Lisa Marie reached up and pulled the wig from her head. She laid it down on the tiny dressing table and let out a theatrical sigh.
“Okay,” said the clerk. “I won’t make any money on this, but you’re such a sweet girl. And besides, no cancer survivor should have to put up with kukae—that’s our word for crap—from her own sister.” Once again, I was treated to the death-ray glare.
“Thank you. Mahalo, so much!” Lisa Marie jumped up from the chair and jogged over to the cashier stand. She stepped behind the counter and leaned into the clerk’s non-existent bosom like a child seeking a hug.
“You’re so kind. I will never forget you.”
Until we walk out the door.
The clerk carefully wrapped the wig in pink tissue and placed it in a round yellow hat box decorated with brightly-colored butterflies. Lisa Marie mused she was worried the wig would lose its shape if she kept it stored in the box and the clerk threw in a free Styrofoam wig-stand. When we finally made our way out to the car, I pointedly marched to the driver’s side door. She owed me—big-time—and I wasn’t about to put up with car torture all the way back to Olu’olu.
“What was that little charade all about?” I said once she’d slammed the passenger door.
“Oh, nothing. I just get a kick out of messing with people.”
“You enjoy telling lies and cheating a nice lady who has had cancer?”
“Don’t get all high and mighty with me, Pali. You’d do it if you could. But you’re not smart enough, rich enough, or cute enough to get away with it. But me?” She shot me what my brother would call a shit-eating grin. “Messing with people is my number one talent.”
No argument there.
CHAPTER 32
As soon as we left the parking lot, Lisa Marie tore into the exquisitely wrapped hat box and plopped her new wig on her head. She pulled down her windshield visor—probably expecting a mirror—but my Geo lacked the ‘convenience package.’
“You sure have a crappy car.” She grabbed the edges of the wig above her ears and tugged, adjusting it side to side. “How do I look?”
I gave her a quick once over. A red Jeep in front of me had its left-turn signal blinking, and I was keeping an eye out for brake lights.
“I think it may be a little too high on this side.” I reached over to fine-tune it, but she jerked her head out of reach.
She yanked the left side down just as I braked hard to avoid hitting the Jeep which had come to a complete stop. The wig ended up forty-five degrees off-kilter.
“You bitch! You did that on purpose!” Her shriek nearly made me kill the engine. I downshifted and dodged around the inert car. A glance in my rearview mirror confirmed my suspicion—the driver was holding up a newspaper-sized map. Traffic behind him bobbed and weaved to avoid a collision. I figured it was just a matter of time…then I heard a bam! Normally, I would’ve stuck around to give a witness report but I couldn’t trust what might come out of Lisa Marie’s mouth.
She spent the next few minutes of the ride rummaging through her Prada bag. She pulled out a gold clamshell compact encrusted with semi-precious colored stones. Okay, if it had been my compact they would have been semi-precious stones. The green and red stones on her compact were probably real emeralds and rubies. She clicked it open and used the three-inch mirror inside to admire her new hairdo. She also freshened her lipstick, spit-smoothed her eyebrows and investigated her chin for stray hairs. I marveled at her ability to preen with such concentration, seemingly oblivious to the stunning ocean views passing by on the highway.
We pulled into Olu’olu twenty minutes later. As soon as the gate parted, I saw the detective’s car parked in the driveway. Lisa Marie snapped her compact shut.
“Oh, hell,” she said. “What now?”
I figured they’d come to officially release her from being a suspect. I wasn’t clear on how the police worked, but it seemed to me if they’d ordered you to stay put, they were obliged to formally advise you when you were free to go.
Lisa Marie snatched the wig from her head and shoved it into the hat box before getting out of the car. “No use giving away my beauty secrets,” she said when she caught my confused look.
Josie met us at the door and told us in a whisper the police were waiting for Lisa Marie in the sunroom.
“I tell them you go to doctor’s.” She gave Lisa Marie an expectant smile, but instead of a thank you for covering for her, Lisa Marie snapped, “You shouldn’t lie, Josie. Your nose’ll grow.”
Josie looked bewildered. Maybe Pinocchio wasn’t a popular kid’s story in the Philippines. She recovered quickly, though, and looked down at Lisa Marie’s hat box.
“You buy something nice?”
Lisa Marie nodded and handed her the box. “Put this in my room. But first, bring me a drink. I’m going to need it.”
“Ice tea? Coke?”
“No, I said a drink. A screwdriver, with two shots and no ice.”
Josie turned and went down the hallway.
“Do you want me to go in there with you?” I said to Lisa Marie. “They may tell me to leave, but at least they’ll see someone’s here at the house with you. I’m pretty sure they know your dad’s gone back to the mainland.”
“Suit yourself.”
I took that as tacit approval and followed her into the sunroom. The two detectives were perched on the bright yellow sofa, spines ramrod straight, feet flat on the floor. Each wore taupe-colored pants and a muted beige print aloha shirt. They looked like two spots of drab in a sea of luminous color. Two tall crystal glasses of ice water sat untouched on the coffee table in front of them.
Josie came in and handed a matching glass to Lisa Marie. It appeared to be an enormous serving of orange juice. No doubt the cops figured Lisa Marie must be some kind of health nut.
“Ah, Ms. Prescott,” said Wong. He’d stood when Lisa Marie entered the room, and he remained standing. “Nice of you to join us. Did we or did we not have an appointment this afternoon at one?”
“As my maid already told you, I had something personal I had to do.”
I looked at the clock on the wall. It was one thirty. Lisa Marie wore an expensive Rado watch, but I’d never seen her even glance at it. In fact, time seemed of little significance to her.
“And who might this be?” Wong nodded my way.
“She’s my personal assistant. I’ve asked her to be present to make sure you don’t pistol whip me or plant drugs in my pocket or something.” Lisa Marie shot him a coquettish smile. His face remained impassive but I noticed his right hand clench into a fist.
“Does your assistant have a name?”
I weighed my options of stepping forward and introducing myself versus letting Lisa Marie handle it. I chose the latter. It wasn’t my fight, and if the cops were there to release her, I’d probably be following them out the door anyway.
“She’s nobody. Do you want her to leave?”
“Yes. If you’re unwilling to provide us with her name and her connection to this case, then I’m afraid she’ll have to step outside while we talk.”
I felt strangely stung by the dismissal, but figured it was probably for the best. I went down to my room to call Steve and Hatch and make sure everyone had gotten home safely after the fire. I figured I’d keep it short and use the extension in my room. No use burning up my cell minutes.
Steve answered.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey, yourself! You okay? I lost track of you. Are you still at the fire? I didn’t recognize the caller ID.”
“No, I’m back at Olu’olu. Wong’s here and I’m using the guest room phone.”
“I never got to tell you about that hinky videotape. Guess what they found out?”
I didn’t have the heart to pop his balloon. “What?”
“It’s got a bum time code. Seems it was recorded at a different time and even on a different day.”
Okay, so maybe discretion is the better part of valor. A different day? Sifu
Doug hadn’t mentioned that.
“How’d they figure that?”
He explained about time code, which I already knew, and then he continued. “The cops reviewed the dock worker’s schedules for the past couple of weeks and matched the names against the images of the people on the video. The tape with Lisa Marie and Kevin arguing was from Sunday afternoon, three days before Kevin’s body showed up on the beach.”
“Huh. So that would explain why Lisa Marie still had hair.”
“And that’s why the tape is worthless. At least a dozen people saw Kevin after that.”
“Yeah, including me.”
“Guess what else has happened? The Maui News bought three of my shots of the fire. They especially liked the one of Hatch doing CPR on the dog.”
“Speaking of the Canine Crusader,” I said, “How’s he doing? He sucked in a bunch of smoke up in Farrah’s apartment.”
“He’s taking a nap. I had to practically carry him into the house he was so worn out.”
“I’ll bet. Dragging that cast up and down Farrah’s back stairs had to take a toll. But if he hadn’t shown up and brought Lipton back to life, I don’t know if Farrah could’ve handled it.”
“Yeah. So are you coming back home? I mean, without that video, what’ve they got on Lisa Marie?”
“Wong’s here now. I’ll wait and see what he says. If he says she’s free to go, I’m sure Marv’ll have her going back to the mainland on the next thing smokin’. Why don’t I give you a call in another hour or so—say, three o’clock?”
“Sounds good. I’m stickin’ around,” he said. “I’ve had enough excitement for one day.”
We hung up. The call had gone on longer than I’d intended. I wouldn’t put it past Marv to deduct for time I’d spent on his phone, so I looked around for my purse to call Farrah from my cell. My bag wasn’t in my room. I must have left it behind in the sunroom when I’d been hastily booted out by Glen Wong.
The French doors to the sunroom were standing open. I looked in. No one was there. I scanned the entry table just inside the doors. I was certain that’s where I’d put my purse and keys when I’d come in, but now the top was just a clear expanse of highly-polished hardwood.
I left to go search for Josie. She was in the far hallway, running a dry mop across the tile.
“Did you happen to pick up my purse and keys from the entry table in the sunroom?”
She looked puzzled. “How did you drive your car away without your keys?” she said.
Okay, we were having one of those conversations where Part A is not, by any stretch of the imagination, fitting into Part B.
“I haven’t driven anywhere. I was in the guest room on the telephone.”
“Oh no.” She ran to the front door and pulled it open.
The police car no longer blocked the driveway. Trouble was, my green Geo was long gone as well.
CHAPTER 33
I sprinted to the gate house and startled George, who had his head down gawking at a magazine. I averted my eyes as he slapped it shut and shoved it under a shelf below the open window.
“Hey man, it’s not dirty,” he said when he saw me looking away. He pulled the magazine back out and showed me the cover—Surfing. I felt myself start to smile, visualizing a guy his size struggling to get upright on a long board.
“Did Lisa Marie just leave in my car?”
“No,” he said. “You did. A couple minutes ago.”
That took me a few seconds to process. But it didn’t appear he was burning up any brain cells processing it along with me.
“No, George. I’m here. I’m not in my car. Lisa Marie’s in my car.”
“It looked like you.” He came out of the gate house and stared out toward the highway, as if hoping to spot the Geo parked on the other side of the gate.
“Did you see which way she went?”
“Not sure, but I think she turned right. Like I said, I thought it was you. I figured you were headed back up to Pa’ia.”
I glanced around for a means of pursuit, and settled on the four-car garage at the far end of the property.
“What’s in there?” I pointed to the garage doors.
“Mr. Prescott’s cars.”
“Good. I need to use one of them.”
“Can’t.” He shrugged and shook his head, giving me a forlorn look.
“Oh, I think I can. You see, Lisa Marie’s father hired me to keep an eye on her since the cops are watching her every move. Now she’s stolen my car and taken off. I need to find her—and fast. Otherwise, somebody’s going to have to explain to Mr. Prescott why he opened the gate and allowed Lisa Marie to drive out of here all by herself.”
Now he looked like he was burning up some brain cells.
“Mr. Prescott took the Benz to the airport this morning and it’s still over there,” he said. “The Bentley’s got something wrong with the fuel injectors so it stalls. The only other car is Mrs. Prescott’s little Porsche.” He pronounced it porch, but I knew what he meant. “She don’t let nobody drive it—not even Mr. Prescott.” He chuckled, as if anyone daredevil enough to say ‘no’ to Marv Prescott deserved his admiration.
“Please get me the keys, now.”
“I can’t. She’ll kill me.”
He crossed his arms in front of his massive chest and smiled a Buddha smile. I reached out and gripped his right wrist in my right hand, while stepping to his side. Then I twisted the wrist up behind him while sweeping my foot around his well-muscled calf. I had him locked in a lopsided leg wrap. His face froze into an astonished look as he teetered on the edge of a fall.
“You can give me those keys standing up or from the ground nursing a bad sprain. Up to you.” I pulled his arm up higher.
“They’re on the wall in the shack.” He nodded toward the gatehouse.
I released him and went to the gatehouse door. At the back of the tiny space was a pegboard with metal hooks. Four sets of keys hung there, but only one set sported the red, yellow and black Porsche logo. I unhooked the key chain and trotted back to George. He was rubbing his wrist and shooting me major stink eye.
“Open the garage door,” I ordered.
“You press the button on the keys.”
I looked at the key chain in my hand. In addition to ignition and valet keys it had a tan plastic fob with a green button in the center. I pressed the button and the furthest garage door slid up. The overhead light spotlighted a dazzling red Porsche Boxster convertible with a gray top.
“That’s it?”
“Yes, ma’am. But you can’t drive it outta here unless I open the gate.”
“So? Open the gate.”
He shook his head. “I do that and the Missus finds out, I’m a dead man.”
“Then don’t open it. Problem is, when Marv calls, I’ll let you explain how you let Lisa Marie leave on her own when the cops said she couldn’t. Think about it, George. Who’d you rather piss off? Mrs. Prescott or Mr.?”
“Okay, get out of here. But bring Miss Lisa Marie back real fast. And don’t do nothing bad to that car.”
***
I could barely see over the steering wheel of the low-slung convertible. My Geo was not an especially high-sitting ride, but this felt like I was fanny-buffing the pavement. If I came into a big inheritance this particular model probably wouldn’t make my shopping list. But whew! talk about acceleration.
I careened through the turns on the Honoapi’ilani Highway sneaking up on slow-pokes and blowing around them like they were in neutral. I mostly waited for the center line to turn from solid to dashes, but sometimes I risked it. I knew every inch of the highway, and Tina’s car could outrun and outmaneuver not only the wimpy rental cars but probably cop cars as well. In a fit of bravado I considered trying to tune the radio to KPOA-FM, but I had too much going on with keeping an eye on the road ahead, downshifting when necessary, and scanning side roads and turnouts for my green Geo.
I sped straight up the highway toward Kahului. I knew Lisa M
arie didn’t have much of a head start, but with only George’s tentative confirmation of which way she’d gone I was pretty much going on gut feeling. Since this was the road we’d traveled to the wig store, it made sense if she was just out for a joyride she’d stick to the tried and true rather than risk getting lost.
At the Kuihelani Road turnoff, I caught a glimpse of a scabby green car making a dog-track right turn. I tried to convince myself it wasn’t my car—in fact, I was mortified to see how pathetic the car looked, even from this distance—but it was the right size, shape and color. It took the Boxster only seconds to get close enough to confirm the disgrace.
Kuihelani becomes Dairy Road and then heads straight on out to the Maui airport. Maybe Lisa Marie was planning to head for home now that she’d been sprung. But why steal my car? Why not summon a limo, with cut glass liquor bottles and mirrored windows?
My theory about her making a dash to the airport was nixed when the Geo took a screeching two-wheel right turn—without stopping at a red light—at Hana Highway, only a few blocks short of the airport entrance. Oncoming traffic dodged and horns bleated, but Lisa Marie barreled ahead. She was now on the road to Pa’ia. Was she headed to my shop? Maybe she’d learned of the fire and wanted to see the damage for herself.
At the intersection of Highway 37—Haleakala Highway—she fooled me again. She slipped into the right lane and, again without signaling, took another right turn. Okay, now I was totally confused. Highway 37 leads to the Upcountry area—a place with no major shopping or entertainment and certainly no exodus off the island. It offers peaceful farms and cooler temps. Nothing up that way—short of an invitation to Oprah’s lavish estate—would hold much appeal for Lisa Marie. I made the turn.
Haleakala Highway is steep. In fact, we learned in driver’s ed that it’s one of the steepest paved highways in all of the United States. If you take it all the way to the top, you’ll climb to ten-thousand feet above sea level in only thirty-eight miles. After a couple of miles, it was obvious the Geo was struggling. Smoke belched from the tailpipe. I imagined Lisa Marie, foot smashed to the floorboard, screeching obscenities as the little green machine wearily clawed its way up the incline.
Maui Widow Waltz (Islands of Aloha Mystery Series) Page 24