Lana'i of the Tiger (The Islands of Aloha Mystery Series) (19 page)

“Pleased to meet you. I’m Stella
Marquez.” At the mention of my Hispanic-sounding name I noticed the two men
exchange a glance. “Uh, I was married to a local man.”

“How long have you been employed
here at the Four Seasons Lodge at Koele, Mrs. Marquez?” said Treehorne. He was
perusing a file as he asked the question, so I was pretty sure he already knew
the answer. He was checking if I did.

I took my time before answering
any of their questions. And when we got to the part about the murder, I trotted
out the little blinky-eye distress response I’d practiced for when people asked
me about my recent widowhood.

“So, in your own words,” said
Treehorne, “Can you give us a point-by-point account of what you saw and heard
when you first entered the victim’s room?”

Ah, now we were getting down to
it. I began to relay the story Stella relayed to Kate and me an hour earlier.

“I was with a new trainee, and
I—”

“And the name of that trainee?”
Latham interrupted. Treehorne shot him a peeved look, probably for breaking my
flow.

“Uh, her name is Marta. Marta,
um, Marquez.”

“But isn’t
your
last name
Marquez?” Latham said, shooting Treehorne a triumphant look. “Do you both have
the same surname?”

“Uh, no. I’m sorry. I’m kind of
nervous here. Could I have a glass of water?” I wasn’t really that nervous and
I didn’t need water, but I wanted to punish them for messing with me. I’d been
a federal air marshal. I hadn’t been on the job for long, but it was long
enough to know how to take control of an interview.

“Sure,” said Latham. He got up
and left the room.

“Something’s not jiving for me
here,” said Treehorne. “You’re working here at the Four Seasons as a maid but somehow
you don’t strike me as the maid type.”

“Are you questioning my choice
of livelihood?”

“I guess I am.”

“Is this a racial thing? I mean,
are you questioning me working in housekeeping because I’m
Caucasian
?
Because if you are, Mr. Treehorne, then I think we’re going to have to call in my
union rep before this interview can continue. I won’t allow you to racially
profile me without documenting your actions. And, I demand representation.”

Treehorne looked like he’d like
to smack me. Latham came through the door with a large glass of water. Before
he sat down, he quickly glanced from me to Treehorne and then back to me.

“Did I miss something?” Latham
said.

I didn’t respond.

“No. Ms. Marquez was just
waiting for you to return so she could get back to making her statement,” said
Treehorne in a take-no-prisoners voice. “Isn’t that right, Mrs. Marquez?”

I didn’t say anything while I
sipped from the glass of water. Then I got up and grabbed two tissues from a
box on a nearby credenza. I carefully folded the tissues into a square and
placed my water glass down on the improvised coaster.

“Water leaves rings on wood
surfaces,” I said. “They’re very difficult to rub out.” Treehorne still looked
like he was itching to do me bodily harm.

“Please continue, Ms. Marquez,”
said Latham in a quiet voice. It’d become apparent that the good cop/bad cop
thing was in play. And Latham had drawn the longer straw.

I looked at Latham, and only at
Latham, as I told my tale. “I knocked on the door and announced we were from
housekeeping. There was no answer, but that’s to be expected as it was around eight
o’clock and our guests are often at dinner at that hour. I used my pass key to
enter the suite. I went in first, and Marta followed me in. We didn’t see Miss
Diamonte right away since in the suites the bed is in a separate room from the
sitting area. We tidied up, and then I went into the bedroom to turn down the
bed and leave a chocolate. That’s when I saw her. She was on the bed. I think
she was wearing a Four Seasons bathrobe, but I’m not sure about that because
once I saw the knife, and realized she was dead, my mind went blank. We both ran
out into the hall and I pulled the fire alarm.”

“Why would you pull the fire
alarm? Did you think there was a fire?” said Latham.

“No, I was in shock. I couldn’t
think of what else to do.”

“And then you and Marta left
before the police arrived.”

“Yes. I realize now that
probably wasn’t the best course of action. But we were both so stunned. We wanted
to get as far away from the poor woman as we could.”

By this point, Treehorne looked
like he’d eaten some bad fish. He scowled at me as if he was desperately trying
to come up with a question that would prove, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I
was a lying sack of
kukae
. 

“How long would you estimate you
were in the room, Ms. Marquez?’ said Latham.

“Two, maybe three minutes. It
seemed like a lot longer afterwards, but that’s probably because I was so upset.”

“Have you been questioned by the
police since Tuesday night?” Treehorne said, apparently giving up on his quest
for the
gotcha
question.

“No, sir. I thought it would be best
to wait until after I’d spoken with you.”

“That was probably wise,” said
Latham.

Treehorne shot him some
stink
eye
. “Well, sooner or later you’re going to have to talk to the
authorities,” he said.

“I’m sure I will.”

The two guys exchanged a look.

“We’d like to thank you for
coming in today,” said Latham, standing up. He handed me his business card. “If
you think of anything else you think we should know, please call. It’s been our
experience that sometimes witnesses remember important things later on.”

They left, but Treehorne came
back a few seconds later and poked his head through the half-opened door. “Oh,
and one more thing Mrs. Marquez. We’ll need to speak with Marta, the other
housekeeper on duty with you that night. Seems no one’s seen her for the past
couple of days. If you talk with her, would you advise her to contact us? We
won’t be able to wrap up our investigation until we’ve met with her.”

He didn’t wait for me to answer
before he stepped back out into the hallway and closed the door with an
authoritative
bam
.

CHAPTER
24

As soon as the coast was clear I
made my way back to Kate’s office. I listened at the door before knocking to
see if I heard the security guys in there. It was quiet.

I knocked. “Come in, come in,”
said Kate. She looked pretty smiley for a woman who’d probably spent the past
hour pacing the tiny room. “How’d it go?”

“Well, like they say, there’s
good news and bad news,” I said.

“Yes?”

“The good news is I think they
totally bought my Stella Marquez act. I think one of the guys was a little
suspicious at first, but he gave up after he couldn’t trip me up.”

“And the bad news?” said Kate.

“The bad news is they’re
sticking around until they can talk with Marta. Oh, and for some reason I
completely spaced on Marta’s last name.”

“Don’t worry about it. Marta’s
long gone. From what I heard, she packed up and took the first ferry off the
island the morning after the incident.”

“But these guys—”

“Don’t give it a moment’s
thought, Penny. Marta was a new trainee. I hadn’t even had time to get her set
up in the payroll system. There’s no way they can track her down.”

“Okay, but there’s even more bad
news. Those security guys never once mentioned the dead guy under the balcony.
Do you think they were waiting for me to say something? But how could I? Stella
never said a word about him.”

“No, you did the right thing in
keeping quiet,” said Kate. “I didn’t hear this first-hand, but then most of
what I hear around here isn’t first-hand.  The clerk at the front desk said he
heard the O’ahu medical examiner has ruled Mr. Romano’s death as
‘inconclusive’.”

“What? They haven’t concluded
he’s dead?”

“No,” she said. “He’s very dead,
but he died from a broken neck. He was found under Miss Diamonte’s balcony, but
there’s no evidence linking the two deaths.”

“But the cops are leaning on
Tyler Benson for both murders.”

“Maybe so. But according to the
desk clerk, no one’s sure he was ever in Miss Diamonte’s room.”

“But Marta may have seen him.”

“Or some other man in the room.”

“Kate, we really need to talk to
Marta.”

***

It was getting toward
mid-afternoon and I needed to get Auntie Cora’s car back to her.  And, my hair
was starting to itch something fierce from the baby powder.  I revved up the
Shelby and headed for Auntie Cora’s. On my way there I took a short detour and pulled
into the only gas station on Lana’i to fill up. I was a good thing Darryl had
paid me because it took an absurd amount of money to nudge the gas gauge from E
to F.

I carefully parked the Shelby in
the shed house and walked to Auntie Cora’s back door. I knocked. No response. I
knocked again, louder, and waited to hear her shuffling footsteps but no sound
came from inside.

I tried the doorknob and it
turned. The house was still, as if it was holding its breath waiting for all
hell to break loose. I went to the guest bedroom and pulled out the few things
I’d brought with me when I’d fled from Wong. I stuffed them in my beach bag.
Then I took a shower and washed my hair. It felt great to scrub the powder out
of my hair and scalp. I rinsed and repeated until my hair squeaked. Then I dried
off and dressed in clean panties, my one clean tee-shirt, and the shorts I’d
been wearing for three days. I folded Auntie Cora’s scarf and went to her
bedroom to put it and her straw
tutu
hat on her bed.

Still no sign of Auntie Cora,
but I had to get going. I went to the kitchen to write her a note thanking her
for her kindness and alerting her that I’d left the island.

While searching for a scrap of
paper to write the note, I found a pile of opened mail on auntie’s desk.
‘Notice of Foreclosure’ was emblazoned across the top letter in the stack. I
flipped through the mail, looking at the dates on each letter. The foreclosure
process had begun back in August. The letters from more recent months were
direct and chilling. The latest letter said Auntie Cora’s little house would be
sold at auction on the courthouse steps in Wailuku in mid-January unless all
past due amounts were paid immediately.

I used the back of an envelope to
write my note:

Auntie Cora, I’ve gone to the
mainland. Mahalo for all your help. Willie’s car is parked out back and the
keys are by the door. I’ll call when I return. A big hug for you!—P

I started to walk toward the Lana’i
police station but stopped a block away. I couldn’t shake the unease I felt
over learning about Auntie Cora’s foreclosure. How could I leave for the
mainland knowing that sweet woman would be kicked out of her house in less than
a month?

***

The only public library on
Lana’i is in the only public school on the island, on Fraser Avenue. The
library is open for use by both the school kids and the general public. I went
in and sat down at one of the free computers. The librarian looked over and
shot me a look that seemed to say,
You’re welcome to use the facilities, but
since I don’t recognize you I’m going to watch you like a hawk
.

I clicked on an Internet browser
and entered ‘1968 Shelby GT 500’. The browser showed over nine-hundred-thousand
entries. I started at the top. There were photos of immaculately restored cars
that looked like Willie’s Shelby must have looked when it was brand-new. I
clicked on entry after entry and soon realized that completely original cars
were much more sought-after than those that had been refurbished or restored
using non-stock parts. Then I clicked on an entry that said, Original Shelby GT
500 For Sale. The seller had gone to the trouble of making an elaborate YouTube
video showing every aspect of the car. It was eerie watching it, since the car
was the same year and color as Willie’s, but it was sparkling clean. The guy on
the video seemed delighted to point out every feature. He emphasized how fantastic
it was that this ‘beauty’ still sported the original paint job, a bona fide owner’s
manual, authentic floor mats, and genuine Shelby decals and insignia.

When I got down to the asking
price I said, “Wow.”  It came out louder than I’d intended. The librarian shot
me a scowl and I gave her my ‘sorry’ face. The guy on YouTube was asking one
hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars for the car! And even more amazing,
the word SOLD had been added next to the price.

Willie may not have wanted
Auntie Cora to sell the car, but I’d bet he’d want her to be a homeless bag
lady even less. I shut down the browser and got up to leave.

The librarian’s eyes followed me
all the way to the door. When I pulled the door open, I turned and gave her a
little ‘bye-bye’ wave. She nodded and smiled as if we’d struck a bargain and
she was pleased I’d kept up my end of it.

***

I trotted back to Auntie Cora’s
to give her the good news, but when I got there, there was still nobody home. I
crumpled up the note I’d left for her and tried to imagine where she might be.
Before I’d talked to her at the
tai chi
class I’d noticed her a few
times at the local convenience store ‘talking story’ with her
tai chi
buddies, so I went there.

“Yes, she was in here about an
hour ago,” said the clerk as she straightened the magazines near the check-out.
“Poor thing. She was pretty upset. Had to go over to Maui. You know, she’s got
some troubles.”

“You mean her money problems?
Yeah, she told me all about that.” There I go lying again.

“Did she tell you she’s selling
the last of her jewelry? Even her little gold wedding band. She was pretty
broken up about it.”

“When did she leave?”