"It could be lingerie," I said as a joke.
"I hope it is and that you'll favor me with a fashion show," he said after he kissed my shoulder.
"Do you think Elliott was hedging his bets by shipping this box here?" I asked. "I'm pretending he planned to marry me and got cold feet or something beyond his control prevented him."
"We'll never know for sure, but you would have had Silas for company. My guess is Elliott traveled with a woman to blend in better. Hawaii isn't known as a travel destination for single men," he said as he opened a drawer and pulled out a box cutter and a pair of latex gloves. "This package never touched his hands. It was addressed to you. He planned to take it to the drop spot for Silas and carry on with you or Martha. Neither of you would have been the wiser."
"Do you stock boxes of gloves around the house, and are you concerned people may think you're a serial killer?"
"Yes, to the first, and no one has found me out yet, to the second. I keep a box in my car and place of business. Fingerprints are of the utmost importance in all matters," he said as he studied the package.
"So I was part of his cover. He was a newlywed on his honeymoon, not here to pick up drugs or money," I said as I sat before I dropped from exhaustion.
"Yes, I believe so," he said as he smoothly ran the blade through the packing tape.
"If I said no, would Elliott have married Martha?"
"I doubt George approved of Elliott as son-in-law material. Martha would have been forced to pick between her allowance and life with a possible blackmailer with no more sources of income," he said as the flaps opened.
He pulled them back. I stood, and we peered inside. Liam removed the packing material, carefully stacking it on the table. A small briefcase sat alone in the box.
"Should we call the police?" I asked, pretending not to wring my hands.
"In time," he said as he grasped the handle and lifted the case. "It's heavy and packed solid."
"What if it's a trap like the blue dye bombs used for bank robbers?" I asked as I took a step back.
"Darling, we're not dealing with amateurs. No one would have taken the risk of mailing a practical joke here. This is business," he said as he set the box on the floor and slid the case onto the table.
"It could be shredded newspapers like a fake ransom or counterfeit money or a religious artifact that will make our faces melt if we look at it."
Or I had reached full freak-out mode. I'd be charged with murder for hire or murder and robbery or murder and not returning the box to the sender, marked addressee dumped by addressor. Legally, I wasn't Mrs. Anybody.
"Simone, please relax. I'll take full responsibility for opening the box and case," Liam said as he took my hand.
"It's the small crimes that trip up the big criminals. Remember, the Feds got Capone on tax evasion."
"You're not in any trouble. No one is going to arrest you. You're an innocent person used by the bad guys. The law loves you."
My sweaty palm slid out of his plastic-wrapped grip. He led me to a chair and got me a glass of water. I sipped slowly and rehearsed my speech to my mother in my head. She was my idol who had come to America as a child, helped support her family, and volunteered in the community. I'd apologize for embarrassing her and not being a better person. Liam picked up his phone and spoke to someone. My mom would wail and question why such a disappointment had sprung from her loins. My name would be engraved in the failures' hall of fame.
"Detective Ray will be here soon, and he'll open the case. Feel better?"
I nodded. The mystery box made Silas's confession real. Elliott was the late Dominick Carroll. I had fallen in love with a liar and a thief. A few minutes later there was a knock on the door, and Detective Ray stepped in.
"I hear Simone got a belated wedding gift," Detective Ray said.
"Why am I being dragged into this mess? I didn't do anything. Is this another Elliott land mine or a Silas stick of dynamite?" I asked.
"Simone, you're the receiver, not the instigator. From my investigation, everyone but you was at the pool and saw Mr. Smythe-Wilkes. You're the only one willing to answer questions. Miss Lawler has lawyered up and is accusing the police of trying to frame her with a bogus phone call," Detective Ray said.
I studied my shoes as Liam suggested that Silas had probably contacted her after he took her picture in search of money.
"Remember, by his own admission, he's a blackmailer and may have known George from the old days at SIGER," Liam said.
"We're checking that angle out too. What hasn't Silas done? The list of his charges goes back thirty years," Detective Ray said as he opened the door for a team of policemen. "The briefcase is on the table."
Some of the officers staged an area to transport the briefcase. Two other men circled the case in a choreographed dance. Each angle was analyzed, and then one touched the lock.
"No extra security added," he said.
He unrolled a cloth filled with metal implements. The other selected a thin pick and tried to pop the latch. Four pulls and then it clicked open.
Stacks of bundled money smiled back at us.
"Three million, give or take, would be my guess," Liam said to Detective Ray.
Elliott, what did you do for a living?
"Who's Nicole Caro, and why did she mail the money from Cincinnati?" Detective Ray asked as he examined the box.
"What's the name?" I asked, pretending not to be too interested, but screaming inside.
Why hadn't I checked the return address on the box earlier? Nikki Caro was on the donor's list. Silas had hidden his contribution to Deborah's campaign behind a female name. I could think like a criminal mind and wondered if I should add that skill to my résumé.
The police secured the case and all its wrappings. Everyone packed up their gear and left. Detective Ray lingered and stared at me.
"Simone, any detail, big or little, is significant. Please analyze every bit of conversation you had with Elliott. Anyone he introduced you to or spoke about could be critical," Ray said as he took my hand.
"One thing these last few days have shown me is that I didn't know Elliott at all. I never met his friends or associates. Our life together was a clandestine whirlwind, and now I understand why. He was a drug dealer or money launderer most of his life. I'm sad, angry, and embarrassed by my blindness to the truth. Please excuse me," I said as I hurried down the hall to Liam's guest room.
I hated to cry in front of an audience. Plus, I needed privacy to check the lists again. I hoped Liam would take the hint and leave with Detective Ray. Self-pity overwhelmed me, and I did the full-on ugly cry again. Elliott wasn't worth this level of mourning. I wanted to yell and curse at him for the lies and deceit then start again on myself for believing and never questioning. I had forgotten to close the door, and Liam appeared in the doorway.
"You look very inviting sobbing on my daybed," he said.
"I'm sorry," I said as I stood. "I'll go inflict myself on Ellen."
Her Sherlock skills would be on high alert. How was the Wi-Fi connection on the beach?
"Please stay," he said as he caressed my cheek.
Since he asked so nicely, I responded by slipping my arm around his neck. He effortlessly picked me up, carried me down the hall, and kicked his bedroom door shut. I forgot about my problems and my place of origin as Liam lavished all his gloriousness on me.
Aloha to serenity, and I fell asleep happy.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I rolled over and found myself alone in bed. Good thing because my breath smelled like rotten eggs sprinkled with sour milk and tasted worse. I grabbed my clothes and hiked out to the bathroom. A stringent teeth scrubbing, four mouthwash gargles, and then I hopped into the tub for a quick shower.
Rejuvenated, I set out in search of clues to Elliott's killer. I strolled out into the quiet living room to grab my laptop. I reached under the table and grabbed thin air. I got down on my hands and knees to check the floor, even under the couch.
The laptop was gone. Robbed, framed, and stupid in paradise was how I'd remember my time in Kauai.
A soft ocean breeze blew through the kitchen window along with the sound of tapping on a keyboard. I ventured over to the open sliding door and stepped out onto the deck. I found my laptop attached to Liam's fingers.
"Did you download the entire hard drive for Silas or Detective Ray?" I asked with my fists curled on my hips.
"Neither," Liam said, folding down the screen. "This case is bigger than either of them."
"Who do you work for? Or are you a mercenary?" I asked, threatening myself with no dessert for life if I cried.
"I make scones for a living, draw on my vast trust funds when the want arises, and answer the call for Queen and country," he said as he set the laptop down.
"You're a spy?"
"I still have friends in convenient places."
"You're naval intelligence."
"Exactly. I gather intelligence and send it on. Hawaii is the ideal post because of the tourism, and it's the last stop before Asia from America. Silas has traveled through here before, but you tripped him up this time," he said as he stood.
"Flashing a little thigh goes a long way with some men."
"All men. Believe me," he said as he took a step toward me.
"Good to know I have a skill," I said, retreating back to the door.
"More than you realize."
"Do you think I'm mixed up in all this?" I asked the man who I had convinced myself was honest and true after he rifled through my computer files.
Liam Bentley, the man, the myth, the legend evaporated back into my cracked imagination. I could pick winners with my eyes open and shut.
"No, but I needed proof of your innocence. I'm closer to you than the case should allow," he said as he stood in front of me.
"Isn't sleeping with the enemy part of your job description?" I asked, sticking out my chin.
"No, our extracurricular activities have nothing to do with the investigation."
"Glad you gave yourself a bonus."
And then took the time to stomp on my dignity and self-esteem.
"Simone…"
He said my name the way it was meant to be pronounced, slow and sexy. It didn't fit me, but I appreciated the effort.
"I'd like my laptop back and a lift to the airport if it's not an inconvenience," I said with a bit of my tattered ego.
"You can't leave yet. We need the person who sent the money to come to Kauai."
"If you know who they are, why not arrest them now?"
"The money accumulated somewhere and found its way to you. News of Elliott's second demise has definitely registered with certain people. They know the money was sent, and he wasn't here to pick it up. The ultimate game of finders, keepers could be underway. The ones arriving here prove they know everything and are planning to shuttle across the Pacific. Silas may have mentioned your name to his associates. They also may think you have the money."
Now the bad guys were in hot pursuit of me or were already here waiting for the opportunity to stage my accidental drowning. When it rained, it drenched every sap caught holding an empty promise.
I deserved trays of hot buttered scones and more of Ellen's magic elixir tea.
What the hell? It wasn't like I had anything else to do. If I survived, maybe I'd meet Princess Kate, her adorable children, and her hot ginger brother-in-law. I refused to contemplate my demise. It would break my mother's heart, and she'd swear to avenge my death. To keep my mother out of prison, I promised myself that I'd take no chances and hurry home.
"If I'll be the bait for the big fish, I need somewhere else to stay," I said.
"You're the safest with me."
We proved that theory wrong already.
He retrieved my laptop and produced another one.
"Show me what you've found," he said as he pulled up another chair to the table.
"I think Nikki Caro, the money sender and Congresswoman Niven's campaign donor, is also Silas Morton," I said as I sat.
"Now we follow the trail of bread crumbs," he said as he began to type. "I'll send you the information I have and see what floats to the surface."
The police had tracked Silas from Miami to Houston to San Diego and then lost him. No stops recorded anywhere near Cincinnati. The money came from someone who knew about me and our hush-hush wedding.
Did Elliott have confidantes? Who had access to his calendar or mine?
I was a bit creeped out about being watched and tracked.
Nicholas Caro, aka Silas pick-a-last-name, and George Lawler had been in business together for years. SIGER Industrial flooded the globe with free drug samples and owned all the patents. When Silas and George wanted more, all legal and illegal orders filtered through SIGER. George had access to Silas's operatives all over the world. Was George in Kauai? His itinerary listed him in Miami. Elliott, aka Dominick, was the moneyman. Silas followed Elliott to Hawaii for the money swap, and then Silas would have boarded a plane to Indonesia.
Had George kept Silas hidden from the police all these years?
According to the police report, there was no blood in Elliott's room or on the stairs or the pool. It also noted that the Blue Island Motel cameras viewed the pool and captured his fall. Then the cameras had malfunctioned, and footage didn't resume until three hours later. A wheeled deck chair was missing after the camera blip. Who noticed the glitch and got them back online? Where was the chair?
I smelled bribery in here.
All security cameras had been checked at the Aloha Lagoon Resort too.
I had given a great show in the bar and helped plant the seed that I planned to harm Elliott. Thank you, Simone Ryan, for the stellar performance of a crazed jilted bride. If nominated, I'd skip the award ceremony.
Elliott's luggage had been examined and nothing found.
"What happens to Elliott's personal effects?" I asked.
"I believe the clothes will be given away," Liam said. "There's a pair of monogrammed cufflinks. If you want them, I could ask Detective Ray."
"No, thanks. I'm hoping all this will fade away," I said.
The most interesting and disturbing part of this information dump was the brief life of Dominick Carroll. Dominick had worked at a sorting center for a delivery company. He had noticed that a lot of packages from drug companies went to a retirement village. He decided to smash up a couple boxes and take them back to be re-taped. Fifteen years ago, the scanning and tracking of packages wasn't what it was today, so delaying the delivery and stealing the contents flourished. The rise in demand for mail order prescriptions helped Dominick build a drug trade. Xanax, Valium, Percocet, Demerol, hypodermic needles, and various amphetamines loaded up and all for the taking.
Ten pills here, twenty pills there, and he had built a street business. People complained to the post office, and the retirement village management decided to investigate. By then, Dominick had moved on to paying off driver friends to find out about houses where drug deliveries were made. Dominick would follow the truck, get a sign, and lift the package off the porch. It had worked very well until a private security camera caught him in the act. He was finally arrested, hence the fingerprints linking Dominick to Elliott. Dominick had kept a fake driver's license listing him as a juvenile. He'd gotten a slap on the wrist and had been set free.
Dominick had learned from the mistake and adapted. He'd hired kids to do the hauling and dealing, and he'd collected off the top. When he'd heard unsettling rumblings from the ranks, he'd turned in some of his lieutenants to the police. Some of the threats made about Dominick were linked to the mob. Dominick must have killed and set a poor soul on fire, making it look like Dominick himself had died. Then he'd taken the money and ran.
"Where's his mom?" I asked.
"We don't know if Elliott contacted his mother after she identified the body. Rhonda, aka Alexandra, sold her house and moved to Arizona to be close to her sister. Her criminal history shows that she
taught Elliott to lie at an early age. Her name and address changed frequently. She and her family moved stolen goods too. Elliott's grandmother settled in Costa Rica and ran a medical tourism firm. Come for the beautiful weather, stay for the facelift. She may have given him the information about medical devices, which he pedaled in Washington. She closed up shop a few months ago, and her whereabouts are unknown," Liam said.
"I didn't know he had any family. He told me he was an orphan."
"As Elliott, he is, but Dominick's family has vast illegal ties. It's a criminal dynasty. Silas is the most successful at alluding the police, but the rest live underground. Nothing sticks to them, and nothing's found on them. Crime is a science and an art form," Liam said as he typed.
"Imagine if they used their powers for good."
"Darling, every wealthy family in the history of the world started with a thief. My own ancestors killed for the right king and were rewarded with a made-up title and stolen land," Liam said as he made a notation on a pad of paper. "Dominick had a few identities, but as Elliott, he became a white-collar criminal. People pay for information and disinformation. He provided both."
"I always thought Elliott was smart and according to these bank statements, way wealthier," I said with a bit of a snarl.
It explained my engagement ring purchase. I still sounded whiny. What if I had known about Elliott's past? Would it have mattered? Would I have cast myself as the woman who showed him the error of his ways and set him on the road to redemption or keep the money quiet? I exhaled and continued to sort through a sordid past. I was thankful it wasn't my present or future.
Elliott's identity must have been hacked. His apartment had been ransacked the day he'd left for Kauai, before the cops had gone there looking for information about his death. Someone had tried to access the bank accounts listed, but the money had been triggered to fan out to other accounts as soon as possible, mostly offshore. The statements and folder with my prints had been left in plain sight.
The security camera showed that a bald overweight man had entered Elliott's building the day he left. It had to have been Silas. Had he been looking for the money or Elliott? Had he been going to warn him not to travel to Hawaii? Silas seemed genuinely sad about Elliott's death. If they had a working relationship, why would Silas kill him? I doubted he did, so back to who did. The police's theory about Dominick's death was that he'd muscled in on a competitor's territory. The police had picked up information that a hit was imminent on Dominick. When his body had been found, the police saw it as a retaliatory act and never dug deeper.
Deadly Bubbles in the Wine (Aloha Lagoon Mysteries Book 4) Page 14