Aloha Means Goodbye

by Robert W. Stephens

  Little abode? I thought. You call a stone pyramid in the middle of Maui a little abode?

  “So, are you with the police?” he asked me.

  “No.”

  “A private investigator?”

  “Not quite.”

  “A journalist?”

  I shook my head.

  “Then what exactly are you?”

  I thought about using my “I’m an architect” line again but didn’t think it would get very far with the pharaoh. I knew exactly what he was getting at, and this was a big concern for me: why would anyone feel compelled to talk to me, especially if they had anything to do with the murder? So I tried to use the friendship angle and hope they would take pity on my quest.

  “I’m a friend of Lauren’s,” I said. That was somewhat the truth. Wasn’t it? “I’m helping the police.” I couldn’t believe I just said that. It would be easy for him to call Detective Hu and learn I was anything but an assistant to the police. But he seemed to buy my story, or maybe he just didn’t care enough to press anymore.

  “Such a tragedy her death was. Such a tragedy,” he said “

  How well did you know Lauren?” I asked.

  “Oh,” he said, scratching the side of his face as if it would help him remember, “I first met Lauren when she was around nineteen or twenty years old. She rang my doorbell one afternoon, and when I opened the door she thrust a handful of paintings towards my chest.”

  The pharaoh laughed as he recalled the incident. “She said she wanted me to make her a better artist. I can’t begin to tell you how many people ask me that, and I always say no. But this time I decided to look at her work. It was outstanding, far beyond her years. Of course, I may have felt that way because they were exact copies of my own pieces.”

  So Lauren’s habit of stealing started young.

  “She copied your work as a way of impressing you?” I asked.

  “You don’t understand, I’m afraid. It took me years to develop my skills, and here was a young woman who could produce the exact same look - with absolutely no formal training.”

  He was right. I didn’t understand.

  “So you took her under your wing?” I asked.

  “She studied with me for a few years. Then, I’m afraid, we had a falling out.”

  “Over what?”

  “Lauren was not improving as an artist. Her technical skills as a painter were quite remarkable. But she continued to copy other people’s work. She had no creativity of her own, no originality.”

  “What was her excuse? I don’t understand how such a talented artist couldn’t come up with her own work.”

  “Some artists are very creative, but they don’t have the technical skills to pull off their vision. Others have the skills but lack the vision. Not many people have both.”

  “So did you tell her you weren’t going to teach her anymore?”

  “Not quite. I kept encouraging her to find her own voice, so to speak, until one day she just stopped coming back. I ran into her in a shop one day and asked why she had stopped her lessons. She told me that she had nothing else to learn from me.”

  Nice girl, I thought.

  “Did she latch on to Nick James next? When did she start copying his style?” I asked. Maybe this was my lucky break.

  “Lauren left me about the time Nick’s work was starting to catch on. Pretty soon she was coming out with new works of art that were remarkably similar to Nick’s.”

  “Is it generally known in the art community that Lauren was stealing from Nick?”

  “You might say it was the worst kept secret on the island. But wealthy tourists were snatching up her work at a record price, so I imagine it was awfully hard for her to stop her habit of stealing from Nick.”

  “Xavier, I have a difficult question to ask you.”

  “You’re wondering if I believe Nick James murdered Lauren?”

  What did I tell you before? I’m as transparent as a wall of glass.

  “I’ve known Nick a long time,” Xavier began, “almost as long as I’ve known Lauren. He’s a hot head all right, but I don’t think he’s capable of murder. Besides, he told me he was convinced he’d win his lawsuit against her. He stood to make millions from her, not to mention the public humiliation she would have faced. Now all that’s gone.”

  That was a good point. But it also relied on the fact that Nick James would have been acting rational if he killed Lauren. Wasn’t murder usually an irrational and highly emotional act?

  “I would be happy to lend you my services to help identify the real killer,” Xavier said.

  “How so?”

  “We’ll ask Lauren,” he said, as if the solution was actually quite that obvious.

  Did I just blank out for a second or did Xavier just say we’d ask the dead woman who killed her? He seemed completely serious though, and I began to think of a quick way to make my exit. Then again, what did I expect from a man who lived in a pyramid and had hieroglyphics tattooed on his forehead?

  “How would we do that, Xavier?”

  “I sometimes channel the spirit of Queen Hatsheput. Perhaps she could put us in touch with Lauren.”

  Now I’m no expert on Egyptian history, but I am a big fan of the early Charlton Heston movies, particularly Ben Hur and The Ten Commandments. I’ve heard of the pharaoh Ramses, but who in the world is Queen Hatsheput?

  “May I ask who Queen Hatsheput is?”

  “Queen Hatsheput was one of the few female pharaohs who ruled Egypt.”

  “And you communicate with this queen from time to time?” I asked.

  “If my need is great, she might grant me access to her knowledge.”

  “Have you talked with her recently?”

  “No, not in a long time. But I’d be willing to go through the pain to help solve my former protégé’s death.”

  “It’s painful? What do you have to do?” I asked.

  “The process of contacting Hatsheput is exhausting. I’m usually bed ridden for a few days afterwards.”

  This guy was a nut, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to be part of this séance. That was what he was talking about, wasn’t it, a séance?

  “Xavier, I don’t want you to do anything that you don’t feel up to.”

  “Nonsense. I’ll do it. But you must give me a few days to prepare myself. Please leave your phone number with my wife. She’ll call you when I’m ready.”

  The pharaoh picked up his flute and started to play. I took that as my cue to leave. I bowed my head slightly, still feeling like I was part of his majesty’s court, and I exited the tiny room on top of the pyramid.

  I couldn’t find his wife Gina, so I left my business card, with my cell phone number circled, on the kitchen counter. By the way, the kitchen counter was as spectacular as the rest of the house. It was a sand-colored marble with hieroglyphics carved into it, much like the walking stones leading to their front door.

  Much to my relief, it had stopped raining by the time I walked outside, and the sun was shining. I decided to put the top back down on the BMW. I put the car in reverse and started to back up when another car suddenly appeared in my rearview mirror. I just barely managed to hit the brakes in time. The car backed up, then parked beside me. It was Detective Hu. Now wasn’t this interesting? Was she starting to believe my proclamations of Foxx’s innocence?

  I decided not to speak, figuring that I should stop while I was ahead. So I gave her a smile, a quick wave, and backed out of the driveway.

  She didn’t wave back.

  CHAPTER 11

  Tree Houses and Divorce Lawyers

  I left Xavier’s pyramid and headed for William Kelly’s house. I couldn’t help but wonder what he would be like. So far I had encountered one very pissed off artist and one who thought he could speak to dead pharaohs. Foxx had only briefly met William once, so he had very little information to offer me.

  I pulled into William’s driveway and spotted a massive three-story house. It looked out of place in M
aui though. I had seen many homes like this before but in the wealthy suburbs of Virginia. It had a wrap-around porch on all three floors. The lower porch was encased in a screen mesh to keep the insects out. The house was a classic beauty, no doubt costing a pretty penny, especially here on an island.

  Funny, I had always viewed artists as suffering, at least financially, toiling away at their craft for pennies. But so far all of the artists I had interviewed were loaded. Maybe I should ditch architecture and take up ceramics.

  I rang the doorbell and an unfriendly man of average height and weight answered. I say unfriendly because he had that look people give you when you accidentally cut them off in traffic. His lips were curled in a nasty snarl, and I could have sworn I saw a vein bulging in his forehead.

  “William Kelly?” I asked.

  “He’s in the backyard,” he snorted, then slammed the door in my face. Nice fellow. He must have attended the Nick James School of Charm.

  I sauntered around to the back of the house and saw a man of about fifty tending a garden. He had a large belly that giggled as he bent over, pulling out weeds from around the various vegetable plants. His hair was light brown, short, and curly, and his face was deeply tanned like Xavier’s. He had a bulbous nose that was red at the very tip. It looked to me like William would be an excellent choice to play Santa Claus, or at least Rudolph, in about fifteen years. A Santa Claus with a Hawaiian tan, so to speak.

  William looked up when he heard me approach.

  “Hello there, you must be Edgar Rutherford.” He gave me a bright smile that more than made up for my distasteful greeting at the front door.

  “Please, call me Poe.”

  William wiped his dirty hands on his even dirtier T-shirt and extended a meaty paw for me to shake.

  “Thank you for meeting with me, Mr. Kelly,” I remarked.

  “Absolutely no problem. And since I am calling you Poe, you must call me William.”

  “Of course, William.” I turned to admire his home. “I love your house. It reminds me of homes from my native state of Virginia.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say, although “wow, you must be loaded!” came to mind.

  “Virginia! You certainly have traveled a long way to visit us. I wish I could give you a tour, but I don’t live there anymore.”

  “I don’t understand. This isn’t still your house?”

  “I moved out last week,” he said.

  “So where did you move to?” I asked.

  “Over there.” William pointed across the massive yard. There was nothing there but open fields and an extinct volcano crater way in the distance.

  “So you’re going to build a new home in the field?” I asked.

  “The home’s already built. The tree house over there. I first built it for my son when he comes to visit me during the summer.”

  William pointed again and this time I saw the tree house. If you compare it to other tree houses, it was a nice one. Clearly it was built by someone who knew how to work with wood. But it was still just a tree house for a child. It was no Swiss Family Robinson tree house.

  “You live in a tree house?” I asked, certain that I must have been missing the point.

  “My third wife took me for everything I had,” he answered me. “I couldn’t afford to pay my divorce lawyer, so I agreed to let him live in my house rent-free for five years.”

  “You’re going to live in the tree house for the next five years?”

  “It’s a bit cramped. But it’s all I really need.”

  Was everyone in Maui eccentric?

  “So the gentleman I met at the front door was your lawyer?”

  “Oh, you had a chance to meet him?” William asked, shaking his head with pity. “How unfortunate. He is a rather unpleasant human being. But of course, that is why I hired him. Come on. Let me show you my new home.”

  We started walking towards the tree house. I hoped he wasn’t going to insist that we climb in to it. What was I going to say? You have such a lovely tree house. It’s so beautifully furnished.

  I noticed that William was walking with a limp, and I asked him about it.

  “Oh, nothing too serious. I missed the bottom rung on my ladder.”

  As we got closer, a gorgeous woman around twenty-five years old descended the ladder. She could have easily been a model. She was wearing a white T-shirt and pale blue shorts. But it was what she wasn’t wearing that I found so intriguing. No bra. Her dark nipples easily showed through the thin white shirt. I did my best not to gaze upon her large breasts, but in the end I gave in. I certainly didn’t want to give myself a sprained neck from resisting the urge to look down. But it was only a quick glance. So I forgave myself. I hope you female readers will forgive me too.

  William walked up to her and gave her a passionate kiss on the lips. It lasted several seconds, so long that I began to wonder if I should return in ten minutes or so.

  I have this pathetic thing I do when I see a guy with a fantastic-looking woman. I compare myself with the guy, kind of a “what-does-he-have-that-I-don’t” thing. Usually I can rationalize the guy having the girl - he looks like the Marlboro Man, he drives a Porsche, his father owns a chain of successful department stores, he’s probably a CEO of an international business conglomerate, the woman is clearly into power and wealth. But with William and this chick I couldn’t figure it out. He had a North Pole Santa body. His lawyer had all his money. He was a self-employed sculptor, so he didn’t have power over anyone. Sure, he had a cool house. But they couldn’t go in it for five years. Why would a girl this attractive agree to sleep in a tree house? I was glad for William but pissed at the same time because it made me feel even worse about my current lack of a love life.

  After what seemed like half an hour, they finally broke their lip lock. William wrapped his arm around her tiny waist.

  “Sally, I’d like you to meet Poe. Poe, this is my lady, Sally.”

  “Nice to meet you, Poe,” Sally said with a voice so high I thought I was listening to Betty Boop.

  “The pleasure’s all mine, Sally.”

  At first I thought she must be putting me on with the voice thing, but then Sally turned to her Santa Claus and asked, “Sweetie, can I get you anything at the market?” in the same painfully high tone.

  “No, I think I’m okay,” William answered. “Thank you though, honey.”

  They were so dog-gone nice to each other it made me feel slightly sick to my stomach. You knew that they were probably still in that “we-just-met-each-other-and-we’re-screwing-so-much-that-we-haven’t-met-the-real-us-yet stage.” What a great stage to be in, I reminisced. Once again, I found myself wondering what William had that I didn’t.

  Sally waved a quick goodbye and headed off towards the house. I wondered if she was destined to become the fourth Mrs. William Kelly.

  “What a great ass,” William proclaimed, watching her with incredible intensity. Then he snapped out of his lust, and turned to me. I felt amazingly uncomfortable.

  “So, Poe, what can I help you with?” he asked.

  I told William about my informal investigation into Lauren’s death and asked him if he had any insights into a possible killer.

  “I was under the impression they already had the killer in custody?” William asked more than he stated.

  “They’ve arrested my friend, Foxx, for the murder, but I don’t believe for a second he did it.”

  “So your intentions are more to clear your friend’s name than find the real killer?”

  “In a way,” I admitted.

  “I don’t know your friend Foxx very well, but he seemed a nice enough fellow to me.”

  “William, do you know of anyone who might want to see Lauren dead?”

  “No, I don’t think so. I know there’s been some nasty business about some artists accusing her of stealing their work, but I never paid much attention to that.”

  “You said ‘artists’ plural. Who other than Nick James had accused her?”


  “Did I say artists? I think I just meant to say Nick. As I recall, he’s the only one who had problems with her.”

  “What about Xavier? She used to work with him years ago. Did she ever try to sell paintings that were copycats of his?”

  “Not that I know of. Xavier has a very unique style. I certainly would have recognized his influence if she had tried to pass it off as her own.”

  “How well did you know Lauren?” I asked.

  “Not very well. I knew her more from her days of studying with Xavier. But I’ve barely seen her since then. And like you said, that was many years ago. So, would you like to take a look at the inside of my tree house? It’s quite comfortable you know.”

  “Actually, I’m quite afraid of heights,” I stated, which was not a lie at all. “So I’m going to have to respectfully decline.”

  “Of course. Well, is there anything else I can answer for you, Poe?”

  “I don’t think so, William. You’ve been helpful.”

  “Like I told Alana, feel free to call me if you have any other questions. I have a phone line running to my tree house, if you can believe it.”

  With all the odd things I had seen in Maui so far, it wouldn’t have surprised me if William had a high-speed internet connection up there.

  “You’re referring to Detective Alana Hu?” I asked.

  William chuckled. “I have trouble calling her detective. I’ve known her since she was a little girl.”

  “Did she come by to interview you today?”

  “She stopped by briefly, mainly just to apologize for not meeting me for our weekly surfing lessons.”

  “Does she teach you or do you teach her?” I asked.

  “Actually it’s just something we tease each other about. I first taught Alana to surf when she was a teenager. But now she’s a much better surfer than me. I tell her she’s the one giving me surfing lessons.”

  “I’ve always wanted to learn how to surf.”

  “Maybe we’ll see you out there one day. It might be another week before I hit the waves though. My knee’s still quite sore from missing that ladder.”

  CHAPTER 12