Vacations Can Be Murder: The Second Charlie Parker Mystery (19 page)

"The only real winners will be the
attorneys."

I chewed slowly on the last of my sourdough
bread. So, what else was new?

The waitress came back then, and although I
swore I couldn't hold another bite, Drake suggested that we split a
dessert. It sounded tempting, hula pie.

When it arrived, I found out why it takes at
least two people to eat it. In fact, one serving might have been
suitable for a small dinner party. One "slice" of this pie was
about the size of a small cantaloupe. Chocolate cookie crust,
heaped high with macadamia nut ice cream, coated with thick fudge
topping, trimmed out with whipped cream. We finished every
bite.

I could see I was going to have to go against
my instinctual dislike for exercise once I got home. I was getting
a bad case of the five-pounds-heavier, vacation blues.

We lugged ourselves out of our chairs, and
retired to the patio area for an after-dinner Kahlua and coffee.
The moon was high in the sky now, as shiny silver as a brand-new
dime. It cast a streamer of white across the harbor, where we
watched some late returning fishermen come in.

Drake held my fingers up to his lips, and
planted a slow sexy kiss on them that made my insides feel mushy.
It made me realize that the week was almost over.

I stared out across the water, and wondered
what it would be like to have a full-time man in my life. I think
I'm too independent for most of them. In fact, one or two have
admitted to being intimidated by me. But, this one was different. I
sensed that he was secure enough that my self-sufficiency wouldn't
bother him.

But, what would everyday life be like? I
pictured his dirty socks abandoned on the floor, his shaving stuff
in my medicine cabinet. He would probably come in and steal away
Rusty's affections.

Maybe things were better this way. A few days
of hot romance before getting back to real life.

The kisses were working their way across my
forearm, past the bend in my elbow, headed toward my neck.

"Let's go back to your room," he
whispered.

I was ready.

The slow boat ride back, and the trip through
the lobby and up the elevator, did nothing to cool us off. I
thought he would have my left earring chewed off by the time I
located my room key.

I knew something was wrong the instant I
unlocked the door.

The feeling came at me like a subtle change
in the air, the way you know a few seconds in advance when it's
going to rain.

Drake straightened abruptly, sensing my
unease. I slowly pushed the door inward a couple of inches. I had
left a light on, but now the room was pitch black. I reached for
the switches with my left hand, my right arm giving the door a hard
shove.

The door banged back against the wall, as the
room sprang into bright light.

Chapter 14

We were alone.

It took a moment for my system to register
what I saw. Nothing was as I had left it.

The mattress on the bed was askew, the covers
pulled loose and left rumpled. My clothes in the closet had been
roughly searched. Several items had fallen off their hangers, and
were left in small colorful heaps on the floor. The pocket of my
linen jacket had one corner ripped loose. The drawers gaped in
various stages of open, like uneven stairsteps. I felt violated
seeing my underwear strewn across the floor.

In the bathroom, my zippered makeup bag had
been dumped. Jars and brushes were scattered across the vanity and
into the sink. A lipstick and a mascara tube had rolled off and hit
the floor.

Even the towels had been shaken out and
thrown in piles in the tub and on the floor.

My sense of tidiness was outraged. For a
person who is borderline fanatic about everything in its place, I
saw this as the ultimate desecration. I wanted to cry, but my
insides were shaking too hard.

Drake had followed me into the room. He stood
now, as I did, obviously shaken by the chaos before us.

"We better call hotel security," he suggested
in a quiet voice.

He stepped to the phone, and punched some
buttons. I stood in the middle of the room, spotting some new
travesty each place I looked. I had seen this happen to other
people before. A former client's home had been robbed while I was
working on her case, but this was the first time I'd experienced it
myself. It's a whole different feeling when it's your own
stuff.

"They'll be right here," Drake said, turning
to me. "We shouldn't touch anything until they come."

It was all I could do to hold back. My
fingers itched to begin refolding and putting away— to make order
of the chaos an outsider had left. I didn't want a strange security
man to see my bras hanging out of the drawers.

Drake put his arms around me. I allowed
myself to press my cheek against his shoulder. His steadiness made
me aware of my own trembling.

I still couldn't cry—I was too furious.

The knock on the door a few minutes later
startled us both. Drake opened it to admit a man dressed in hotel
uniform. His gold name tag said "M. Kanakoa, Security."

He stood somewhat over six feet, and weighed
a little less than a Volkswagen. He had the solid neck and
shoulders of a football player, but I could tell it had been a few
years. The once-firm muscles had settled into softness, leaving him
with more bulk than power.

His eyes scanned the room dispassionately. I
might have imagined it, but I'd swear he checked first to see if
the TV set was still there.

"What time did you folks go out tonight?" he
asked.

"We left the room at seven," I said. My voice
came out steadier than I thought it would. My insides were still
tangled, while my head felt curiously light.

"And you just now got back?"

I nodded, wondering where he was leading. Did
he honestly believe we'd sit here in this mess an hour or so before
we decided to call and report it? I felt myself begin to get
irritated.

He was examining the door, the lock, and the
jamb. "Looks like they used a key."

"What time did the maids do turn-down service
tonight?" I asked.

"I checked that. They were on this floor
between eight and nine o'clock."

"So it had to have happened after that, or
they would have reported it," I said.

"Not necessarily, ma'am," he said. He had a
look on his face that basically said
Get Real
. "Some
people's rooms always look like this."

Feeling properly put in my place, I turned to
look around the room once again.

"Can you tell me if anything is missing?" he
asked.

"I haven't touched a thing, yet," I told him.
"We wanted you to see it just as we found it."

"I'll get someone up here to dust for
fingerprints. In the meantime, you might as well be checking to see
what they took. We can move you to a new room. Let me check with
the front desk to see what's available."

"That's not necessary," I assured him.

The intruder probably hadn't been out to harm
me, or they would have waited for our return. They had either found
whatever they had searched the room for, or I didn't have it in the
first place.

He punched buttons on the phone, ordering the
fingerprint kit brought up, and asked that a maid bring us fresh
sheets and towels.

I started straightening the bathroom,
replacing the spilled contents of my makeup bag one piece at a
time. I couldn't see that anything was missing. The small hinged
box containing a few pieces of costume jewelry appeared to be
intact. I'd brought only three pair of earrings, and one bracelet,
none of them valuable. They were all there.

Drake gathered the disheveled towels, and
tossed them in a stack near the door. I worked quickly through the
closet, hanging and straightening. Everything seemed to be there.
Same with the dresser drawers. My tote bag was on the floor near
the dresser, and I could tell it had been rummaged through.
Fortunately, my little spiral with all my notes about the case had
been with me in my purse, along with the threat note I'd found on
my windshield. Nothing was missing.

In the meantime, a maid arrived.

Within five minutes, she had fresh towels
hanging in the bathroom, and the bed was stripped and remade. As
she gathered the old sheets, a tiny orchid fell on the carpet. So,
the night maid had been here before the intruder. I wasn't sure
what significance that might have, but I tucked the fact into my
mental file.

The fingerprint man came, dusted, and went.
He exchanged a few words with Mr. Kanakoa, but none with me. I had
the room in reasonable shape by then, and, while I hadn't counted
every pair of panties, I was pretty sure nothing was missing.

What had they been after?

Granted, it could have been a hotel thief,
after cash or valuables. If so, they obviously discovered that I
travel light. But, something told me that wasn't what we had
here.

A nagging sensation told me this had
something to do with the murder of Gil Page.

I just wished I knew what.

Chapter 15

Drake insisted on staying with me, although
he said he would have to get up early since he was flying the next
day. Truthfully, it didn't take a lot of argument on his part. Even
with my little world back in order, something inside me didn't care
for the idea of being alone just yet.

He held me close in the semi-dark room, and
didn't push for sex. It took my mind awhile to settle down enough
to sleep.

When he left about five-thirty, I thought I'd
go right back to sleep, but it didn't work. I turned on the TV for
the first time in a week, and caught up on the world with CNN.
Somewhere around the third time through Dollars & Sense, I
drifted back off to sleep, waking again about nine.

I huddled beneath the warmth of the covers
for a few minutes while my thoughts flicked in reverse sequence
over the events of the last twenty-four hours. I felt a twinge of
guilt that I was lying here doing nothing while Drake, who'd had
even less sleep than I, was out there flying the circle, giving the
tour.

I was twitchy to do something.

I picked up the phone, and called Pamela at
the phone company. Remembering to identify myself as Catherine
Page, I got the information I was after. Yes, there had been a call
to Hawaii from the Page's home phone on Friday night.

Getting information on Catherine's airline
schedule proved more difficult. Without official credentials, they
weren't going to tell me anything. I decided I'd give it some
thought. I might be able to figure out a way to bluff my way
through.

If worse came to worse, I could tell Akito my
suspicions, and he could check it out.

I headed toward the shower, wondering again
about the break-in. Who was I getting close to?

The faces flashed through my mind, one at a
time, but nothing made any sense.

I couldn't think of one shred of tangible
evidence the intruder might think I had. My notes were possibly the
only thing of value, and even then, why try to take them and leave
me unharmed?

Or, maybe that was the next move.

Maybe I was close to something, and the
killer intended to get rid of me next. I checked the deadbolt locks
before I stepped into the tub.

The hot shower didn't help reconcile my
mood.

I lathered my hair with shampoo, then stood
under the spray, letting it course down my body. Fifteen minutes
later, I was rubbing myself down with a fresh towel, feeling no
better. I chose white cotton slacks and shirt from the closet, and
opened the drapes to let in the day.

Low clouds in clusters hung around the
mountain tops. The water was slate blue, and the palm trees below
whipped in the wind with a sound like plastic pick-up sticks being
shaken in a can. Although it was weak, enough sun hit the beach to
bring out a good crowd. I opened the sliding glass door to let in
the ocean breeze.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath,
willing my mind to clear.

I couldn't do it.

A low-grade anxiety ran through me like
electromagnetic waves. I know the feeling. I had a mild case of it
when I felt near the answer on my last case. This time I guess it
was hitting me harder because my own turf had been invaded.

Maybe breakfast would help. I headed back to
the bathroom to do something about my face and hair. I found my
hairbrush and blowdryer, and began work on getting my thick mop
dry. Bending over at the waist, I aimed the dryer at the thickest
hair, running the brush through it as I went. It's mindless work,
and I let my thoughts drift.

That's when I spotted something a little out
of place.

It was a flash of silver, just under the edge
of the drape next to the sliding glass door frame. The frame itself
was dark metal, so what was the silver? I switched off the dryer,
and went to investigate.

There, in a spot we would have never seen
last night, was a small object lying on the floor. I picked it
up.

It was a fuse, the glass kind with silver at
both ends. My mind flicked past a dozen little scenes.

The last time I'd seen any fuses was the day
I talked to Joe Esposito in the hangar. He'd been cleaning up his
workbench, and had put several of them away in a small parts
cabinet.

What had Joe Esposito been doing in my room,
unless I was getting too close to something that involved him? And,
how did he know I was getting close?

I tried to remember the conversations I'd had
since I talked to Joe. Had I voiced my suspicions to anyone other
than Drake? Maybe I'd said something to Mack—or to Catherine? Even
in my innocent inquiries with the old security guard, word might
have got back to Joe that I was snooping around. I tucked the fuse
into my pocket. Perhaps he had messed up my room to frighten me
off. Maybe robbery hadn't been the motive at all.