Bet Your Bones

by Jeanne Matthews

  She also knew in her heart that Claude Ann didn’t kill Raif, but the murder weapon belonged to her and she had no alibi, either. And Xander, who admittedly despised Raif, had lied about his whereabouts at the time of the murder. At least he had omitted one of the stops he made. Why would he do that? Tess Wilhite could have given him an alibi for at least part of the afternoon. And what were those two saying to each other that couldn’t have been said in her office?

  Tchak, tchak, tchak. Something was barking. She raised her head. Attached to the window across from her, a little green gecko with lavender feet and round, blue-shadowed eyes observed her with brazen curiosity. Tchak, tchak, tchak.

  “Okay, buddy. What’s your bright idea? Should I go to the police and lay all these worries and suspicions and hearsay on them?”

  Tchak, tchak, tchak. He skittered down the window and disappeared into the woodwork, which is what she wished she could do. After a stimulating read from the Book of Isaiah, something along the lines of The earth shall reel to and fro like a drunkard and shall fall and not rise again, that’s what Hank had done. He’d waltzed out the door and disappeared into the darkness and she hadn’t uttered a word of argument. Cowardice or concern? Definitely procrastination. Maybe she would wake up tomorrow morning and learn that Langford had solved the crime, or the crimes, and she needn’t have to think another thought about it. Them.

  God, she was tired. She showered and climbed into bed, not expecting to sleep a wink. Mercifully, she was wrong. She woke up six hours later wondering if she’d dreamed that strange interlude with Hank. But when she went into the kitchen, she saw two cups of half-drunk coffee on the table and reality returned in spades.

  Light streamed in through the windows as cheery as marmalade and the birds chirruped and tweeted to beat the band. Not a care in the world, the little slackers. Sometime today, Fujita and Langford and their forensic team would show up to fingerprint the human inhabitants, but they hadn’t given a specific time. Did that mean there was leeway to do other things? She felt claustrophobic here in the forest. She needed to venture out and see where she was on the map, have a look at what was on the other side of these enclosing trees and forty-foot ferns.

  She dressed and brewed a fresh pot of coffee. She wondered if Jon was up yet and whether he’d lend her his Sidekick for an hour or two. She wondered what fresh misfortune had summoned him and Xander out of the lodge last night. It must have been something to do with Lyssa. But having heard no sirens and received no middle-of-the-night call, Dinah was content to leave that worry on the back burner for the time being. Sufficient unto the day is the pilikia thereof.

  Still curious about the missing newspaper article, she went back to the bedroom, turned on Jon’s computer, and Googled “earth sciences conference marred by death, San Francisco, 1989.” The results were not helpful. Scientific treatises of Ptolemy marred by errors, anti-Islamification conference marred by protesters, Mineralogical Society meeting marred by non-appearance of guest speaker. She modified her search, adding Louis Sykes’ name and U.S.G.S. and Hawaii. Nothing came up. After several failed attempts, she gave up. Apparently, the story hadn’t merited a lot of media attention or it had never been scanned into Google’s database. Anyhow, Jon was right. There were far more pressing matters.

  She needed to talk to Phoebe and find out if she knew where Hank was hiding out. Not that Dinah wanted to sic the cops on him, but it would be prudent to know where he was in case his prints turned up on the murder weapon and proved her instinct wrong. And she wanted a tête-à-tête with Tess Wilhite to find out if the blonde Hank had seen “negotiating” with Xander was, in fact, Tess. With this agenda in mind, she finished her coffee, put on her running shoes, and started down the path.

  The morning air was laden with the smell of jasmine. She stopped beside a tree with multiple, vine-covered trunks and sniffed a pretty white flower with a red center. It smelled like a rotting carcass—an unpleasant reminder of just how wrong her instinct could be.

  When she reached the carport where the path forked to the other cottages, she saw the unmarked car the detectives had arrived in yesterday afternoon. Fujita was nowhere to be seen, but Lt. Langford was sitting behind the wheel of the Wrangler. It was humming like a sewing machine. He smiled a gotcha smile, shut off the engine, and opened the door.

  “Battery’s fine,” he said. “For future reference, Mr. Garst keeps the key on a chain next to the front door. Pretty obvious place if you think about it.”

  Terrific. So now she had no verifiable alibi for the time of Raif’s death. “Thank you,” she said, holding out her hand for the key. “I was planning on going out for a while this morning. Would you like to take my fingerprints first?”

  “Forensics won’t be around for another day or so. I’m just here to iron out a few inconsistencies and update everyone on the progress of the investigation. Seems the Honolulu police let Hank Kemper get away from them. He made it to Hilo on a charter flight about noon yesterday. He might try and contact his ex-wife or his daughter. Haven’t seen him snooping around, have you?”

  “If he’s evading the police, I’m sure he’ll keep well out of sight. And Claude Ann’s and Xander’s cottage is much farther down the path.”

  He showed her his underbite. “I hope evading the police doesn’t turn into an epidemic.”

  She nodded and hiked back to Jon’s cottage to get her driver’s license. She would talk with Phoebe later. An hour from now everything could be changed. Hank might turn himself in or Phoebe might turn him in, or Langford might lose his patience and unleash a pack of bloodhounds. Langford gave her the hives. That knowing glint in his eyes reminded her of a loaded mousetrap poised to whomp down on some hapless neck.

  Since Jon had already given her permission to drive the Wrangler and Langford had given her the keys, she saw no reason to disturb anyone with her good-bye. She stuffed her license, her Visa card, and a few dollars in her pocket and went back to the carport. Langford’s car was still there, but neither he nor Fujita were anywhere in sight. Feeling vaguely like a fugitive, she started up the Wrangler, backed quietly down the driveway, and headed toward Hilo.

  ***

  According to Hank, Xander had visited the Casino Royale Travel Agency, which was listed in the Hilo Yellow Pages on Lanikaula Street. Dinah wended her way through town until she found it in what looked like a private residence set back from the street in the shadow of a Marriott. She maneuvered the Wrangler into a tight parking spot on a side street and walked back to the agency. Only as she marched through the Casino Royale’s frosted glass door did she think about what she would say to Tess. “Were you or were you not raped by Xander Garst and, if yes, why in the name of God are you still seeing him?” seemed unlikely to lead to a fruitful exchange.

  The walls of the large front room were plastered with posters of fabulous casinos and gambling destinations—Bellagio Las Vegas, The Venetian Macau, Fairmont Monte Carlo, Conrad Cairo, Casino Baden-Baden. Royal Caribbean Cruises and Norwegian Cruise Lines apparently also catered to high rollers with onboard casinos. One poster featured a background seascape and in the foreground, a Sean Connery look-alike hoisting a martini at a roulette table. Another showed two women simpering at one another in front of a row of slot machines.

  A dapper Chinese man with an unctuous smile stood up from his desk and bowed his head. “May I help you?”

  “Is Tess Wilhite in?”

  “That’s Tess on the phone over there. You can have a seat at her desk and she’ll be with you in a few minutes.”

  Dinah thanked him and sat down. Given Jon’s love of Nature, she had expected that Tess would be an outdoorsy looking girl with at least a passing resemblance to Avery. This woman surprised on both counts. Her skin was very fair and creamy and her eyes amazingly large and violet. Like a baby’s eyes. At first, Dinah thought she might be wearing those circle contact lenses popula
rized by Lady Gaga, but she changed her mind when Tess settled a pair of purple glasses on her nose to read a price list to the person on the other end of her phone call. She had fine, white-blond hair, bee-stung lips painted the perfect shade of raspberry, and a sultry voice even when explaining the surcharge for checked baggage and the cost of a single room supplement. She and Jon must have made a striking couple. Dinah thought she perceived a gloss of artificiality about Tess, but attributed the judgment to petty jealousy. How artless and sincere could a person be, after all, when selling an expensive junket to Vegas?

  Tess finished booking her client at the Mirage, shook her tinkling gold charm bracelet down her willowy, white arm, and smiled at Dinah. “How may I help you?”

  “My visit is personal, Tess. My name is Dinah Pelerin. I’m a friend of Jonathan Garst’s. I’d like to ask you a few questions if you can spare the time.”

  Her big, violet eyes skewed toward the clock on the wall. After a second or two, they skewed back to Dinah’s face. “Of course. There’s a little place on the bay that I like. I’m parked in front. I’ll drive.” She informed her Chinese co-worker that she’d be gone for an hour, donned a pair of Chanel sunglasses, and led Dinah out the door to a red Miata convertible.

  The day was gloriously sunny. Dinah didn’t see how the woman could keep her skin so milk-white and drive a convertible, but with Hilo’s rainy weather she probably kept the top up most of the time. And Jon had said she traveled a lot. She probably spent much of her time scouting out casinos where Hawaiians could indulge their craving to gamble.

  The Miata sliced through the city streets like a Jedi lightsaber, coasting through stop signs and romping it through yellow lights. At the first red light, Dinah said, “I’ve never run across a travel agency that specializes only in gambling destinations.”

  “That’s because gambling is illegal in Hawaii. No games for money, on shore or in Hawaiian waters. No cruise ship that has a casino on board can start or end its cruise here. If you want to gamble, you have to go elsewhere.”

  When they reached the waterfront, Tess careened down a narrow alley and jerked to a stop in front of a hole-in-the-wall called Kava-Kava. “Have you ever drunk kava?”

  “No.”

  “It alleviates stress, but doesn’t impair thinking.”

  Dinah was all for alleviating stress. She followed Tess into the grungy little coffeehouse. It had only three tables, none of them occupied, but there were three large, morose looking employees behind the counter. Tess ordered two kavas and two glasses of guava juice and sat down at the table farthest from the door.

  “What is kava?” asked Dinah, dusting crumbs out of the chair before sitting.

  “It’s a South Pacific shrub. It’s been used for thousands of years to help people relax.

  Fijians say it makes people talkative. Some people say it lets them see into the future.”

  “Sounds like the magic potion I’ve been searching for all my life.”

  Tess smiled. “In Hawaii, it’s mostly drunk during naming ceremonies, when boys are consecrated or when girls are initiated into the traditional hula.”

  A fat-faced man arrived with a tray and offloaded two wooden bowls of what appeared to be liquid mud with a skim of yellowish slime on top and two glasses of juice. “Anything else?”

  Tess said no. The man grunted and went back behind the counter.

  The kava smelled like a mixture of Pine-Sol and rotting leaves. Dinah tried not to gag. “What’s the yellow goop on top?”

  “Mashed hibiscus. Gives the kava more of a kick. Drink it down fast. Like this.” She took the bowl in both hands, turned it up to her mouth, and drank. She set the empty bowl on the table and smiled. “Try it.”

  Dinah lifted her bowl to her lips and tasted. “Ugh!”

  “Where’s your spirit of adventure?”

  Dinah choked down a few more swallows, forced herself not to urp, and reached for the guava chaser. “If that’s what seeing into the future tastes like, I’d rather be surprised.”

  “It’s an acquired taste. Your lips and tongue will start to feel a little numb. It takes a while, but you’ll find it reduces your inhibitions.”

  With her huge, violet eyes and voluptuous mouth, Tess didn’t look like the inhibited type. Avery had described his daughter as high-strung, Jon had described her as intense and, when professing his innocence to Jon, Xander had called her crazy. But looks and descriptions to the contrary, Tess seemed at the moment almost preternaturally cool and composed.

  Dinah didn’t know if it was the kava already at work reducing her inhibitions, but she got straight to the point. “What did you and Xander Garst talk about yesterday afternoon?”

  Tess’ raspberry lips parted and formed a round O, like a Lifesaver. “What makes you think I talked with him?”

  “You were seen together in Xander’s car shortly after noon.”

  “By whom?”

  “By the ex-husband of Xander’s fiancée.”

  “He was spying on Xander? How creepy.” She shook her charm bracelet down her arm, rested her elbows on the table, and steepled her fingers under her chin. “What is it you want from me, Ms. Pelerin?”

  “Your father told me that you were close to the Garst family at one time, engaged to marry Jon.”

  “That ended a long time ago. Are you interested in Jon? Is that what this is about?”

  “It’s more about Xander, actually. You told Jon that he raped you and then you retracted the accusation. Which statement was true?”

  “That’s hardly any of your concern.”

  “Whether it was true or not, the way matters were left between you and Xander wouldn’t exactly foster warm relations. Why are you still seeing him?” Dinah had a brainstorm. “Did you threaten to tell your father that he raped you? Or his fiancée? Are you blackmailing Xander?”

  “That’s preposterous. I’m not ‘seeing’ him. Our conversation yesterday was about business. He booked a trip through the agency.”

  “A trip to where?”

  “My clients’ travels are confidential. And anyway, why should I tell you?”

  “It might be less disagreeable telling me what went on between you and Xander than it would be telling the police?”

  Her unnerving eyes flattened Dinah against the wall. “Are you trying to blackmail me? Why would the police become involved?”

  “Because your meeting with Xander provides him with a partial alibi for the time of his son-in-law’s murder.”

  Dinah hadn’t thought that skin that white could go any whiter.

  “Murder? Who was murdered?”

  “Don’t you read the newspapers or listen to the news? Raif Reid was murdered yesterday afternoon.”

  “No!” Her fists crashed onto the table and her face congested with fury, or was it fear? She was in the throes of some overwhelming emotion.

  The employees behind the counter looked up sharply.

  Dinah cringed. All of a sudden “high-strung” and “crazy” seemed like accurate descriptions. “Did you know Raif?”

  She clawed at her face leaving bright red marks and Dinah reached across the table and took hold of her hands. “Tess, take it easy. What’s wrong? Do you need a glass of water?”

  She fought Dinah’s grip and shook her arms so that her charm bracelet tinkled wildly. One of her gold charms caught Dinah’s eye. She pulled Tess’ forearm closer.

  “Let go of me.”

  Dinah let go of her left arm, but held onto the right. With her free hand, she singled out the Lucky 7 charm and turned it over to read the engraving on the leg of the 7—Your Playmate RR. She dropped Tess’ arm. “I don’t know if kava is any good at divining the future, but it’s dynamite for seeing into the past. Were you and Raif playmates when you made the accusation that Xander raped you?
Were the two of you working some variation of the badger game on Xander, threatening to tell your father that he’d raped you? Did you cook up the rape allegation by yourself or did Raif put you up to it?”

  Tess jerked her arm away. She was breathing hard, but she’d stopped clawing at herself. “Why would Raif do such a thing?”

  “Apart from bleeding Xander for money, you mean? How about to undermine Xander’s influence over Lyssa and make her easier to manipulate? How about to stick it to his sexual rival, Jon? Is blackmail how Raif bankrolled his gambling habit?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. But if any of what you’re saying were true, Xander must have been wanting Raif dead for a long time. And me, too.” She stood up, tottering slightly. “I’m going to the police.”

  “You’re in no condition to drive, Tess. Sit down and talk for a few minutes.”

  And then miraculously, whether from the anesthetizing effects of the kava or some mental trick, her eyes iced over and the air of preternatural aplomb returned. “You’ll have to find yourself another ride.”

  As she left, her heels clacking against the wooden floor sounded like gunshots. Dinah sat for a minute absorbing the implications. Xander had been a victim of Tess’ false witness and Raif’s blackmail and now, thanks to her meddling, he was being promoted to Prime Suspect in Raif’s murder.

  The server who’d brought the kava interrupted her thinking. “You ready to pay?”