Murder in Honolulu: A Skye Delaney Mystery

by Flowers, R. Barri

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  He paid his last respects to Carter Delaney, just like all the other assholes who showed up, as if they really gave a damn about him when he was alive. It was like a game. Everyone played it, some better than others. Even he had to go through the motions and pretend to be all broken up about the late ex-prosecutor turned successful businessman, soon to be six feet under. In truth, the bastard didn't deserve to be alive. He had done the world a favor by dying.

  It didn't make one bit of difference if the police had labeled his death a homicide. The bottom line was that Carter Delaney might be alive today if he'd cooperated.

  If you don't play, you pay, he thought.

  He gazed at Darlene Delaney. The good-looking widow was giving the performance of her life, dabbing at those teary eyes for the entire world to see. What was that old saying? You can fool others, but you can't fool yourself.

  She sure as hell didn't fool him at all! He knew that she wanted Delaney dead as much as Delaney had wanted to her dead. Only Delaney didn't have the balls to go that far. But his widow's wish had come true. Darlene had it all now, and there was no more Carter Delaney to tell her what to do with it—including that hot body of hers.

  He watched Skye Delaney as she sat beside Detective Ridge Larsen. They were far from the perfect couple, even if they may have looked the part. The sexy private eye deserved a lot better man than the detective. Or, for that matter, Carter Delaney.

  Why the hell couldn't they have just accepted Delaney's death as a suicide? It had been so carefully planned and executed. Now things had gotten complicated. An investigation was underway to find the bastard's killer. This could be dangerous for him. Very dangerous.

  He had to be careful and watch his back. No one else was going to. If he made one wrong move, they would be onto him like white on rice.

  He couldn't let that happen.

  He kept his eyes steady as the detective named Henry Kawakami—even in plain clothes, he could easily spot a cop a mile away—passed by him looking for a sign that he had something to hide.

  Which, of course, he didn't to the naked eye.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  "She's the cheating wife you were hired to catch in the act?" Natsuko flashed me a wide-eyed look of interest.

  We were in my garden picking everything that was ripe. Natsuko had volunteered to help as a break from her household chores. For me, it was a respite, or so I thought, from the ongoing investigation into Carter's tragic and very mysterious death.

  I wiped sweat from my brow, and said to her: "Who?"

  "Your ex-husband's widow!" She raised a thin brow whimsically. "Am I right—?"

  I figured what the hell, if inquisitive minds really wanted to know, there was no reason at this point to deny it. "Was I that obvious?"

  Natsuko ate a handful of sugar peas and said: "No—she was. After I thought about it, it didn't take much to put two and two together," she said. "Isn't that what men do best? Use one woman to get what they want from another woman, and vice versa? The way I figured it, Carter Delaney needed someone to get the goods on his adulterous wife. What better person than his ex-wife who does that sort of thing for a living and probably still had the hots for him."

  I pursed my lips, thinking, aren't you miss know-it-all. I told her: "You've been watching too much TV, Natsuko. I gave up the hots for Carter a long time ago, and he damn well knew it."

  "Uh huh," she responded doubtfully.

  "It's true," I said louder than I meant to. I brushed away more perspiration from my face. It seemed to be getting hotter by the moment.

  "I'll just keep my mouth shut then," Natsuko said as her way of apology. "I don't mean to pry into your business. The man's dead and buried..." She ate some more peas and decided it was time to open her mouth again. "His wife had some nerve coming here the other day to check you out." She rolled her eyes. "Wonder what he saw in her anyway?"

  "You'll have to ask Darlene sometime," I responded dryly. But I knew exactly what Carter saw in her: youth, beauty, sex appeal, immaturity, and a new person he could mold and shape into the person he wanted.

  Natsuko was not exactly subtle in her views, which sometimes got her into trouble. In fact, I was one of the few people she seemed to approve of. Don't ask me why.

  I gazed at her with a soft smile, pulled out a carrot, and said: "Let's go in for something cool to drink."

  Five minutes later, we were in the breakfast nook downing strawberry-guava nectar like it was going out of style. Natsuko was back at it once more, asking me: "Are the police any closer to finding out who killed Carter? Or aren't they talking?"

  "The police only talk in circles," I said, speaking from experience. "If they've got anything concrete, they aren't saying."

  Even Ridge had been unusually quiet about it. Since the funeral, all he really had to say about the investigation was that they were doing their best to solve this high priority case.

  I found myself regarding it in precisely the same manner.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  There were four messages on my answering machine when I arrived at the office the next morning. One was from Liam Pratt, the pesky reporter.

  His message said: "Ms. Delaney, I'm still interested in following up on the allegations that Carter Delaney hired you to spy on his second wife...and what that might mean, if anything, regarding his untimely death. If you'd like to meet with me and talk about it you can reach me at..."

  This guy doesn't know when to give up, I thought, irritably. Who the hell was his source? I didn't recall reading anything about Darlene's affair coming to light. What did he really want?

  Though the better part of me wanted to stay as far away from Liam Pratt as possible, my curiosity got the better of me. Maybe he could shed some light on how he found out about my investigation of Darlene and who else was privy to this information.

  I gave Liam Pratt a call, but got his voicemail. "This is Skye Delaney, returning your call. I'd like to talk to you—"

  He returned my call almost immediately, as if waiting by the phone, and we agreed to meet for lunch at the Whaler's Club on South King Street. I've never gotten along very well with reporters, dating back to my days on the force. Probably because too often they are rude, arrogant, insensitive, aggressive, prying assholes—a lot like some private investigators I know.

  The reporter was already seated when I entered the restaurant and lounge, a half-filled mug of beer in front of him as though a prop on display for my benefit.

  "Ms. Delaney—" he said, and stood.

  He seemed taller and somewhat heavier than our previous close encounter.

  "Glad you could make it," he said.

  "Let's just say you aroused my curiosity," I told him, which was only partly true.

  "Ditto," he said.

  "Look, Mr. Pratt—" I began, intending to set some ground rules.

  "Call me Liam," he insisted. "Mind if I call you Skye?"

  "Suit yourself," I responded, and glanced at my watch. This wouldn't last any longer than necessary, I decided, and the clock was ticking.

  We sat across from each other in a booth. "What would you like to drink?" Liam asked, and put the mug of beer to his mouth.

  "Coffee," I told him laconically, and watched the surprised look on his face, as though he expected me to share his beer with him.

  I called the waitress over. She filled my cup and left menus for us.

  Peeking over his menu, Liam asked point-blank: "So, is it true Carter Delaney hired his ex-wife to follow his second wife around town?"

  I noted a small recorder on the table, which was on. I took the liberty of shutting it off. "I'll decide what's on the record," I told him.

  He cracked a smile and nodded. "Okay, fair enough."

  I gazed at the oddly attractive face across from me and said: "Maybe you should tell me where you got your information before I confirm or deny it."

  He seemed prepared for this and responded smoothly: "Straight fro
m the horse's mouth, as they say. It was Carter Delaney himself."

  My eyes hit him with skepticism. "I don't mean to sound flippant, but why in hell would Carter tell a reporter anything about his personal life? Especially if he knew it could potentially be used against him and his family." I sipped my coffee while maintaining a steady gaze at him.

  Liam kept a placid look on his face. "People talk a lot when they've had too much to drink." He gulped down more beer as if for effect. "It was one of those days when Delaney apparently had a hell of a bad day. I happened to be a listening ear at the bar as he droned on about the pressures of being a big shot in Honolulu...and his growing frustrations with his wife. I got the distinct impression that she wasn't putting out in the bedroom—at least not for him..."

  The waitress returned and we ordered.

  I was disturbed by what I'd heard so far. Had Carter been careless enough to have actually aired his dirty laundry in public to, of all people, an overzealous reporter who seemed to be looking for his own fifteen and a half minutes of fame?

  "I guess we all have a weakness for something," Liam continued. "Darlene Delaney's weakness seemed to be anything but her husband."

  I wondered if Liam knew about her drug use apart from her infidelity.

  "So what's your weakness, Skye?" he asked intently.

  "Whips and chains," I responded cynically, "if it makes you feel better."

  He grinned. "The real question is does it make you feel better?"

  Time to change the subject, I thought. "Let's just stick to Carter and what he told you, okay?"

  "All right," Liam said. "Delaney mentioned that you were his ex and a security consultant/private eye. It was almost as if he was bragging about both. He said he was thinking about hiring you to check out his wife to see if she was being faithful to him." Liam paused. "Did he hire you?"

  I was pretty good at lying, and certainly wasn't going to give him a juicy story he could use to draw inferences and possibly ruin people's lives. Least of all Carter's, though he was no longer around to feel the rippling effects.

  "Sorry to disappoint you, but you've wasted your time—and mine," I said with a straight face. "Carter hired me as a consultant to do some background checks on people he was thinking about hiring. Nothing more—"

  Liam regarded me thoughtfully. "Too bad. Not exactly the stuff movies of the week are made of."

  "Maybe you should try writing fiction for a living," I suggested unapologetically. "That way you can create any trashy tale you want."

  He reacted as though I'd punched him. "I'll keep that in mind."

  The food arrived at the same time my appetite left. I tried eating anyway for the sake of my health, nibbling on grilled mahi-mahi and stir-fried vegetables.

  Liam took a bite of his sautéed shrimp and said: "When I heard Carter Delaney was found dead in your Jacuzzi, I figured he must have followed through on his threat to see what his wife was up to and paid the ultimate price for it."

  My fork lifted as if it had a mind of its own and pointed threateningly at him. "Get a grip on reality," I scoffed. "You're a reporter. Even though Carter may have spouted off to you in a drunken state, there's no proof it had anything to do with his death." On the other hand, I thought, it was still too early to rule out a connection. And too early to rule out Darlene being involved in Carter's death.

  Liam seemed to agree with my stated observation. "Okay, so maybe I'm just grasping at straws here..." He bit off another piece of shrimp, then said: "But aren't you the least bit curious to know if the second Mrs. Delaney was really getting it from another man?"

  I looked at him and said convincingly: "Why should I be? That was between Carter and her." I hoped my downplaying it might be enough to convince him to leave well enough alone, though I wasn't sure why I cared. Perhaps it was because I was overly sensitive where it concerned Carter and adultery, even if he happened to be on the other end of it this time around. It occurred to me that Darlene had accused him of fooling around on her as well. I didn't doubt it, all things considered.

  "I guess it's a dead story then—figuratively speaking." Liam chuckled at his own sick sense of humor and watched for my reaction. There was none.

  I forked a piece of broccoli and told him: "As far as I'm concerned, the story was never really alive—"

  Liam wiped his mouth. "Too bad the same can't be said for the late Carter Delaney." He stared at me lasciviously. "So I was thinking that maybe we could get together sometime for a drink, the theater, or whatever. You name it."

  Now the conversation had gone beyond the boundaries I always set when dealing with people who were supposed to be professionals.

  I tasted some water and said: "I don't think so." Then I added for the record: "To tell you the truth, you're not my type." Not that I had a problem dating snoopy reporters, per se, only those who rubbed me the wrong way.

  He shrugged. "That's cool. No harm in trying."

  I took out my wallet and removed some bills, setting them on the table. "That should cover us both."

  "You don't have to—" he started.

  "I know I don't," I finished. "It's no big deal. I'm taking it as a business deduction. Good-bye, Liam—"

  I walked away without looking back, hoping he got the message that there was no reason for us to see each other again. That said, something told me we would.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  He watched Skye Delaney sashay out of the restaurant like she owned the place. Whatever else he may have thought of her, there was no denying she was one hot-blooded, easy on the eyes woman.

  He could only imagine what she was like in bed. Maybe, if he played his cards right, he could take his imagination to the next level.

  Right now, there were more important things on his mind, like what the hell was she up to? How far was she willing to go with her nose for snooping? Did she think she was dealing with a moron?

  Think again, bitch! he thought.

  He would be watching her like a damned hawk. If she got too close to the truth, she'd pay dearly for it.

  He finished his drink at the bar and left.

  Outside, he was careful to make sure he wasn't being followed. He walked two blocks to his car. Confident that no one was onto him, he drove home.

  The place wasn't much, but when you didn't have much to begin with, you didn't know what you were missing. Well, he had some idea. Trouble was every time he had something in the works, it always backfired. Tough damned luck.

  He grabbed a beer from the fridge and went to his dark room. On a table were some eight by ten black and white close-up photographs of Skye Delaney. He took a swig of beer and picked up a picture of her in a teddy with a low-cut ruffled trim bodice that revealed lots of leg.

  He found himself getting aroused at the image, wishing he had her all to himself.

  Maybe someday soon.

  He took a moment to relish the thought.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  It seemed like it was time for me to pay the "other man" a visit. Although the police had more or less eliminated Edwin Axelrod from their list of suspects, I still felt he was worth checking out. He was, after all, intimately involved with the wife of a former prosecutor, potentially compromising his law practice. If that wasn't enough, there was the simple fact that he was sleeping with a married woman whose wealthy husband was now dead.

  Murder was one way to eliminate a problem before it became unmanageable.

  I looked him up on the internet. His office was located on the ninth floor of the Harbor Towers Building on Bishop Street. I didn't bother to make an appointment after phoning his secretary and being told he was booked solid until four, after which time he would be out of the office for the rest of the day.

  Instead, I made myself comfortable in the small lobby area of the ninth floor near the elevators while I waited for Axelrod to emerge from his office. He did so at five minutes to four, holding hands with an attractive redhead who looked young enough to be his daughter.
She was tall and had the ultra thin body of a fashion model in a bright yellow tank dress. High heels made her nearly as tall as him. They kissed openly while they waited for the elevator.

  I wondered if the woman Edwin Axelrod could hardly take his hands off was actually the wife that Darlene had alluded to. Or was he actually bold enough to fool around with another mistress right there in his office building? I chose to go with the former. Obviously, Axelrod had a thing for young women, including Darlene. It didn't seem to matter if he was married to them or not. My instincts told me that the Darlene-Edwin Axelrod affair was not really about grass being greener on the other side, but at whose house the grass happened to be growing. In this case, it was the residence of the late Carter Delaney, with his wife still very much alive.

  I hated to break up the lovebirds' preoccupation with each other's mouths, but duty called.

  "Mr. Axelrod—?" I said, getting their attention. I approached them, and said tersely to him: "We need to talk—"

  He cocked his brow. "Do you have an appointment?"

  "Not really," I said. "But I've been waiting for close to an hour now, if that counts for anything. It concerns the Carter Delaney murder investigation. I understand you knew the victim..."

  This caught his attention and it appeared that I had gained his respect that had previously been lacking. "Uh, yes, of course—" he said clearly for the benefit of his companion. He told her: "This shouldn't take long. Why don't you wait for me in the car?"

  She seemed less than thrilled at the prospect. "Just remember, Edwin, we have reservations at the restaurant at four-thirty." She hit me with a dirty look and pressed the elevator button.

  "Come in," Axelrod said as he opened his office door. He closed it when we were both inside, then said rudely: "What the hell is this about?"

  It took me only an instant to study the man more closely. He seemed anxious yet careful as his deep, dark eyes gazed back at me beneath thick brows. He wore a navy designer suit and what looked like expensive leather shoes. All in all, I supposed he could be classified as handsome—at least in Darlene's eyes.