Coco's Nuts

by Tyler Colins

  Rey nodded somberly.

  “The Ebster had nothing but good in his heart and soul. He didn't deserve to die like that,” Jem murmured.

  “He was supposed to keep Buddy's gun in his garage, but he took it with him – or someone did – because it ended up in Picolo's bodyguard's place,” I told him.

  Jem appeared perturbed. “Maybe Eb's caller told him to bring it, and then stole it.”

  “How would the caller have known he had it?” Rey asked, puzzled.

  “Maybe Buddy was followed,” I suggested.

  “And watched? … Yeah, I can see that happening,” Rey murmured. “But wouldn't Eb have found it odd that someone told him to bring it to Oahu? And how would he have gotten it through security?”

  “Eb's scared to death of planes. He'd have taken the boat. As for bringing it along, maybe the person told him that Buddy asked for it,” Jem suggested. “Any idea who this person is?”

  “The same one who killed Picolo and Razor,” I murmured, staring across the cluttered yard.

  “But not Coco?” he asked, confused.

  I smiled darkly. “My P.I. gut tells me the murders are related, but committed by different sources.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  On an impulse, Rey had texted Gail on the drive back to Kahului Airport, requesting a check on the Stretta brothers. We were pretty sure Jem and Eb were on the up and up, but in the private eye business, you had better be positive.

  Linda, Bonzo and Button were lying on the couch, watching bad early morning reality television when we'd returned home after midnight. Before we could say “aloha”, a text advised that our ever-enthusiastic police pal had the requested information.

  The Strettas had been on their own since Hutch was seventeen, when their parents were killed while driving along the rugged eastern coastline to Hana. His story was similar to Kent's in that he'd given up school and gotten a job to keep the family together. Eb had been seven and Jem only four. It was hard to imagine a seventeen-year-old working construction while rearing siblings; you had to feel for the brothers' pain and hardship.

  Due to bad employment luck in his late twenties, Hutch had taken to burglary and, consequently, spent time in prison twice (he'd not learned the first time that crime didn't pay, so a second stretch had ensured that he did).

  Jem had also had a run-in with the law. At eighteen, he was rebellious and quick-tempered, and hanging with guys of a similar ilk. Setting fire to three cop cars to protest what they'd believed was an unfair arrest of a local activist had resulted in a short stint behind bars; that had cooled that temper fairly fast.

  Hutch's love of drink eventually got him killed, not through liver damage, but by that freak accident with an amok Thanksgiving Day turkey. Jem stayed on the straight and narrow, became a Big Brother, and contributed regularly to children and animal charities. There truly was something to be said about the adage “never judge a book by its cover”.

  As for the Ebster, he'd never done time. There was no indication that he'd been into anything underhanded or had hung around with the wrong crowd. Unlike the rest of us tardy/procrastinating folks, he had filed income tax reports weeks early, attended church regularly, and coached Little League baseball; next summer would have marked his fifteenth year.

  “Run-ins with the law aside, the younger Strettas are, were, as American – and as sweet – as apple pie.” Rey offered a breezy smile. “Gee-whiz.”

  Linda chuckled and, placing Bonzo on the floor, got up to stretch. Dressed in flannel PJs with a teddy-bear theme, her nose was strawberry-red, and a cold sore was forming at the base of her mouth; she was prime poster material for cold meds.

  “What the hell happened to you since this afternoon?” Rey demanded.

  “I got a cold.”

  “Obviously.”

  “It kept coming on as the day progressthed – like a frigging tidal wave.” She snuffled. “I musth of caught it from the lady in the line-up at Long's last night – she hacked up a storm and sneezed in my face twice.”

  “Poor you,” I said with a sympathetic smile.

  “Whath's neth on the agenda, ladies?”

  “Besides me moving into Jilly's condo for a couple of days – I so don't want to catch what you've got – nothing,” Rey said merrily. “I'm gonna grab my gear. Bonzo'll come with.”

  “There's nothing wrong with me thath sleep and Advil won't cure,” her best friend shouted, then sneezed, sounding strangely (and sadly) like a grunting wildebeest.

  I jumped back instinctively, but if there were germs to be had, it was too late. I sighed and summoned Button.

  “Thorry,” she mumbled, wiping a sleeve across her lower face.

  “You're a vision of loveliness, my dear,” I stated.

  “Don'th I know it,” she winked. “Now, whath are we doing tomorrow?”

  “You, Lindy-Loo, are staying home and getting healthy. My cousin and I will develop a plan downstairs.”

  “We're sthuck, aren't we?”

  “Like the gears of an old un-tuned car,” I acknowledged.

  * * *

  At one a.m. Rey and I were seated in the lanai, drinking mint teas. A multitude of facts had been collected – kudos to us – but of what value they were remained to be seen.

  “This is discouraging.” Rey hooked a leg over the armchair armrest. “When we were working the Howell case, there were suspicions to follow up on. Right now, there's squat.”

  “We still need to check out Annia's illness after the fundraiser. Contacting Ald is a must. Linda hasn't lucked in with those people Beune provided numbers for, so we should try them again.”

  Rey sighed loudly with frustration.

  “We need to see everything from a fresh perspective – through someone else's eyes.” I rubbed my face. Sleep wasn't far off. “Someone who has years of experience, someone like Petey May. What's say we fly to Big Island for an afternoon visit, and bring along pizza and beer?”

  “Make sure it's heavy on the bacon for our meat-loving private eye and his geriatric, toothless pooch,” she grinned and then yawned. “This girl's done. Nighty-night.”

  * * *

  With my cell phone in hand and hers glued to an ear, Rey and I convened in the lanai at eleven a.m. She'd tried Beune's contacts while I'd tried Ald at the office and on his cell. No luck. But gauging by the glee wallpapered on my cousin's pretty face, she'd had some success.

  “Harriet S. Noote was right behind Buddy that night at J&B. She remembers this distinctly because Buddy was so 'blessedly beautiful', she couldn't not watch her.” She slipped the phone into the breast pocket of her plaid boy shirt and hoisted Bonzo from the sofa. “As she was waiting for her favorite cab driver to arrive, she watched Buddy walk Picolo to the laneway and return no more than one minute later.”

  “Buddy couldn't have done all that damage in one minute,” I said, pleased.

  “Ald may beg to differ,” she warned flatly.

  I sat on the edge of an armchair. “What about the Rois?”

  “Mildred Roi – a nice woman into art and theater who loves to gab – and I are having coffee next week. It seems they saw the same thing – that Buddy was gone for a minute at the most.” Rey grinned and stepped up close. “Even better than better?”

  I grinned in return. “What?”

  “Mildred checked with Mefflen, their driver. Thanks to heavy traffic, he had to pull past the laneway super slowly, just as Buddy and Picolo entered. Then he had to stop for a couple of cats scampering past. As he was keeping a worried eye on them – he's a huge cat lover – he saw Buddy peck Picolo on the cheek and return to the restaurant. She left him standing alive!”

  We high-fived each other.

  “Let's tell Ald.”

  “He's not around – I went into voicemail both times I tried,” I told her. “Let him wait another day or two.”

  “In terms of Coco, that's fine, but what about Buddy?”

  “She's okay for the moment,” I replied.


  “Should we follow up on Annia and her illness the night of the event while we're on a roll?”

  “While you're on one,” I smiled and shook my head. “I'm inclined to believe she really was ill, but never say never, right? Kent was the one who found out about the maid. Why don't we have him check further? We'll focus on the other players.”

  “Like who?”

  “Like those we're going to discuss on the flight to Big Island. Petey's expecting us at three.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “Just like old times, huh?” Petey May joked with a toothy smile. His voice sounded as if it had enjoyed a three-pack-a-day habit for decades. Neither handsome nor ugly, the fifty-plus-year-old had a kiwi-oval face that possessed mad-artist mien.

  Seated at a rectangular table in his 1940s plantation house, we were about to chow down on a second round of pizza. Barney Fife, Petey's deaf dog, was perched on a specially-constructed chair, still working on his first. A cross between Irish Setter and English Springer Spaniel, the good-spirited pooch's long face and ears were white with age.

  “We couldn't have solved the Gruesome Twosome case without you,” Rey praised.

  “Gruesome Twosome?” Laughter reminiscent of a cat choking on a hairball resounded.

  “Technically, Reynalda, it was a threesome if you consider Mr. Gruesome.”

  “Mr. Gruesome?” Petey looked flabbergasted.

  “He was a cohort of Howell's who'd seriously missed out in the looks department,” I explained.

  “We can always rename it,” she said merrily, popping a fat mushroom into her mouth.

  Petey crossed beefy arms and looked from Rey to me. “I take it you're looking for help again?”

  “Can't our visit be entirely social?” I grinned.

  “It can, but it's not.” Thick fingers wriggled in a tell-me-all gesture.

  “You're good,” Rey cooed.

  “So are you. Now, stop with the flattery and spit it out.” Although the tone was brusque, pâté-brown eyes sparkled with cheer.

  “It's a bit of a long story.” Rey launched into details about the Picolo case and its peculiar cast of characters.

  He shook his head and smiled dryly. “In the last two decades, I've had maybe five murders cross my P.I. path. You've been in the business less than six months and you've had double that. What can I do to help keep the body count down and bring the killer to justice?”

  On the drive to Petey's, Rey and I had decided that having Kent followed would prove worth the fee. His undisclosed relationship with Coco had us more than curious. “Dig into someone's past while tailing him.” I provided particulars.

  “When do I start?” he asked.

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Anything else?”

  “We could use your ex to assist with something unrelated,” I said. “Anything, even addresses, would help.”

  “You want Stella to use her government contacts,” he clarified dryly. “What's up?”

  Rey leaned forward and looked him straight in the eyes. “Potential traitorship.”

  * * *

  “Lindy-Loo looks and sounds like hell,” Rey announced upon returning to my condo with fresh clothes. “And she's meaner than an ornery polecat. Do not go up there.”

  I laughed and motioned the living room, where two tumblers of icy-cold soda awaited.

  Drake announced a call on Rey's cell phone as Ol' Blue Eyes crooned I had one on mine. We exchanged amused glances.

  My nephew Quincy extended a hearty greeting.

  “Howzit?” I asked, stunned. “Isn't it the middle of the morning there?”

  “Yeah, but I wanted to call you when no one was around.” And off he ran – his cute little mouth, that is. In the course of three minutes, I heard about a new best friend named Reade, his latest creative endeavors and cooking adventures, and that Grandmom had told him they might visit Oahu for the holidays.

  “I'd love to have you,” I assured him, imaging all the things we could do.

  “Really?” he asked excitedly.

  “Of course!”

  “You won't tell Grandmom I told you – I just couldn't keep it a secret.”

  “Don't worry. Mum's the word,” I joked.

  “You're looking like you sucked back a triple-chocolate brownie. You okay?” my cousin asked when she walked in a minute later.

  “Quincy called to say hi.”

  “Awww, that's sweet,” she smiled and then smirked. “Colt thought we could do a sunset sail on one of those touristy catamarans, like the three of us did when we first arrived.”

  “They're fun. When?”

  “Wednesday. …What do you suppose he's up to?”

  “Dating a pretty woman,” I smiled.

  “You and I both know that's not the case.”

  “He's interested in something.”

  “And it's not me.” She grabbed a soda. “What's he want?”

  “Could he be interested in our case?”

  “The guy works drug detail, so what can he hope to learn? And considering his years of experience – and our lack thereof – he'd have to realize he'd learn better on his own.” She sipped thoughtfully. “Do you think he's a traitor, like that T suggested?”

  “Yes.” I leaned back and scanned the ceiling as I considered options. “It's tempting to check out Colt's condo, but it's likely just a front for his undercover life, so whatever we find will be related to his drug-dealing life and not this 'traitorous' one.”

  “If your ex-boyfriend has a house and family, Colt probably does, too.” Rey's grass-green eyes gleamed like polished marbles. “We need to find the house, and whatever else that might come with it.”

  “Petey's ex supplied Cash's family address. If one exists for Colt, maybe she'll luck in and find it.”

  “We should chance the condo anyway. If Linda's feeling better Wednesday, you two find a way into the condo while I'm with Colt.”

  “Do you think we can persuade Gail to help 'find a way'?” My smile bordered on the cynical.

  “As Annia Picolo-Adverterre might say: bet on it.”

  * * *

  At ten Tuesday morning, Rey and I waltzed into Lilo's Luscious Lix, the agreed-to rendezvous location suggested [strangely enough] by Ald when we'd connected earlier.

  “Hot enough for you?” I asked lightly as we slipped into a corner booth he'd commandeered. No trade winds for the second day in a row made for pretty muggy weather (trades, the most common winds over Hawaiian waters, accounted for 70% of all winds, but when they ceased to blow, be prepared). Rey and I had opted for floral sundresses and sandals, with sweaters tucked in bags for places that overcompensated with the A/C.

  “Like Death Valley at the height of summer,” he replied with an indifferent smile, acknowledging Rey with a wave. His light attire consisted of a white Lacoste polo shirt and khakis.

  “You're looking smart,” I said with an amiable smile.

  He ignored the compliment. “They make great lattes. I ordered three to be served with croissants when you arrived.”

  “Aren't you the thoughtful one,” Rey purred.

  “Thoughtfulness before flakiness,” he purred in return.

  “Funny boy – not.”

  I swallowed a chuckle. For some unknown reason, the two frequently rubbed each other the wrong way, but their [mocking] exchanges did entertain.

  A gangly counterperson strolled over, tray in hand. “You're in luck. The croissants – the best on Oahu – just came out of the oven.” He placed three plates before us. “Back in a shake with the lattes.”

  “These are the size of footballs!” Rey all but goggled at the fragrant flaky pastries. “Chocolate! Nummy!” She dove in like an exuberant contestant at a pie-eating contest.

  “Why'd you choose this place?” I asked.

  “Like the kid said, they make the best croissants on Oahu.”

  “Bar none,” Rey agreed with a full mouth.

  I nodded to the “the kid” when he returned
with the lattes. “Is Lilo around?”

  “He's gone to the North Shore on biz.” With a gummy smile, he returned to the counter.

  “How'd your date go last night?” I asked casually.

  Ald's response was a blithe smile over the rim of a goldfish-bowl-sized cup.

  “She doesn't seem your type,” Rey remarked casually.

  “What's my type, Ms. Fonne-Werde?”

  “Not Annia Picolo-Adverterre,” she replied airily and returned to the croissant.

  Mayan-blue eyes scanned my face. “Why did you want to meet?”

  “Firstly, we have witnesses who can confirm Buddy didn't kill Picolo. They saw the two leave the restaurant and walk to the laneway, where she left him alive.”

  His response was a slack shrug.

  “Hey, we have people who will vouch for our client's innocence,” I bristled.

  Ald's smile and expression bordered on the indulgent.

  Frustration washed over me like a seismic wave. “We know she's innocent.”

  Another indulgent smile. “Is there anything you two don't know?”

  “Who killed Picolo and the others,” Rey snapped. “But we will. Guaranteed.”

  Sighing, he leaned back and started drumming fingers on the table. “Secondly?”

  “We may have a murder to report.”

  He took a sip and gazed from me to Rey. “Anyone I know?”

  “Probably not,” she replied, “but he was an employee of Picolo's.”

  “You said 'may'.”

  “There's no complete body,” I responded flatly.

  “But we have a piece of him,” Rey advised blandly.

  “A … piece?”

  “You hard of hearing?”

  Ald glared at her and sighed. “Tell me what you've got, ladies.”

  I pulled a small cooler bag from a Calvin Klein satchel. “Meet what's left of Coco Peterson.”

  * * *

  “That went reasonably well,” Rey said cheerily as we strolled back to the Nissan. “He didn't get too upset with us not having told him sooner.”

  “He was too much in shock,” I said wryly, fishing car keys from the bag. “I have a feeling we'll be talking again today.”