by Aysia Amery
“Let’s go talk to the wife’s ghost first and see if she knows anything,” I said.
Entering the house, it felt eerie, like most of these crime scenes did. My skin prickled with goosebumps.
“It feels a little chilly in here,” I told Pako.
“Really? It feels fine to me,” he replied. Yeah, he had more meat and fat on him, so he was well insulated. But again, some of that chill I felt was most likely due to psychological factors rather than the actual temperature. Especially when it came to method of murder.
I hated the messy ones—the blood splattering and painful ones. Although poison and being strangled hurt like hell too, somehow they didn’t affect my creepiness factor like guns and knives, or any other object that bore into the flesh and oozed ...
Okay, dropping the subject now. Don’t want to get gross and morbid here.
I followed Pako as he led the way to the kitchen.
At the kitchen sink, Nani’s ghost stood with her back toward us as though she were washing dishes.
“Hello, Nani,” I spoke in a clear voice.
“She’s here already?” Pako was used to waiting for a minute or more before a ghost made their appearance, and normally after I called out to them a few times.
I nodded, focusing my eyes on the apparition’s figure turning around to greet us. She wore a spaghetti strap yellow sundress that had large white polka dots scattered about. The woman had a pretty face. But what caught my eye was the pink hibiscus in her long brown hair over her right ear.
Pako sat on a barstool at the counter to the right of the sink, which jutted out perpendicular to it.
The poor woman not only looked sad but also lonely. As though she missed and longed for a lost love.
“My name is Ginger. I can see ghosts, but I can’t hear them.”
The expression on her face didn’t change. My disclosure didn’t seem to surprise her at all. Interesting, because it did most ghosts I’ve met.
“I’m here with Detective Anzo”—she glanced his way—“investigating what happened. The police believe that your husband shot you, then killed himself.”
Her expression perked up, but I couldn’t tell what it meant. Was she reacting to hearing her husband might’ve shot her or that he also killed himself?
“Were you aware that your husband was dead?” I asked.
She shook her head. Apparently, Kyle wasn’t haunting inside the house. No wonder Nani was lonely. Then again, if her husband did shoot her, then better for her that he roamed outside.
Since Nani didn’t know about Kyle’s death, it probably meant she couldn’t cross the threshold to the outdoors. Unless she just chose not to.
“I’d like to ask you some questions to get to the bottom of your murder and to help you move on. But for those you can’t answer by a nod or shake of your head, you’ll have to do pantomime to communicate with me. Do you know the rules of charades?” I prayed she did because it was so much easier when a ghost knew the game.
She nodded.
Great!
“Did you see who killed you?” Even though Pako said she was shot in the back, it didn’t mean she hadn’t seen anything. She could’ve caught the killer’s reflection on the window pane, or if she was conscious long enough, seen who moved her to the bed. There were all sorts of possibilities.
She shook her head.
Drats! Well I guess that ruled out those theories.
“Do you believe your husband shot you?”
Her forehead furrowed on that one. She bit her lip, then shrugged.
“Were you having an argument?”
Again, a no.
“Is there any reason your husband might’ve wanted to kill you?”
At first she just stared at me, but then she started acting out in charade.
She held up four fingers and pushed her hand forward.
“Four words,” I said.
One finger now took the forefront.
“First word.”
She moved that finger and pointed it inward at herself.
“I?”
Yes.
Three fingers pushed forward.
“Third word.”
She made a small space between her thumb and forefinger.
“Small word.”
A nod.
“A?”
Another nod. Then she hesitated. Her mouth quirked to one side and her eyeballs moved around as if trying to figure out what word to do next.
In the next moment, her eyes gleamed, and I knew she was ready again.
“Fourth word,” I said after she held her fingers out.
One hand twisted at her ring finger.
“Ring?”
Wait, she was pulling it off. The ring, I mean, not her finger.
“You’re removing your ring?”
She held her hand out as if offering it.
“You were giving back your ring?”
Then it hit me.
“You wanted a divorce?”
She nodded. Even though one might’ve normally shown happiness at my successful decipher, her face reflected no smile.
“Do you think your husband killed you because you wanted a divorce?”
Her shoulders shrugged.
I supposed that was all she could think of if she believed what the police suspected—that Kyle shot her.
Although now that we knew it, it was certainly a plausible motive. It wouldn’t be the first time someone murdered their spouse who wanted out of the marriage.
I looked over at Pako. He sat patiently with his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the barstool’s backrest. He’d already gone thoroughly through the house when the police had first been called to the crime scene, so there wasn’t anything for him to do but wait until I finished my ghostly interview.
“Is there anything else you can tell us, Nani?”
She shook her head, gazing at me with those sad, forlorn eyes. Having been taken from this world when still young and full of life, any ghostly spirit would be sad.
My kid sister, Maile, displayed that same look many times when she visited me. My heart ached whenever she’d look at me in that way.
“She got nothing more to say?” Pako asked. My own sad face must’ve given him the notion that the answers Nani’s ghost gave weren’t hopeful.
Unfortunately, she was as clueless about what exactly happened as we were.
“Yup, looks that way,” I answered.
I returned my attention to Nani just as she vanished.
“She still there?”
I shook my head. “Nope. Just left.”
Pako got off the barstool. “Let’s go talk to the husband.”
Chapter 4
Kyle’s ghost appeared in a matter of seconds after I called out to him. Some ghosts were fast like that. Others took minutes, while a few never showed.
He reacted to my being able to see him as did most other ghosts—with eyes popped wide. As I explained to Kyle how to communicate to me, Pako leaned against the shed and crossed his arms.
“Did you shoot your wife?” No need for small talk.
He hesitated.
Why was he hesitating? He either did or didn’t. It wasn’t a difficult question.
Still no answer.
Hmm. Too bad I couldn’t read minds. That would be even handier, although it could also be a nuisance if I couldn’t turn it off when I wanted.
“The police think you shot your wife, then killed yourself. Is that what happened?” I hoped he’d give me something to work with here. Otherwise, this case will go down that way. Not sure why—just my intuition kicking in I guess—but something didn’t feel right about it.
Kyle stared at me with unreadable eyes, but the way his hands rubbed his mouth seemed to indicate he was contemplating how to answer.
“Did you kill your wife?” I repeated, nudging him along.
He was dead for gosh sakes. It’s not like he’d be locked away in prison, so why not just confess? Or if
he didn’t do it, why wasn’t he shaking his head?
Dang it. Guess he wasn’t going to cooperate. Then another thought hit me ... maybe he doesn’t remember. A bullet to the brain could’ve scrambled that gray matter. Or even the blunt force might’ve given him amnesia.
In any case, he either didn’t know or he didn’t want us to know the truth.
Before I could ask another question, his apparition vanished. I doubted he’d answer anything I posed anyway. It was clear; he wasn’t going to help.
“You don’t look happy,” Pako said.
“He’s gone, and he was useless.” I sighed.
“The guy had nothing to say?” He moved his big frame off the shed and walked toward me.
“Nope. He refused to answer my questions.”
“Maybe he did it, then.”
“Or maybe he can’t remember,” I retorted.
“Bummers.” Pako knew this case wasn’t going to be easy to crack without some help from the ghosts.
“Yeah, maybe he did it after all.” I threw up my hands.
Pako eyed me with a cocked brow. “I’ve known you a long time, Ging. I can tell you don’t believe that just yet.”
Yes, my good friend knew me well.
“What bothers me the most, Pako, is the gunshot to the forehead. I’d like to see some statistics on just how many suicides had the bullet wound there.”
“Yeah, I know. That’s been bothering me too.”
“I’m going to do some sleuthing at the memorial service. I’ll let you know what I find out.”
“Don’t go adding to the body count, now,” he said in jest.
“What? You don’t need more work?” I joked back.
“Not from you.” Yeah, I could be a handful even if I’m not snuffing people. Blaine knew this well too.
“Hey, remind me not to bake you any more goodies. My creations shouldn’t be wasted on someone without good taste.”
“Your food’s too fancy for me. I always get indigestion.”
Was he serious?
“You’re kidding me, right?”
He laughed. “Yeah, yeah, don’t worry. I’m just sour cuz you don’t bring over the goods as much anymore.”
“I thought you were on a diet?”
“Who said?”
I didn’t have the heart to tell him that Kim put a restraining order on my desserts. Even though I was health conscious with the ingredients, she said that Pako ate more than his share and his opu (tummy) was bursting his belts. She had to buy him a new set of pants, and she didn’t want to keep having to do that.
“I thought you told me.” I little white lied.
“I doubt it.” Then came those squinty eyes. “Oh, I get it. Kim told you that, didn’t she?”
Well, I’m glad he figured it out and didn’t insist that he hadn’t told me, then what would be my excuse?
“She said you’ve been bustin’ outta your britches.” I laughed.
He sucked in his gut. “Yeah, well, I’ve been working out so that’ll change.”
“If you keep scarfing down those malasadas at work, I dunno ...”
It’s gotta be hard to resist when co-workers bring goodies to the office. It took willpower, which Pako, when it came to food, didn’t have.
“In a month, I’ll be down a size. You watch.” He was adamant.
“I’m rooting for you, buddy,” I said, slapping him on the shoulder.
“You done here?” His eyes scanned the area.
“Yup. Nothing more to get from these ghosts, I’m afraid.”
“Let’s hele on (go) then.”
As we walked back to the car, Pako said, “We gotta stop at Komoda Bakery on the way back.”
I halted in my tracks and gave him a drop-jaw stare.
“Didn’t you have malasadas this morning already? And I thought you just told me that you were working on your diet?”
“I didn’t say that. I said that I was working out. Big difference. I’ll burn up them calories. Besides, it’s for the guys. I can’t come back empty-handed if they find out I was right by Komoda’s. Gotta pick up some stick donuts and cream puffs. Oh, and their guava malasadas and butter rolls.”
“You better never give me a reason to use this as blackmailing material with Kim,” I said, shaking my head.
“Yeah, yeah, threaten all you want. I know you’d take a bullet for me, so you’d never snitch to Kim.”
Unfortunately, he was right. Getting him in trouble with his wife was the last thing I’d do to him.
Dang. He knew me too well.
Just as we got to the car, a glint on the ground struck my eyes. It looked like a piece of silver jewelry embedded between two small rocks. Picking it up and turning it around, a tiny pink hibiscus charm, no bigger than the size of a disposable soft contact lens, dangled from a split ring.
“Look what I found.” I dropped the delicate piece of jewelry into my palm and held out my hand to show Pako.
His eyes zeroed in and studied it as though it were from another planet. “Is that for a necklace or a bracelet?”
“I’m surprised you didn’t include earring.” My eyes glimmered a tease.
“Hey, I’m not that stupid. I know what an earring looks like.”
“I’m thinking bracelet since it’s got a split ring and not a jump ring,” I said, getting back on track, answering his question. “Normally, necklaces don’t use split rings as much as bracelet charms do.”
“You think a kid dropped that?”
“Charms aren’t only worn by kids.” My clueless friend obviously has never bought one for his wife. “Also, this one looks expensive. I believe that’s pink opal set into the hibiscus design. Whether the backing is platinum, white gold, or stainless steel is hard to say. Seeing that it hasn’t tarnished, we can rule out sterling silver.”
I picked it up by the split ring and looked for an insignia in the back. There was none.
“A jeweler will be able to test it to see what the metal compound is.”
“How come you know so much about this stuff?” Pako looked at me as though a mole sprouted on my face that he never noticed before.
“I’m Sherlock, remember?” That was my line to use on him. We always vied for that title when working on a case, but I’d also use it relating to other things. He wouldn’t make a fuss on the latter, but with the prior, no way did he let me take the title without a fight.
“I’m gonna have to bag it,” he told me.
I didn’t argue with that.
Pako pulled out a small ziplocked bag from his car, and I dropped it in. I knew from the first time I set eyes on it Pako would have to turn it in as evidence, so all the while I handled it, I made sure to pick it up by the split ring.
I wasn’t a dummy. I rolled my eyes when movies or T.V. shows had the dimwit pick up the gun or knife or whatever, smearing their fingerprints all over the murder weapon. How smart was that?
But of course, they had to have somebody bungle things in the story; otherwise, it would be too tidy and uninteresting. However, in real life, it was just plain stupid to be that bungling. I didn’t have to be a detective to know that much.
Being set between those two stones must’ve kept that charm from disappearing into the soil. Good thing that glint caught my eye.
Hmm. Could the charm be a clue? Or was it just a piece of jewelry somebody lost? Was it Nani’s or a visitor’s?
Will keep this on the backburner for now.
Chapter 5
After setting up the buffet in the full-service lounge area of the mortuary, my assistant Reese stayed with the food while I peeked into the chapel through the wall of glass windows that separated the two rooms.
Once the visitation portion ended with everyone seated in the pews, the pastor commenced his ‘Celebration of Life’ sermon. Although I couldn’t hear anything through the glass, I watched his lips move.
Elisse had told me the service would be very short. She gave me a program sheet so I knew what wa
s to happen and when. The program portion would be thirty-minutes tops. Neither she, nor her brother and sister-in-law were religious, so Elisse asked the pastor to keep his sermon and prayers short.
Both Kyle’s and Nani’s best friends would be performing the eulogies, followed by a song sung by another friend, an ending prayer by the pastor, and closing with Elisse’s ‘thank you for coming’ speech.
Many of the past memorial services I’ve catered had short programs like this one, while others could last two hours or more.
Since I considered this headcount on the small side, only Reese accompanied me. Jemma, my other assistant, helped prep the food earlier today, but since she had an aversion toward funerals—unless I absolutely needed her—she was exempt from these gigs.
From where I stood, I could see the altar where a flamboyant spray of protea, bird of paradise, red ginger and white dendrobiums, along with ferns and various greenery bedded a sheathed table.
Two cubed koa wood urns nestled within the tropical spray bedding, while a large koa picture frame—with a photo of Kyle and Nani Wilder, cheek to cheek, smiling at the camera as though on their honeymoon—set upon a slightly higher tier behind the urns.
A maile lei, entwined with multi-strands of pikake, draped over the frame, cascading down to rest upon the urns below.
The floral spread was gorgeous and a glorious tribute to the deceased couple. If one didn’t know the circumstances of their deaths, the happiness exuding from the couple’s faces would bring tears to the eyes, not only at their tragic loss of life, but also the love between them.
I scoped the people sitting in the pews. Elisse had said there would be around fifty. I counted forty-six. No one looked familiar, well, except for Elisse, of course. Maui was so small that between my relatives, friends, clients, and acquaintances, there was normally somebody I recognized at every gig.
According to Elisse, the attendees here were immediate family, certain close relatives, and a select handful of the couple’s closest friends.
I stood there long enough to peg who the two best friends were. They would be good prospects to interview.
Once they were called up to the podium, since I couldn’t hear anything through the thick glass, there was nothing more to keep me standing there, staring at the speakers. I had seen all I needed to for the moment, so I rejoined Reese—who fingered around on his cell phone—and waited for the program to end.