Maui Widow Waltz (Islands of Aloha Mystery Series) (15 page)

CHAPTER 19

I
left the house and went down to pick up Farrah at the Gadda-da-Vida. Farrah was
ready and waiting—along with a Buick-sized duffle bag, five sacks of groceries
and a thirty pound bag of designer dog food. 

“There’s still plenty of dog food
from Monday.” I said, fishing for clues as to how long she planned on staying.
She’d packed enough kibble for a month, maybe two.

“Yeah, but since Lipton’s nursing,
I figured he might need more.”

The ensuing silence took the place
of me—once again—pointing out to her how bizarre it sounded to say
he
when referring to a lactating Jack Russell.

“Any more news about Kevin’s
drowning?” she said once we’d made the turn off Baldwin. “I had to turn off the
TV. Too depressing.”

I hesitated. If I told her they
were thinking he may have been murdered and I turned out to be wrong, I’d have
upset her unnecessarily. If I didn’t tell her, and she later learned I’d kept
it from her, it could damage our friendship. I split the difference.

“At this point the cause of death
seems to be a head injury, not drowning.”

She shot me a puzzled look. “But he
washed up on the beach.”

“Right. But I guess the medical
examiner also found a pretty serious head injury.”

 “Like he hit his head on a
rock or something?”

“Could have.”

“Or maybe someone hit him?”

I locked my eyes on the road ahead.

“If someone hit him in the head,”
she whispered, “it could have been on purpose. That would make it murder, don’t
you think?” She reached over and grabbed my arm.  

“I don’t know what to think,
Farrah. But the ME has ruled out suicide or accidental drowning. At this point
they’re mostly just ruling things out.”

“My poor Kev,” she moaned. “I
remember the last time he died, you know, in our former life together. I was
strong then, and I’m going to be strong now.”

 We drove the rest of the way
in silence. She broke down sobbing when Hatch opened the screen and Lipton
scampered out onto the porch. Seeing Farrah, the dog flew down the stairs and
into her owner’s arms. It was left to me to drag her belongings up the porch
stairs and then again up the stairs to my bedroom. My three bedroom, two-bath
house had felt empty and even a bit lonely when I’d moved in a year ago. But
loneliness was fast becoming a fond memory.

***

Later, I sat on the porch mulling
over why the police might be interested in talking with Lisa Marie. Were they
looking at her as a possible witness, a person of interest, or had they come up
with something that would make her a suspect? Whatever it was, I was sure Marv
was implicated somehow. Lisa Marie had no motive for killing Kevin—his Power of
Attorney for Brad was a necessary component in the proxy wedding. And even
though she’d been miffed over his budding interest in Farrah, it was hard to
imagine her temper tantrum becoming anything close to murderous.  

Steve pulled in the driveway, got
out, and began his compulsory arrival ritual. He went to the trunk and pulled
out a limp red dust wand, a bottle of Windex and a roll of paper towels. He
mopped the dust wand across the car—top, hood and sides—then sprayed the
windshield with Windex. After a quick buff with a paper towel he leaned across
the hood to check for streaks. Unlike my Geo, Steve’s little black sedan would
never know the indignity of having ‘wash me’ scrawled in the dirt on his back
window.

Hatch came out and joined me on the
porch. He plopped down in a tattered wicker chair and laid his crutch to the
side. When he stretched out his leg—the one wearing the cast—he winced.

“Is it bothering you?” I said.

“Whining doesn’t make it better,
but between this thing aching and me not having a damn thing to do all day, I’m
running a quart low on cheer.”

Steve climbed the stairs and joined
us. “Hey, you two.”

“Hey, yourself,” said Hatch. “You
hear anything more on McGillvary?”

I shushed him, pointing upstairs
where Farrah was settling in.

“No,” Steve said in a stage
whisper. “How about you?”

Hatch filled him in on the ME
report.

“Whoa,” said Steve. “Where’d you
hear that? I didn’t hear anything even close to that on the news.”

“Seems we’ve got a mutual friend,”
said Hatch. “I called a detective I used to work with at Oahu PD who’s now over
here on Maui. When I told him I was staying here at Pali’s he asked if you
still lived here. I know about ‘six degrees of separation’ and all that, but
it’s driving me nuts trying to figure out how you might know Glen Wong. Over in
Honolulu he wasn’t exactly the most sociable guy.”

He smiled at Steve, as if
anticipating a long shaggy dog story about how Steve’s windsurfing buddy’s
roommate’s girlfriend’s neighbor dated Wong back in high school.

“I’ve run into him a few times.”
Steve looked about as shut down as Chernobyl.

“Did you do a photo shoot for his
family or something?” Hatch offered.

Steve shrugged and turned his gaze
to his shiny Jetta.

I looked from Steve to Hatch and
then back to Steve. “Okay, allow me to connect the dots here,” I said. “Glen
Wong’s gay, but no one’s supposed to know he’s gay because he’s a cop. He goes to
the same bars Steve goes to but nothing short of water-boarding will get anyone
to out him without his permission. How am I doing so far?”

“You didn’t hear it from me,” said
Steve.

“And I didn’t ask,” said Hatch.

No one established eye contact as
we all stared into the middle distance for a few beats.

 “Huh, so Wong’s gay,” Hatch
finally said. He shook his head, a slight grin playing across his face.

“Just so we’re clear,” said Steve,
“Glen’s the guy who took on finding you a place to stay when you were about to
get released from the hospital. He asked around, and got me to convince Pali to
take you in. Without him you’d probably be recovering in a nursing home right
now.” He locked eyes on Hatch.

Hatch’s grin faded. “Great guy.
Real solid. We go way back. In fact, I was up for promotion to homicide when I
left. So, they gave it to Wong instead. Kind of pissed me off at the time, but
we’ve kept in touch—especially since we both ended up here on Maui. Word is,
they’re looking at him to head up homicide at Honolulu PD when the guy over
there retires.”

“Small world,” said Steve.

“You know it,” said Hatch. “Anyway,
Wong’s been assigned lead detective on the McGillvary investigation.” He nodded
at me. “And I’ll bet since you’ve spent time with Lisa Marie, he’ll be wanting
to talk to you, too.”

Steve nodded. “Yeah Pali, no way
you’ll avoid getting dragged into this. Not only ‘cuz you’re the only local who
knows Lisa Marie, but also because you’re best friends with the victim’s latest
hook-up. ”

Hatch nodded in agreement.

Hatch and Steve’s casual attitude
toward Kevin’s death was starting to wear thin with me. This wasn’t some ripped
from the headlines whodunit on TV or the daily crime news out of Honolulu. This
was possibly a brutal murder right here on Maui—of my client; a guy who’d stuck
around to help out his friend’s grieving fiancée. I got up and went inside.

Hatch and Steve followed, seemingly
oblivious to my foul mood.

 “Pali, lighten up,” said
Steve. “It isn’t personal.”

“Are you crazy?” I said. “It’s
about as personal as it gets. Not only was Kevin a decent enough guy, he was a
huge help to me in handling Lisa Marie and moving the wedding forward. Throw in
that my best friend had a thing for him, and he’d stepped up to buy our
building and save our businesses, and I’d say it’s
damn
personal. If the
police think Lisa Marie had something to do with it—which I highly doubt—then
that piles on another layer of personal for me.”

Steve leaned over to take my hand,
but I pulled it away. “Okay, okay,” he said. “I’m sorry. It’s just that—well,
this whole thing’s pretty wild if you think about it. You’ve got the nutty diva
daughter of a garbage tycoon wanting a bizarre proxy marriage to a missing
millionaire geek. Now the stand-in guy’s body floats up on the most notorious
nude beach in all of Maui. It’s like that Clue game. You know, Colonel Mustard
in the conservatory with the candlestick? C’mon, Pali, you gotta admit—it’s
crazy.”

I jumped up and went upstairs to
check on Farrah. As much as I hated to concede even a single inch of my moral
high ground, Steve had a point. Unlike O’ahu, where crime takes up the bulk of
the nightly news, violent crime is rare on the neighbor islands. If I hadn’t
been so invested in this weird cast of characters, I’d have agreed the whole
sorry situation was amusing as hell.

***

It was nearly two-thirty—a
half-hour until the wedding rehearsal—when I made my way down to Olu’olu for
the third time that day. I’d convinced myself the trip was worth it even if
only to talk some sense into Lisa Marie and make one last stab at getting a
check out of Marv. I’d accepted I’d be handing my business over to Tank Sherman
on Friday, but I was determined to leave with my debts paid and my reputation
intact.

The gate was open when I pulled in.
A white Ford sedan with black rims and a heavy-duty bumper was parked at an
angle, smack in the middle of the circular driveway. It blocked not only the
entry to the front door, but also the exit from the driveway. I pulled in
behind it and parked. As I passed by, I peeked into the car windows. I’d never
seen the interior of a cop car. The upholstery on the front seat was nearly as
broken down as my Geo. There was a laptop-style computer screen mounted to the
dash and a sweating cup from a fast-food joint wedged in the console. But the
windows were clean and the floorboards looked recently vacuumed.  

I speed-walked to the door and
pressed the bell. The
Aloha ‘Oe
door chime brought none other than Marv
himself, highball glass in hand.

 “It’s you again. What do you
want now?” His snarl was slurred, even though cocktail hour was still two hours
away. 

“I came to assist Lisa Marie in
getting through this horrible time.”

“Now you’re claiming legal
expertise? You know, so far I haven’t been exactly dazzled by your matrimonial
skills.” He twisted his mouth into a grimace he probably thought passed for a
smile. 

I said nothing. I’d dealt with guys
like Marv before. You know, the kind who thinks saying ‘just kidding’ excuses a
truck load of crappy behavior.

 “She’s talking to the cops,”
he said. He didn’t invite me in.

I didn’t move, betting Marv didn’t
have the balls to shut the door in my face.

“You coming in, or are you going to
stand out there all day letting flies in my house?”

“
Mahalo
,” I said. I toyed with
the image of stomping on his foot, but it was trumped by the image of me
tucking a signed check into my purse.

 “They’re in the family room,
so let’s go to my office.” He started to lead the way, then stopped. “I’m going
to freshen up this drink. You want something?”

“Water would be nice.”

“How ‘bout I nudge it with a nip of
scotch?”

“No thanks, I’m driving.” I didn’t
want to come off too high and mighty before hitting him up. “Maybe another
time.”

“I’d have the maid show you down to
my office, but if I recall, you already know the way,” he said. “And this time,
sweetheart, do me a favor…” He waited for me to make eye contact. “Don’t go in
there until I get back. I guess your mama didn’t teach you it’s not polite to
snoop. Maybe good manners aren’t a priority out here in the middle of nowhere.”
He shot me an oily smile and disappeared down the far hallway.

I waited in the foyer. I couldn’t
care less about Marv’s opinion of my manners. I had two things I needed to
accomplish—cancel my contract and pick up a check—and then hopefully I’d never
cross paths with the Prescotts again.

After Marv had been gone a minute
or two, I picked up voices coming from the sunroom. I tiptoed to the near side
of the French doors and listened.

“…back here.” It sounded like Lisa
Marie.

“…cooperate…take you in.” A deep
male voice; probably a cop.

“My God, you’re a piece of work,”
Marv bellowed as he suddenly came up behind me. “This morning you were snooping
around my office, and now you’re eavesdropping on my little girl.”

He thrust a crystal tumbler of
water into my hand and jerked his head in the direction of his office. I
followed him. The glass was heavy for its size, deeply cut in an intricate
pattern that refracted sunlight from the small window high on the wall. Marv went
behind his desk and took a long pull on his drink before plopping down in the
leather swivel chair.

I sipped my water, waiting for him
to invite me to sit. As Marv had previously pointed out, we’re pretty casual in
the islands, but working in the bridal industry had required me to bone up on
the finer points of social protocol. I can spot a lone demitasse spoon in a
pile of teaspoons from five feet away and I always wait for my host to offer me
a seat before sitting.

“My daughter may be awhile, so you
might as well take a load off,” he finally said, gesturing to the guest chairs
in front of the desk.

This time I chose the intricately
carved chair. It wasn’t as comfortable as the buttery leather chair I’d sat in
earlier but its hard seat and stiff armrests encouraged me to sit up straight,
which I thought was the best negotiating posture.

“You know how much I paid for that
chair you’re sitting in?” he said.

“No idea.”

“Nothing, nada, zilch. It’s a
priceless antique, but it was given to me as a gift. I got friends all over the
world, Ms. Moon. They show their appreciation in remarkable ways. Ming Dynasty,
that chair. You have any idea when that was?”