Aloha Means Goodbye

by Robert W. Stephens

  The waitress didn’t seem all too thrilled when I told her I was eating alone. Having been a waiter myself in college, I knew she probably assumed the tip from one person would be much smaller than that from a honeymooning couple or a family of four. One little tip (advice, not money) for you new waiters who are reading this tale: never assume a family will give you a bigger tip. Never, never, never. Families usually tip lousy because they’re so broke from constantly buying new clothes and game systems for the kids.

  I didn’t even bother to look at the menu. What was the point? Aren’t you sort of obligated to order a cheeseburger if you’re eating at Cheeseburger in Paradise? I asked for it to be cooked medium, and I also ordered a Diet Coke, not wanting to feel like a total pig.

  I always feel somewhat awkward when dining alone in a restaurant. I usually try to bring a book or newspaper to occupy my time while I wait for the food. This time I just stared out at the Pacific Ocean and tried to make sense of the information I had gathered this morning.

  Nick James seemed like an excellent suspect. He must have been furious when he saw some of Lauren’s paintings at the art show, knowing full-well they were blatant copycats of his. I didn’t remember seeing him at the show though. But there were so many people there. He could have easily left unnoticed and waited for Lauren to go out back. But how would Nick know that Lauren would go out back and what reason would she have to do so? Could Nick have asked Lauren to follow him outside? Would she have wanted to? But what about Foxx? Foxx was a much bigger man than Nick James. How would Nick have handled the situation if Lauren had gone outside with Foxx? Would he have killed them both? Would I now be planning my best friend’s funeral instead of trying to arrange his release from prison?

  I turned my head away from the ocean and glanced around the restaurant. I saw Detective Alana Hu sitting in the corner by herself. She was picking at a small garden salad and drinking a glass of water. No wonder she had such a small figure.

  What did I have to lose?

  I stood up, took a deep breath, and walked over to her table. She was reading an issue of Guns and Ammo magazine. No, I’m not making this up. I decided then and there that I was indeed a fortunate man that she didn’t shoot me last night when I stomped on her toes. The sight of this dainty woman reading about automatic weapons and assault rifles was an excellent example of the contradictions we all have. I couldn’t decide if her love of weapons was a turn-on or off.

  “Detective Hu,” I said, somewhat louder than I had intended it to come out.

  The detective looked up from her magazine.

  “Mr. Rutherford.” She nodded but didn’t smile. Actually she didn’t have any type of discernable reaction to my presence.

  “May I join you for a few moments?”

  She looked somewhat confused by my suggestion. Or was I just imagining this?

  “I’m actually getting ready to leave,” she said.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you, but I found out some information this morning that I thought would be of use to your investigation.”

  She looked me in the eye for several long seconds. I wondered if we had inadvertently engaged in another starring contest. She eventually motioned me to sit down.

  I brought her up to speed on my conversations with the video producers and Nick James, and I pointed out how I felt Nick had both motive and opportunity. I was trying my best to sound professional and police-like, but I probably came across as a guy who had read too many detective novels. I showed her the list of artists Nakia had provided me. She looked at the paper for a few seconds, then handed it right back.

  “I had noticed many similarities between Lauren’s and Nick’s work. But I never gave it much thought,” she said.

  “In your experience as a detective, is the act of murder usually the result of an impulse decision or does someone think about it for a long time?”

  “What are you getting at?” she asked, not sounding at all intrigued by my comments and questions.

  “Foxx and Lauren dated for two years. In all our phone calls and emails, not once did he ever have anything bad to say about her, not even so much as a comment like ‘she hogs the blanket.’”

  “So he kept his feelings to himself. Besides, it doesn’t really matter what happened in the last two years. What’s important is what happened the night she was killed.”

  “But why the knife? Foxx told me he kept a loaded gun in his nightstand.”

  “The murder was obviously not planned out. Usually a stabbing indicates a crime of deep passion. When you stab someone you have to get close to them. With a gun, you can kill from several feet.”

  “Hell, in that case Foxx could have killed her with his bare hands. He easily dwarfs her.”

  She didn’t have a response. Either I was irritating her and she wanted to end the conversation, or I was beginning to place tiny seeds of doubt in her mind. It was probably the former.

  “Mr. Rutherford, I don’t like the idea of you interviewing these people. I understand you’re trying to help your friend, but you should leave the investigation up to the police.”

  “Last night you seemed pretty sure you had the killer behind bars. How much of an investigation are you actually going to perform?” I asked, trying my best not to sound like I was attacking her. But it came out that way regardless.

  “Are you questioning my professionalism?” She was suddenly very hot.

  “Of course not, detective. I would never question your professionalism. I just know that when someone’s made up their mind it can be very hard to persuade them of anything else.”

  “I haven’t made up my mind about anything, Mr. Rutherford.”

  The waitress came to our table.

  “There you are,” the waitress said to me. “I was beginning to think you had left the restaurant. Would you like me to bring your cheeseburger over here?”

  The detective looked up at the waitress. “Could I have my check please?”

  The waitress read the look on the detective’s face and walked away.

  “Detective, I want you to know that I regret lying to you about the clothes in the washing machine,” I said.

  She shrugged her shoulders.

  “I knew you were lying.”

  “How?” I asked, shocked by her statement.

  “Your left eye twitched once,” she answered.

  “No it didn’t.”

  “Yes, it did,” she assured me.

  “How did you notice something that small?” I asked.

  The waitress, carrying a large tray of hamburgers on her shoulder, dropped off the bill as she passed the table. The detective reached into her purse and pulled out a couple of five dollar bills. She then reached into the coin compartment of her wallet and counted out the exact change. How do you women always manage to have the exact amount?

  “I’ve been in law enforcement for several years, Mr. Rutherford. You start to notice things like that. Besides, I’m a very good judge of character, which is why you’re not in jail right now.”

  With that, Detective Hu stood up and left the table. Her long hair brushed my arm as she passed. It felt soft.

  CHAPTER 9

  Likely Suspects?

  That night I visited Foxx again to see how he was holding up. I brought him up to date on my conversations with Nick James and the documentary producers. I thought he would have been happy to hear about Nick’s feelings towards Lauren. At least now we had a solid suspect other than Foxx.

  “Foxx, the truth will come out. It always does,” I assured him, not very convincingly.

  “You know that’s not how the real world works.”

  I didn’t know how to respond to that. He was right. Sometimes the real world doesn’t care about the truth.

  “How did Lauren treat you?” I asked.

  “You mean was she a super bitch to me like she was with everyone else?”

  “Something like that.”

  “We got into arguments like any other couple. They we
re usually over stupid shit though. Nothing important. For the most part we got along great. I saw a side of Lauren that others didn’t.”

  “What side was that?”

  “Most of her friends always commented on how surprised they were by my relationship with Lauren. Apparently she just never really opened herself up to men. But we got along great. I have to admit that I loved the lifestyle too. I mean who wouldn’t want to live in a gorgeous house on the ocean? Plus we had an amazing sex life. Hell, we were doing it two to three times a day. That’s not bad for a thirty-five year old man.”

  I was lucky to have sex two to three times a month, I thought. Maybe that’s because I had been in a five year relationship with a woman I couldn’t stand.

  I pulled out the list of artists I got from the video producers and showed it to Foxx.

  “What can you tell me about each of them?” I asked.

  Foxx looked briefly at the names.

  “Nick James, very talented artist. Extremely arrogant.”

  “I caught some of that arrogance this morning,” I added. “But do you think he hated her enough to kill her?”

  “Hard to say. I guess so.” Foxx looked back at the list. “Xavier, the pharaoh.”

  “Why do you call him the pharaoh?”

  Foxx smiled for the first time since the Halloween parade. “I’d love to tell you Poe, but I don’t want to ruin the surprise.”

  “Foxx, I really need all the information I can get at this point.”

  “Yeah, but I doubt the pharaoh had anything to do with this. The guy’s a real stoner. But you should check him out anyway, just to see his pad.”

  “What about this one?” I pointed to the next name. “William Kelly?”

  “I don’t know much about him. I think he’s a sculptor.”

  “Is he connected to Lauren in any way?” I asked.

  “Probably not. Lauren didn’t mess with sculpting. I doubt their paths would have crossed…Now you talk about a wasted soul, this guy is completely gone.”

  I looked at the name Foxx was pointing to, Bernard Henderson.

  Foxx continued. “I’ve never seen Bernard without a drink in his hand. But I don’t remember him being at the art show. Hell, he could have been there though. The place was so packed.”

  I asked about the last name on the page. “What about Ray London?”

  “Ray does those funny-looking clay creatures. I don’t think Lauren had much interaction with him either.”

  “You just sort of confirmed what the video producers were saying too.”

  “What’s that?” Foxx asked.

  “That Nick James is the most likely suspect.”

  “After me you mean.”

  “Don’t say that Foxx. You’re innocent, and I’m going to prove it.”

  “I appreciate your faith, pal. And I’m sorry you have to be going through all of this.” Foxx laughed. “This is a far cry from that fabulous vacation I promised you.”

  “Don’t worry about that.”

  “So what will you do now?” he asked me.

  “I don’t know. I guess I’ll start interviewing the people on that list. Maybe I can dig up enough information to get Detective Hu to consider other possibilities.”

  “Hey, Poe,” Foxx smacked me on the leg. “This is a good chance for you to get to know the detective a little better. You know what I mean?”

  “What a great friend,” I said sarcastically, “worried about my love life at a time like this.”

  “It’s a hell of a lot more fun than thinking about my love life. So far I’ve managed to avoid some of the more friendly cellmates.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Artist, Musician, Pharaoh

  I felt guilty as hell for doing this, but I took Lauren’s BMW convertible for the drive to Xavier’s house. The sun was shining in Ka’anapali, and I wanted to feel its warmth on my face as I made the long drive across the island. The clouds got thicker, though, after I passed through the little town of Paia.

  Why had Foxx called Xavier “the pharaoh”? I guess I was about to find out.

  I got horribly lost on the way to the house. Xavier, or pharaoh, had told me to turn left at the next major intersection after I passed through this little town called Makawao. Trouble was, there was no major intersection outside Makawao. After the fourth u-turn I finally realized that I was thinking like someone who lived in a fairly crowded part of Virginia, not a laid-back artist type who lived in the very slow, very easy-going land of Maui. The major intersection he was referring to was a simple crossroad - no stop light, no stop sign, just two roads crossing each other.

  I eventually found the house, or at least I found the mailbox. The house was hidden by a thick collection of palm trees and heavy vegetation that reminded me of a miniature rain forest. I was just about to remark to myself that this part of Maui must get a lot of rain to support so much greenery when the bottom of the dark clouds opened up, and the rain fell in thick sheets. I quickly put the top up on the BMW, but not before the leather seats got considerably wet.

  I drove up the dirt driveway until it ended in a small gravel lot. There were no other cars present, and I still couldn’t see the house. I did manage to find a narrow dirt path which led through the vegetation. Fortunately, the heavy abundance of palm trees provided me with some protection from the rain. Large stepping stones on the path also saved me from sinking in the dirt that was quickly turning into mud. I noticed there were strange markings on the stepping stones, but the heavy downpour prevented me from taking a closer look. I’m certainly no expert in Egyptology, but I could have sworn I was glancing at hieroglyphics.

  As I made my way down the path I began to hear flute music above the sound of the raindrops hitting the leaves in the trees. It was quite beautiful and sounded a bit like New Age music. You may recall my earlier statements in which I commented on how I enjoy all types of music. Well in addition to liking Tupac Shakur, I’m also a big fan of Yanni. I know, I know, the contradictions that are Poe. I have a theory that most people are fans of Yanni; they’re just too embarrassed to admit it. But let’s face it folks. The guy sells millions of albums. Somebody’s buying them.

  I followed the music to a large clearing, and I was in for yet another big surprise in my life. A giant stone structure stood before me - out of place certainly, but as beautiful and breathtaking as any building I had ever seen. Now I knew why Foxx called Xavier the pharaoh. The guy lived in a freaking pyramid. The door was wide open, but I banged on it anyway. There was no response. He probably couldn’t hear me above the flute playing and the sound of the pouring rain. I wanted to get out of the rain but didn’t want to barge into someone’s home uninvited. I knocked a little louder and called “hello.”

  “Hello there,” came a soft voice behind me.

  I turned around and saw a very small woman with a pleasant smile staring up at me. She was wearing a yellow rain jacket with a huge hood that kept sliding over her eyes despite her repeated attempts to push it back up. She was probably wearing shorts too but I couldn’t tell due to the length of the rain gear. Her bare feet were slightly covered in mud.

  “Hello,” I repeated. “I was looking for Xavier.”

  “I’m Gina, Xavier’s wife. Are you Mr. Rutherford?”

  “Yes, I am, but please call me Poe.”

  Gina didn’t offer a hand to shake. Instead she gave me an even bigger smile, if that was possible.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Poe. Xavier’s inside.” Gina walked into the pyramid, and I followed her, eager to get out of the rain, although it was fruitless at this point. I was soaked through and through.

  “Is that him playing?” I asked. “The music sounds beautiful.”

  “Yes. Xavier loves the flute. It relaxes his thoughts before he paints.”

  There were several large, triangular windows that allowed plenty of natural light to illuminate the interior of the pyramid, although it was somewhat dim now due to the storm clouds above. As with Lauren�
��s house, the walls were completely covered with paintings. They all seemed to be paintings of different worlds. Giant pyramids and stone temples stood in the desert or on the shore of an unknown land. The skies were mauve and turquoise. The paintings were so magnificent and so life-like that I felt as if I could climb through the picture frame and actually enter a new world. I’m certain you art critics out there are absolutely groaning at my amateurish descriptions of the work.

  Gina guided me to a round staircase, and we began to climb to the top of the pyramid. The gentle sounds of the flute grew stronger and stronger as it echoed off the stone walls. We entered Xavier’s studio which was at the top point of the pyramid. It was a small room with a glass ceiling. In the center of the room was Xavier, sitting on a cracked burgundy leather stool in front of a worn wooden painter’s easel. Xavier had his back to us, revealing long straight silver hair that reached to his waist.

  “Xavier, you have a visitor,” Gina said. Then she bowed slightly to me and went back down the stairs.

  The pharaoh played for another minute or two, completely ignoring me. The truth is I didn’t mind. The music was so soothing that it was doing wonders for my stress levels. Then Xavier slowly lowered his flute and placed it at his side on the leather stool where he sat. He turned to face me. It took every ounce of my strength not to exclaim, “How in the world did you get your beard to do that, man?”

  The pharaoh had a long, rectangular beard jutting out from the tip of his chin in much the same fashion as the stone carvings of ancient Egyptian rulers. He looked like the head of the Sphinx, except with a nose. On his forehead was tattooed an Egyptian hieroglyphic, although I didn’t know what the symbol stood for. He had a deeply tanned face that sharply contrasted with his silver hair. His eyes were a piercing blue that leaned slightly to the cold side.

  “Good afternoon, Xavier. Thank you so much for agreeing to see me.” I proclaimed this more than I said it, unintentionally taking on the subservient demeanor of a visitor to the royal court.

  “Of course. Of course. Gina and I always enjoy visitors to our little abode.”