by Tyler Colins
“If he thinks Cash and I are back together, he may want to know what we're talking about.”
“The guy's a whiz at spying,” Rey declared. “He'd have to know you're not together.”
At a loss for words, I arched a shoulder.
“By the way, I finally met with Jimmy Junior after he and Rey kept missing each other, and learned absolutely nothing we didn't already know. He has his dreams, like the noodle house – a tribute to his mother – and a sizeable bank account. The guy has no reason or motive to have killed his father or Razor,” Linda informed us.
I restated something we all knew. “It couldn't have been easy being Picolo's son.”
“He seems nice, but he's so under-confident. I got the impression he's not crazy about his father or sister. Incidentally, Ric's throwing a get-together this Saturday evening to celebrate 'the life and times' of Jimmy Silone Picolo III and we're welcome to attend.”
“Let's go,” I proposed. “It might prove enlightening.”
“It might prove dead boring,” Rey stated flatly and then smiled smugly. “While we're sharing minor missions accomplished, I had a chance to speak with Lilo after you and I talked this aft, Cous.”
Before she could elaborate, the phone rang. Oli, a new security guard, advised that Kent Winche was in the lobby.
“Please send him up.” We'd only parted company three hours ago. “Mr. Winche can't seem to get enough of us,” I informed my colleagues with a roll of the eyes.
“You mean he can't get enough of you,” Linda laughed.
“Allow me to play doorman.” Rey hopped to her bare feet, opened the door, and leaned into it as she waited for the elevator to deliver its occupant.
“Howzit, sistahs?” Kent greeted gaily as he breezed into the foyer like a Broadway actor following a theatrical cue.
With a cheery smile, Rey shut the door and eyed his jean-clad backside as he stopped to remove Jimmy Choo sneakers.
Linda and I suppressed laughter: the woman certainly enjoyed her eye candy.
“I hope you don't mind me dropping by,” he said merrily, “but when you told me you three were getting together tonight, I thought it would be a great time to put our heads together and make snooping plans.” He removed his knapsack and pulled out two bottles of chianti. “I came prepared.”
Button cocked her head and scrutinized our visitor for several seconds before scampering into the bedroom. Apparently, she wasn't impressed like Cousin Rey.
“It must sense I have allergies,” he said with grin as he placed the bottles on the counter. Strolling into the living room, he eyed three extra-large cartons on the coffee table.
“There's plenty. Help yourself,” I gestured, moving to the armoire for wine glasses.
He presented one of those toothpaste-ad smiles and sat on the floor alongside Linda. “Nice place,” he said sunnily, grabbing a napkin and slice.
“It's home.” I filled four glasses as Rey leaned into a nearby wall. When I was done, she grabbed two and passed one to Kent before taking a seat beside him.
Handing a glass to Linda, I parked myself on the opposite side of the table. “Now, Cousin Reynalda, you were going to enlighten us on Lilo before company arrived.”
“Are you referring to Lilo Dorfmeister?”
Rey and Linda nodded.
“I remember him. He's a guy Jimmy bought out three years ago. He owned a glass-jar manufacturing company that used to supply Jimmy's pickling plant. When Jimmy wised up about it being cheaper to manufacture his own, he bought the place outright. Out went Lilo Dorfmeister.”
Linda frowned. “But he couldn't have bought it without Dorfmeister's consent or –”
“When Jimmy wants something, he gets it,” he advised her gruffly. “Regardless of the cost or upshot.”
“The other contact, Jeff Havlock, I've left a voicemail for,” Rey continued. “So, let me backtrack. I found the name of his bakery – Lilo's Luscious Lix – and gave him a call. He agreed to meet for coffee at his small shop off Liliha and North School. That guy is one amazing baker.” She grinned. “And there's big box of 'luscious' creamy delights in the twelfth-floor fridge to prove it.”
“So you got him to open up about the Picolo family?” Kent eyed her with a mix of interest and admiration.
“He seemed more than happy to share.” With a wry smile, Rey tested her wine and then savored it.
When she didn't continue, Linda reached over and slapped her lightly. “Spill it.”
Playfully, Rey stuck out her tongue. “Annia Picolo-Adverterre – who Lilo called a queen bitch – counseled Daddy on a few business dealings, also known as unfair buy-outs. The woman's a genius with computers and could give the Department of Defense a run for its money.”
“I've heard that from the plant guys,” Kent confirmed.
“What else did you learn?” Linda urged.
“Hubby Greg died last March. He left a lot of insurance and trust funds for the boys, Jake and Jules, who are in a boarding school in Switzerland.”
“How did he die?” Linda asked.
“Snowboarding accident on Big Island.” Rey leaned forward, her eyes twinkling with excitement. “Here's the weird, fun and interesting stuff. The woman's into some serious swinger stuff, but even more seriously … the woman has a big-time gambling problem. Lilo heard this from a few reliable sources. It appears guys like to gossip, too.” She eyed Kent keenly before continuing. “Annia owes a few thousand and we're not talking in the tens of thousands of dollars, but hundreds of thousands. Her trust fund is pretty much history and her one-hundred-and twenty-thousand a year salary as CMO doesn't go far.”
“Did Jimmy know?” I asked, stunned.
“Yeah, and he never played Daddy Darling to help out.”
Kent broke in. “You probably haven't heard this story, so let me tell it and do with it what you will. Jimmy's Uncle Jovi also had a gambling issue. His wife, Marca, who'd been getting increasingly depressed because they were losing everything, ended up in a clinic. Some collectors broke Jovi's hand and foot. It was a wake-up call that got him moving faster than a sailor on shore leave after navigating the Bering Sea for weeks. He got into a support group and got back on the straight and narrow.” Kent picked up a sliver of roasted pepper and eyed it like a jeweler inspecting a precious stone under a gemological microscope. “Jimmy had always believed addicts – of any kind – were best off confronting their compulsions. He probably thought his daughter would conquer hers.”
No question, the man was a plethora of information: most of it useless, but some of it notable.
“Uncle Ric tried coming to his niece's rescue on a couple of occasions,” Rey stated with a lackluster smile.
“He tried to get her into therapy or something, did he?” Linda asked flatly.
“He rescued her from Harry the Hoarse and his crew here on Oahu, and some guys in Atlanta and Miami. Rumor has it, they're itching to collect, as are Fat Jo and Paranoid Pat in Vegas.” Rey brought a hand to the side of her mouth and whispered in a conspiratorial voice, “Lilo keeps an ear on the Picolo pulse.”
“Harry the Horse?” I asked, confused.
“Harry the Hoarse,” Kent clarified, “so called because he yells and shouts to the point of hoarseness. He is not a pleasant man when riled. This I've heard from some guys I know who gamble and find themselves dodging brass knuckles when they're strapped for pay-back cash.”
“Are they die-hard gamblers like Annia?” Linda asked.
Kent shook his head so hard, long blond curls bounced like play balls in a child-packed pit. “Not even close.”
“But gambling's illegal in Hawaii,” Linda pointed out, perplexed.
“That's what makes it so much more enticing.” He smiled darkly. “Why do you think so many Islanders visit Vegas so often?”
“I wonder where Annia was the night her father was murdered,” I pondered aloud.
“I can answer that, courtesy of the lady herself.”
We turned to
Rey.
“I spoke with her briefly after I met with Lilo, seeing as I was left to my own devices.” She stuck out her tongue at Linda. “The beautiful Annia Picolo-Advertere, queen of extreme makeovers, was at a black-tie affair the night Daddy got shot.” Rey's smile was little-girl sweet. “We're meeting for drinks Friday at four.”
“She could have snuck out.” Kent grabbed another slice and flashed a boyish grin. “I've got a pal, Larry, who works for local media. He has access to an amazing range of information and sources, and could get us a list of attendees.”
“Smart thinking, Detective Winche. A good P.I. would ensure that no stones remained unturned,” I complimented with a wink.
As we ate and drank, I devised a quick mental list. We needed to learn more about the mysterious Mr. Lookeeng Goo-ood, who seemed to keep floating into conversations like jellyfish invading local beaches. Finding out about Kent might not be a bad idea, either. Speaking with Buddy was certainly on the agenda.
As soon as Kent left, I'd inform my partners of the nasty little finds in Haleiwa. I'd wanted to do this in person, but one thing after the other had thwarted me from revealing details. Ric, I could care less about, although I supposed if I didn't call, he'd make a point of contacting me. Ald I wasn't yet sure about, but as new owner of Coco's tatt, now laying in a crisper, I couldn't remain mum about murder, beause there was no doubt now about Coco greeting his ancestors.
Guns n' Roses' “Welcome to the Jungle” announced Kent had a call – at full volume. “Yeah? Whatzup? Uh-huh. Yeah.” Six yeahs later, he cursed and hung up.
He studied the cell phone as if it were an oracle. Apparently, the deity within wasn't responding for his narrow forehead furrowed like beach sand ridges and his sexy mouth tightened like a pretzel rod.
* * *
“It seems a pretty sure thing that Coco's chatting it up with Jimmy, Razor, and Stretta.”
“What makes you so sure?” I asked offhandedly.
“That was Denton. He and Jimmy Junior and Coco are close friends – have been since grade school, softball, and summer camp,” he elucidated. “Neither has heard from Coco like in two weeks.”
“Were they supposed to?” Linda asked.
“Coco has never missed Denton's birthday, but he did this time.”
“Not a good sign, is it?” Rey asked with a crinkled brow. “Maybe strange little Coco met up with our gun-happy dude?”
Kent glowered and gulped back wine like a barfly trying to forget yesterday's hangover.
“Should we add that to the tasks list?” Rey jested. “Find strange little colleague?”
Kent regarded us eagerly.
“We could look, if you like, but that's a lot of turf to cover.” I wasn't prepared to tell him the truth about Coco at the moment; revealing the truth would be the same as taking out a front page ad in the Honolulu Star Advertiser. Gerald Ives would not be pleased to have been one of the last to know.
He released a lengthy exhalation. “I'll make a few calls and find out who saw him where and when. We can map a timeframe and take it from there.” He rose and grabbed the bottle of wine.
“Maybe you should start with his landlord,” Linda suggested, holding out her glass for him to top up.
Kent shrugged. “Coco once told me he never mingled with neighbors or the landlord. He had a run-in with Mr. Spamball about his pet rat, Willard. I doubt you'd get much help.”
“Spamball? Rat?” Rey asked, bemused. She found rodents as appealing and useful as reality shows featuring has-beens.
“The fat dude has skin the color of Spam,” Kent explained.
Rey's expression wavered between distaste and disgust. “What happened to the rat?”
“Winkee, Mrs. Thomasino's cat, happened. She was a retired meter maid, originally from Pasadena, who lived in the apartment above Coco.” He looked woeful. “When they found Willard, there was nothing left but a tail.”
We all looked woeful as we pushed away pizza and focused on wine.
Chapter Sixteen
“That iz one good looking boy, dah-leengs,” Rey said with a Zza Zza Gabor accent as we resettled in the lanai.
Kent had just left. As was habit, Button was happily ensconced on “Auntie” Linda's lap while she provided a generous belly rub. Holding forth an empty glass like a queen brandishing a scepter, my cousin was sprawled on an armchair like a bendable toy figure, with long legs suspended over an armrest and an arm draped over the headrest.
“As many have said, the man should be gracing a magazine or runway,” I agreed, “but he tends to rub me the wrong way.” Pouring hefty glassfuls from a new bottle of red, this one a merlot, I took a seat beside Linda on the sofa. If enough alcohol hadn't been ingested earlier to promote glassy gazes and beaming faces, it would do so shortly.
“Why's that?” Linda asked, surprised.
“Besides being too flirtatious, there's something 'off'. Everything about him seems right … yet something beneath that hunky exterior seems … wrong.”
Rey tilted her head one way and then the other as she considered it. “So, dear Cousin, what's in that freezer bag poking out of your tunic pocket?”
“This iddy-biddy one?” I pulled it out and jiggled it. “I'll buy lunch – any place in Chinatown – if you guess.”
Like a radiologist analyzing an x-ray, Linda studied the plastic containing a visible black pouch. “Jewelry?”
“There's jewelry associated with what's in here, but no.” I turned to Rey.
“It's obviously related to the case, but it's too small and flat to be the murder weapon.” She eyed it keenly. “Could be documents, or a passport. …I'm going to go with pictures.”
“You're sort of close.” I smiled darkly. “Hang on to your pizza, ladies.” Carefully, I removed plastic and felt, and held up a shrink-wrapped tattoo that once graced Coco's arm.
“Dang.” Linda blanched.
“Whoa Nelly.” Rey pretty grass-green eyes rounded like gumballs. “Is that what I think it is?”
“If you think it's part of Coco Peterson, you're bang on.”
After providing details of the find and Red-Head, we made plans for the following day. Linda and Makjo would look into a potential wayward-husband assignment; Rey and I would pursue Harry the Hoarse to see what was transpiring in that seedy part of the world. His number and address would be easy enough to retrieve with Gail's assistance, as would background on Coco. While we were at it, my colleagues agreed that it would be wise to have our HPD pal check out Kent, too.
* * *
The girls had stayed until 11:00, so Button and I took a quick walk. We were barely in the door when the phone rang.
Ric cheerfully announced he was around the corner.
“Are you?” I asked flatly. It didn't make me happy that Mr. Health Nut had my address, much less invited himself over, but there wasn't much I could do about either.
“Can I come up?”
“Do I have a choice?”
His laughter was reminiscent of a bleating goat. “There are always choices.”
When it came to Ricardo Mako Picolo, I doubted it. “Come up.”
“See you in five.”
I met Button's expectant gaze. “Sorry, girl. Smarmy company first, comfy bed second.”
Exactly five minutes later, dressed in a smart Hugo Boss navy-blue wool suit and highly polished black Ferragamo loafers, Ric waltzed into the condo. He scanned my attire – flip-flops and a long oversize T-shirt promoting the Eiffel Tower – and didn't appear impressed. Thin lips pulled into a supercilious smile as their owner leaned into the kitchen counter with one hand in a jacket pocket, like a guy posing for a fashion magazine.
He made no apologies for the late hour, but requested a glass of water. Surprisingly, when Button padded up to him, he crouched down and cooed as he stroked her head and ears. Who'd have imagined the egocentric man had a soft spot for animals?
“She's funny looking,” he commented with a cheery smile.
�
�Not as much as that scalpel-graced face and over-tanned skin,” I was tempted to say, feeling catty. Instead, I got two bottles of chilled Evian from the fridge and passed him one. “What brings you to my humble abode?” I sat on a counter stool and regarded him expectantly.
He perched on another. “What did you find at my brother's place in Haleiwa?”
I removed the bottle cap and flipped it on the counter. “You know.”
“I do?”
“Stop playing games,” I said dully. “You don't seem the sort to dillydally, so why not cut to the chase? You know I found the tattoo and jewelry because your brother put them there. Or did you?”
“I get the impression you don't like me. Why? You don't even know me.” He scanned my face inquiringly.
“I know what I've read.”
“You're basing feelings on what the media says … and what you've picked up about my brother's business doings. Is that fair?” he asked curtly.
“No, it's not,” I conceded. In truth, my feelings went up and above what had been read and heard, but this wasn't the time to share. Drawing a deep breath, I offered an easy smile. “Let's backtrack. You came to find out about the tattoo and jewelry. Yes, I found both. Kent Winche doesn't know – yet.”
“Can I have them?”
“No.”
Ric appeared taken aback. “No?”
“No.” I smiled again. “That's a word you don't hear often, is it?”
He surprised me again – by chortling like a fiendish imp. “You've got spunk, honey. I like it.”
I stared intently. “Who killed Coco?”
He stared in return, as if determining whether I could be trusted and/or he wanted to share. Taking a swig of water, he opted for neither. “I'm invoking the Fifth.”
“Why? Did you do it?”
“I just invoked the Fifth.”
I had to laugh, whether from a silly conversation or overwhelming fatigue was hard to say. “Fine. But he's dead, right?”
“That he is, hon.”
“Do you know why? When? Who…?”
Root-beer-brown eyes bearing an Asian cast darted around the room like moths seeking light. “He was into gambling and fishy stuff, but it could be the simple fact he was a royal pain in the ass that got him killed. He could have rubbed someone in a majorly wrong way.”