Death in Paradise (7 page)

"I have to answer it. It's Andre." I just knew. Under the wilting glare of his eyes, I picked it up. "Thea Kozak, the girl of your dreams."

"You betcha," Andre said. "Only I think you mean woman. You get the flowers?"

"You betcha," I echoed. "They're so gorgeous. Why aren't you here?"

"I'm not even going to be here for long," he said. "Gotta go back to work. They're shorthanded and they've got an especially gruesome murder on their hands. My bag is packed and the motor's running. I'll be at Jack's if you need me. You have that number. Hey, before I go, I've got a little song I want you to listen to...."

"Andre..." I tried to interrupt, but he was fiddling with his tape. Across the static-filled lines I heard a snatch of Willie Nelson, "You Were Always on My Mind," Eric Clapton, "Beautiful Tonight," and then Meatloaf, "Paradise by the Dashboard Light." Any other time, I would have cracked up. I started to cry.

"So," he said, coming back on the line. "When I get back... when you get back, you know what I'm going to do? I'm going to wish a belated happy birthday to every inch of you."

"Don't," I said. "We're not alone." I took a deep breath and tried to explain, but it came out as a great big sob.

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Martina Pullman has been murdered."

"What the hell!"

I shoved the phone at my glowering companion. "Here. You explain it," and fled into the bathroom in search of tissues.

By the time I returned, red-faced and snuffling, the guys had bonded. It's a goddamned fraternity, with a few sorority sisters allowed in these days. They can spot each other across a crowded room the same way people on the make can. My inquisitor smiled—he actually smiled—as he handed me the phone. "So, darlin'," I crooned, "did you tell him not to be so mean?"

"Isn't that funny," Andre said. "You want him to be nice; he wants you to stop acting like he's going to bite you and just answer his questions. Maybe the two of you could work something out." Then he said, "Wait a minute. I'm not sure I mean that. What does he look like?"

"About twice as big as you and scary as hell."

"Good," he said. "Not your type."

"I only have one type," I interrupted. "You. I'd better go before he starts throwing me around the room. He doesn't look patient. Call me when you can—even just a message, your voice—and I'll keep you posted."

"Thea." His voice was dead serious now. "For heaven's sake, be careful. I know you're going to think you've got to fix this, but for once, please, let the police handle it."

"Happy to," I agreed. "You be careful, too. There are an awful lot of bad guys out there." I hung up the phone and returned to my chair, feeling much better and much worse. For four blissful months, I hadn't had to worry about him. Classwork made him grouchy, but at least no one tried to run him down with cars, or shoot him. I could stand a little bad temper. Sometimes he even let me help him with his homework.

I curled up in a ball and crossed my arms defensively. Now this guy knew too much about me. He knew I was in a seriously romantic relationship with another cop. I'm a private person. I don't like people knowing anything about my personal life. That's why it's called personal. "Where were we?"

He checked his notes. "You wanted to cover her up."

I closed my eyes and pictured myself standing beside the bed. The shoe on the floor. The shoe on her foot. "They weren't her shoes," I said.

"What?" He sat up and stared.

"You asked me if I touched the body. And I just remembered. When the security guard checked to see if she was dead, he touched her leg... and her shoe fell off. I don't know why... I guess I was stunned and not thinking clearly... but I picked it up and tried to put it back on. It wouldn't go."

"Her foot was stiff."

"It was the wrong size. Martina is tall. Look at the rest of the shoes she brought. She must wear at least a nine. That was no bigger than a seven."

He shook his head and wrote something in his book. "But the rest of the stuff fit."

"Not exactly. Tall women are hard to fit. Especially thin ones like Martina." Dr. Kozak was about to lecture on ladies' lingerie. "The other thing that makes me think it wasn't her stuff..." I didn't even know I had these thoughts, and now I was lecturing an experienced policeman. Perhaps the whole experience had unhinged me. "The exposed breast..." God, this was ugly stuff to be talking about, especially to such a sympathetic listener. I took a deep breath and let it out very slowly. "Things like that bustier, they're all stretch lace and elastic and internal boning to make them stay in place and stay up. No way it would have shifted around like that. Either it was too small, which would be my guess, or it was deliberately pulled down to look like that."

I choked on the ugliness of my own words, feeling sick again. "Are we almost through? I don't think I can do this much longer."

"I'll get you some water," he said.

"Water? I want a respite from remembering. I want to feel the sun on my back and hear the roar of the surf and feel gentle breezes."

He looked like I was spouting hogwash. "I think you need some rest."

According to my watch, I had about forty minutes before I had to meet the ladies for lunch. "I want to go outside."

Nihilani pushed himself out of the chair and waved his notebook toward the door. "Then go outside. We're finished for now. I'll probably have more questions for you. In the meantime, don't share our conversation with your buddies on the board. And..." He held out his hand. "I'd like to have that speech back now. You did a pretty good job, at least the part I heard."

I blushed so red I was probably glowing like a candle as I reached in my pocket, pulled it out, and handed it to him.

"Andre says you can be quite willful," he said. "I wouldn't suggest trying my patience too far. People say I have a very bad temper." He turned on his heel and left.

 

 

 

Chapter 4

 

I grabbed my room key, put the notice for the maid to make up the room on the door handle, and rushed out. I was headed for sand and sun and nothing was going to stop me. Halfway through the lobby, Lewis Broder stepped out from behind a potted palm like someone in a B movie and reached for my arm. This time I was ready for him. I stepped backward, clasped my hands to my breast, and said, in my best Margaret Dumont voice, "Don't you know any better than to go around grabbing women, Lewis?"

"Sorry. Sorry." He tucked his hands behind his back like a chastened schoolboy. "I have to know. Did you tell them?"

I shrugged, tempted to keep him waiting for my answer, but I didn't have time for games. "They didn't ask. See you later." I put on a burst of speed and got myself out of the lobby and into the sunshine without a hat or sunglasses or sun screen or any of the practical amenities, paused at the top of the steps to gaze down through the artificial green grotto they'd constructed, and headed out across the lawn instead, nodding politely to Buddhas and dragons who lurked among the flowers. Fountains gurgled, the sun was hot on my shoulders, the brisk ocean breeze toyed with my hair. I was free, pasty white, and thirty-one.

"Theeaah! Theeaah!" I didn't recognize the woman coming toward me in the gigantic hat, a pareo wrapped around her ample midriff. "Why, honey, what a treat to see you here. Are you on vacation, too?"

Too late to hide from the wicked twist of fate that had dished up my mother's dear friend Alyce during the first free moments I'd had in two days. I shook her hand, pumping vigorously and watching with malicious pleasure as the hanging rolls of flesh on her upper arm danced and jiggled. It's not that I'm so mean, really, but when we were little, Alyce was the kind of person who was always spying on us and calling our mother. She got me and my brother, Michael, in so much trouble that to this day, I haven't forgiven her.

"Are you alone?" she asked, peering around as if I was hiding someone behind my back. "Or did you bring that nice policeman?" I was sure my mother had given her an earful about the "nice policeman," little of it favorable. My mother persists in a rigid prejudice against the police. She considers them lower-class brutes, and thus unsuitable for her daughter. Even though she has met Andre many times, and observed that he is handsome, educated, articulate, and good to me, she refuses to see him as he is. The minute he's out of sight, she's back to calling him Andy and scheming about how to introduce me to someone more suitable.

"I'm here on business, Mrs. Edgerton. I'm one of the organizers of the education conference. Are you staying at the hotel?"

She nodded, her piggy little eyes opening wide. "A dreadful place, Thea. It's a wonder I haven't asked for my money back. Last night in the middle of the night, there was the most dreadful commotion...." She studied my face. "Didn't you hear it?"

My ears pricked up like an eager terrier. Did Alyce have information about Martina's murder? "I'm afraid not. What time was this?"

She waved a plump, beringed hand toward a bench. "Do you mind if we sit down? I've been walking along the beach for what seems like hours. After a while all this sand and sun becomes so boring, don't you think?"

I gritted my teeth as I followed her to the bench. "I'm afraid I've been rather busy. This is my first time out of the hotel."

"Well, I won't keep you, dear. You do look like you could use some sun. You're awfully pale. Anyway," she plunked herself down, rearranged her draperies, and began. "I think it must have been around two in the morning. I'd just gotten to sleep and suddenly there was all this screaming and crashing, like people having a fight. Of course I called security right away. Then I put on my robe and looked outside to see if I could see what was happening. I opened my door just in time to see a lamp go flying right over the railing. After the lamp there was a wastebasket, and then a chair, and finally an entire suitcase. Well, honestly, Thea, it was just like something out of a movie, the way things spilled out and drifted down and draped themselves all over the bushes in the lobby, and all the while the two of them were screaming and yelling and hitting each other."

She sniffed. "It seemed like security took their sweet time coming... I suppose it's Third World time or something...." From where we were sitting, I could see the beach. I could almost smell the beach. I wanted to yell into her complacent face that Hawaii was hardly the Third World, but she'd tell my mother, and then my mother would call me up and complain. We hardly spoke these days, not since my mother had roped me into saving one of her protégés from a murder charge. We'd ended up having a huge fight at my brother's engagement party and I'd walked out. Since then we'd been at an impasse. She was still waiting for me to say I was sorry; I still wasn't sorry.

"Well, it turns out," Alyce Edgerton said, "that this isn't that uncommon. Hawaii is a very popular honeymoon destination, and from time to time, couples who think they know each other and are ready to start a life together get into a hotel room by themselves and find they're stuck with a stranger. Sometimes the guy gets drunk, or the wife does, or they both do, all those confused feelings come out, and bingo, they just lose control!" She'd been leaning forward eagerly. Now she settled back on the bench with a sigh. "I can't believe you didn't hear a thing."

"What floor are you on?"

"Sixteen. And you?"

"Twelve." And Martina had been on seventeen. Evidently Alyce hadn't heard about that, or she'd want to talk about it. Alyce loved to talk. Even my mother complained about that. And Alyce was going to have a lot to talk about when she got home. First a fight and then a murder. I hoped I didn't run into her after she heard about that. "Quite a story," I said, getting up. "I hope tonight is quieter." I headed for the beach. I didn't care if Godzilla stepped into my path, I was going to get my toes on that sand. I found a vacant lounge chair, lay down with my arms across my eyes, and fell asleep.

I've been known to claim that sleep is one of the things I'm good at, but that's only when I don't have something serious on my mind, which isn't very often. When something is bothering me, my mind likes to replay it as I sleep. I work out a lot of stuff that way. Sometimes I end up with terrible dreams. It's so far out of my control that I've come to imagine an evil entity I've titled the director of dreams who likes to play scary scenarios in my head while I'm trying to rest. So, even though I was basking in the sun on a beautiful Maui beach, the images inside my head were dark.

In my dream, I was lying by the pool in my bikini, lulled by the sun against a backdrop of murmured conversation and cavorting swimmers, when suddenly there was a shadow across the sun. I opened my eyes to complain, and found Martina standing there, clad in the absurd outfit she'd died in, her face bloated and purple and her eyes protruding, the silky stocking still dangling from her neck. She tried to speak but emitted only a rough croak. Raising her hands, she untied the stocking and let it drift casually to the ground. "That's better," she said.

People around me were staring. I picked up the bathing-suit cover-up I'd worn. "Don't you want to put this on?" I asked.