Carter's will was going to be read at his attorney's office. Now that the official police investigation into his death had been closed and the expected chief beneficiary cleared of all suspicions, the will could now be read.
I was surprised that I was invited, the presumption being that Carter had left me something. I wanted nothing from him that I didn't already have, which included good memories. But curiosity caused me to show up, much to the chagrin of his widow, who seemed to think I was going to somehow walk away with everything she believed was rightfully hers.
Neil Schmidt had been Carter's attorney since before Carter and I were married. They had attended law school together and remained friends and friendly competitors, in spite of veering off into different branches of law and social circles. Neil had a successful law practice and an office on Merchant Street in the high rent district downtown. At forty-one, he was no taller than five-five and slightly built with short dark blonde hair parted to the side.
"Aloha, Skye!" he said in a deep voice, unbuttoning the jacket of his designer suit.
"Hi, Neil," I said, and shook his hand.
A look of sadness washed over his face. "I wish we were meeting again under better circumstances—"
"So do I," I said, then felt obliged to add: "Carter's life was not in vain."
Neil nodded. "I agree," he said solemnly. "Carter knew how to live life as it should be. More than anyone I knew, he was relentless in going after what and who he wanted—and usually succeeded..."
Whatever Neil may have meant, his words were not exactly endearing to me or likely to my successor as Mrs. Carter Delaney. Darlene was standing near a wooden conference table at one end of the long office. She pressed her lips together tightly and gave me an impatient look.
I nodded in polite acknowledgement.
As far as I knew, outside of Ivy, Carter had no other living relatives. An only child, his parents had died in a car accident when he was thirteen, forcing him to be shuttled between foster homes until he reached adulthood. No doubt this would work in Darlene's favor and she would presumably get all of whatever Carter left behind, as would his daughter.
We sat in cream-colored leather chairs on opposite sides of the table as Neil took a chair at the head. His briefcase was open on the table beside a pitcher of water and some drinking glasses.
"Can we please get on with this," Darlene whined nervously.
Neil raised a brow at her, then me. "Yes, of course..." He removed some papers from his briefcase and said: "As the executor of Carter's estate and as his attorney, I've been appointed to read his last will and testament and see to it that it is carried out according to his wishes. None of us expected it would be this soon..." He paused, glancing at the papers and then back to each of us. "There's no easy way to put this, so I'll just get right to it," Neil said. "Carter's business was in big trouble when he died. As you know, the economy has been in the doldrums of late and is still struggling to regain its footing. Internet-based companies have been hit especially hard where it concerns international trade. Carter's liabilities far exceeded his assets. In other words, Carter was a step or two away from filing for bankruptcy..."
Darlene batted her lashes in disbelief. "You're telling me that all of the money he invested in the company is gone?"
"Just about," Neil said sadly. "I'm sure you know that Carter had a serious gambling problem." He carried on before she could respond. "Unfortunately, he often dipped into his business profits and assets to cover his debts. But the creditors are still there waiting to be paid what Carter owed them—"
None of this came as a surprise to me. After all, it was obvious that Carter was in real trouble when the gambling came to light and Darlene was forced to come up with the funds to try to bail him out of a difficult and dangerous situation. The businessman and the gambling addict were one and the same—meaning they either rose or fell together. Unfortunately, Carter got in over his head in both arenas and destroyed much of what he had in the process.
From the look on Darlene's face, not even a payoff of three million dollars in insurance money appeared to be satisfactory as a parting gift from Carter.
But Neil wasn't through with his surprises.
"The house will have to be sold to cover Carter's outstanding debts," he said bleakly.
Darlene stared at him wide-eyed. "What—?"
"I'm sorry, but there is no other choice other than to try to protect what's left for you and your daughter." He looked at me. "There's still something in this for you, Skye."
I wasn't holding my breath at this point, wondering what was left. I did find it somewhat amusing that Darlene was taking this so hard, as if she were somehow entitled to far more than she ever brought to the marriage—which it seemed like she was getting.
"Fortunately, between selling off the assets of Carter's business and the house itself, it should wipe the slate clean," Neil said. "I don't think you'll end up in the poor house, Darlene, especially with the generous insurance policy Carter made sure he had in the event of his death."
Darlene sneered at me, but seemed to now be counting her blessings. She asked Neil: "So do I need to move out of my house now?"
He smiled faintly. "In time, yes, but not overnight or anything." After winking at me, he turned to the papers before him and said: "Now, back to the will... The bulk of Carter's estate, minus that used to pay off creditors—including outstanding stocks and bonds, an old coin collection, paintings, and an account he set up to continually subsidize his daughter's trust fund—goes to Ivy. He also updated his life insurance, making his daughter the beneficiary of two-thirds of the amount—"
Darlene reacted to this, clearly not expecting that last statement. I, for one, was happy that Carter had at least put Ivy ahead of himself in securing her future—even at the expense of his wife, who may have had other ideas about spending his money.
Neil turned to Darlene and continued. "These assets, including the insurance payout, are to be converted into cash as soon as possible, then added to Ivy's trust fund, which I will administer until she reaches the age of twenty-five. A second account will be set up in Ivy's name that will be available to her when she turns eighteen."
He stopped and took a drink of water. "As Ivy's mother and legal guardian, Darlene, you'll have access to any funds deemed necessary to maintain a reasonable standard of living for her. Money will also be available for any emergencies that might arise regarding Ivy—"
Darlene narrowed her eyes at him. "So I get nothing but one-third of the insurance money?"
Neil leaned back in his chair. "Actually, you get all the furniture, jewelry, and other household items not already stated, as well as any stocks, mutual funds, and bank accounts that were in your name," he answered coolly. "And, with all due respect, Darlene, your portion of Carter's insurance money amounts to a million dollars. That's not a bad piece of change, considering—"
Darlene grunted with tight lips. I waited more than patiently to see what Carter had seen fit to will to me in his unpredictable way.
"There is one other thing Carter left behind for you, Darlene," Neil said, removing more papers from his briefcase. Darlene's eyes lit up with a ray of hope. "He was aware you had a drug problem..."
I watched Darlene's face suddenly darken.
To me, this was an indication that Carter probably also knew about Kalolo Nawahi. Could Carter have also known about Edwin Axelrod even before he had hired me? While this didn't make sense, not much did where it concerned my ex-husband and the inner workings of his mind.
Neil went on: "To that end, Carter was able to set aside funds to be used at a drug treatment facility of your choice, for you to receive as much care as you are willing to get for up to ten years following his death—"
Darlene avoided my eyes as she digested what Carter had quite literally delivered to her from the grave. Clearly he'd given this much thought, and was most concerned about protecting his daughter's best interest, even if it meant his wife just might
have to get used to a less extravagant lifestyle. At the same time, I felt that Carter had at least cared for this woman more than she'd ever believed. In sponsoring drug treatment for her in death, he was giving Darlene a way to help herself and their daughter that he apparently couldn't do in life.
"Carter also instructed me that if there was anything left, he wanted to set up a foundation to help fight substance abuse and gambling addiction..." Neil caught the surprised look on my face and said: "He knew he had a gambling problem, but couldn't lick it. Guess this was his way of trying to help others caught in the same vicious trap."
Carter continued to surprise me in a positive way. It was as if he was trying to make amends after the fact for a life in which he'd made some regrettable, and often baffling, errors in judgment.
"Now for you, Skye..." Neil said, gazing at me with a smile.
I poured myself a glass of water and tasted it as the suspense mounted regarding the fate or fortune Carter had in store for me.
Neil removed something wrapped in brown paper from under the table. The paper was removed, revealing a 12 x 18 inch custom-framed oil painting. It was a picture of Carter and me on our wedding day.
"He had this made for you from an old wedding photo he kept in his wallet," Neil said, handing the painting to me. "Carter wanted you to have something to remember him by on what he considered to be one of the most special days of his life."
A touch of nostalgia overcame me as I remembered the moment in time that truly seemed like someone else's moment. We both looked so young, happy, and in love. It was supposed to be the first day of the rest of our lives. But it didn't quite work according to plan.
"Thanks, Neil," I said, trying not to get too emotional. "It's a nice way to remember Carter—"
His eyes crinkled as he smiled. "You two did make a pretty nice couple, didn't you?"
Darlene pouted. "Why the hell did he ever bother to leave you in the first place when he obviously couldn't get you off his mind...right up to the very end?"
I was barely able to refrain myself after her outburst. Talk about ungrateful, I mused. I get a painting with sentimental value, and she walks away from this a millionaire. I was getting damn tired of being the bad guy in this twisted three-way scenario of sex, lies, infidelity, drugs, and gambling. It seemed like a good time for me to vent some unresolved feelings I had for Darlene to her face.
"If you take a good look at yourself," I barked, "you just might reach the conclusion that you had something to do with me giving Carter his walking papers and, in effect, him giving you yours—" It wasn't a knockout punch, but I did deliver her a well deserved stinging jab or two.
And felt much better for it.
Ridge was waiting for me in the car after the show had ended. "What the hell's that?" he asked of the painting, which I placed across the back seat, face down.
Something told me that showing it to him right now wasn't a smart move. It was likely headed to my attic for cold storage and invisibility. Right now I didn't need to be reminded of days gone by, especially the recent ones.
I flashed Ridge a little smile and said: "Let's just say that as far as bequeathed items go, it's not something that will allow either of us to retire any time soon—"
"Too bad," he said, frowning. "I had visions of your coming out of this with a fortune, asking for my hand in marriage, and both of us retiring to a house on the beach in Maui."
I laughed and told him: "Keep dreaming. You never know what might be waiting around the corner—"
Retiring with riches did sound nice, I thought. But funding that retirement through Carter's last will and testament and untimely demise did not set well with me. I doubted it would have for Ridge either.
Marriage, though, was a different proposition altogether, I thought. And, frankly, it scared the hell out of me. My last marriage had left me with a bad impression of the institution.
When and if the urge came around again, Ridge seemed like the perfect choice to walk down the aisle with, assuming he really saw me as marriage material.
But that was something to consider for another day, I thought.
CHAPTER FIFTY
Even though Carter's murder had been solved, I still had some lingering questions that needed answered. And Liam Pratt seemed like the one person who might be able to help me fill in the blanks. He knew about the relationship between Edwin Axelrod and Kazuo Pelekai and may have discovered Axelrod's affair with Darlene. I wondered what else he had uncovered that could possibly connect Carter's death to the others and Ramirez's suicide to the alleged suicide of Axelrod.
I dropped by the offices of the Honolulu Press, where Liam worked, hoping to catch him there. I walked up to the front desk in the lobby.
"How can I help you?" a twenty-something Polynesian receptionist asked.
"I'm looking for Liam Pratt," I told her. "Can you tell me where his office is?"
"Yes, I can tell you, but you won't find him there," she said. "Liam's on assignment. You just missed him."
Oh, hell, I thought. When I finally do want to see him, he makes himself scarce.
"Can you tell me where he is?" I asked. "It's important..."
She studied me the way a jealous woman might, almost making me wonder if Liam was bedding the pretty young woman.
"My name's Skye Delaney," I said, deciding to put my cards at least partially on the table. "I'm a private investigator. Liam and I have been working together on a case..." I considered this to be true in a roundabout way, even if he didn't know it yet.
She gave me a thoughtful look. "Oh yeah, I read about you and all the crazy stuff that's been going on at your house."
"Yes, definitely crazy," I told her, but I wasn't looking to turn this into some girl chat right now.
She seemed to read my mind. "Well, I'm not sure exactly where Liam is, but I can give you his cell number, if you don't already have it."
Actually, I did and told her so.
After I got back into my car, I phoned Liam Pratt, putting him on speakerphone.
He answered on the first ring. "Skye," he said, as if we were longtime buddies. "Believe it or not, I was just thinking about you."
"Oh really," I said. I didn't even want to imagine the exact nature of those thoughts. I recalled our last meeting and the mild flirting that seemed to be going on, more his way than mine.
"That so hard to believe?" he asked. Background noise suggested he too was driving.
"Actually, no," I admitted, considering the source.
"It's not what you think," Liam said mysteriously. "I was hoping we could talk. Guess you felt the same way..."
"Maybe I did," I conceded, as he now had my full attention. "Why don't you go first?"
"All right," he said. "I've been doing some digging into these recent deaths that appear to be connected to Carter Delaney and, to tell you the truth, I'm not really satisfied with the official findings—" Liam paused as if gathering his thoughts. "I found a common thread between Delaney, Edwin Axelrod, and Antonio Ramirez that I think is worth checking into."
"I'm listening..." I told him.
He continued. "A man named Trevor Baldwin worked for Delaney and, most recently, Axelrod, as a driver, bodyguard, and all around errand boy," Liam informed me. "According to my sources, Baldwin is a forty-five-year-old Persian Gulf War vet who carries some psychological baggage from his tour of duty and a bitter divorce. Delaney allegedly fired him for stealing money. Although he was no longer employed by Axelrod, a witness saw Baldwin coming from the building the day Axelrod was killed."
"Interesting," I said, while remaining skeptical that this information was tied to Axelrod's death. The police had not labeled Baldwin as a suspect in Axelrod's death nor had they indicated that Baldwin had any connection to Carter's murder. "But what does that prove, other than Trevor Baldwin couldn't hold onto a job and he may have visited the building that day?"
"For one, it gives us someone—besides those already noted—who could've had it in
for either man," Liam answered equably. "But here's where it gets even more interesting. I had my man on the force run Baldwin's name through the system. He spent time in the joint for attempted murder. And guess who he roomed with for a while?"
"Adam Ramirez," I replied. It seemed to fit when I put the pieces together.
"Bingo!" Liam yelled into the phone. "Antonio Ramirez's brother. Doesn't that strike you as just a little bit too coincidental?"
"How about a lot too coincidental," I told him, as the improbable connections raced through my mind. "Frankly, it does seem almost too weird to be true."
"I know," Liam concurred, "but the facts speak for themselves. I found out that Baldwin was also charged once with breaking and entering, but it never went to trial after the victim mysteriously disappeared. I admit that one thing may have absolutely nothing to do with the other in these scenarios and happenings. But, when you put it all together, it could be that Trevor Baldwin is a ticking time bomb on the loose..."
"Even if I were to believe that Baldwin is a threat to society and may have killed Axelrod," I said, "Antonio Ramirez's DNA was a positive match to blood found on my dog when he bit someone in my house the day Carter was killed. There was no indication that Ramirez had a partner in crime or was there to stage his suicide."
"So maybe Baldwin did a damned good job to make it appear that way," Liam speculated. "Stranger things have happened."
It seemed like this case had been full of strange twists and turns, I thought. So why not another?
"Are you on your way to talk to Baldwin?" I asked Liam, conceding that this turn of events could be much more than a wild goose chase.
"Not exactly," he said. "The man's been hard to track down. Seems like he never stays in the same place too long." Liam cleared his throat. "However, I've got a lead on a woman who supposedly knows Baldwin. I'm on my way to see her right now. Her name is Natsuko Sasaki. I think you know her..."
My heart skipped a beat in that moment of shock. Natsuko Sasaki, my mind repeated as if I'd heard him incorrectly. My housekeeper!
Murder in Honolulu: A Skye Delaney Mystery Page 22