"What a revolting person. I'm glad Martha bit him, but she should be tested for the plague and every other infectious disease."
Me too since I doubted Elliott's fidelity.
Liam turned off the lights, and we walked hand in hand to the bakery. More lights on, and Liam went to work gathering his ingredients. I made coffee and waited for my brain to form a coherent thought.
"Would you mind plugging in my laptop? I'd like you to take notes while we comb through Phillip's tidbits last night. Also, be ready to check the internet for any information we need," Liam said as he tied an apron around his waist.
Total work mode at four in the morning? What time was it in DC? Wait, I didn't want to know.
"Sure," I said as I set the laptop on the opposite counter.
Liam spoke in rapid fire regarding the facts, impressions, and opinions about our boy Phillip's input. He had noticed the smallest details. For example, Phillip sported a scar above his right eyebrow. Liam thought it was the result of a switchblade. Or he had cut himself shaving with a fireplace poker. I must admit, I tried to avoid Phillip's beady, little eyes and pockmarked face.
Liam formed the dough and filled the trays as he spoke. I hurried to keep pace with typing and emptying the scones to the cooling racks. The time flew as the hotel workers came in and took the baskets. Around nine, Ellen arrived and plucked a scone.
"Liam, were you involved in a fracas last night at The Lava Pot?" Ellen asked as she chewed.
"No," he said as he didn't look up.
"You lie just like your father—stare at your shoes and answer in a one-syllable word."
"You asked me one question, and the answer to such a false accusation is no. Better?" Liam asked as he set the timer.
She waved him off and zeroed in on me. I'd confess to anything to block her attention.
"Simone, dear, did Liam meet with a scruffy man last night and beat him to the ground?" she asked like an inquisitive reporter.
"No." Liam didn't hit Phillip.
Whew, the truth was easier than I thought.
"Did you enjoy a Lava Flow Cocktail? Casey's an artist with rum," she said as she examined her manicure.
"No, maybe next time."
Oops. I just admitted we were at The Lava Pot the night before. I closed the laptop and proceeded to fill another basket with very hot scones. I dropped two on the floor and blew on my fingers. My biscuits were out of cooling rotation, and my brain's cylinders faltered.
"So was the man who joined you at The Lava Pot a private investigator in search of Martha Lawler?" Ellen asked as she leaned over to pick up the scones.
"He didn't tell us his profession," I said as I covered my mouth with my hand.
"Simone, do the words weak link mean anything to you?" Liam asked as he tossed a pan in the sink.
Yeah, Ellen knew to poke me until I cracked.
"Do you think his employer will look like the PI on the television show?" Ellen asked with a broad smile.
"Tom Selleck?" I asked back.
"No, not the tall, hairy one. The man who played the character named Higgins. All proper etiquette and then had to admit his father had pollinated half the continent. He was a dreamboat," Ellen said with a sigh.
I checked the internet to be sure I had the right actor in mind. He was kind of cute in an oh-so-English way.
"The guy said his boss was a big bald guy with a Southern accent," Liam said as he floured the table.
"That's half the island," Ellen said.
"We know," Liam muttered as he pulled another tray from the oven.
I surfed around the internet for any information about Martha. A short video clip showed George Lawler, her father, railing against the dreaded MAB. Martha was slouched off to the side, bored and scanning the crowd. She was probably looking for the nearest exit or ledge to jump off.
Had Martha witnessed Elliott's death? How could that be possible? Had she called for help? If she cared about him, why not tell the police everything she knew? Elliott had made his new choice of soulmate, and she'd let him down. I may be a coward, but I would have gone down fighting for my man. George droned on, and I folded my arms. The same speech Deborah had given six months ago. These two needed new material.
"Find anything?" Liam asked as he stood behind me.
"No. George delivered the standard line for Deborah's cause."
Liam leaned in and studied the screen.
"Simone, did you ever notice that George Lawler is a bald, overweight guy with a Southern accent?" Liam asked.
I grabbed both sides of the computer monitor and stared at the screen.
"Of course! George hired Phillip to follow Martha. Which means Deborah was waiting at the Aloha Lagoon Resort to take delivery of her, and that explains why Deborah was at the police station so fast. Those two have Martha wired for all outside activity. She must wear a collar or something."
"I doubt this is the first time Martha has made a run for it. George or Deborah may have bounty hunters on call to drag her back from an actual life," Liam said.
"Phillip's the crud on the bottom of the barrel but cheap. I smell Deborah's interference. She employs a firm just to dig up innuendos about opponents. Politics is a cage match to her."
"Success?" Ellen asked as she set down her scone.
"George Lawler, Martha's big daddy, fits the description given by Phillip, the scruffy man," Liam said as he leaned over and replayed George's speech.
"What if George had Elliott killed?" I asked.
"He doesn't strike me as a man who would soil his hands, but he may have hired Phillip to do more than he admitted," Liam said as he picked up his phone. "I think Detective Ray should have a few words with Phillip about his whereabouts on the night in question."
Martha was either back at school in Boston or hiding on Mars, but she would have her phone. I had a wicked idea. I should dismiss it because it was illegal and cruel, but I was feeling accusatory.
"Martha knows what happened and is probably confused and scared. Don't you think she'd like to talk to her dad?" I asked.
Ellen smiled and clasped her hands together. I liked having a partner in crime.
"I have a burner cell phone we can use, and email me that video of George. Do you have Martha's number?" Ellen asked as she read my evil mind. "Garrett does a breathtaking Confederate general. He was in a stage adaptation about the Civil War. His Robert E. Lee was spot-on."
She hustled outside, and we heard her on the phone.
"How old is she that she knows what Lee's voice sounded like?" I asked Liam.
"I don't want to know. Elliott's phone should have Martha's number," he said as he pulled it out of his back pocket. "I learned my lesson and never leave home without it."
"Good idea."
"Why does Gran have a burner cell phone? Has she been leaving illicit phone messages or receiving them? I shouldn't leave her alone," Liam said as he rubbed the back of his neck.
"Maybe she picks up extra cash as a sex phone operator."
Hawaii was expensive, so it may be true. I shouldn't scoff since I didn't have any job prospects in my future.
"I understand why my father always has a migraine after talking to Gran. She fancies herself to be a damsel in distress and swoops down on her prey," Liam said as he filled another tray.
"If she could swing a Southern accent, Ellen would make an excellent Scarlett O'Hara. She's a bit kick-ass with a well-timed swoon here and there. She's a worthy role model for all ages," I said as I set out a batch on the cooling trays.
"You catch on quick."
"I got a gold star in spelling in second grade. It was a progressive school," I said with my full brag on.
"You'll have to sit through a round of GCSEs, England's brutal mid-level tests, to prove yourself," he said as he wiped his hands on a towel.
"Those sound like they hurt."
"I'm available for private tutoring. My rates are competitive, fair, and I only take on the brightest student."
We heard Ellen giggle and sign off with a suggestion of a deep tissue massage later.
"Your grandmother is a woman of many talents. Isn't she a Sherlock Holmes groupie too?" I asked as I set up another basket.
"She belongs to many fan clubs. Please never mention Woodstock or Jack the Ripper in a sentence," he said as he folded his arms.
Death, crime, nudity, and abundant sex kept Ellen warm in her senior years. I wanted to be Ellen Bentley when I grew up, but I had to get past this week first.
Ellen skipped in with her cheeks a bit flushed.
"Garrett will do it, for a nominal fee, and needs an hour to prepare. I'll get my Dictaphone to record the call, and then we have to get busy with his script. Simone, are there any endearments George uses for Martha?" she asked, excited as a child riding a sugar rush.
"I've never spent personal time with either one of them. I went on one team building excursion with Deborah and the rest of her staff. It was at a workout facility. People were lifting weights, and when it was my turn, I couldn't lift the dumbbell," I said, hating to admit my weakling status.
"How much weight was on it?" Liam asked.
"Forty pounds. Deborah stepped up and lifted it with one hand to the cheers of the crowd. I was never asked to participate again."
"Be happy you're done with her, love. She assembled her staff to show off. Bad form and bad taste," Ellen said as she patted my shoulder.
"You couldn't lift forty pounds?" Liam asked with a bit too much astonishment.
"No. I made the mistake of telling my mother. She bought me hand weights for my birthday. I use them as door stops."
Liam frowned as he felt my upper arm. I batted him away as he laughed.
"Now, one hundred dollars should suffice for Garrett," Ellen said.
"Why do we have to pay him? Couldn't this be a favor or kind gesture?" Liam asked.
"Darling, this is his profession. If it got around he worked for free, his street cred would be ruined," Ellen said as she bustled about the shop.
Liam and I mouthed street cred to each other.
"Is Garrett a rapper in his spare time?" I asked.
"He has to be ready for any role offered," she said as she held a pen and notepad. "Now, let's set the stage. Martha's upset about Elliott, confused and angry about being stalked by Phillip, and needs to vent. Enter George, stage right, and go."
"One complaint Deborah has about George is that he never remembers to charge his phone. So calling from a random number works for us," I said.
"Wonderful. Be sure to explain that when the police ask for all the details," Liam said as he started to clean up.
"I need to be able to concentrate. You two be at my house by noon," Ellen said as she hustled out.
"If I had one-tenth of her energy…" I said.
"You'd be able to lift forty pounds above your head and spin it in the air," he said as the timer went off.
Why did I share that story?
I enjoyed Ellen's antics because I didn't have to live with them. The hotel workers showed up for the last batch of scones. Liam closed up and, with a heavy sigh, trudged over to Ellen's house. I tried to hide my enthusiasm, but I was a lousy actress.
CHAPTER SIX
Liam and I hammered out a few lines of casual conversation for our faux George Armstrong Lawler. Garrett arrived wearing a burgundy velvet smoking jacket, a black-and-burgundy ascot tucked into a white collared shirt, black tuxedo pants, and a wide-brimmed, gray fedora. He looked smashing. He read over the script, redlined it, and turned it face down on the table.
"I have a daughter and know how to converse with a woman nursing a broken heart," he said with a sneer directed at Liam.
Liam stared at the floor—the universal sign of a guilty conscience.
Liam and Angie sitting in a tree d-i-s-c-u-s-s-i-n-g British naval victories with their hands visible and frozen at the ten o’clock and two o’clock positions.
Liam had dallied with my attorney, and it had ended badly. Who was I to judge or blame? Whatever happened was before my time, and I would deduct it from her bill, especially if I was found guilty.
"George travels frequently, so being on a speakerphone is normal. He tends to call after he's arrived at a hotel. I overheard one conversation he had with Deborah as he unpacked his luggage. He must have described every suit as he hung it up, awaiting her approval," I said, adding a mood to our drama.
"Fun couple," Ellen said as she checked her makeup in the mirror.
It felt as if we were on stage with opening night jitters or waiting for the police to burst through the door. Either way, a drip of sweat made its way down my spine.
"They do wield real power in Washington," I said with a weak smile.
They could crush us like ants.
"Sorry state of affairs for us all. Now, it's one in the afternoon here, making it seven o'clock in the evening in Boston," Garrett said as he mopped his brow.
He did some facial exercises and cleared his throat several times. Ellen splashed a few fingers of amber liquid into a glass and handed it to him. He paused, inhaled, and chugged it down. He closed his eyes, recited a few risqué tongue twisters, and then quieted. Ellen grabbed my hand, and I felt as though we were at a séance where Garrett was about to summon some spirits. His eyes flicked open, and he motioned toward the phone.
"Dial," he said in a flawless Southern drawl.
I picked up the burner with shaky hands. Liam squeezed my shoulders, calming me as I punched in the numbers. I set it on the dining room table and counted the rings.
Would Martha let it go to voicemail or take a chance and answer an anonymous number?
Five bells tolled, and then they abruptly stopped.
"Hello," a tentative young woman said.
"Sweetheart, it's Daddy," Garrett said in a cooing voice.
"Daddy," Martha said as she began to cry.
"I'm so sorry about everything. What can I do?"
"It's been an awful nightmare. Elliott died, and Deborah yelled at his fiancée. I didn't know he had one. He was so nice to me, and it was all a lie," Martha said through tears and hiccups. "Deborah made me go to the police station, and she accused Elliott of terrible things. I know we need her money, but she's heartless. She followed me to Kauai and demanded I go back to school. I think she bribed my house mom for information or dug through my trash. I'm in Boston, and I haven't eaten or slept, and I want to go home."
Deborah was wealthy? Her biography had stressed a working-class family background and putting herself through college. She always cried poor and mooched money off of her donors. I also thought Deborah had a bug planted on Martha, but I was a suspicious type. She did keep close tabs on people—probably me included.
"Of course. I'll make the arrangements myself. Sweetheart, I know you and Deborah have issues. I'm sorry for not being a better father," Garret said in a honeyed voice full of regret.
"It's not you—it's her. I promise to try harder to please her."
"Bless you, darling. Your mother would be so proud of you. Now what's this business about Elliott?"
"Daddy, it was an accident. Elliott came back to the room after security questioned him. I didn't want to talk to him and left. He followed me down to the path and cut me off by the pool. I ran away when he tried to grab my arm. He tripped over a chair leg, must have hit his head on the concrete, and landed in the water."
The sobbing was gut-wrenching. I couldn't help but join in. Liam enveloped me in his arms and slowly rocked me back and forth. If Elliott's death was an accident, how had he gotten to the beach? What excuse had Martha given Deborah, or was Deborah orchestrating the cover up to keep Martha's name out of the press?
"I know you did everything you could to help him. Jumping in and trying to lift a body out of the water is nearly impossible alone. Don't blame yourself, child."
> Garrett played his part with true sympathy. I wondered how much practice he had dealing with Angie's heartbreaks. Or was it pure acting skill?
"Daddy, you know I haven't gone near the water since Timmy…"
A long pause. We all shared a jig-is-up moment and waited for Martha.
"Who the hell is this?" she asked in a wrathful voice.
Martha studied at the school of Congresswoman A. Deborah Niven. Don't get mad, get even.
Garrett hit the phone's off button and killed the connection. Ellen clicked off the Dictaphone, and we stared at it. Was it evidence of something? It didn't answer how Elliott had gotten to the sea from the bottom of the pool.
"Who the hell is Timmy?" Garrett asked.
I sat back down at Liam's laptop and pulled up George Lawler. It took a few tries, but his late wife's obituary listed her as the loving mother of Martha and her late son, Timothy George Lawler.
"My guess is Timmy drowned as a child. I hope Martha didn't witness that tragedy too," I said.
"Or caused it. Death is tailing little Martha. Her brother, her mom, and her boyfriend. And if I were George, I'd watch my back. Will she call George or Deborah first to report us?" Liam asked.
"For advice, George. For blood, Deborah," I said with a shudder.
"Even money is on the Congresswoman, the queen on this chess board," Liam said as he scratched his head.
"Isn't she supposed to protect the king?" I asked.
"Not if Martha, his bloody female knight, offed her boyfriend. Now, concerning my remuneration," Garrett said as he stood.
I hunched my shoulders and tried to make myself invisible. Money and I had parted company under dire circumstances. I heard Liam exhale and shove his hand in his pocket. He peeled off some bills and handed them to Garrett. Ellen escorted him to the door where he bowed, kissed her hand, and left.
"Seriously? I paid him, but he does the ultimate cliché move, and she'll be all aflutter," Liam said and then mumbled a few expletives under his breath as he headed to the kitchen and grabbed his car keys.
Deadly Bubbles in the Wine (Aloha Lagoon Mysteries Book 4) Page 9