She jumped off the lounge and violently shook out the pareo, then quickly wrapped it around her, tucking and folding until she’d created a pretty impressive cover-up. Without so much as a backward glance, she went inside and slammed the door behind her.
***
At Ma’alaea Harbor I took the Kihei cutoff, turning mauka—inland—at the Mokulele Highway to the Haleakala Highway. I turned again at Haili’imaile Road. It was almost the reverse of the route I’d taken earlier. I floored the Geo—which amounted to getting it up to a neck snapping forty-five—through the Haili’imaile pineapple fields before taking the left at Pu’u Lane to my house.
When I pulled into the driveway, Hatch was sitting outside on the wide front porch. His head was down and his hands were busy with something in his lap. He didn’t look up as my car crunched over the gravel and stopped in front of the house. If I was interrupting a private moment it didn’t seem like he cared.
“Hey,” I called out.
“Hey, yourself,” he said still working away at his lap.“I gotta tell ya, this is the cutest pup of the bunch.” He raised his cupped hands and showed me the same little brown and white patchwork pup I’d held down at Farrah’s.
“Oh yeah, that little guy’s my favorite too.”
“I hate to start an argument, but I’m pretty sure it’s female.”
“Ha! No problem with me. Better to figure it out now before Farrah names it ‘Paka’.”
“Which means…”
“Bob—in Hawaiian.
He placed the tiny pup back in his lap and tickled its belly. Lipton whined behind the screen door, no doubt fretting over being separated from her offspring.
“You’re going to have to share the pups,” I said. “Farrah’s coming to stay with us for a few days. She’s taking Kevin McGillvary’s death pretty hard.”
“Oh yeah. Steve said he’d talked to you. Why didn’t you call me back?”
“I’ve been avoiding the phone. I figure dealing with Lisa Marie everyday gives me a pass to dodge my creditors for a while.”
“Speaking of the blushing bride—how’s she taking the news?”
“About Kevin? As far as I know, she hasn’t heard. I was just down there, and when I tried to tell her, she threatened to have me thrown off the property. To tell the truth, I was kind of relieved. She’s gotten pretty scary.”
“But the wedding’s called off, right?”
“I’d love to say, ‘yes,’ but it’s not official. Seems Lisa Marie’s still holding out hope Brad Sanders will magically appear tomorrow.”
“So the wedding’s on?”
“For now. I’m operating with very sketchy information. Marv Prescott wasn’t around for me to talk to and Lisa Marie’s firmly anchored in Denial Bay. It’s not like I’ve got all the answers. I still can’t figure out how Kevin managed to drown at Little Beach—in his skivvies.”
“I may be able to help you fill in a few blanks.”
“Great.”
“You probably won’t like it,” he said.
“What’s new? I haven’t liked much of anything that’s happened today.”
“Well, as you know, McGillvary’s death was thought to have been an accidental drowning. But now that they’ve done the autopsy, that’s changed.”
“He washed up at Little Beach, right?” I couldn’t wrap my brain around how a nearly-naked body washing up on a beach didn’t point to a drowning.
“They recovered him there, but the evidence points to something else.”
“What evidence?”
“The autopsy showed there was no water in his lungs. But even more important, they found a severe brain injury due to blunt force trauma.”
“Like he hit his head?”
“Exactly,” he said. “Or, he got smashed in the head. They’re bringing in Maui Sheriff’s detectives.”
“Do they have any idea where it happened—on land or in a boat?”
“Don’t know yet.”
“And he was in his underwear, right?”
“Just him and his Calvins.”
I let the new information roll around my mind a little. “If they’ve contacted detectives it sounds like they think it might not have been an accident.”
“That’s what it sounds like. And guess who’s on their short list for questioning?”
“Marv Prescott.” I blurted it out—remembering that famous line from Casablanca: Round up the usual suspects.
“You’re half right. It’s a Prescott. But it’s the grieving widow, Lisa Marie.”
CHAPTER 19
I left the house and went down to pick up Farrah at the Gadda-da-Vida. Farrah was ready and waiting—along with a Buick-sized duffle bag, five sacks of groceries and a thirty pound bag of designer dog food.
“There’s still plenty of dog food from Monday.” I said, fishing for clues as to how long she planned on staying. She’d packed enough kibble for a month, maybe two.
“Yeah, but since Lipton’s nursing, I figured he might need more.”
The ensuing silence took the place of me—once again—pointing out to her how bizarre it sounded to say he when referring to a lactating Jack Russell.
“Any more news about Kevin’s drowning?” she said once we’d made the turn off Baldwin. “I had to turn off the TV. Too depressing.”
I hesitated. If I told her they were thinking he may have been murdered and I turned out to be wrong, I’d have upset her unnecessarily. If I didn’t tell her, and she later learned I’d kept it from her, it could damage our friendship. I split the difference.
“At this point the cause of death seems to be a head injury, not drowning.”
She shot me a puzzled look. “But he washed up on the beach.”
“Right. But I guess the medical examiner also found a pretty serious head injury.”
“Like he hit his head on a rock or something?”
“Could have.”
“Or maybe someone hit him?”
I locked my eyes on the road ahead.
“If someone hit him in the head,” she whispered, “it could have been on purpose. That would make it murder, don’t you think?” She reached over and grabbed my arm.
“I don’t know what to think, Farrah. But the ME has ruled out suicide or accidental drowning. At this point they’re mostly just ruling things out.”
“My poor Kev,” she moaned. “I remember the last time he died, you know, in our former life together. I was strong then, and I’m going to be strong now.”
We drove the rest of the way in silence. She broke down sobbing when Hatch opened the screen and Lipton scampered out onto the porch. Seeing Farrah, the dog flew down the stairs and into her owner’s arms. It was left to me to drag her belongings up the porch stairs and then again up the stairs to my bedroom. My three bedroom, two-bath house had felt empty and even a bit lonely when I’d moved in a year ago. But loneliness was fast becoming a fond memory.
***
Later, I sat on the porch mulling over why the police might be interested in talking with Lisa Marie. Were they looking at her as a possible witness, a person of interest, or had they come up with something that would make her a suspect? Whatever it was, I was sure Marv was implicated somehow. Lisa Marie had no motive for killing Kevin—his Power of Attorney for Brad was a necessary component in the proxy wedding. And even though she’d been miffed over his budding interest in Farrah, it was hard to imagine her temper tantrum becoming anything close to murderous.
Steve pulled in the driveway, got out, and began his compulsory arrival ritual. He went to the trunk and pulled out a limp red dust wand, a bottle of Windex and a roll of paper towels. He mopped the dust wand across the car—top, hood and sides—then sprayed the windshield with Windex. After a quick buff with a paper towel he leaned across the hood to check for streaks. Unlike my Geo, Steve’s little black sedan would never know the indignity of having ‘wash me’ scrawled in the dirt on his back window.
Hatch came out and joined me on the
porch. He plopped down in a tattered wicker chair and laid his crutch to the side. When he stretched out his leg—the one wearing the cast—he winced.
“Is it bothering you?” I said.
“Whining doesn’t make it better, but between this thing aching and me not having a damn thing to do all day, I’m running a quart low on cheer.”
Steve climbed the stairs and joined us. “Hey, you two.”
“Hey, yourself,” said Hatch. “You hear anything more on McGillvary?”
I shushed him, pointing upstairs where Farrah was settling in.
“No,” Steve said in a stage whisper. “How about you?”
Hatch filled him in on the ME report.
“Whoa,” said Steve. “Where’d you hear that? I didn’t hear anything even close to that on the news.”
“Seems we’ve got a mutual friend,” said Hatch. “I called a detective I used to work with at Oahu PD who’s now over here on Maui. When I told him I was staying here at Pali’s he asked if you still lived here. I know about ‘six degrees of separation’ and all that, but it’s driving me nuts trying to figure out how you might know Glen Wong. Over in Honolulu he wasn’t exactly the most sociable guy.”
He smiled at Steve, as if anticipating a long shaggy dog story about how Steve’s windsurfing buddy’s roommate’s girlfriend’s neighbor dated Wong back in high school.
“I’ve run into him a few times.” Steve looked about as shut down as Chernobyl.
“Did you do a photo shoot for his family or something?” Hatch offered.
Steve shrugged and turned his gaze to his shiny Jetta.
I looked from Steve to Hatch and then back to Steve. “Okay, allow me to connect the dots here,” I said. “Glen Wong’s gay, but no one’s supposed to know he’s gay because he’s a cop. He goes to the same bars Steve goes to but nothing short of water-boarding will get anyone to out him without his permission. How am I doing so far?”
“You didn’t hear it from me,” said Steve.
“And I didn’t ask,” said Hatch.
No one established eye contact as we all stared into the middle distance for a few beats.
“Huh, so Wong’s gay,” Hatch finally said. He shook his head, a slight grin playing across his face.
“Just so we’re clear,” said Steve, “Glen’s the guy who took on finding you a place to stay when you were about to get released from the hospital. He asked around, and got me to convince Pali to take you in. Without him you’d probably be recovering in a nursing home right now.” He locked eyes on Hatch.
Hatch’s grin faded. “Great guy. Real solid. We go way back. In fact, I was up for promotion to homicide when I left. So, they gave it to Wong instead. Kind of pissed me off at the time, but we’ve kept in touch—especially since we both ended up here on Maui. Word is, they’re looking at him to head up homicide at Honolulu PD when the guy over there retires.”
“Small world,” said Steve.
“You know it,” said Hatch. “Anyway, Wong’s been assigned lead detective on the McGillvary investigation.” He nodded at me. “And I’ll bet since you’ve spent time with Lisa Marie, he’ll be wanting to talk to you, too.”
Steve nodded. “Yeah Pali, no way you’ll avoid getting dragged into this. Not only ‘cuz you’re the only local who knows Lisa Marie, but also because you’re best friends with the victim’s latest hook-up. ”
Hatch nodded in agreement.
Hatch and Steve’s casual attitude toward Kevin’s death was starting to wear thin with me. This wasn’t some ripped from the headlines whodunit on TV or the daily crime news out of Honolulu. This was possibly a brutal murder right here on Maui—of my client; a guy who’d stuck around to help out his friend’s grieving fiancée. I got up and went inside.
Hatch and Steve followed, seemingly oblivious to my foul mood.
“Pali, lighten up,” said Steve. “It isn’t personal.”
“Are you crazy?” I said. “It’s about as personal as it gets. Not only was Kevin a decent enough guy, he was a huge help to me in handling Lisa Marie and moving the wedding forward. Throw in that my best friend had a thing for him, and he’d stepped up to buy our building and save our businesses, and I’d say it’s damn personal. If the police think Lisa Marie had something to do with it—which I highly doubt—then that piles on another layer of personal for me.”
Steve leaned over to take my hand, but I pulled it away. “Okay, okay,” he said. “I’m sorry. It’s just that—well, this whole thing’s pretty wild if you think about it. You’ve got the nutty diva daughter of a garbage tycoon wanting a bizarre proxy marriage to a missing millionaire geek. Now the stand-in guy’s body floats up on the most notorious nude beach in all of Maui. It’s like that Clue game. You know, Colonel Mustard in the conservatory with the candlestick? C’mon, Pali, you gotta admit—it’s crazy.”
I jumped up and went upstairs to check on Farrah. As much as I hated to concede even a single inch of my moral high ground, Steve had a point. Unlike O’ahu, where crime takes up the bulk of the nightly news, violent crime is rare on the neighbor islands. If I hadn’t been so invested in this weird cast of characters, I’d have agreed the whole sorry situation was amusing as hell.
***
It was nearly two-thirty—a half-hour until the wedding rehearsal—when I made my way down to Olu’olu for the third time that day. I’d convinced myself the trip was worth it even if only to talk some sense into Lisa Marie and make one last stab at getting a check out of Marv. I’d accepted I’d be handing my business over to Tank Sherman on Friday, but I was determined to leave with my debts paid and my reputation intact.
The gate was open when I pulled in. A white Ford sedan with black rims and a heavy-duty bumper was parked at an angle, smack in the middle of the circular driveway. It blocked not only the entry to the front door, but also the exit from the driveway. I pulled in behind it and parked. As I passed by, I peeked into the car windows. I’d never seen the interior of a cop car. The upholstery on the front seat was nearly as broken down as my Geo. There was a laptop-style computer screen mounted to the dash and a sweating cup from a fast-food joint wedged in the console. But the windows were clean and the floorboards looked recently vacuumed.
I speed-walked to the door and pressed the bell. The Aloha ‘Oe door chime brought none other than Marv himself, highball glass in hand.
“It’s you again. What do you want now?” His snarl was slurred, even though cocktail hour was still two hours away.
“I came to assist Lisa Marie in getting through this horrible time.”
“Now you’re claiming legal expertise? You know, so far I haven’t been exactly dazzled by your matrimonial skills.” He twisted his mouth into a grimace he probably thought passed for a smile.
I said nothing. I’d dealt with guys like Marv before. You know, the kind who thinks saying ‘just kidding’ excuses a truck load of crappy behavior.
“She’s talking to the cops,” he said. He didn’t invite me in.
I didn’t move, betting Marv didn’t have the balls to shut the door in my face.
“You coming in, or are you going to stand out there all day letting flies in my house?”
“Mahalo,” I said. I toyed with the image of stomping on his foot, but it was trumped by the image of me tucking a signed check into my purse.
“They’re in the family room, so let’s go to my office.” He started to lead the way, then stopped. “I’m going to freshen up this drink. You want something?”
“Water would be nice.”
“How ‘bout I nudge it with a nip of scotch?”
“No thanks, I’m driving.” I didn’t want to come off too high and mighty before hitting him up. “Maybe another time.”
“I’d have the maid show you down to my office, but if I recall, you already know the way,” he said. “And this time, sweetheart, do me a favor…” He waited for me to make eye contact. “Don’t go in there until I get back. I guess your mama didn’t teach you it’s not pol
ite to snoop. Maybe good manners aren’t a priority out here in the middle of nowhere.” He shot me an oily smile and disappeared down the far hallway.
I waited in the foyer. I couldn’t care less about Marv’s opinion of my manners. I had two things I needed to accomplish—cancel my contract and pick up a check—and then hopefully I’d never cross paths with the Prescotts again.
After Marv had been gone a minute or two, I picked up voices coming from the sunroom. I tiptoed to the near side of the French doors and listened.
“…back here.” It sounded like Lisa Marie.
“…cooperate…take you in.” A deep male voice; probably a cop.
“My God, you’re a piece of work,” Marv bellowed as he suddenly came up behind me. “This morning you were snooping around my office, and now you’re eavesdropping on my little girl.”
He thrust a crystal tumbler of water into my hand and jerked his head in the direction of his office. I followed him. The glass was heavy for its size, deeply cut in an intricate pattern that refracted sunlight from the small window high on the wall. Marv went behind his desk and took a long pull on his drink before plopping down in the leather swivel chair.
I sipped my water, waiting for him to invite me to sit. As Marv had previously pointed out, we’re pretty casual in the islands, but working in the bridal industry had required me to bone up on the finer points of social protocol. I can spot a lone demitasse spoon in a pile of teaspoons from five feet away and I always wait for my host to offer me a seat before sitting.
“My daughter may be awhile, so you might as well take a load off,” he finally said, gesturing to the guest chairs in front of the desk.
This time I chose the intricately carved chair. It wasn’t as comfortable as the buttery leather chair I’d sat in earlier but its hard seat and stiff armrests encouraged me to sit up straight, which I thought was the best negotiating posture.
“You know how much I paid for that chair you’re sitting in?” he said.
“No idea.”
“Nothing, nada, zilch. It’s a priceless antique, but it was given to me as a gift. I got friends all over the world, Ms. Moon. They show their appreciation in remarkable ways. Ming Dynasty, that chair. You have any idea when that was?”
Maui Widow Waltz (Islands of Aloha Mystery Series) Page 15