The guard’s right cheek curled up in a sly smile. “Is he part of your gang? The leader?” Great. This guy wasn’t even a real cop and he was bucking for Chief of Police. “I think maybe I’d better shut up.”
“Good idea. You got rights, 10-4?”
I waved away his reminder. Yeah, yeah—witness, testimony, jury—whatever. The security-guard version of Miranda rights. And for once I’d met someone who wasn’t related to Alexander. Just my luck.
The other two customers had rushed out the door at Violet’s accusation. Violet stood behind the counter, huddling like a frightened bird.
I mumbled, “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”
“What da kine, brah?” The guard eyed me. “No plan fo’ gettin’ caught?”
Oh, please, I thought. Of course I didn’t plan on getting caught, I hadn’t done anything.
The guard nodded at movement behind me. “Lucky you, you got a driver.”
A man wearing a subdued aloha shirt and tan slacks entered the store, spotted us, then strode directly up to me. “Are you W. McKenna?”
How should I answer that? Should I answer that? I mustered a weak, “It’s not just W, it’s Wilson McKenna.”
He flashed his badge. “Detective Najar.”
It was time to put an end to this nonsense so I could get back to why I’d come here. “I’m the real McKenna.”
“And I’m sure you have the ID to prove it.”
Two uniformed officers entered the store. Despite the cold air blowing from the vents in the ceiling, I felt like a pig at a luau. It was great to be the center of attention until you realized you were the one about to be roasted in that imu.
Najar was all business and didn’t care about my ID, real or otherwise. “These officers will escort you to my office. I have a lot of questions about how you got that identification and where the checks came from.”
The last time I’d been in a situation like this I’d been a smart-ass and spent the night in jail. For once in my life, I kept my mouth shut. Najar thought I was guilty and even though I knew that wasn’t the case, I’d learned the lesson—resistance might not be futile, but it was stupid.
“This officer is going to check to see if you’re carrying any weapons. Then we’re going to take a little ride.”
Oh boy, a quick feel and a new photo. I’d been here less than two hours and I was already busted. CJ was going to be stranded at work because I wouldn’t get back to pick her up. And Buster was going to have to sit in the parking lot all night by himself. With any luck, he’d be gone by morning.
CHAPTER FIVE
When I was a skip tracer and tracking down deadbeats, I’d had a set of rules—secrets, if you will. First on the list was “When in doubt, lie.” Whether following that rule had been my best choice remained to be seen, but with the customers gone and my audience down to two cops, a security guard and Shrinking Violet, my confidence seemed ill-suited to the situation.
Doing my best to sound sincere and not desperate, I regarded Najar. “This was all a mistake.”
“You’re right about that,” he said. “Coming back here was a huge mistake.”
Okay, so I might have saved myself some major embarrassment by approaching this in a more forthright manner. But, introducing myself, explaining the situation and then pleading for information about the crooks, which neither the cops, the security guard nor Shrinking Violet would have been willing to divulge, just seemed so mundane. “I probably took the wrong approach on this. My apologies for the mistake.”
Najar didn’t react. He just watched me as though expecting me to spill my family secrets on the spot. The results of taking the surreptitious route and lying my way to the truth were definitely not what I’d expected and had proven that the good old days really were much better, and gone. We were approaching the “interactive” part of the cop-suspect greeting process. You know that part, they read from a little card, I conjure up some original retorts. Somehow, “oh, shit” or “It wasn’t me” seemed far too cliché.
I was contemplating the cost of Kauai attorneys when an all-business blonde in blue slacks and an open-collar white shirt burst through the front door. Blondie was obviously used to being in charge. She took the two cops, the security guard, and yours truly in stride, and then let out an exasperated huff as she pointed at me. “Who’s he?”
Detective Najar said, “Wilson McKenna, Miss Atchison.”
I noticed that Miss Atchison had a name tag. And a job title. Manager. Could she save me?
I was about to throw myself at her feet and do one of those cute little puppy things like roll around on the floor when she said, “That’s a man. It was a woman who wrote the check, Detective.”
I love you Miss Atchison. Do you have a first name? Do you need a love slave? Detective Najar said, “We thought he might be the woman’s brother.”
Miss Atchison snorted. “You said it was a brother and sister, not a father—or grandfather.”
I sucked in my gut, too late. So much for a love slave. Just because she’d saved my hide, didn’t give her the right to insult me.
“Uh, Miss Atchison, I am the real McKenna. I tried to tell the guard.” I cocked my head in his direction, but he seemed unconcerned by my revelation. “Violet called me yesterday and told me about the package. Remember my voice, Violet?”
Shrinking Violet still lurked. Now she was chewing on a green fingernail. If she bit much harder, there would be real blood on her lips, not just the painted stuff. She nodded.
“My identity’s been stolen and I was trying to find out who’s ripping me off. I came here intending to talk to, uh, Miss Atchison, to learn more about these people.”
Violet butted in, “That’s not what you said. You said you were here to pick up your order.”
In fourth grade I would have called her a squealer, but this wasn’t the time to lower myself. I took the high road and glared instead. Violet’s eyes got wide and her hands fluttered like a bird taking a bath. “Oooh, I don’t know.” The words came out as more of a chirp than anything else.
With Violet on the defensive, I thought I had the situation under control. “I told you I was here because you called and you assumed I was here to pick up the package.”
She nodded. Detective Najar rolled his eyes. I may have even heard him curse under his breath, but he did motion with his head and the officer tucked away his Miranda cue card. Najar then spent a few minutes apologizing to me and Miss Atchison. He was getting ready to leave when I caught him off guard.
“Detective, have you got a business card?”
He stiffened, then reached for his wallet. The movement exposed his left side, where I spotted a gun holster. A chill ran through me and I wondered if maybe I’d started some weird male menopause thing. Hot, cold, then hot again. Talk about a pain.
It occurred to me that Najar might think I intended to sue him for false arrest, so I thought it best to explain. “I just want to know who to call if I get any leads.”
Najar held out the card, but kept a vice-like grip on it. I tried to pull it from his fingers, but it was useless. I figured he had a point to make and, like a puppy, I’d get my treat when I acknowledged him as the alpha dog.
“I’ve been working this case for nearly a year,” he said. “Go home and leave the investigation to us. You can only put yourself in danger and interfere with our work.”
A year? I realized how naive my attempt to find the identity thieves had been. The cops had been after them for that long? And I’d expected to find them in a day? Uh, oh, hot again. I guess he saw my embarrassment, because he let the card slip from his fingers. Even then, he held my gaze.
I muttered, “Thanks,” then made a big deal of pulling out my own wallet. If Najar had wanted to intimidate me, he’d succeeded. I put away the card, my wallet and my dignity.
The moment Najar walked out the door, I could feel the power dynamics change. I was alone with the person I’d wanted to talk to in the first place. A
nd, I had the upper hand thanks to the circumstances. The conversation with Miss Atchison began as I’d hoped, with her making her own apologies for the mistake.
“Mr. McKenna, I’m really sorry about all of that. I told Detective Najar a woman came in here. I even described her.”
I shook my head and interrupted her. “Don’t worry about it. If he’s been after these people for a year, I can see why he’d jump at the chance to arrest someone he thought was involved.”
She stared sheepishly at the floor. “That’s not exactly what happened.”
“A screw up?” I tried to keep it light, but we both knew I’d nailed the situation. In deference to Miss A.’s embarrassment, I followed her lead and inspected her leather sandals. The one-inch heels gave her enough height to put her at my eye level. Despite her conservative attire, it was obvious she had a nice figure. Waiting her out would not be a problem.
“Mr. McKenna?”
I glanced up. “Yah?”
“It was a mixup in communication. Najar had told me he never expected anyone to actually come in—he said no one would be that stupid.” She stopped and bit her lip. “Sorry. Anyway, he did say that if someone tried to pick up the merchandise, we should get security in here and call the police. I’m sorry, Mr. McKenna, Violet called me, but I didn’t realize who you were.”
Violet watched wide-eyed from behind the counter. “I’m not going to get fired, am I? I mean, I just called on the order like I usually do. Then you told me to call you.”
Miss A. shook her head. “It’s okay, Violet. Relax.” She glanced at me. “I take it those were your checks she passed off? That’s why Violet reached you when she called?”
“Yah, my checks were stolen from the post office.”
Violet groaned and flapped her arms again. Her lower lip quivered and I wondered if someone so young could have a heart attack behind a sales counter. Talk about a rotten way to go. “She had such a pretty name, too.”
“What?” I stared at Violet. It had never occurred to me that the person behind this wouldn’t use my name. “What name did she use?”
“Willow. Willow McKenna.”
I nodded at her, as if encouraging her to remember more. “It’s fine, Violet. You didn’t know. Is there anything else?”
“No.” She quickly added, “And the checks only said W. McKenna.”
Miss Atchison’s eyes cut toward Violet. I suspected she saw what Violet didn’t—the girl just kept digging the hole deeper.
I hoped that being magnanimous had gotten me some points. “I have one favor if you don’t mind.”
Miss Atchison smiled as though she were about to give grandpa here his meds. “Sure, Mr. McKenna.”
“Anything,” echoed Violet. She added, “As long as you don’t want the stereo.”
Miss A. winced. In a stern voice, she said, “Violet.”
Violet’s lips and cheeks got all scrunched up into an odd shape that only contortionists and teenagers could hope to duplicate. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. Maybe I’d better dust the shelves.” She grabbed a cloth from behind the counter and fluttered off to the other side of the store.
Miss A. smiled. She leaned in my direction and whispered, “She never does that.” In a normal tone, she continued. “How can I help you out?”
She probably thought I wanted a free battery for my pacemaker, being grandfather age and all. I pointed toward the ceiling. “I noticed earlier that you have security cameras.”
“Ye-es.”
“Do you have video from the day when the bad check was written?”
She glanced down again. Apparently Miss A. had a very strong fascination with commercial flooring. Her sandals were casual, but classy; the flooring was nice and clean; and my legs aren’t that good. So, come on, Miss A., get with it. As you ladies are so fond of saying, my face is up here.
“So you do have the video,” I said.
“I’m not sure our store policy would allow me to share it with you.”
“You’re the manager. I’m the victim.”
“Najar might not like it.”
“Yah, that’s true, but this was my only lead. And I never said I’d drop it. It may not do me any good, but at least I’d know what my granddaughter looks like.” It was a low blow, but this was my last chance, and surrender is not my strong suit. “If you showed me the video, I’d be able to describe her if she wrote more bad checks.”
She groaned. “I’m not—I don’t know if . . .”
I leaned in and whispered, “Now you sound like Violet. C’mon, you owe me. I was almost arrested in your store. Najar doesn’t have to know.”
“Oh, Mr. McKenna, don’t give me that, of course he’ll know.” She shook her head in frustration. “Fine. Whatever. It’s your identity they’re using. Wait here.”
I wandered around, once again pretending to be just another curious customer with time to waste. In fact, now that the cops were gone, customers were starting to drop in again. The spot near the personal weather stations seemed of little interest to the others who wandered in, so I hung out there. For a couple of hundred bucks, I could have seven weather channels, outdoor sensors, a self-emptying rain gauge and more. Of course, for zero bucks I could stick my nose out the window and feel the drops.
“Mr. McKenna?”
I turned. It was Violet, who was busy worrying her trusty dusting cloth in her hands.
“What? Oh, sorry, I was just admiring these little guys. Almost like a weather robot.”
She smiled. “They’re nice, but my favorite is the coconut down by the Marriott.”
“Coconut?”
“Yeah, you know, if the coconut is hot, the sun is shining. If the coconut is wet, it’s raining.”
“What happens if the coconut’s gone?”
“I don’t remember. Maybe it’s dinner time.”
“A weather station and dinner bell combined, I like it. And coconuts are cheap.” We both laughed. But Violet’s was cut short when Miss A. reappeared. Violet scampered off through the aisles to the other side of the store and resumed her dusting duties. She even smiled at another customer while she was at it.
In her hand, Miss A. held a photo. “This is the woman. It’s not the best since the focus on that camera’s been off lately. We didn’t notice it until Detective Najar asked for a copy. He’s got a picture just like this.”
Without thinking, I gave her a hug. “He’ll never know. This will be our secret.” When I realized how stiff Miss A. was, I backed away. “Sorry.”
She waved away my apology. “No worries. I’d be relieved too if I were you.”
The photo was in color. That didn’t surprise me because the system I’d installed around my apartment complex included indoor/outdoor night vision cameras, which allowed for color images during the day and black and white at night and I suspected they had a better system here.
She chuckled. “This is a small island, not Honolulu.”
Having come from L.A., I knew all too well how small an island with a million people could feel. Kauai, with its 60,000 or so, would seem even smaller. I stared at the blurry image. The photo wasn’t the best in the world—besides being out of focus, the lighting was behind the woman. But, there she was.
Long blonde hair tied back and delicate facial features that reminded me of a goddess. She held her sunglasses up and chewed on one stem of the glasses between pursed lips. I wondered if she did that when she was nervous. Perhaps she was new to this? She wore a maroon tank top with an insignia of some sort and white pants or shorts—I couldn’t tell which because the photo was cut off. She also had a huge bag slung over one shoulder, almost a beach bag with a Marriott logo on the side. The bag bulged like a stuffed turkey—probably with more goodies she’d bought with my checks.
CHAPTER SIX
Thanks to Miss Atchison, my timetable hadn’t yet been blown. CJ wouldn’t be off work for another hour and a half, so I contemplated ways to wind down from my near-jail encounter on
my way back to the car. I was standing at the curb, about ready to cross the parking lot when I recognized a flock of green umbrellas above outdoor dining tables to my left. A Starbucks. Coffee was, what? A quarter? Fifty cents? Even if it was a buck, I could spring for that.
I made my way past the tables, which were occupied with happy customers sipping from white paper or clear plastic cups with a little green logo. Each table was alive with people talking, laughing, working on computers, or making faces indicating they were in some sort of coffee heaven. My mouth watered in anticipation.
My first surprise came when I got inside. Chaos. People everywhere. Some stood in little congregations, others were off by themselves, but many were in a line extending from the middle of the counter all the way to the opposite door. Was that where you ordered? I’d made it to the end and was thinking this was way too much trouble when a young woman engrossed in an activity on her phone burst through the door and stepped in front of me. She finished her little chore and glanced up. Perhaps she saw the shock on my face, because her green eyes widened and she gave me a toothy smile.
“I’m so sorry. Did I cut in front of y'all?”
“I was, uh, going to get in line.”
She took my arm and gently dragged me in front of her. “Here you go. I wasn’t paying attention and taking cuts is just not right as my mama likes to say. I’m Hillary.”
“Thanks, um, I’m McKenna.”
I instinctively extended my hand, but Hillary took one glance down and laughed. “That’s so—so mainland. I like the island way better.” She gave me a hug.
Now I knew how Miss A. must have felt in the store when I had done the same to her.
Hillary backed away. “I like y'all’s island style better. Y’all have such great customs. I’m a hugger. Always have been.”
Still stunned, but absolutely taken in by Hillary’s personality, I stammered, “Is—is this the ordering line?”
“Why yes, it is. Y’all haven’t been in this one before? I’ve been here for a week and this is my fifth trip. I’d go insane without my Coconut Mocha Frap.” She flipped back a stray lock of strawberry blonde hair in a move as unpretentious as it was reflexive.
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