Bet Your Bones

by Jeanne Matthews

  He said, “I didn’t expect to see you again. And now it’s life and death.”

  “The police grilled me last night about Raif’s death. Their investigation is unsettling my life and the life of my friend.”

  “As I told you before, I don’t know anything about Raif’s death.”

  “Whoever killed him stole his BlackBerry. I wouldn’t be surprised if he kept sensitive information on it. Raif had a taste for blackmail.”

  “What’s that got to do with me?” He swung his legs off the desk and stood up. He was taller than Dinah had remembered and more heavily muscled.

  “Your line of work makes you susceptible to blackmail.”

  “You’re off in la-la land. Anyway, I’ve got an ironclad alibi. I was here at the spa all day. My staff will testify to that if they have to.”

  “How about Lyssa? Will they testify that she was here when she says she was or are you and your staff covering for her? If you are, you’re an accessory to Raif’s murder. It’ll look all the worse if Lyssa’s paying you for your silence. And if you know where and with whom Raif was playing poker on the day he was murdered and you haven’t disclosed that information, then you’re guilty of obstructing justice.”

  “Listen to you. You sound like a TV cop. I’ve given my statement to the police and they’ve gone over it with a fine-tooth comb. Far as I know, they’ve verified Lyssa’s story with my employees. Whatever it is you’re fishing for, you can go fish someplace else.”

  “Did I mention that somebody planted Raif’s BlackBerry in my purse? My purse that I left unattended in a locker here the day before yesterday?”

  “Well, talk of things looking bad, that’s got to look bad for you, doesn’t it?”

  “You don’t have to help me, Mr. Knack. The only leverage I have is the leverage of noise. I can make a lot of noise and the more stressed I get, the more noise I make. You have a lot of balls in the air—setting odds, taking bets, collecting debts—all of that while administering Tahitian black pearl scrubs and vibrational assessments and keeping the police off your back. And now there’s this murder of a non-paying client on your doorstep.”

  “Ten miles south isn’t my doorstep.”

  “Ten minutes there, ten minutes back. Too close for a really ironclad alibi. And depending on how you and your syndicate see proposed changes in the law, you’re either working quietly behind the scenes to prevent gambling from being legalized or you’re quietly lobbying state VIPs to make sure that it is. Noise is the last thing you want.”

  He removed his hornrims and polished the lenses with his sleeve. “I don’t know how Raif’s phone got into your purse. I didn’t put it there and none of my people did. There are two numbered keys to the lockers. Jessica gives one to the customer and she keeps the other. A lot of rich folks get naked in here and stash their cash in the lockers. Jess is a Mormon. Honesty’s their thirteenth article of faith.”

  The gratuituous bit of religious trivia rendered Dinah momentarily speechless. She almost asked him if he could name the other twelve. “What about Lyssa? Are you sure she was in her shiatsu water treatment on the afternoon of the murder?”

  “She was here. She could’ve hired somebody to pop her husband, but she didn’t do it herself.”

  “Do you know where Raif went to play poker?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Guess.”

  “Steve Sykes has a group of poker pals. Strictly private, not open to outsiders. I don’t know when they meet or how often.”

  “Is Steve one of your clients? The Hot Jade Stone treatment, perhaps?”

  His eyes frisked her as he were looking for a wire under her blouse.

  She felt her face grow hot. “Well?”

  “Once in a while, some of them lay off bets with me. Car races and ball games. Steve will put down a few Benjamins on the Bruins occasionally. Does that allay your stress?” He replaced his hornrims and went back to his desk.

  “What about Patrick Varian? Was he one of your clients?”

  “What the fuck?” He pivoted on one heel and lunged forward.

  Heart hammering, she stepped back. “Was he?”

  “Hell, no.”

  Dinah watched his internal fight for control play out on his face. After a long, excruciating minute, he walked over to the credenza and brought out a carrot juice. She let out a sigh of relief. “Did you know Varian?”

  “All I know is what I read in the papers and if you’re looking to tie that can to my tail, you’ll find yourself stressed like catgut.”

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Steve wasn’t hard to find. He was listed in the Pahoa telephone directory. Dinah decided not to phone ahead to say she was coming, but after her scare with Knack, she did call Claude Ann.

  Claude Ann hadn’t gone back to Kapoho as planned. Marywave had complained of a bad stomach ache and Claude Ann and Xander had rushed off to Volcano to check on her. “She’s runnin’ a fever and complainin’ about a tummy ache. It’s probably just some twenty-four hour bug, but I’m getting ready to take her to the doctor in Hilo.”

  “How’s Lyssa?”

  “Refusing to eat, rantin’ and ravin’ about her dead mother and her dead husband. She’s probably feelin’ guilty.”

  “I don’t believe she killed Raif, Claudy. Xan won’t have to confess on her account.”

  “I don’t know how I feel about that. I should feel glad for Xan that it’s not his daughter, but I’m scared. Who could have done this thing, Dinah? And don’t you dare suggest that it was Xan.”

  “Okay, I won’t suggest it. Where is he?”

  “He and Jon are with Lyssa, tryin’ to calm her down.”

  “When she’s calm and you have a chance to talk with her, ask her about Raif’s Punahou friends, Claudy. Ask her if Raif partied or played cards with a guy named Patrick Varian.”

  “That archaeologist who was murdered?”

  “Yes. The police think the murders are connected and so do I. If the same person killed both men, Lyssa couldn’t have done it and neither could you or I. It would have taken a strong man to break another man’s bones and push him into a steam vent. That’s probably why Langford didn’t arrest me last night.”

  “Jiminy. Not a woman and not Hank, because he wasn’t on the island when Varian was murdered. And not Xan because I’ll never believe it in a million years, so don’t even go there. Have you thought any more about who could’ve snuck Raif’s phone in your bag?”

  “I think of almost nothing else. It had to have been the murderer, Claudy. Somebody we know. Somebody who’s been that close to us. I think I’ve eliminated George Knack as a possibility. My next stop is Steve Sykes’ office. If I don’t turn up by dinnertime, start the search for my body there.”

  “Don’t talk like that, Dinah. Quick. Cross yourself.”

  “We’re not Catholic, Claudy.”

  “Do it anyway. And say a prayer.”

  “I’ll cross my fingers, for us and for Marywave, too. Hope she hasn’t caught the flu.”

  They said good-bye and Dinah followed the town map to Steve’s office, a solitary white house off the main road between what appeared to be a vegetable garden on one side and a large cemetery on the other. She tried not to think of the cemetery as an omen. A group of people were working in the garden, raking and hoeing and filling their baskets with tomatoes and lettuces and herbs. Dinah parked on the street and surveiled the house. He had said that his office was downstairs and his living space upstairs, but there was no sign. Were attorneys in Pahoa in such demand that they didn’t need to hang out a shingle? She wondered what kind of clients Steve serviced in addition to Xander and Avery. Gamblers? Pakalolo smokers? DUIs?

  She sat in the car thinking. The pivotal fact, or so it seemed, was the planted BlackBerry and that night at the
Kilauea Lodge, Steve could’ve slipped it into her purse without her noticing. Of course, so could Xander or Jon or Avery or even Paul Jarvis. But Steve had sat quite close. He could have palmed the phone in a cocktail napkin so as not to leave his prints on it. Luckily, she hadn’t touched it, although fingerprints on a phone wouldn’t prove anything. People were constantly passing their electronic gadgets back and forth and anyone might have handled Raif’s BlackBerry for completely innocent reasons.

  The gardeners hefted their baskets and began to leave and she had a rush of the heebie-jeebies. Peacequest was a busy place with lots of people coming and going. There wasn’t much risk confronting Knack in so public a place. This was different. When the gardeners were gone, there’d be no one to hear her if she screamed. Her cries would carry unheard across the graveyard. Perhaps she should call Langford and lay her theory on him. But even if Langford were open-minded and sympathetic, which he was not, he knew everything that she knew except that she was innocent. There was no reason why Steve would want to frame her, but what if he had drawn up the Uwahi documents in such a way that he and Avery would reap more of the profits if Claude Ann or Xander were out of the picture? He was good at devising slick legal gimmicks. He could have planted a subversive clause like a land mine in the fine print before planting the phone in what he assumed was Claude Ann’s purse.

  Dinah’s nerves were jittery as a tambourine. Maybe she should call Jon. But he wouldn’t believe that his makamaka was a cold-blooded murderer and anyway, Jon was preoccupied trying to keep his sister from committing suicide. Dinah thought about the twinkle in Steve’s eyes and the grin she’d found so appealing. Was he really a murderer or was she doing to him what Langford and Fujita had done to her? Innocent until proven guilty, she reminded herself.

  She got out of the car, walked across the rather unkempt grass, and climbed the steps to the concrete porch for a minute. On a whim, she knocked Jon’s silly shave-and-a-haircut knock.

  The door opened almost immediately. “Hey, I thought you were Jon. Come in.”

  Said the spider to the fly, thought Dinah. But she’d come this far. She marshaled her thoughts and walked inside.

  “I was cleaning out my files.” He was shirtless and barefoot and the twinkle and grin were on full display. His office, however, was a pit. Heaps of paper littered the place—old newspapers, legal briefs, cardboard boxes filled with books. She couldn’t imagine holding a poker game in here, let alone a client meeting. He moved a pile of papers off a grungy brown chair and motioned her to sit down. “Glad to see the police cut you loose. Sit down. Would you like a beer or lemonade or something?”

  “I can’t stay. I need to ask you some questions.”

  “What’s with the long face? They didn’t charge you, did they? I gave Claude Ann and Xander the name of the best criminal attorney on the island, but I didn’t think you’d need him.”

  “No, I didn’t need him.” She stayed close to the door and watched as he crammed reams of loose papers willy-nilly into a box and stacked the box against the wall. “Are you packing up to move or gearing up for the lawsuit Jarvis will bring against you for fraud and failure to disclose Eleanor’s claim?”

  “There was no fraud, Dinah. If Eleanor had come forward before the deal closed with any tangible evidence that called our archaeologist’s report into question, or if her attorney had filed a claim, then we would have been obligated to disclose it. But that didn’t happen. We saw nothing that contradicted our information and the contract clearly stated that the seller would guarantee the property to be free of encumbrances only up until the time of closing. Hell, Jarvis saw her and her groupies railing against the project on the nightly news. If that didn’t put him on notice, it’s because he and his legal team chose to assume the risk.”

  “It still sounds unethical. And letting Eleanor and everyone else think that Uwahi was intended to be sold for a housing development when you knew all along that Jarvis wanted to build a gambling casino, that was unethical, too.”

  “They may call Hawaii heaven, Dinah, but it’s still Earth. Nobody sports wings and a halo. You want my opinion, I think Eleanor’s just blowing smoke. There are no bones. But if there were, if she were to trot out King Ka-whosits entire skeleton this very afternoon with a certificate of authenticity signed by the Lord God Kane, Himself, it would be the buyer’s headache and there’s nothing illegal or unethical about it.” He picked up an official looking paper with a court stamp on it, folded it into an airplane, and sailed it into the box. “Did you figure out how Raif’s phone wound up in your purse?”

  “Raif’s murderer put it there.” She cleared her throat and bluffed a bravery she didn’t feel. “I’ve been racking my brain trying to understand why during our lengthy conversation about Patrick Varian and his unfortunate death, you neglected to mention that you’d gone to school with him.”

  The twinkle and the grin vanished. “I’d never heard of Patrick Varian before his name appeared in the newspaper.”

  “You went to Punahou with him, Steve. You and Varian and Raif must be close to the same age. You must all have been classmates.”

  “Raif was a year behind me. Varian may have been in his class, but I didn’t know him. The name didn’t ring a bell.”

  “His photo was in the paper. Didn’t you recognize him?”

  “No, Dinah, I did not. High school was a while ago and there were nearly five hundred in my graduating class.”

  “You also neglected to mention that you played poker with Raif. Did you play poker with him the day he was murdered?”

  “He was supposed to play. He warned me that he would come carrying a bundle and betting big, but he never showed. I gave the police that information.”

  “You told them you hosted an illegal game?”

  “Social games in a private home aren’t illegal. If it were, the state wouldn’t have enough prisons to house all of the offenders.”

  “Who else was with you? More of your Punahou posse?”

  “A couple. They hadn’t talked with Raif, but they corroborated the rest of my statement, that it was a friendly game. All of us equal, no house rake, no minors present.”

  “Were these Punahou guys the same ones who attended the memorial service and went to Xander’s house afterward?”

  “That’s right.” He reprised the grin, like everything was back to hunky-dory. “I’m going upstairs for a beer. It’s a lot more comfortable up there. Come on. We can look through my Punahou yearbooks for Patrick Varian.” He pointed to a narrow staircase directly across from the front door.

  Dinah’s fingers began to cramp and she uncrossed them. Who all had been mingling on Xander’s deck after the memorial service? She remembered setting her purse on a bench with a lot of other purses and jackets. She’d taken out a cigarette and gone to look at the ocean. Xander and Raif’s father had been standing beside the lagoon and the guys who reminisced about Raif’s backflip had been standing beside the drinks and cold cuts. The Punahou posse. One of them could have dropped the BlackBerry into her purse while her back was turned. After Langford and Fujita arrived, everyone had gone into the house, but in what order? The cops behind Claude Ann. Lyssa and Raif’s parents and Xander next. Dinah and Avery behind them and then the others. Steve and Jon had walked up from the beach. They were the last to arrive. Which one came in last?

  Midway up the stairs, Steve looked back over his shoulder. “Aren’t you coming?”

  She really wanted to see that yearbook. “Bring the book down here. Please.”

  “What’s wrong with you?” He started back down the stairs.

  She backed against the door, found the handle with one hand, tried to remember the self-defense moves Nick had taught her—palm heel strike, knee thrust, side kick, upward elbow jab. “Don’t come any closer, Steve. Just bring me the book.”

  “You don’t think that I�
�? Hey, wait one goddamned minute. You came here thinking that I killed Raif?”

  “I came here to ask you to explain your relationship with Patrick Varian and Raif.”

  “All right, Dinah. I’ll bring you the book. And I’ll retire to the far corner of the room and let you read it in safety. But I can tell you right now that you are one twisted wahini if you think I had any part in Raif’s death.” He tromped back up the stairs and she reminded herself again, innocent until proven guilty. Maybe he hadn’t known Varian.

  He returned with two yearbooks. “This one is for my class. The names and pictures are alphabetical.” He handed it to her open to the Vs.

  She ran her finger down the page. There was no student named Varian.

  He handed her the second book. “This one is for the class that graduated after me. The reason I have a copy is because my mother taught at Punahou for a few years to help pay the cost of my education.”

  Dinah turned to the Vs. “Here he is. Patrick ‘Rick’ Varian.” He had soft, delicate features and a bashful smile. She read the sentiment next to his picture. “Thanks Pete and Liz. Go Buffanblu! Go Punahoopsters!”

  “What’s Buffanblu?”

  “The school colors. Buff and blue.”

  She looked for Raif’s photo, but there wasn’t one. What was it he’d said? His time at Punahou hadn’t worked out well. Probably he’d flunked out or been expelled before the yearbook was published.

  Steve said, “Let me see Varian’s picture?”

  She showed him.

  He studied it for a minute. “That’s funny. I did know this kid, only his name wasn’t Varian. It was Shirley.”

  “What?”

  “Patrick Shirley. He got teased a lot because of his name. Patty Shirley, he’s so girlie.” Steve sat down in the grungy brown chair and studied the photo. “I remember going to a party at his house once. We hardly knew each other, but a lot of us kids who’d come to Oahu from the Big Island to go to school were invited. Me, Tommy Ong, Tess Wilhite. When I got to the party, Kay Wilhite was there with cookies and care packages for all of us. Turns out Pat’s dad was Kay’s brother. She was his house guest.”