I looked longingly into the practice room. Working out was my go-to antidote to nervous tension and every hour I’d been getting more concerned about Hatch’s whereabouts.
First Brad, then Kevin, and now Hatch. Everybody knows bad luck always comes in threes.
CHAPTER 22
My cell phone rang as I jogged up Baldwin. I’d promised Farrah we’d leave for home by two and it was already a quarter after. She’d probably had enough of faking a smile and delivering Happy Valentine’s greetings while still reeling from the shock of Kevin’s death.
“Aloha,” I sang into my phone—trying to hide the huffing and puffing.
“Is this Pali Moon?” The caller’s voice was a low growl interspersed with static.
“Yes, this is Pali.” I slowed to a stop.
“Todd Barker here.”
“Oh, yes. What can I do for you?”
“Well, for starters, you can get yourself out to the airport.”
“Which airport?” I had an uneasy feeling I wasn’t going to like the answer.
“I’m here in Maui. At the Katahoochie Airport, or whatever the hell it’s called. I’d catch a cab, but these oily drivers look like they’ll give me the scenic tour and then charge me a hundred bucks for the pleasure. I’ll give you fifty if you’ll take me to my hotel, pronto.”
I was tempted to beg off and tell him to take his chances with a cab, but I had questions and he had answers. And besides, fifty bucks was more than I’d probably ever shake out of Marv. I told Barker I’d be there in fifteen minutes, then I called Farrah and asked if she could hold on for another hour.
I pulled into the white zone in front of baggage claim. I was fretting over how I’d identify a man I could only recognize by voice when I caught sight of a guy in a rumpled tucked-in white dress shirt, charcoal grey slacks, and black leather lace-up shoes. More than likely he’d taken off a necktie on the flight over. He’d slung his suit jacket over his shoulder and clutched an expensive-looking aluminum briefcase in one hand while wheeling a tiny black roller bag with the other. His medium brown hair was cut in the conservative style popular with politicians and news anchors. The guy wasn’t bad looking, just absurdly out of place on a tropical island where all pants are khaki, and where tucking in your shirt is like setting your hair on fire—it really makes you stand out in a crowd.
I pulled to the curb and got out.
“Todd?” I said, coming up to him. He wore a forlorn expression and was nervously running a hand through his hair.
“Miss Moon?”
“Please, call me Pali. Is this your only luggage?”
“Yeah. With any luck I won’t be sticking around long.” He scowled at the milling throng of vacationers as if he’d been abducted by aliens.
We walked back to the Geo, which was garnering major stink eye from the rent-a-cop hired to keep people from doing what I’d done—parking in the loading zone. Being the considerate chauffeuress, I reached in front of Todd and wrestled the passenger door open. Then I leaned in and swiped the thin film of red dust from the seat. He got in and I put his suitcase on the back seat next to Lisa Marie’s origami crane keepsake. The beautifully-framed picture of lotus flowers and koi fish made from the tiny golden cranes offered a sad testament to the events of the past couple of days.
I didn’t have money to pay the framer and I’d asked if he wanted to keep the artwork until I could pay, but he’d declined. One more item on an already jam-packed list of mounting debts.
“Miss Moon?” Barker snapped.
I jerked my head up realizing I’d been lost in thought. The rent-a-cop was frantically blowing his whistle and waving his arms. Outrage and lack of oxygen had colored his face a brilliant fuchsia.
“Sorry.” I hustled around to the driver door.
“Is today some kind of holiday over here?” Barker said as we pulled into traffic. “I didn’t see a single man wearing a decent suit and tie. Hell, I didn’t see anybody even wearing socks.”
Todd Barker didn’t stop talking during the entire trip to his posh hotel in Wailea. He bounced from subject to subject—crying babies on the plane; Hawaii’s ridiculous agricultural inspection form; the visitor’s bureau asking for personal information; he even touched on the lack of decent toilet paper in the airplane restroom. As we left Kihei, heading south, he finally got around to his company losing its two key executives. Everything he knew about Kevin McGillvary’s death had come second or third hand so he only had the basic facts.
“I heard Kevin was murdered. It wasn’t from natural causes.” He said it more like a question than a statement.
I knew better than to weigh in with my opinion. “It appears it wasn’t an accident, but they haven’t released the final autopsy report.”
“Do you have any idea what this is doing to DigiSystems? We’re in a precarious position. For months we’ve been dealing with takeover rumors. And now we’ve lost both our founding members in less than two weeks. With Sanders and McGillvary gone, the share price is going to run off a damn cliff. Do you hear what I’m saying?”
Hearing him was no problem. When we stopped at Kilohana Drive—the intersection where you can turn into Maui Meadows—two local women in the car next to us looked over and stared. They most likely assumed they were witnessing a domestic dispute.
“And that asshole Marv Prescott. Acting all innocent. That guy’s behind this, believe you me. He called me yesterday, barely able to keep from laughing. I tried to warn Brad against taking that sonofabitch’s money, but would he listen? No-o-o.”
“Marv told me he was just an angel investor during the start-up.”
“Bullshit!” Barker shrieked. His voice was fast approaching a pitch only dogs can hear. “Marv Prescott’s been called a lot of things, but ‘angel’ sure as hell isn’t one of them. He’s a manipulating self-serving bastard, and his fingerprints are all over this.”
Todd blew out a sharp breath and dropped his tone a notch. “Don’t you find it a bit too convenient that DigiSystems’ two key stakeholders died right under his nose three thousand miles from home? That’s why I came over here.”
“You think Marv killed Brad and Kevin?”
“I don’t know what to think. What I know—as CFO for the company—is who stands to profit now that they’re dead.”
A few beats went by before it dawned on me he was waiting for me to answer. “Would that be Marv Prescott?”
“Indirectly, yes. But he’s too smart to be so obvious. He’s handed his stake over to that dimwit daughter of his—Lisa Marie.”
I was about to ask him to elaborate, but we’d arrived at the portico of the Royal Crown Kamehameha Resort and three valets had already dashed over to help. It appeared they were demonstrating first-rate customer service skills in moving so quickly, but I knew better. The faster they got my trashed green Geo out of their squeaky-clean tiled entryway, the better.
One valet opened Todd’s door while a second lunged for the rear door to unload his meager luggage. I didn’t get out. No sense creating confusion that we were a couple, and besides, my ears were nearly bleeding. I waited in blessed silence while Barker chatted briefly with the head bellman. He tipped the guy and then came around to my driver’s window and leaned in.
“Thanks for your kind offer to pick me up,” he said. I wasn’t sure if he was being sarcastic or not, but when he extended a fan of three bills showing a twenty on top, I didn’t care. I plucked the money from him and quickly tucked it in my bag.
“In Hawaiian, we say mahalo for thank you,” I said. “You’ll hear that a lot over here.”
“Yeah, I’m sure.” The snide had returned to his voice. “All these natives with their hand out. ‘Hollow’—sounds like a pretty good description of what my wallet’s gonna look like in a few days.” He stepped back from the car and gestured at me as if waving off an annoying panhandler.
The Pi’ilani Highway back to the Mokulele turnoff was wide open so I made good time getting back to Pa’ia.
<
br /> “Girl, I was about to give up on you,” said Farrah when I banged through the front door. The bell tinkled, and I got a catch in my throat as I realized that as of tomorrow even that damn bell would belong to Tank Sherman.
I peered into the glass-fronted refrigerator case. Not a single flower remained, just three rows of white plastic buckets. In one bucket a lone pink petal floated in green-tinged water.
“You hear anything from Hatch?” she asked.
“Not a word.” I tried to keep the anxiety out of my voice since Farrah’s anguish over Kevin was still raw.
“Maybe you should go next door and check for messages.”
“Nah, I checked an hour ago.”
“You never know. A lot can happen in an hour.”
I put the key in my shop door and was surprised when it turned without resistance. Not locked. In my snit over Hatch I’d probably forgotten to lock up before going down to talk to Sifu Doug. But two steps in, the scent hit me like a tsunami.
Lavender.
A dozen lavender candles had been placed around the room, some burning, some still wrapped in cellophane. A lavender wreath the size of a spare tire hung on the divider wall; and two dainty white pillows embroidered with a lavender sprig hugged each of the arms of my tattered green sofa. An enormous basket festooned with a glossy violet bow was perched on my desk. In it was an assortment of fancy bath products.
Hatch hobbled out through the bead curtain and leaned on his crutch.
“You like it?”
“I don’t know what to say. It’s beautiful. Rather over-the-top, but beautiful.”
“It doesn’t upset you?”
“Not at all, it’s lovely.”
“Guess what?” He hopped over to the wreath and carefully lifted it from the nail in the wall. “Check it out. I made this—all by myself. Up at the lavender farm in Kula.”
“It looks good. You did a great job.”
“So, will you be my Valentine?” he said.
“I guess.”
He thumped toward me. Then he leaned on his crutch and reached out to lift my chin.
“What’s the matter?” he said.
“Nothing.”
He cocked his head, like a perplexed dog when the chew toy suddenly disappears into a pocket.
“C’mon. You may think I’m just a dumb smoke eater, but for seven years my life hinged on sizing people up. Something’s wrong. What is it?”
“I didn’t hear you come in last night,” I was going for a nonchalant tone, but it came out kind of choked up.
“That’s because I didn’t come home. I stayed with a friend.”
“Okay, fine. None of my business.” I started blowing out candles.
“What’s going on? Is there a house curfew you failed to mention? Steve told me he doesn’t come home lots of times and it’s no big deal.”
“It isn’t. You’re a big boy. It’s just that I need to get going. I promised Farrah I’d get her back up to the house more than an hour ago.”
“You’re not treating me like a big boy.”
“I already told you—I’m late. I appreciate your Valentine’s Day gifts, but I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
He hopped over and hung the wreath back up on the wall. “Fair enough. Can I catch a ride back up the hill with you?”
“Of course.”
The door squeaked open and Farrah poked her head in. “Well?” Her smile was back.
“Well, what?” Hatch and I shot back in unison.
The smile vanished.
“I thought I’d be interrupting a love-fest. But it looks more like a smack-down.”
“We need to get going,” I said, snatching up my keys.
“Yeah,” said Hatch. “Don’t get in her way. She’s late and she’s got a lot on her mind.”
CHAPTER 23
I arrived home with just enough time to change into tan capris and an earthtone aloha shirt. It’s my go-to outfit when attending a beach wedding. I look semi-festive while still blending into the background.
Steve was out front packing his photography gear into the Jetta.
“I could make excuses if you want to skip this,” I said.
“No way. If that long lost dude makes an appearance I’ll have exclusive rights to the photos. Wouldn’t miss it.”
He offered to drive and I slid into the passenger seat. The ride down to Olu’olu was quiet, not only because Steve’s car doesn’t sound like there’s a hive of angry bees under the hood, but also because we were both lost in thought.
When we pulled inside the gate the bridesmaid’s black limo was already there. Marv’s Mercedes was parked outside the garage, and Steve parked his black Jetta where I usually put the Geo. Seeing three shiny black cars in close proximity made me shiver. In the scheme of things, weddings and funerals aren’t that dissimilar. Both are life-changing events; both usually involve flowers, ministers, and music; and both are expensive ways to pass a few hours with family and friends.
The funereal mood continued once we’d gone inside. Josie soundlessly led us to the sunroom to wait for the minister. I hadn’t told Lisa Marie I’d switched out Farrah, but I wasn’t worried. If Brad showed up, she’d be so excited she’d overlook it, and if he didn’t, well, it wouldn’t matter.
The two bridesmaids were perched on the far sofa, ankles crossed, hands primly clasped.
“Hi, girls,” said Steve.
“Aloha, Mr. Rathburn.”
Steve winced at the formal salutation and sat down in a cushioned wicker armchair. Through the window I saw Marv on the lanai—pacing—drink in hand.
I nodded to the bridesmaids and told Steve I’d be right back.
“Josie,” I said coming up to her in the foyer. “Is Lisa Marie dressed?”
“Miss Moon, she lock her door. I don’t know what she doing in there.”
I went down the hallway to Lisa Marie’s room. “Lisa Marie, it’s me, Pali. Can I help with anything?”
“Go away.”
“It’s ten to five. We’ll start no later than five-thirty, okay?”
“Is Brad here?”
“Not yet.”
“Then how can we start? We have to wait for him.”
At exactly five the minister arrived and joined us in the sunroom. We made quiet chit-chat for almost an hour and then a few minutes before six I went out to the lanai. It was nearly dark except for the light cast by a dozen tiki torches that had been lit as the sun hovered at the horizon. I told Marv we were all leaving now. He didn’t turn around, but he gave a single nod to signal he’d heard.
In the two years I’ve been planning weddings I’ve had a few last minute changes of heart and even a couple of can’t wait elopements, but I’ve never witnessed a jilted bride. I guess technically I still hadn’t. Lisa Marie never made an appearance. As if we’d rehearsed it, we all quietly left the sunroom and slipped out to our cars with only our final alohas breaking the silence.
On Friday morning I awoke to a gentle rapping on the bedroom door. Lipton sprang into action, standing at stiff alert, a growl coming from deep in her throat. Farrah tugged the covers up to her chin and rolled over, taking the entire blanket with her. I had a deep dent in my spine from the crossbar under the thin mattress.
“Who is it?” I said.
“Pali? It’s me, Steve. There’s a guy named Todd Barker on the phone. He ordered me to wake you up. The guy sounds like Darth Vadar with a vicious case of hemorrhoids.”
“Oh, joy.” Barker probably wanted me to fetch him a latte.
I stumbled down the stairs, mistaking the second-to-the-last stair for the final one. I fell with a thud, striking my tailbone on the edge of the riser. I couldn’t afford to break a bone so I pulled myself upright, rubbing my backside and shaking off the pain.
“Hey, Todd,” I said picking up the receiver. “What time is it?”
“Forget that. You need to get down here right away,” he said. “I’ve got something I want to run by you.”
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p; “I’ll need a cup of coffee and a shower first,” I said. “Then I’ve got to get some gas. You’re a good twenty-five minutes from my house so the soonest I could be there is about an hour.”
“I don’t need a play-by-play of your hectic schedule, Miss Moon. Just get your ass in gear. I’ll be in the coffee shop.” He hung up.
I stopped at the gas station on Hana Highway and reluctantly parted with one of the twenties Barker had given me for the airport ride. The gas gauge ticked up to less than half a tank. My ancient Geo sipped gas like a guppy, but buying fuel for all the running back and forth from Olu’olu was tearing a serious hole in my already tattered balance sheet.
I parked on the street and walked onto the grounds of the Royal Crown Kamehameha. I’d never seen such well-behaved plants. Everything was in tidy rows, with no spent blooms and no wayward leaves littering the velvet lawn. I tiptoed across the manicured grass, glancing left and right for the ever-vigilant gardeners who would, no doubt, chase me off with a rake if they caught me leaving footprints.
As I crossed the lobby, Todd Barker waved from a table at the oceanside café.
“What’ll you have?” he said.
The table was bare of food and drink. Either he wasn’t having anything or his order hadn’t arrived yet.
“Thanks, but I’m fine.”
“I didn’t inquire about your health,” he snapped. “I asked what you wanted to drink.”
The man really needed a vacation.
“Have you already ordered?” I said.
“Yeah, I’m having a BM.”
I knew what BM meant in my morning routine, but I prayed that on the mainland it meant something different. I shrugged in confusion.
“A Bloody Mary,” he said. “God willing, they’ll have brains enough to serve it with a stalk of celery instead of throwing in one of those pineapple, cherry, tiny umbrella gee-gaws.”
“I’d just like a glass of ice water,” I said. I’d just spent twenty bucks on gas, and I still needed to get stamps, vitamins and toilet paper which would no doubt deplete the rest of fifty.
“I don’t drink alone,” he said. He gestured to an eager-looking waiter. “Bring her a BM along with some ice water.”
Maui Widow Waltz (Islands of Aloha Mystery Series) Page 18