Feeling a surge of panic rip through her, she made her way to the kitchen, where the window over the sink was unsealed and actually open a crack. She could see other farms in the distance. Much closer, on the property, she took note of one spot that stood out like a sore thumb in the field. It was a hill of dirt. Could someone be buried there?
Or had he been readying that spot to toss her corpse in after he killed her?
Her heart skipped a beat. Not bothering to search for clothing, which he rarely allowed her to wear, she feared that time was of the essence. She opened the window all the way. Since her body was slender—actually skinny ever since he abducted her and tightly controlled what she ate—she imagined she would have no trouble getting through the window.
She thought briefly about the trap the other woman had fallen into. It had happened at night and the victim had not been able to see what awaited her.
At this point, she didn't care, believing that anything would be better than this hellhole.
Still, she climbed up on the sink and stuck her head out the window. She looked down and saw what looked to be a bear trap waiting for someone to fall onto.
She figured she could jump out past it and hopefully not sprain an ankle or break a leg in the process.
Carefully climbing out the window, her pulse racing like crazy, she held onto the ledge. Please give me the strength to do this, she prayed.
Timing it as best she could, she thrust herself down and forward, missing the bear trap and landing on the grass. In the process, she did tweak an ankle. Ignoring the throbbing pain and the general aching she felt all over, she started hopping toward the dirt road.
For a moment, she wasn't sure which direction to go. Then she seemed to recall coming there from the left, so she headed that way, hoping against hope that he didn't return too soon.
I have to get someone to help me, she thought, trying her best to remain upright, though she was very weak. She winced and stumbled when she stepped on some pebbles, but did not dare stop. She knew if he recaptured her, he would kill her—and worse.
* * *
Travis Bellwood drove his Jeep Renegade down Kula Highway in Upper Kula as he headed home after picking up some items from the hardware store. He was a second generation Hawaiian after his parents moved to Maui twenty-five years ago from California to try their hand at farming. They had succeeded by growing and selling fruit and vegetables.
Carrying on the tradition, he had picked up where they left off, taking over the farm and marrying his college sweetheart, Kiyoko. They had three children, whom Travis hoped would keep the farm going well into the future. At the same time, he would respect any decision they made, as he and Kiyoko only wanted them to be happy, just as they were.
He thought about their new farmhand, an attractive and flirtatious college grad named Shirley McElroy. She was spending a year with them before heading off to graduate school. He liked her spunk and her way with words. Maybe he also liked being noticed by someone who made him feel young and desirable again.
Other than that, he had no intention of ever crossing any lines. As far as he was concerned, short-term gains versus long-term losses was a losing proposition. Aside from that, he had everything he could ever want in a lifetime partner with Kiyoko. And she never let him forget it.
As Travis honed in on the "Waimea Cowboy" song playing on the radio, he spotted someone limping toward him in the center of the road. Moving closer, he saw that it was a naked and dirty young woman.
"What the hell?" he said, as he brought the vehicle to a stop.
She ran up to the hood and cried out: "You've got to help me! Please!"
Travis got out and she practically charged him. "What's wrong?" he asked, aside from the fact that she was naked, smelled terrible, and was clearly in distress.
"You have to get me away from here before he comes back!" Her voice was trembling. "Please, don't let him find me—he'll kill me...."
"Who are you running from?" Travis asked. He knew most of the local ranchers in the area and some of the newer residents as well.
She looked around fearfully. "His name is Brian."
Travis immediately thought of Brian Mitchum, one of his neighbors who kept mostly to himself. He hadn't seen him in a while—and apparently with good reason. Looking at the woman, he could only imagine what had happened to her.
"I won't let him hurt you anymore," Travis promised.
He put her in the car, gave her an old shirt that was on the backseat to put on, and called 911.
* * *
I hope you enjoyed this excerpt. Look for the complete Murder in Upcountry coming soon in eBook, print, and audio.
# # #
Following is a bonus excerpt from the second book in this exciting series
DEAD IN KIHEI: An Eddie Naku Maui Mystery
By R. Barri Flowers
Prologue
Madison Crawford had gotten into a comfortable routine of jogging every afternoon during her vacation on Maui, Hawaii. In fact, aside from swimming in the ocean, which she did every morning, she couldn't think of a better way to stay fit and, at the same time, enjoy the beauty of her surroundings. She was staying in Kihei on the southwest shore of Maui. It was a nice oceanfront condo with an amazing view of the beach, swaying palm trees, Molokini islet, and the island of Kahoolawe. Having been there for almost a week, she hated the thought of having to go back to Phoenix in a few days and the stresses of life as an intensive care unit registered nurse. She loved her job, but living in the desert was not nearly as fun as being in Hawaii.
Especially coming off a breakup with the man she thought she was in love with. That was, until she found him in bed with another woman, destroying everything she thought they had. She couldn't get away from him—and her—soon enough. Maui was a perfect getaway, if not the permanent answer to her problems. She knew she had to go back to face them head on—and him—so she could move on and see what else was in store for her.
Madison dodged some other people as she ran down the sidewalk on Kaiolohia Street in a sports bra, shorts, and running shoes. She smiled at a cute man who was running in the opposite direction. He smiled back and said routinely, "Aloha."
"Aloha," she returned, and continued running. She didn't look back, but sensed he was checking her out from behind. She had no problem with that, knowing she was in great shape.
Maybe we'll run into each other at a club before I leave, she thought. If not, oh well...
Madison wiped perspiration from her brow with the back of her hand. She was looking forward to a nice cold drink and a soothing shower when she got back to her room.
After turning onto North Kihei Road, she started to plot her strategy for the remainder of the day. Suddenly Madison's heart skipped a beat as she watched in horror as a person jumped or was pushed off the lanai of an upper story condo and fell all the way down to the ground. She screamed and raced toward what looked to be an adult Asian or Hawaiian male in his late fifties or early sixties. His body lay there splayed awkwardly, blood spilling from his head and legs.
He was unconscious and showed no sign of life. She checked for a pulse anyway. Nothing. She could smell alcohol on him.
With all her skills as a nurse, Madison knew there was nothing she could do to help him. That made it all the more frustrating. It was a terrible way to die. She looked up at the lanai he fell from. There was no one looking down, as if to observe his or her handiwork.
She could only assume that he had taken his own life. But, then again, she had no idea what transpired up there causing him to end up down here.
She said a little prayer and then took out her cell phone to call 911.
Chapter One
Slapping a hand against his muscular arm, private investigator Eddie Naku pinned the pesky mosquito that he would swear had followed him from the Lahaina Harbor in West Maui to the Lahaina Gateway complex at the intersection of Honoapiilani Highway and Keawe Street. Lahaina itself was the onetime capital of the King
dom of Hawaii and big in the international whaling industry. Now it was one of Maui County's main areas for business, residences, and tourism. Removing his hand, Naku eyed the flattened insect that had gone to town on him with at least two bites, before plucking it off satisfyingly. He had just wrapped up a case for a client that involved a jewel thief who had literally stolen a boatload of diamonds before his thieving days came to an end.
Naku walked past several stores in the complex. He was wearing a polo shirt, a pair of well-worn jeans, and black lace up boots. He was just three months shy of his thirty-seventh birthday and in the best shape of his life. He relied on regular workouts and riding horses to keep his sturdy six-foot-three frame fit. As a Native Hawaiian, third generation, Naku always strove to uphold the family tradition of being true to who he was and respecting the environment his forefathers had worked so hard to preserve. That meant not dishonoring them by his actions or disregarding those who wanted to destroy the land or otherwise result in his people turning back the hands of time and the progress they had made over the years.
He approached the office where he conducted business. He had left the Maui Police Department nearly three years ago where he worked as a homicide detective, deciding it was no longer right for him. At times, he second-guessed the decision to leave behind the steady pay and camaraderie with his fellow officers to become a private eye. But, for the most part, he was sure it was the right thing to do as an independent spirit. Now he called his own shots in going after the bad guys and sometimes even the good ones.
As Naku glanced at the words "Eddie Naku Investigations" on the window, his lips curved into a half smile. He was proud of who he was and what he had accomplished. He went inside the place that included a waiting area, his office, and that of his very capable secretary, Vanna Dandridge.
She greeted him while making a face. "I wish I could just stroll in here whenever I please."
He chuckled, noting it was just past one o'clock and this was his first visit to the office today. Eyeing the forty-year-old, petite, and twice divorced redhead, he joked, "You can. Problem is, if you did, I'd be totally lost without your steady hand."
She flashed her teeth. "True enough."
Naku chuckled. "I thought you'd agree." He updated her on the case of the jewel thief that was now closed and then stepped into his office. It was about as nondescript as it got with white walls and beige carpet. There was a wooden desk with his laptop, leather chair, and a couple of stacking chairs for visitors. He had considered remodeling, but figured the money could be better spent elsewhere.
Sitting at his desk, Naku glanced out the window at a couple of palm trees in the distance. His phone chimed, indicating a text message. It was from Kathryn Higuchi, a former wealthy client and his current lover. The text said she was visiting the mainland with her teenage daughter and that when they got back to Maui, she was looking forward to some romantic time together. He texted her back, indicating he felt the same way. He really did enjoy her company and what she had to offer in and out of bed, even though he had no idea where their relationship was going. Maybe nowhere, or maybe everywhere. Time would tell.
Then his thoughts turned to his former love interest, Gayle Luciano, an international flight attendant. Though they had gone their separate ways, the truth was he had not gotten her entirely out of his system, and perhaps never would. But that was his problem, not hers.
Naku's cell phone rang. It was Jerry Quinabo, a Maui Emergency Medical Services worker. The two had been friends since Naku's days on the force when he'd seen one too many crime victims or offenders being carted off.
He answered the phone curiously. "Hey, Quinabo. What's up?"
"Hope I didn't catch you at a bad time, Naku. Just thought you'd want to know that a friend of yours—at least I assume he's a friend, since you're on his cell phone contact list—Frank Iwamoto is dead—"
Naku sat up, as if pushed, startled by the words. "What—?"
"Yeah. Apparently he took an eight story dive from a condominium lanai, according to a woman who witnessed the whole thing. My partner and I are on the way to the hospital right now with Iwamoto's body, as identified by a neighbor, but a doctor doesn't need to confirm what's staring us in the face—he didn't make it..."
Naku remained mute with disbelief.
"So I take it you knew him?" Quinabo asked.
"Yes, I knew him," Naku said. "He was a friend.
"Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but it's my job."
"Yeah," Naku said weakly. "Mahalo for letting me know."
"Anytime," Quinabo said awkwardly. "Or hopefully not..."
Naku hung up while trying to wrap his mind around the news that Frank Iwamoto was dead. He had just seen him last week. As a fellow Hawaiian private investigator, Iwamoto had shown him a few tricks of the trade. The two had even worked a complicated case together once involving a hitman and a missing bride where the hitman turned out to be in cahoots with her in a murder.
Iwamoto had fallen eight stories to his death. How did it happen? Why did it happen?
Naku wanted some answers before drawing any conclusions. But even that seemed hollow, as it would do nothing to bring his friend back to life.
* * *
Two days later, Naku strolled into the Maui Police Department located in Wailuku, the county seat of Maui County. He had gotten scant information on the death of Frank Iwamoto and decided it was time to go to the source of the investigation. So he returned to his old stomping grounds, which he was known to do more than once while investigating cases.
He ran into Detectives Leila Kahana and Jonny Chung, former colleagues of his. He had dated Leila briefly, before Naku started looking elsewhere, as did Leila.
"Seems to me, Naku, you just can't stay away from us," she joked.
"You got me, Kahana," he played along. "With your gorgeous looks and quick wit, I can't resist coming back for a visit every now and then."
"If I were in your shoes, I'd probably do the same thing," Chung said. "Instead, I get to partner up with Kahana and get the fringe benefits every day."
"That's enough you two," Leila said, coloring. "Don't do me any favors, Naku."
He grinned thoughtfully. "Hey, I wouldn't dream of it."
"And, Chung," she said, "the only fringe benefit you're ever going to get from me is a hard kick in the ass when you step out of line."
"Ouch!" Chung cringed and rubbed his ass.
Naku preferred to quit while he was ahead. "Don't let me keep you guys. I'm looking for Detective Sanderson."
"He should be in his office," Leila informed him. "Are you looking into the death of Frank Iwamoto?"
"Unofficially," Naku told her. "He was a friend."
"I knew him too," she said. "We crossed paths from time to time during investigations."
"Yeah, he was around long enough for that to happen," Naku acknowledged of the fifty-something late private eye.
"He probably should have been around a lot longer," Chung said, eyeing Naku. "But it doesn't always work out that way."
Naku agreed. "Tell me about it." He glanced at Leila. "See you later."
"You too," she told him and walked away with her partner.
Naku headed over to the office of Detective Tucker Sanderson, who was standing over his desk studying the contents of a folder.
"Detective Sanderson?" Naku said, getting the attention of the fortyish, chunky, balding man wearing a cheap navy suit.
Sanderson looked at him. "Eddie Naku, I presume?"
"Yeah." He had phoned ahead of time, but preferred to talk in person. They shook hands.
"Heard you used to be quite a character around here," Sanderson said.
Naku grinned. "Don't believe everything you hear. I just did my job."
"Fair enough. Have a seat and I'll tell you where we are on Frank Iwamoto—"
Naku sat in a chair in front of the desk and watched as Sanderson opened up another folder and looked inside.
After a moment
or two, Sanderson said levelly, "We think Iwamoto either took his own life or fell to his death accidentally. Take your pick."
Neither seemed unfathomable to Naku. He knew, for one, that more people in law enforcement committed suicide than died in the line of duty. He supposed the same might be true for private detectives who faced many of the same day to day stresses, minus the pay and medical benefits.
At the same time, private investigation work could be a dangerous business, with most PIs placing themselves in danger at one time or another. Had this been one of those times?
"No sign of forced entry?" he asked.
"None that we could find," Sanderson replied. "And there was no indication that anyone was in the condo at the time, other than Iwamoto. The man had a blood alcohol level of nearly twice the legal limit. The toxicology report is still pending. Some people we spoke to suggested he was depressed over money; others said it was due to a relationship that ended badly. We haven't been able to verify either conclusively."
"Was there a suicide note?" Naku wondered.
"We didn't find one," Sanderson said. "Of course, that doesn't mean he didn't kill himself. The facts appear to speak for themselves. My guess is Iwamoto tried to drink his way out of his sorrows, made his way out to the lanai with the low railing, and either lost his balance and fell over or decided to check out then and there."
Naku took a breath thoughtfully. "Maybe I didn't know him as well as I thought I did," he allowed, while knowing that in reality their friendship had not been very deep. Meaning, he was hardly in a position to know what may or may not have been going on in Iwamoto's head.
"Do we ever really know anyone all that well?" Sanderson asked skeptically. "Hell, I thought I knew my ex-wife pretty well. Turned out I didn't really know her at all. She left me high and dry and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it."
Murder of the Hula Dancers Page 25