Murder in Honolulu: A Skye Delaney Mystery

by Flowers, R. Barri

  CHAPTER TEN

  He watched from amongst the reporters as Skye Delaney sidestepped questions about Carter Delaney's mysterious death like she was dodging bullets. She put on a good show as one tough lady PI.

  She was hot to trot. He liked the way she walked. You could tell she was a runner by the strength of her stride and the grace of her strut. He found himself getting turned on just by watching her thighs rub together inside those tight jeans as she moved toward the detective's car.

  No wonder Carter Delaney had reintroduced himself to her. He probably figured if he couldn't have her all to himself again, might as well have his ex work for him.

  He wondered how Skye Delaney felt seeing her onetime lover boy husband drowned in her bathtub. Not a pretty sight.

  He could see the headlines now: FORMER PROSECUTOR AND PROMINENT BUSINESSMAN KILLS HIMSELF IN EX-WIFE'S BATHTUB.

  That should get people talking, he though with a laugh. And he'd listen, along with everyone else, till he got his fill of it.

  He watched as Skye Delaney and Detective Ridge Larsen got in the car and drove off, leaving reporters scrambling for neighbors and wherever the hell else they could go for information on this breaking story.

  He could only imagine what the two lovers were talking about. They were probably on their way somewhere to check on that damned dog's condition. She was almost certainly asking Larsen why this thing had happened on her turf. He was probably asking her the same thing.

  They could ask Carter Delaney, except dead men didn't talk.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  In the car, Ridge cautioned me when he said: "The going could be a bit rough for you for a while. After all, it's not every day that something like this happens to a fairly well-known figure in this city—who also happens to be a man you were once married to."

  I didn't need to be reminded of that, but I heeded the warning nevertheless. Carter's death was not going to go away—at least not until I knew why he died. And why in my house?

  We arrived at the veterinarian's office where Dr. Garth Nishimura, chief veterinarian, greeted us. He was in his early fifties, but looked younger with short, fine black hair. He had done wonders putting Ollie back together a year and a half ago after he broke his leg fighting a neighbor's dog, so I felt totally comfortable with him in the vet's hands now.

  When he returned to the waiting room after about thirty minutes, I stood up anxiously.

  "So, how's Ollie?" I asked.

  "Couldn't be better, Skye," he said. "A slight abrasion above his right eye was all we could find to complain about." He led us to the room where Ollie was waiting enthusiastically and apparently not the worse for wear. "I'd say he still has many good years left in him," Dr. Nishimura said while Ollie licked my face like it was a lollipop. "But I'm not so sure the same can be said for whoever he took a chunk out of—"

  Ridge and I looked at each other before re-facing the doctor. "Are you saying Ollie bit someone?" I asked.

  "Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying."

  I gave Ridge another look. No one had said anything about any dog bite wounds on Carter. If that someone was not Carter, then it would mean another person was in the house around the time he died.

  "I understand there's a police investigation underway," Dr. Nishimura said.

  I reintroduced Ridge as Homicide Detective Larsen and he filled the vet in on the circumstances surrounding Carter's death. Dr. Nishimura seemed genuinely shaken up by it.

  "Will you be all right?" he asked me.

  "I haven't really had enough time to think about it yet," I answered truthfully, and glanced at Ridge.

  "Doctor, what can you tell us about the person Ollie bit," Ridge said.

  He shrugged. "Not much, really. I sent the tissue samples to the crime lab—" He scratched his flushed cheek, then added: "It definitely was a human rather than an animal, I can tell you that—and enough of an injury that medical attention was likely required—"

  "Unless, of course," Ridge remarked thoughtfully while stealing a glance my way, "the person didn't plan to be alive long enough to bother—"

  * * *

  It was deathly silent in the car en route to Ridge's house. Even Ollie seemed unable or unwilling to muster his normal vociferous barks. I couldn't read Ridge's mind, but mine was occupied with more whys about Carter. Why did he really hire me? Why didn't he show up at my office as scheduled?

  You stupid bastard. Why did you have to die in my house, leaving me to remember you like that? I thought, nonplussed.

  The silence was broken when Ridge got a call on his car radio. "We finally got in touch with Carter Delaney's old lady," the voice crackled. "She seemed to take the news of his death really hard—"

  Both Ridge and I had serious reservations about that, knowing what we did about Darlene Delaney. At the same time, I felt an instant bond with Carter's widow. After all, we were both married to him, for better or worse. Even a cheating wife must have had some feelings for the husband and father of her child that she had now lost forever.

  Needless to say, Ridge's home-cooked meal was ruined, as was our date. I was now a temporary houseguest, and food was the last thing my stomach craved. And any musings about sex were even further away.

  Ridge didn't make a fuss on either score, understanding that right now all I needed was some time to grieve and deal with the tragic turn of events.

  Sleep came easier than I thought it would. I wasn't sure if it was due to the comforting embrace of Ridge's muscular arms or the sheer exhaustion of a day that could not have ended soon enough.

  * * *

  In the morning, I fixed breakfast in a country style kitchen where I felt like a stranger. It was the first time I had been there in the capacity of, well, almost a wife. Ridge seemed quite comfortable at the prospect, playing the would-be husband role to perfection. Surprisingly, so did Ollie, who gobbled down his portion of waffles and maple syrup as if he was in dog heaven. I could tell it was going to be difficult to get him to return to his regular cuisine.

  Too bad.

  I had made up my mind that I would go back to my place sometime today to face the music. I was not going to be driven out of my own home by a dead body, not even Carter's. And I certainly wasn't ready to change the nature of my relationship with Ridge any time soon, even if he made it awfully tempting.

  Ridge didn't have to talk me into accompanying him to the Honolulu Police Department's crime lab. He couldn't have kept me away. I had to know firsthand if the police had found any signs of foul play in Carter's death. Ollie had definitely greeted someone rudely. My guess was that it was someone other than Carter, though those scratches I had seen on Carter's legs bothered me.

  "What type of man was Carter Delaney?" Ridge asked during the drive, and added before I could answer: "I actually met him once when he was still a prosecutor."

  "Oh, really?" This was news to me.

  Ridge shrugged. "It was no big deal. He attended a community policing seminar in Portland when I was on the force there. I never really got a feel for the man one way or the other, except that he seemed pretty hard-assed about wanting to get violent criminals and other troublemakers off the streets and behind bars where they belonged." Ridge paused. "Evidently somewhere along the line, his priorities took a serious hit."

  I looked at Ridge after that last comment, wondering if he somehow resented Carter's success in the business world. I quickly rejected those thoughts. Ridge was as down to earth as anyone and believed in everyone succeeding in life to the best of their ability, as long as it was legal. This included Carter. Still, I sensed that Ridge, a man who had been in law enforcement much of his adult life, found it difficult to understand how Carter could walk away from the legal profession, leaving it behind for greener pastures.

  Truthfully, I wondered the same thing myself at times, but never questioned his decision since the Carter Delaney I fell for had already established himself as a confident and successful businessman when I entered his world.r />
  I took a moment to think about the type of man Carter Delaney was, which proved to be more difficult than I cared to admit. There was something about describing a person—Carter—in past tense that was unsettling, especially when just yesterday he was still very much alive and seemed in control of his life to some extent.

  I regarded Ridge's handsome profile behind the wheel, and said levelly: "The Carter I knew was sweet, kind, smart, ambitious, opportunistic, and sometimes demanding of those around him."

  I wasn't sure if I had said too little or not enough.

  Ridge seemed to weigh my words while staring straight ahead. Finally, he looked at me and said: "Sounds like a guy who had it together—" He paused again. "Where do you suppose it all went wrong?"

  I fluttered my lashes at him with minor annoyance. "Who said it did?"

  I knew that I was defending my ex just for the sake of defending him. It was obvious that something was deeply wrong in Carter's life, and it had taken a deadly turn.

  Ridge rounded the corner rather sharply. "Everything I know so far about Carter Delaney says it," he said. "For starters, he definitely went wrong when he let you get away. His second wife was screwing around on him. Then he ends up in your Jacuzzi—only it wasn't for a bath. Something or someone led him to that point. Seems to me that every move he's made lately somehow blew up in his face..."

  "I never said Carter was a saint," I snapped, though agreeing that my ex had erred in cheating on me and ruining what had been a good thing by and large. "He had his faults just like anyone else. If you're asking me if I believe his problems drove him to commit suicide, I would say you're probably asking the wrong Mrs. Delaney. Carter's death is as much a mystery to me as it is to you. But that doesn't mean it was inevitable, especially at my house."

  We stopped at a red light and Ridge planted his eyes on my face. "Everybody's death is inevitable," he said. "It's just a question of when, why, and who's responsible. If Delaney didn't do himself in, we'll know soon enough." He glanced at the light and back to me. "Either way, Skye, the last thing you want to do is blame yourself for his death—"

  Ridge left it at that, and held my hand as if for reassurance. I squeezed his fingers and offered a nod of appreciation. Inside, part of me couldn't help but feel that if I had only been there or maybe if he had never left, Carter might still be alive...

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  I had visited the state of the art crime laboratory frequently in my other life as a police detective. Fortunately, I had maintained a certain degree of respect in the department, in spite of some lingering sore feelings both ways, which allowed me access to areas normally off limits to civilians. It didn't hurt to be accompanied by a well-respected homicide detective either.

  "Aloha, Skye," said Sumiyo Ishimoto, a forensic specialist and ten year veteran of the force. She almost looked like one of those TV forensic specialists complete with the white jacket. Her jet-black hair was in a loose chignon and she was several months pregnant with her third child.

  "Hey, Sumiyo," I said.

  "Nice to see you again," she said and then frowned. "Wish it were under different circumstances, though."

  "Me, too." I flashed Ridge a quick look of despair.

  "Sorry to hear about Carter—" Sumiyo seemed unsure what to say after that. Ridge came to her rescue.

  "It's a shock to everyone in the department," he said, adding: "And probably lots of other people on the island." He scratched his pate and asked her: "What did you come up with?"

  Sumiyo sighed. "Not much in the way of fingerprints, I'm afraid." She put on her gold-rimmed glasses and opened a folder. "The only legible prints lifted from the house belonged to Skye, the housekeeper, and"—she looked directly at Ridge—"we matched an index finger and thumb to you, Ridge..." She batted her lashes and he seemed to cringe before recovering quickly.

  "That's it?" Ridge asked.

  "Of course, we also found prints from the victim—"

  Ridge gave me a disappointed face. I returned it. To Sumiyo, he said: "Mind if I take a look at that?" His eyes lowered to the report in her hand.

  She offered it to him.

  I read the report over his shoulder while Sumiyo was saying: "The hair strands we have appear to be consistent with those from Carter's head, and dog hair. Of course, DNA tests will confirm it."

  The evidence for suicide seemed to be mounting. Short of the autopsy results, which weren't due until tomorrow, it now appeared that the person Ollie bit (assuming it wasn't Carter) offered the best chance for a case of murder.

  Sumiyo seemed to be reading my mind. "I did come up with something interesting on the blood samples we got from the vet," she said looking at me. "And those taken from your bathroom—"

  "Lay it on us," Ridge said eagerly.

  Sumiyo led us to a table where the results of her lab work still lay. She lifted a clipboard. "First of all, the preliminary DNA results show that the samples almost certainly came from the same source," she said. "And, secondly, it seems that your dog bit someone with a rare blood type."

  "How rare?" I asked.

  "Very rare," she said. "Someone is walking around this city with AB negative blood and a very painful dog bite. I'm guessing it's a shoulder wound or a defensive wound on their arm or hand—"

  Ridge wrote something down and then glanced at me. "Hmm.... Rare blood type. That should narrow things down for us."

  "I'll call the medical examiner's office to get Carter's blood type," Sumiyo said. "If only to rule out—"

  "That won't be necessary, as far as ruling out goes," I interjected. "If I'm not mistaken"—and I was not—"Carter's blood type is AB negative."

  I was starting to believe that Carter's death was a suicide, and that Ollie must have bitten him. Maybe that also accounted for the scratches I'd seen on Carter's legs. I deduced that Carter probably surprised Ollie when he entered the house without my presence and Ollie thought he was an intruder, which he was, and bit him.

  But that still didn't tell me why Carter would kill himself. Nor did it end my suspicions as to the timing of his death. I found it more than a little shaky that Carter died before I could tell him that his wife was seeing another man and doing drugs.

  Was that merely coincidence of the worst kind?

  Then there was that reporter who seemed to know Carter had hired me, even though Carter had seemed to go out of his way to keep his suspicions from becoming public knowledge. What was that all about?

  There was one more thing that just didn't sit right with me about Carter's death. Other than some scratches on his legs, I didn't recall seeing anything that looked like a dog bite on his body or any wounds with blood. Could there have actually been someone else in the house with the same rare blood type as Carter?

  What were the odds of that?

  Admittedly, the odds did not seem very good that Carter had been the victim of anyone other than himself. But I never allowed long odds alone to sway me one way or the other.

  I withheld judgment for now, wishing I didn't have a sinking feeling that this was more the beginning than the end of the mysterious death of Carter Delaney.

  Ridge dropped me off at my house at three-thirty. The police had completed their investigation of the premises and departed. I would pick up Ollie from Ridge's place later.

  Right now, it was time for me to regain control of my life, hard as it would be. Alone. Ridge, bless his heart, did not argue the point. But he did offer to stay over. Or, at the very least, check on me often.

  "I'll be all right," I promised, and made myself believe it.

  He flashed me a doubtful look from the car. "Just do me a favor. Keep your gun loaded and close by. Just in case—"

  I assured him I would, all things considered.

  "I'll let you know when the autopsy report comes in," he said before driving off.

  It now seemed as if the results would be a mere formality, which, in and of itself, left me weak in the knees with concern.

  * * *<
br />
  I went for a swim in the ocean. It beat swimming pools any day of the week. As with jogging, it was my answer to relaxing my mind and working out at the same time. I also used exercise as an opportunity for solitude when getting away from my world and all its troubles seemed a necessity. Only something was missing. It was Ollie as my constant companion for staying in shape. He also happened to be a very good swimmer. Ridge was still dog sitting for me. I'd have to suffer alone this time.

  After an hour or so, I returned home exhausted with much work to do and precious little time to heal my emotional wounds. My house had been left a mess by the city's finest. All in the line of duty, they would say. I called it a bit overzealous, knowing they would get to go to their own orderly homes when they were done messing up mine.

  I called Natsuko and asked her to come over for an extra day this week. I could use the help. She was only too happy to offer her assistance and also satisfy her huge appetite for curiosity, not to mention a free meal.

  "It must have really freaked you out," Natsuko said with a contorted look on her face. "Seeing him in the tub like that and all..." She shivered.

  It was ten times worse that you could ever imagine, I thought.

  "I've definitely had better days—" I moaned, and gazed pensively out the kitchen window.

  I considered the ineffectiveness of my security apparatus, which had apparently allowed Carter to enter uncontested, even with a key. The alarm seemed to be working perfectly now.

  Natsuko shuffled her way into my periphery. Glancing at her, I asked: "Did you forget to activate the alarm when you left yesterday?"

  "I don't think so," she responded defensively. Then in an about face, said: "I was late for a class and had to run back home for a minute. Maybe it did slip my mind...but I'm still pretty sure I set the alarm."

  "All right," I told her, though feeling less than certain. It could explain how what was supposed to protect the place from intruders, or at least notify the security company, had not. I wasn't sure if this made me feel better or worse.