Maui Widow Waltz (Islands of Aloha Mystery Series)

by JoAnn Bassett

  “Why would he do that, Steve? He’s a cop. He’s not some brudda who owes you a plate lunch.”

  “You forget—we are bruddas. And he knows I’m good with secrets.”

  Steve good with secrets? I was glad it was dark so he couldn’t see the look on my face.

  “Is Hatch still inside?” I said.

  “Last I looked,” he said. “A bunch of his fire station guys are here. They’re fawning over him like he’s the great American hero for getting run over.”

  “Yeah, what’s with that? The guy’s always got to be the center of attention.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t go that far. He’s making the most of a bad situation, that’s all. And what’s the deal with you two? I was hoping you might hit it off, but you take shots at him every chance you get.”

  “I’m not taking shots. I’m just not lining up to join the fan club.”

  “You might have to re-think that. He’s in the fireman calendar for next year—August, I think. When that thing comes out, there’ll be women making fake 9-1-1 calls just to see him up close and personal.”

  Two car doors slammed and we both looked over at the cop car. Wong was talking to a guy who’d climbed out of the passenger side. The guy was meth-addict skinny, with shaggy hair. When he moved off into the dark I detected a slight limp.

  Wong started toward us. When he got within twenty feet, he stopped and motioned Steve over. For a second, I considered acting dumb and going with Steve, but I let it go. Wong didn’t know me and—secret keeper or not—I knew I’d get the whole story from Steve later anyway.

  I walked to the front door of Cisco’s and flashed a smile at the bouncer collecting the cover charge.

  “Hey, Pako, remember me? Pali Moon?” I’d met the guy at one of Sifu Doug’s infamous blow-out luaus. I’d made a point of remembering Pako’s name when I heard he worked the door at Cisco’s. No use paying good money if you can play the brudda card.

  “Oh, yeah,” he yelled over the din of the over-amped band, rowdy crowd, and waitresses screaming drink orders at the bar. “You’re that kick-ass lady from down at Doug’s. You still doing the hook-up thing?”

  Okay, it was good he remembered me; not so good that anyone overhearing him probably thought I was a madam at a dominatrix brothel.

  “Yep, I’m still doing weddings.” I leaned in close to make myself heard. “Say, I’m looking for someone. A fireman named Hatch Decker. He’s on crutches—broken leg.”

  Pako nodded, his massive neck pumping like a piston. “Yeah, I know who you mean. Came in with some guys but he left about ten minutes ago with a fine-lookin’ redhead.” He paused for a beat. “Sorry.”

  “A red-haired woman?” I said.

  “Well, duh. Weren’t no Irish setter.” In the hand-stamp black light his grin glowed white hot.

  CHAPTER 21

  Valentine’s Day dawned sunny with calm winds—perfect weather for a beach wedding. I’d slept on the downstairs sofa in lieu of joining the stinky huddle upstairs. My back was killing me, which seemed only right since this was the day I’d been dreading for more than a week.

  I gimped into the kitchen to put on the coffee. The smell of hot water seeping through Kona coffee beans never failed to lure Steve out of bed, and as the pot filled, I heard his feet hit the floor upstairs. I was eager to hear what he’d learned from Glen Wong. Last night I’d scuttled home after hearing about Hatch taking off with the redhead. As much as I wanted a free beer, I’d lost the urge to gossip. When I got home, I stretched out in the living room and fell so dead asleep I didn’t even wake up when the guys came in.

  Steve came through the swinging door. The coffee maker hissed and burbled as I took four coffee cups from the cupboard.

  “Thanks for putting on the joe,” he said. “Oh, and Happy Valentine’s Day.”

  “Yeah, you too. So, what’d you hear last night?”

  “Glen’s not giving out much,” he said. “Fill me in on what you already know.”

  “Okay, I know Kevin died from a blow to the head, not from drowning. I know Wong and another cop went to Olu’olu and questioned Lisa Marie. I know Kevin’s the second guy from DigiSystems to meet an untimely end in Maui in the past couple of weeks. And, I know Farrah told Noni Konomanu that Kevin was buying the Gadda-da-Vida building out from under Tank Sherman—”

  “Whoa,” he said. “That’s news to me.” He poured me a cup of black coffee and then poured one for himself.

  “She told me yesterday. I don’t think the cops have made a connection between Tank and Kevin, but don’t count on me to say anything. I figure if Tank’s willing to whack someone over a failed real estate deal, there’s no way I’m giving him a reason to point his fat finger at me.”

  “Well, don’t worry about it. Seems the cops are pretty much focused on Lisa Marie anyway.”

  “Why is that? I can’t for the life of me figure out why they think she killed him. Don’t they know he was helping her pull off her fake wedding?”

  “I said that, but Glen said the snitch works at the Ma’alaea Harbor Marina and he’s pretty sure he saw Lisa Marie and Kevin having an argument out there the night of the murder.”

  “So?”

  “Glen thinks maybe Kevin was trying to back out and Lisa Marie didn’t take kindly to getting dumped twice.”

  “Brad didn’t dump her. He died.”

  “Whatever. It still gives the cops a motive. They think she flipped out and killed him.”

  I held up my hand and listened for sounds of Farrah. I didn’t want her to overhear Steve and me idly discussing her lover’s murder.

  I lowered my voice. “But Kevin was twice Lisa Marie’s size.”

  “He was bashed in the head, remember? An oar, a fish hook, or even a good-sized rock could pretty much even the odds. And you said yourself that Lisa Marie can get pretty nasty when you cross her.”

  “Yeah, but she’s a trash talker, not a killer. Now, Marv on the other hand…” I shuddered.

  “Well, Glen didn’t tell me much more than we already know, but he did say if what the Ma’alaea guy has is solid, it probably won’t take them long to pull together a case against Lisa Marie. He said their goal is to solve a murder within forty-eight hours. After that, it gets tougher.”

  “Not much time,” I said.

  “Nope. So, by Saturday we should have a good idea what happened.”

  I’d heard enough murder talk. “Is Hatch still sleeping?”

  “I guess. His buddies at Cisco’s told me he found a ride home. I figured he left with you.”

  “No, I never even saw him.” I didn’t mention the redhead. I needed another cup of coffee before listening to Steve chide me about losing out to the competition.

  “You want me to see if he’s up?” he said.

  “Yeah, if you don’t mind.”

  He left and I heard him knock on Hatch’s door. There was a pause, another knock, and then a squeaky hinge.

  He came back into the kitchen. “Bed’s made,” he said, “and I highly doubt he’s gone out for a run.” His face wore an ‘I told you so’ smirk I found really annoying.

  Time to take my lumps and bring up the redhead.

  “The bouncer at Cisco’s said he left with a woman right before I got there,” I said.

  “Oh.” Steve seemed to mull over what to say next. “Maybe his leg was hurting him.”

  He got up and washed out his coffee cup. “I gotta go,” he said. “That high school girl you promised I’d make look like Selma Hayek is coming in for her re-do’s this morning.”

  “Oh, wow, I’d forgotten all about that.” I cringed. Another load of work I’d foisted on a friend thanks to Lisa Marie’s fake wedding. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t sweat it. You owe me. I just hope she’s not some ‘bow wow’ who hated her first pictures because she thinks ‘Nikon’ is Japanese for ‘extreme makeover’.”

  “Her mom’s nice looking,” I said. Under different circumstances, I’d have taken him to task f
or the ‘bow wow’ remark. But, as he’d pointed out, I owed him—along with a half-dozen other people I was worried about paying.

  “Well, let’s hope nature trumps nurture and she’s not into lip piercings or weird facial tattoos,” he said. “I’ll let you know how it goes.”

  The swinging door flapped once and then settled shut. For a house bursting at the seams, it sure was quiet.

  I went upstairs to see if I could talk Farrah into getting up. When I opened the door, I found her already dressed in a red and yellow mu’u mu’u. She’d pushed the fold-out bed back into the sofa and was sitting at one end with a gossip magazine in her lap. The room smelled doggy, but either I was getting used to it or the breeze from the half-open window had toned it down a bit.

  “Happy Valentine’s Day,” she whispered, as if offering condolences.

  “Yeah, back at ya. You feel like going down to the store today?”

  “I’ve got to. Last night Beatrice said she’d open the store for me, but then this morning when the flower delivery came she called all freaked out. Says there’s no way she can handle all those orders by herself.”

  “You need some help?”

  “That’d be great, especially around lunchtime. You mind driving me down there? I’ll bet Bea’s blood pressure’s already in the red zone.”

  “No problem. Just let me take a shower. I’ll help you for a while and then I need to start packing up my shop.”

  “Don’t you think it’ll be at least a month before Tank can actually buy the building and kick us out?” she said.

  “Yeah. But in the meantime, I’m closing the shop. I’m not going to drum up new business for ‘Let’s Get Maui’d’ and then shuffle off brides to Noni and Tank.”

  “I wish I could just close down, but the store’s got to stay open. People depend on it.”

  “And working might help you take your mind off things. How are you doing?”

  “I’m actually doing pretty good—considering,” she said. “It’s like when my folks died. At first I just wanted to die too, but I kept breathing in and out—taking it one day at a time and all that. And now I’ve got Lipton and his pups. They’re all counting on me.”

  I nodded, because I knew all about handling hurt by just breathing in and out. It sucks to lose your parents—especially when you’re a kid. I’ve never met a child orphan who wasn’t convinced somehow it was their fault.

  “Well, if misery loves company—it looks like at least we’ll both be spending Valentine’s Day alone,” I said.

  “What about Hatch? I thought he’d come through for you.”

  “Hardly. He picked up some woman at Cisco’s last night. In fact, he’s still not home.”

  “The guy scored with his leg in a cast?” She smiled. “I’d love to be a fly on that wall.”

  “I wouldn’t.” I said.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.” She frowned and I felt bad I’d snatched away her smile.

  I took a quick shower and was still dripping wet when the phone rang. It was Steve.

  “Just got a call from Mitch, the bartender at the B and C,” he said. “Apparently the snitch wasn’t an eye witness after all.”

  No surprise there. The guy looked like a derelict sniffing around for some reward money.

  “It’s even better. The dude’s got a surveillance tape of the marina, and on it, Lisa Marie’s pitching a fit at Kevin.”

  “How does Mitch know this?”

  “You kidding? Bartenders know everything.”

  “What was she saying ? And did they go out in a boat or just walk around the dock?”

  “Don’t know. Mitch said the camera pans a one-eighty of the entire dock every couple of minutes. They’re only on the tape for a really short time and there’s no sound, just picture.”

  “Huh.”

  “Oh, but here’s something else: Mitch said the snitch called Lisa Marie ‘that little blond gal.’ So, she had her hair when they were at Ma’alaea. The shave job must’ve come later.”

  I chewed on that for a few seconds.

  “Gotta go,” he said. “My high school do-over just pulled up. She’s getting out…she’s coming this way…and the verdict is…”

  I didn’t want to hear his verdict. In Steve’s world, a perfect ten would be Victoria Beckham with a penis.

  “She’s pretty cute,” he said. “This won’t be that tough. Let’s talk later.”

  I drove to Farrah’s store and spent the morning doling out Valentine’s Day flowers. By one o’clock the stream of sweethearts had dwindled to a final few procrastinators. We’d sold off Lisa Marie’s wedding flowers and were completely out of roses, orchids, and even the prehistoric-looking protea flowers Farrah had special ordered for Valentine’s. Nothing short of a magic trick was going to make flowers appear for the eleventh-hour Romeos who’d be racing in on their way home from work.

  At one-thirty I went next door to my shop.

  As I’d expected, my message light was blinking. I wasn’t up for another catastrophe, but I was curious, especially about Hatch’s whereabouts.

  You have three messages, said the disembodied voice.

  The first was a reminder from my dentist about a cleaning appointment. The message ended with a request to call if I’d be unable to keep the appointment. I blew out a quick breath. I’d have no problem keeping the appointment, but paying for it was another story. I jotted down the dentist’s number. I’d reschedule when I got a job with benefits.

  Call received Wednesday, seven twelve p.m., said the voice. As the second message began, I recognized the distinctly brusque voice of Todd Barker, DigiSystems’ Chief Financial Officer.

  “What the hell’s going on over there?” he snarled. “First Brad and now Kevin? Call me.” He left various numbers, including office, cell, and home.

  I called his cell, and when he didn’t answer, I left a message saying I was returning his call. I wasn’t about to track him down on the other numbers—I figured my obligation ended with one call.

  The third message was from Sifu Doug, announcing Palace of Pain had been cleared by the health department and was open for business. It was good to hear at least someone’s life had returned to normal. As I listened to his voice, I remembered that one of Doug’s many brothers managed a big luau in Lahaina. I’d have a good shot at a job if I came armed with a reference.

  The weather was gorgeous so I walked the half-mile down to PoP. Doug’s car was parked out back. As much as I loathed groveling for a job that would pretty much involve non-stop groveling, I hated the idea of shopping with food stamps more.

  “You’re a trooper,” Doug said. “I just called a half hour ago, and here you are, rarin’ to go.”

  “Well, not exactly rarin’,” I said. “I need to talk to you about something.”

  “Is it about that bald girl who knifed her boyfriend? Weren’t you doing her wedding to another guy—that dude that got thrown overboard?”

  Leave it to the island grapevine to scramble the facts.

  “Where’d you hear that?”

  “Well, last night this girl’s dad calls my brother James—you know, the lawyer I told you about? Anyhow, he says his daughter was supposed to get married but her fiancé got eaten by sharks. I remembered you told me you were doing her wedding when we scrubbed down this place. He said now the police are all up in her face about killing the new boyfriend.”

  I just nodded and he went on. “Da kine, now her dad wants my brother to be her lawyer. James told me she’s bald-headed, and he’s thinking it’s ‘cuz she’s so stressed up her hair is falling out. That happened to my brother when he went away to school on the mainland—he got the stress and all his hair fell out.”

  “Are you saying the police think she killed both guys? But the Coast Guard called the first guy’s disappearance an accident.”

  “Yeah, well now the cops are thinking different. James said they’re gonna arrest her any time now.”

  I let this new informati
on roll around for a minute and find a place to settle. “How come you know all this, Sifu? Isn’t lawyer-client stuff supposed to be confidential?”

  “C’mon, Pali. He’s my brudda. We talk.”

  In Doug’s hard-core Hawaiian clan, lawyer-client privilege probably didn’t hold much sway when it came to sharing a juicy tale with the family.

  “So, Lisa Marie hasn’t been arrested?”

  “Not as far as I know. But I hear they’re leaning tough on her. James told her like a million times to not say nothin’ to nobody. He told her no matter what, keep her mouth shut.”

  Unlike some people.

  “Well, mahalo for telling me, but I didn’t come to talk about that,” I said. “I need to ask about your other brother—the one who manages the No Ka Oi Luau.”

  “You mean my baby brother, Tommy.”

  “Yeah. You think he’ll give me a job?”

  “Why you think you need a job? You doing your wedding thing.”

  “Not anymore. Your brother James’s new client was the only wedding I had this month. Thanks to the rain, I’m pretty much out of money. Tank Sherman’s buying out my business—but he’s not giving me much.”

  “Tank? Like anyone would want that weird dude fixing their wedding.”

  “He’s buying the Gadda-da-Vida store, too.”

  “No lie? He’s gonna run the store? Big dude like that’ll eat up all the profits.”

  I figured my news about Tank had evened us up on the gossip score.

  “So, can you help me get a job at Tommy’s?”

  “What you want to do there?”

  “Serving. Waitress, hostess, whatever.”

  “You got a coconut bra and a grass skirt?”

  I slumped my shoulders and nodded.

  “Okay, no worries. I’ll give him a call. You smart you’ll wear somethin’ sexy to the interview. Oh, and don’t tell him about your black belt. He might think you wanna bounce.”

  Truth was, I’d rather work as a bouncer. But without tips, there’d be no way I could make ends meet.

  “Mahalo, Sifu.”

  “Da kine, Pali. Oh, and if I hear more from James about your girl, I’ll let you know.”