Death
of the Kona Man
Aloha
Lagoon Mysteries Book 9
by
Catherine Bruns
Genre:
Cozy Mystery
From
USA Today bestselling author Catherine Bruns comes the next deadly
delicious Carrie Jorgenson adventure in paradise...
Carrie
Jorgenson is living the dream in Hawaii. She has a steady job as a
waitress at the Loco Moco Café, a hot new love interest in her
manager, and the curtain’s about to rise on her role in a local
theater production. But when she's asked to deliver food to a guest
at the Aloha Lagoon resort—who then drops dead!—her dreams
quickly become the stuff of nightmares.
World
renowned food critic Randolph Cremshaw has no shortage of enemies.
He's rude, patronizing, and famous for his one-star reviews. After
the coffee Carrie delivers is discovered to have been poisoned, she
and the café quickly rise to the top of the suspects list. A jealous
co-worker, thefts at the restaurant, and a performance that threatens
to blow up in Carrie's face only make things worse. With an already
full plate, Carrie is also forced into making a decision that may
change everything for her. But this all pales in comparison when she
comes face to face with Randolph's killer and what might be the final
curtain call…of her life.
Recipes
included!
**Suggested
to Read Death of the Big Kahuna first!**
**On
sale from Oct 10th
- 17th!**
About
Aloha Lagoon:
**Books
can be read in any order and they're from multiple authors!**
There's trouble in paradise...
Welcome
to Aloha Lagoon, one of Hawaii's hidden treasures. A little bit of
tropical paradise nestled along the coast of Kauai, this resort town
boasts luxurious accommodation, friendly island atmosphere...and only
a slightly higher than normal murder rate. While mysterious
circumstances may be the norm on our corner of the island, we're
certain that our staff and Lagoon natives will make your stay in
Aloha Lagoon one you will never forget! visit us at
www.alohalagoonmysteries.com
The
Aloha Lagoon Mysteries:
Ukulele
Murder (book #1)
Murder
on the Aloha Express (book #2)
Deadly
Wipeout (book #3)
Deadly
Bubbles in the Wine (book #4)
Mele
Kalikimaka Murder (book #5)
Death
of the Big Kahuna (book #6)
Ukulele
Deadly (book #7)
Bikinis
& Bloodshed (book #8)
Death
of the Kona Man (book #9)
Catherine
is the USA Today best selling author of the Cookies & Chance
mysteries. She lives in New York with her very patient husband, three
sons, and assorted cats and dogs. Catherine has a B.A. in English and
is a former newspaper reporter and press release writer. She also
writes the Cindy York and the Aloha Lagoon (Carrie Jorgenson)
mysteries. Her next Cookies & Chance mystery, Silenced by Sugar,
releases in January 2018.
Website
* Newsletter
* Facebook
* Twitter * Bookbub
* Amazon
* Goodreads
EXCERPT ONE OF “DEATH OF THE KONA MAN”
"Who are you taking that to?" Poncho wanted to know.
"Mr. Cremshaw asked for ketchup."
"I'll bring it out with his coffee," Vivian volunteered. "I want to see him for myself. The man is a legend."
With great effort, I managed not to roll my eyes at her. "Be my guest."
Poncho and I watched through the portholes as Vivian dropped off the ketchup and coffee and made small talk with the food critic for a minute. Randolph's gaze traveled appreciatively down Vivian's lithe figure, and then his beady eyes followed her as she went out on the patio to take an order. Ick.
"Well, at least he seems to like Viv." I wondered how I'd managed to offend the man. We stared in fascination as Randolph dumped ketchup liberally all over his order of Loco Moco and hash browns.
Poncho uttered a moan low in his throat and covered his eyes with one hand. "I cannot stand this. I just cooked food for a man who has the eating habits of Homer Simpson. How is this joker one of the most feared and popular food critics in the world? How can he even attempt to taste the labors of my efforts now?"
Before I could reply, Randolph suddenly dropped the utensils and reached for his glass of water, downing it all in one gulp. Alarmed, I grabbed a nearby water pitcher and rushed over, Poncho at my heels. Randolph's face had gone from its sickly pallor to a bright cherry red.
"More water," he croaked and didn't wait for me to pour him some. He grabbed the pitcher from my hands and started guzzling directly from it.
Poncho's expression was horrified. "Sir, what is wrong with your food?"
Randolph banged the pitcher on the table so hard that we both jumped. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stood, towering over my five-foot-four-inch height and glared at the both of us. "You think it's funny to treat a patron like this? Well, you're about to find out how funny it is."
"I do not understand," Poncho said. "What is wrong with the food?"
"Why don't you taste it and see for yourself. And don't forget to add lots of ketchup," Randolph taunted as he shoved his way past both of us and charged out the door that led to the lobby, slamming it hard behind him.
"What was that all about?"
With panic, I recognized Terry's stern voice and turned around. Keanu and his parents were behind the front counter watching us. Perfect timing.
My mouth went dry. "The man said that there was something wrong with his food."
Poncho took a small bite from the Loco Moco and muttered a four-letter expletive under his breath. "This is not ketchup that he put on his food. It is Tabasco sauce."
"Who is he?" Keanu asked. "A guest at the resort? Maybe we can track him down and apologize for the mix-up."
"He just happens to be one of the most acclaimed food critics in the world." Poncho pinched his nose between his thumb and forefinger.
Terry's eyes almost popped out of his head. "Please don't tell me that was Randolph Cremshaw. I heard a rumor this morning that he was staying at the resort."
Poncho nodded, his black eyes large and ominous. "The one and only. We are toast, my friends."
EXCERPT TWO
Vivian and I started to read the article silently to ourselves. It was entitled, "You'd Have to Be Loco to Eat Here," by Randolph Cremshaw.
Okay, this was not going to end well.
As my faithful readers know, Hawaii was my home for several years. I enjoy the tropical climate and always stay at the elegant Aloha Lagoon Resort whenever I return to the beautiful island of Kauai. I don't typically review cafés, but a recent visit to the Loco Moco, which wears the name "loco" well, has forced my hand.
The history of this restaurant itself is an interesting one, to say the least. The place was originally owned by George Kama, who then sold it to Maya and Sampson Akamu. The couple was killed shortly afterward in a car accident, and their son Hale ran the place solo for about twenty years. Hale himself was murdered a couple of months ago, inside the actual restaurant. Now if that wasn't enough to make you never want to look at a plate of their pork hash again, this is what I have to say about my recent dining experience at the hole-in-the wall establishment:
Pass. That's all.
Service—Three stars. The server was attractive and pleasant but totally inept. I have my doubts that she could manage to walk and chew gum at the same time.
Beverages—One star. When I am served coffee in the beautiful state of Hawaii, it should not be in the form of mud, but a beverage that consists of freshly ground Kona beans. Eventually I did receive the latter after complaint, but the experience was already ruined for me. A bitter disappointment—yes, pun intended.
Cleanliness—Two stars. The best I can say is that the table wasn't sticky, and the server was nice enough not to place her gum underneath it.
Quality of food—Zero stars. That moment when you ask for ketchup but receive Tabasco sauce instead…well, what else is there left to say, except that I left the place in burning anger. Yes, another pun for you.
Average these ratings together and you come up with 1 ½ stars, or in my opinion a complete failure, so don't waste your time and hard-earned money here. Look elsewhere.
Skip the Loco Moco Café. You'll thank me for it later.
Vivian covered her mouth with one hand as she finished reading, and I sucked in some air. This would no doubt be very damaging to the café. I silently fumed about the line that stated the server couldn't walk and chew gum at the same time. Excuse me? I never chewed gum while I was working. What a jerk.
"How are Terry and Ava taking this?" I wondered if Keanu knew as well.
Poncho pressed his lips together tightly. "Not well. You just missed the latest episode of Terry's screaming. I think Ava has managed to calm him down for the moment. The one thing they seem very curious about is how Tabasco sauce ended up in the ketchup holder." He glanced piteously at both of us.
"I didn't do it," Vivian said quickly.
I shook my head back. "I filled some the other day, but I'm positive it was ketchup." I distinctly remembered pouring the contents from the large container into the holders.
Poncho muttered something indistinguishable under his breath. "Anna filled a few the other day as well. Terry just called his royal highness—Cremshaw. Would you believe the man had the gall to tell Terry that he might remove the post from his blog if we would deliver breakfast and dinner to his room today? I am in the process of placing the breakfast items on a rolling cart. Carrie, he asked that it be delivered by the girl with the soulful dark eyes who waited on him the other day."
A giant knot formed in the pit of my stomach. Great. Ava and Terry were probably upstairs right now throwing me under the bus for the ketchup incident. How I wished Keanu was here. I'd asked him what had happened after they'd found us kissing—nothing, he'd assured me, and left it at that.
"Lovely." What was up with this guy anyhow? He didn't like me but commented that I had soulful eyes? Was he a pervert in disguise? I didn't want to go to his room alone. "Do I really have to wait on that creep again? I thought that food critics weren't allowed to say such nasty things. "Can't he be sued for slander because of the remarks he made about the Akamus?" Mercifully, he hadn't identified me by name.
Poncho did a palms-up. "Ava and Terry are only concerned with giving the man whatever he wants right now. He is a freelance food critic and contributes to the most popular cooking magazine in the world. In short, he gets away with murder, and there's nothing we can do about it."
Vivian snickered as she helped us load the food onto the cart. "I bet he's got more than a few people that would like to murder him."
Poncho snorted. "It is tempting, ho'aloha. Believe me."
EXCERPT THREE
Randolph stepped back so that I could roll the cart inside. He was dressed in a dingy white undershirt and black slacks that dragged on the floor, his long, narrow bare feet poking out from underneath. I tried hard not to stare at the crusted-over toenails that screamed fungus at me.
"Welcome to my parlor, said the spider to the fly."
Yikes. For some reason, the word icky popped into my head. "Please enjoy your breakfast, sir. You can place the cart in the hallway when you're done, and one of our staff will pick it up later."
I began to walk away, and he grabbed me by the wrist. "Not so fast."
Startled by his action, I shook myself loose. "Don't touch me again."
"Sorry." Randolph gave a small smirk that said he was anything but sorry. He looked me up and down. "I'd like you to wait a moment until I'm sure the meal is to my liking."
I had news for this man—no meal was ever going to be to his liking. He lifted the covers off the plates one by one, examining the food while he grunted in apparent satisfaction. Finally, he picked up the white coffee carafe, poured himself a cup, and sniffed. Like the other day at the café, he took a small sip, grimaced, then shook his head at me. "Not quite, doll."
"Sir?" I was confused. Poncho had used his precious Kona beans this time, so what could be the problem?
"It's cold. Bring me another carafe right away."
I couldn't believe my ears. Anger bubbled at the surface and threatened to boil over any second. What I really wanted to do was throw the entire carafe in his face, but then I'd be out of a job and, knowing Randolph, looking at a lawsuit.
"Is there a problem, dear?"
The man clearly enjoyed the fact that he was goading me, but I was determined not to let him get under my skin. "No, sir. I'll be back in a few minutes."
"Text Chef Paunch ahead of time," Randolph taunted, "so that the coffee will be ready when you get back. That's a good little girl."
I bit into my lower lip to temper my reply. "His name is Poncho."
"Whatever. He's got quite the paunch on him, so my name fits. And do hurry up. I haven't got all day." He sat down and started to eat, dismissing me with a wave of his hand.
Could the man be any more pretentious? I counted to ten and compressed my lips together, afraid a nasty comment might slip out between them. As I started toward the door, I spotted two half-filled mimosa glasses sitting on the table on the balcony. I wondered if good old Randy might have had a girl over last night—or perhaps his estranged wife had joined him.
"Are you deaf?" Randolph bellowed. "I want my coffee—now!"
With great effort, I opened the door to the suite and managed to refrain from slamming it behind me. On my way back down the hallway toward the elevator, I grabbed my phone out of my jeans pocket. My fingers flew as I texted Vivian.
Tell Poncho that the jerk said the coffee's not hot enough. Have a new carafe ready to go when I get back. It's a wonder no one has killed this guy yet.
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