, then Sandy. "Best we get to work, and sooner, rather than later."

Daffy studied Sandy. Her eyes seemed bigger, bluer. Her mouth seemed smaller—lips drawn into a judgmental pucker. She was holding back and she wanted Sandy to know.

He tried to reassure her, "The quicker we figure this mess out, the quicker we'll be back-" Back where? On vacation? He couldn't quite bring himself to finish the statement out loud. It was obvious Daffy understood his meaning without him saying so.

"Well," she swallowed some words—probably choice, knowing Daffy—and tried to finagle half a smile from a wounded grimace, "I do hope those Hawaiian Eye guys can help you sort things out."

Sandy reached for her hands, much like she had, his, welcoming him to the table just a while ago. But he didn't seem to hold on as well as she did, and it didn't feel insignificant to think things were slipping away.

"I'll see you later, Sandy."

"This afternoon," he softly reminded her.

And she wryly reminded him, "This evening, at the latest." Then she held her head high as she offered an arm to Cha Cha. "Let's go, Cha Cha. What say we find ourselves a couple of beach boys to show us a good time and leave these three to their investigation?"


A/N: The birthday given is Troy Donahue's. Should anyone stumble upon this and decide to read it, I hope you enjoy. :)