Maui Widow Waltz (Islands of Aloha Mystery Series)

by JoAnn Bassett

  “The Ming Dynasty began in the fourteenth century, in China.”

  “Well, good for you. Anyway, it’s a very old chair. And these carvings here…” He pointed to the tusk-like statues of the Asian couple in the glass display case. “What do you think those are?”

  I shook my head. No doubt he’d blasted some defenseless animal on a hunting trip and had taken its tusks as souvenirs.

  “They’re human femur bones. Dug up from the killing fields of Cambodia and then carved. Rather lovely, wouldn’t you say?”

  My breath stalled in my lungs. I’d experienced intimidation before; I’d even practiced it a few times at tournaments. I willed my expression to remain neutral. The bad feng shui brought to this house by displaying desecrated human remains didn’t require comment.

  “Why are the police here?” I finally said.

  “Unlike yourself, Ms. Moon, I don’t stick my nose in other people’s business.”

  “They’ve been here a while.”

  He shot me a cranky look and thrummed his fingers on the desk.

  “I assume they want to discuss Lisa Marie’s acquaintance with Kevin McGillvary. I don’t know why it’s going on so long, though. It’s damn obvious she’s in no condition to be much help to them .” He clenched and unclenched his fists.

  “I heard you were an investor in Brad Sander’s company,” I said. “What kind of work does DigiSystems do?” I wasn’t really interested in corporate chit chat, but I thought it might calm him down and put me in a better position to make my case.

  “Who said I’d invested in that company?” He fumbled in a desk drawer and brought out a soapstone coaster for his drink. He didn’t offer me one.

  “Lisa Marie told me. She said you were an angel investor when Brad and Kevin first started the company.”

  “That’s somewhat correct. I underwrite start-ups every now and then, but I don’t get involved. My role is to provide seed capital to companies I like; to get them off the ground, so to speak.” He shot me a snake oil smile that didn’t extend to his eyes. “But I’m not one to pour over business plans. I’m sure even a person of your meager resources can appreciate that a person such as myself wouldn’t have the time—or the interest—in meddling in the day-to-day affairs of a little outfit like DigiSystems.”

  “I’m glad you brought up my financial situation, Marv. As you said, I’m not well-off. And, since we’re just sitting here waiting, I’d really appreciate it if you’d take a minute to write me that check I need to pay my vendors.”

  “Ms. Moon, as I told you earlier, I didn’t become wealthy bailing out every sad sack who came to me with a tale of poor cash management skills. This is the last time I’ll say it: You’ll get paid after my daughter’s wedding. Not before.”

  “Marv, let’s cut the crap. You and I both know there’s not going to be a wedding. With both Brad and Kevin dead, even a proxy wedding is out of the question. I say we cancel everything right now and cut our losses.”

  “That might be what’s best for you, but it’s hardly what’s best for my daughter. I’m willing to forego today’s rehearsal—after all, what is there to practice? Five minutes of bullshit followed by choking down a hunk of stale cake. But tomorrow’s wedding is on. My daughter’s sanity is at stake. Until she gets jilted at the altar she’ll never believe that Sanders isn’t coming back.”

  “Seems a rather ‘tough love’ way to handle it.”

  “You got a better idea? If we cancel now, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

  I cringed at the image—Lisa Marie in her fitted silk gown, the hired bridesmaids lined up and smiling, and the groom’s side glaringly empty. “But promise me you’ll have the check ready tomorrow. I’ve held up my side, but it’s not part of the service to stick around for the tantrum.”

  “Fine,” said Marv. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to tell ‘Maui’s finest’ they need to get the hell out of my house. You’re free to observe, since you seem to enjoy that kind of thing.”

  Marv burst through the sunroom doors like he was conducting a raid. “Time to clear out, Mr. Wong.” As Marv strode forward, Lisa Marie’s hands flew to her throat. She ducked her head.

  The two police detectives remained seated on the yellow sofa for a few beats while Marv stomped toward them. Then one of the cops stood and calmly put up his hand in a halt gesture.

  “It’s Detective Wong, sir. And we can question your daughter here, or we can take her down to the station. Your call.”

  “Daddy…” whined Lisa Marie. She’d gotten dressed since I last saw her, but not by much. Merely a thin thigh-length tee-shirt dress and brown espadrilles. With her twig-thin body and stark bald head she looked like Yoda’s granddaughter.

  Marv backed out of the room at such a quick clip he nearly bowled me over. He slammed the French doors and stomped back down the hall.

  “You ever hear of a country-western song called, The Gambler, Ms. Moon?”

  “I’m not much of a country-western fan.”

  “Too bad; you can learn a lot from the lyrics. The Gambler talks about knowing when to hold ‘em and when to fold ‘em. The song’s talking about a card game, but it’s the same with everything. What I just did was let the cops think they won. I didn’t order them off my property or demand to have my lawyer present—even though I know my rights. Nope, I let those bastards think it’s just fine and dandy with me that they hassle my baby girl right under my nose in my own home.”

  I waited.

  “But you know what, Ms. Moon? Marv Prescott didn’t get to where he is by being a frickin’ pussy. You’re not offended by me saying ‘pussy’ are you, Ms. Moon? Where I come from, it’s another word for ‘loser’.”

  Again, I didn’t respond.

  He looked down the hall toward the sunroom. “You know, those cops in there should have done their homework. They should have asked around. I’m sure there are more than a few local theories about what happened to the sorry son-of-a-bitch who tried to stop me from building this house.”

  I couldn’t help it—my eyes widened.

  “Think about it, sweetheart. I got garbage scows leaving these islands every week of the year. Nobody knows what’s on ‘em and nobody much cares where it all ends up.”

  I told him I needed to get going and turned to leave. He stopped me with a hand on my shoulder. “One thing before you go, Ms. Moon. My sources tell me you’re quite popular around here. I’d like you to do your friends a favor and give them a message: Nobody who plans to see their next birthday screws with Marv Prescott—nobody.”

  CHAPTER 20

  I hopped in the Geo and bolted for the highway. It was almost three-thirty. The caterers were probably hard at work prepping for the seven o’clock rehearsal dinner.

  Every day I’d sunk deeper in debt. Even after cashing the check from Todd Barker—which had come two days earlier—I still owed more than the entire five grand Tank Sherman would be paying me on Friday. Once my business and house were gone, all I’d have left would be my friends and colleagues. Marv had agreed to cancelling the rehearsal, but without also calling off the wedding, the bills would keep mounting. I made a decision.

  My first call was to Catering by Frank—aka Paleke’s Good Grinds.

  “I’m afraid tonight’s rehearsal dinner at Olu’olu has been called off,” I said. “And the wedding dinner tomorrow, too. I’m really sorry to call on such short notice.”

  “No dinners?” Frank’s calm response was a welcome departure from the freaking out I’d expected.

  “No, e kala mai, Frank—I’m so, so sorry. Did you hear about that body washing up at Little Beach this morning? Well, that man was supposed to be the groom. The family’s in mourning.” I opted for the TV Guide version—short and sweet.

  “Oh my, that’s real kaumaha for that poor girl and her people. But they’ll still need food, right? Gotta have something folks who come by the house. Do you want I should bring down some food for them?”

  “Mahalo,
but they’re from the mainland—no family or friends here. And they’re in total shock. I’m afraid your beautiful food would go to waste.”

  “No worries. I’ll just invite our neighbors instead. My turn to have everybody to dinner. People up this way will go pupule when they see I’m laying out lobster and filet mignon.”

  “Mahalo for being so understanding. And do you mind sending me your bill? I’d pick it up but I have lots of people to get in touch with in the next few hours.”

  “Don’t worry about no bill, Pali. You’re a good customer. Me and my wife can handle the food costs. Ho’omana’o you call us to cater for you next time, okay?” He’d asked me to remember him next time—how could I forget?

  I gushed my thanks and went down my list, cancelling everything and everyone associated with the rehearsal. Then I started pulling the plug on the fancy wedding. I scuttled everything except the guy I’d hired to take Farrah’s place as the minister and the two bridesmaids, who’d also agreed to function as witnesses. No need to have flowers, photos and cake at a jilting. And if by some miracle Brad Sanders made an appearance, I was counting on Lisa Marie’s I-told-you-so smugness to eclipse the simplicity of the event.

  With each call, my suppliers offered to either forgo billing me altogether or they requested only a fraction of the agreed-upon cost. By the time I hit the bottom of the list, I was so choked up my voice had collapsed to a croaky whisper.

  I locked up and drove home.

  I found Farrah upstairs, sprawled across the open sleeper sofa with Lipton huddled tight alongside. The puppy box graced the foot of the bed. I had to step over two Snapple bottles and a crushed Doritos bag to get inside. The room smelled like corn chips and dog musk, a bad combination for even the calmest of stomachs—and pure hell on my stressed one.

  “Do you want to talk?” I asked.

  “I guess. I’m trying to pretend it’s all a bad dream, but it isn’t working.”

  “Yeah, I’m afraid it’s real.”

  “On Monday night Kevin told me something.”

  “What’d he say?”

  “He said Marv had threatened him and he couldn’t wait to be done with DigiSystems so he wouldn’t have to kowtow to Marv anymore.”

  “What was Marv’s threat?”

  “I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to seem snoopy, and besides, what did I care? You said yourself Marv’s a total bull shitter. I figured he was just throwing around more kukae.”

  “Well, it looks like maybe this time it was more than kukae.” I regretted it as soon as I’d said it.

  “But it makes no sense for Marv to hurt Kevin. Especially before the wedding. They needed him.” Farrah began to sob. “I needed him.”

  I sat down on the creaking sofa bed and took her hands in mine. A half-dozen trite expressions of sympathy came to mind, but thankfully I stifled the urge to utter any of them.

  “I’ve been thinking about something else, too” she said. “It’s been bothering me all day.”

  “What?”

  “I’m worried it may be my fault Kevin got killed.” Rough hiccups now punctuated the sobbing.

  “That’s ridiculous. Why would you say that?”

  “Because I blabbed to Noni about Kevin buying the building.” Farrah swiped tears from her cheeks. “She called to remind me about Tank coming in on Friday and I said ‘don’t bother.’ I told her someone else was offering more money for the building and she could tell Tank to shove it.”

  “Did you tell her Kevin’s name?”

  “No, I just said it was some rich guy from Seattle.”

  We stared at each other in silence. Tank could’ve found out who’d put in another offer on the building by making three phone calls, tops.

  “I don’t know. Tank’s a fat jerk, but he’s no killer.” I said.

  “Seems maybe he is.” She rubbed her eyes and dragged Lipton into her lap.

  I wondered if I should call the police, but then thought better of it. Going to the police with anything on Marv or Tank would not only be a waste of time, but risky. Neither of those two would kill someone, they’d hire it done. And if the police contacted them, both Marv and Tank would quickly figure out who’d ratted them out. I needed more information before going all Citizen Tipster and throwing myself and my best friend under the bus.

  “You know the worst part?” she continued. “I have a really bad feeling the police won’t be able to figure it out. They’ll just give up, like they did with Brad.”

  ***

  Steve didn’t come home for dinner, but he called and invited Hatch to go bar-hopping with him later. He even offered to take him to a couple of straight bars after hitting his favorite haunts. With the two of them gone, it fell to me to keep an eye on Farrah and make sure she didn’t start eyeing the kitchen knives. She’d holed up with Lipton and the pups upstairs, so my plan was to stay downstairs until sleep was my only option. Not only was it tight quarters up there, but the dog odor was suffocating. I fixed myself some popcorn and settled into Hatch’s old spot on the sofa, a book propped in my lap. A few hours of peace and quiet seemed like a great idea, but within ten minutes I found myself pacing the carpet. I flipped through the channels, but there was nothing on TV. Never before had I been so bored on the night before a wedding—no bridal attendant gifts to wrap, no champagne glasses to inspect, no seating chart to fuss over. By ten o’clock the popcorn was down to the hulls, I’d read the last chapter of my book, and I’d put a serious dent in the battery life of the remote.

  I called Steve. I rarely went out at night with him, since we both needed our personal space after living and working together day-in and day-out. But with Hatch added to the mix I was willing to give it a shot.

  “You at the B and C?” I said. The Ball and Chain was mostly a gay bar, but since it was in Kihei—budget traveler central—it welcomed lots of straight singles and honeymooning couples as well.

  “Shh. Can’t talk now. I’ll call you back in a few minutes.” The line went dead before I could ask what was going on.

  I put the phone down feeling more than a little put out. It wasn’t like I was going to horn in and wreck his evening. I’m considerate. I know when a trip to the ladies’ room is in order. Besides, he had Hatch with him. Were they so determined to keep it a ‘guys only’ night that Steve thought it was okay to hang up on me?

  By the time the phone rang, I’d worked myself into a royal snit.

  “Hey,” I said, not even waiting for his ‘hello.’“If I’m cramping your style, just say so. It’s not like I couldn’t find somebody else to hang out with.”

  “No, listen,” he said.” We’re not at the B & C. Some of Hatch’s buddies asked him to come by Cisco’s.” Cisco’s is a celebrated Pa’ia watering hole made famous when a Maui tourist book mentioned Bruce Springsteen sometimes drops by when he’s in town.

  “Hatch’s inside, but I saw Glen with a guy in the parking lot so I stayed out here to see what was going on.”

  “Are you talking about Glen Wong? The police detective?” I looked up the staircase, aware Farrah might have overheard me. The house was so quiet I could hear the trade wind rustling the palms in the yard.

  “Yeah. He met up with some scrungy-looking dude. They got in Glen’s car.”

  “Are they still there?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You think it’s official business or has he lowered his dating standards?”

  “He’s driving a plain vanilla so it’s probably police business. I can’t imagine him risking a cheap trick in a cop car.” His voice brightened, “How’s Farrah doing?”

  “Not a peep.”

  “Why don’t you come on down? I’ll stick around until you get here. Everybody’s talking about the murder. I’ll bet someone would buy you a beer to hear you dish on Lisa Marie.”

  I felt a twinge of guilt for even considering such a proposition, but had to admit I wouldn’t mind fifteen minutes of fame at Cisco’s. And, after the day I’d had, I deserved a free beer.


  Driving to the bar my adrenaline kicked in. It reminded me of my air marshal days when I’d snap my gun in the holster and wonder if this was going to be the flight where I’d get to use it. Never happened. My usual route was eleven and a half hours Honolulu to Taipei, then another three hours to Tokyo. The next morning I’d be back onboard headed for Honolulu. After ten months I never encountered anything more criminal than an airline meal. When I left the job I willingly gave up the gun and turned my focus to earning my black belt. I’d pit physical and mental skills over nickel-plated hardware any day.

  I got to Cisco’s by ten-thirty and couldn’t find a place to park. It was a weekday night, but with the weather improving and the tourists returning, our little island was beginning to feel crowded again. I parked a block away.

  I zigzagged through the back lot, slipping between tightly parked cars and dodging clusters of noisy party-hardies until I spotted a white four-door Ford—the kind the police refer to as “unmarked.” Even with the armada of stripped-down rental cars cruising Maui, nothing shouts cop louder than a white bare bones Crown Vic with ugly black rims. I saw two men inside, but in the dark it was impossible to make out faces.

  I punched the speed dial for Steve’s cell number. It started to ring when I saw him trotting my way. I clicked off.

  “Something’s going down,” he hissed as he came up beside me. He tipped his head in the direction of the cop car. He looked about as excited as a kid about to hop up on Santa’s knee. “A guy I met inside said he thinks Glen’s talking to a snitch.”

  “A snitch? Isn’t that a Three Stooges word?”

  He ignored my sarcasm. “The guy said it’s a dude from Ma’alaea Harbor who called in on the crime hotline.”

  “How would a guy at Cisco’s know who Wong was talking to?”

  “How does anyone know stuff? People talk.”

  “You think this snitch knows something about what happened to Kevin?”

  “Could be. I’m hoping Glen will fill me in later.”