A Killing in Kula (Maui Mayhem Cozy Mystery Book 2)

by Aysia Amery

  “Yes, it was hard, but there are other women who were worse off than me. Tony never hit me, so I should be grateful for that. Other women aren’t so lucky. Whenever Tony’s putdowns and constant complaints got to me, I’d always remind myself of that. It helped buffer my own troubles.”

  I admired her courage and her resolute spirit. ‘Not a strong person’ she said? I had to disagree. Elaine was a woman with the inner fortitude of those inflatable floor punching bags—she took the hits but never let it keep her down.

  Gawd, I sure hope Elaine didn’t off her husband. The last place this woman should be was locked up and her freedom taken from her once again. Unfortunately, if she did kill him, murder is never the solution, and she’d have to pay the consequences for that.

  Elaine’s fork clinked on the ceramic plate. Her brows pulled together. “Nolan told me that he thinks the detective is questioning us because Tony’s death might be something other than natural causes. Is that the case?”

  That took me by surprise. “Uh, without the full forensic report it’s hard to tell yet.”

  “But there’s a reason the detective is investigating this and why you and he were interviewing us?”

  “It’s just procedure.” I couldn’t very well tell her Tony thinks he was murdered and that’s the bulk of the supposition right now.

  “Is there anybody on the farm today that was there on the day your husband died?” I changed the subject.

  “Ken’s working today. He was the only worker out in the field on Saturday. Everyone else had the day off. Ken said he had something to finish up so he came in that day. He normally has the weekends off too.”

  “Can I talk with him?”

  “I don’t see why not. He should be out by the greenhouse. Why don’t I give you a piece of cake to take to him.”

  That was nice of her. Seemed Elaine treated her workers well.

  She put a generous slice on a paper plate and wrapped a sheet of plastic wrap over it. Opening the drawer next to the sink, she pulled out a plastic fork.

  As she handed me the items, she spoke.

  “Did you get to talk to Helen yet?”

  She went over to the table and pulled a napkin from the upright wooden holder, then held it out to me.

  As I took it from her I said, “No. Detective Anzo was called away, so our last visit was your brother-in-law.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  “Is there something about her we should know about?” I asked.

  “My husband and Helen worked very closely together. She was his assistant and also took care of the books. I suspected they were having an affair, but I didn’t care, so I never told either of them that I knew about it. I preferred he put his attentions on someone else rather than me, anyway.”

  And the plot thickens.

  “Did anybody else know about them? Like your son or brother-in-law?”

  “I told Nolan about my suspicions, but I would never discuss something like that with Lance.”

  “How long have you suspected them of this?” Sounded like it could’ve been a while.

  “Might be about five years ago now. I was surprised he never asked for a divorce.”

  “Why didn’t you ever ask for one?” She never loved him and instead loved his brother, so why stay with somebody she didn’t care about?

  “Obligations.” She paused for a moment, her eyes gazing at the floor. Then she looked back up at me. “And, I guess, shame. How would it look if I divorced Tony, then married his brother? It wouldn’t look good. People would know we’d been having an affair.”

  In small towns, gossip was unavoidable, so I could see why it would bother her. Especially for someone who cared about what people thought.

  “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this, but you seem like someone who cares about people, and for some reason I feel comfortable around you.” She smiled.

  “It’s my desserts. They put people in a trance, and somehow they can’t help but confide in me.” I smiled back. I touched her arm in a friendly gesture and when I did so, a flash of history reeled before my eyes: a woman sitting beside a man on a throne.

  The clothing is Russian; he must be a czar. Now another flash of the wife. She’s huddled with another man—a soldier. They’re conspiring something, and now they’re kissing.

  I released my hand from Elaine’s arm. I normally didn’t try to envision people’s past lives for very long since it would seem weird and awkward to them as to why I’d be in a trance-like state.

  I’ll have to Google who that woman was later. Sometimes it’s apparent because they were somebody famous in history I already recognized by hints through their surroundings and circumstances, but other times I couldn’t tell who it was unless I did the research.

  The fact that many of my visions were of somebody noted in history, I had to wonder if more than one spirit occupied a body at a time. Could we all have shared our reincarnated states with others so that most of us have at one time or other been somebody famous? In my current life, am I composed of multiple spirits with past lives?

  One thing I could say was that ever since my childhood coma brought on this ‘gift,’ it has opened my eyes to the many facets of the phenomenon. I know it sounded crazy, but if you could see what I saw, you’d probably wonder the same thing too.

  “You’ll find the greenhouse past the kiosk and to the left. Keep following the trail and you’ll come to it. I’ll call Ken on his cell to let him know you’ll be coming over to talk with him.”

  “Thank you, that’ll be great!” That would make things a lot easier for me, instead of sneaking up on the poor guy, unknowing of why I was being so nosy. I couldn’t very well tell him I was helping investigate a case.

  “By the way, Ken was the one who found Tony. Helen called it in.”

  Elaine closed the door behind me, and off I was in search of their field hand. Guess I didn’t need to get the cookies from my minivan since Elaine gave me the cake to tempt him with.

  I’m sure that’ll get him talking.

  :: Chapter 9 ::

  Finding the greenhouse was like traipsing down the Yellow Brick Road and reaching the Emerald City. The path led straight to it.

  A Filipino man in his mid-thirties wearing a baseball cap, khaki cargo shorts, and gardening gloves hunched over a bag of fertilizer. He heard me approach and turned his head to look at me. As he straightened his back, I gave him a smile.

  “Hi, are you Ken?” I asked. Even though I had a strong feeling he was, I didn’t want to assume.

  “Yeah.” He swiped his hands together, dusting off the dried manure he’d been handling. He didn’t offer me his hand, which I was glad about. I silently wished he was going to wash his hands before diving into the cake, even if he took off his gloves.

  “Is that for me?” he asked, eyeballing the treat I held.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Let me go wash up and I’ll be right back.”

  Thank goodness! I have to say, I’ve seen a few construction workers in my time, digging in dirt or covered in sawdust, then simply wipe their hands on their duds before popping a manapua or pork hash into their mouths.

  As for me, being somewhat OCD like that TV character Monk—well, not as bad as him, but close enough—I always carried a small vial of sanitizing gel in my purse. Chances were I’d probably get a bout of diarrhea before they did. From as early as a kid, I had a gut more sensitive than a cold sore on the tongue.

  Ken was back.

  “Thanks,” he said as he took the paper plate from me. He sat on a backless wooden bench just left of the glass greenhouse door. I joined him on the bench, leaving about a 2-foot space between us.

  Ken didn’t bother with the fork and picked up the triangular piece as he would a pizza slice. After four large bites, only crumbs were left in the wake. At least the napkin served its purpose and not his shirt.

  “Did you make that?” he asked. I was expecting him to let out a burp.

  “Yes, I di
d,” I answered with a smile.

  “Hey, that was ono (delicious).”

  “Thanks,” I said as my eyes darted to his mouth where his tongue maneuvered covertly under his lips, swabbing over his teeth.

  “Elaine said you wanted to talk to me.” He didn’t fidget or squirm in his seat, so it seemed he was cool with that.

  “Yes. If you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you some questions about the day your employer died.”

  “Yeah, what about it?”

  Oi, no love was lost there. But I guess from what others have said, that shouldn’t be surprising.

  “Elaine told me that you found Tony’s body that day.”

  “Yeah. I was working on the other side of the farm. I was about to go home and headed for my truck when I found ‘em.”

  “What time was that about?”

  “Probably around 4:30.”

  “How did he look?” I asked.

  “He looked dead.”

  “No, I mean was his face contorted or his hands gripping his neck or chest? Did he look unusual to you?”

  “Yeah, he didn’t look good. His eyes were still open and staring like he died of shock. Gave me the creeps.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I didn’t wanna touch ‘em so I called over to the house. Nobody answered so I called Helen’s cell phone. I knew she was still around here someplace cuz I saw her car in the lot. After she came down to see for herself, she called 911.”

  I was surprised he had to wait for Helen to call 911 and didn’t do it himself.

  “Is there a reason you didn’t call 911 yourself?” I figured I’d ask.

  “I dunno.” He shrugged. “I figured he was dead so why call ‘em? I knew Helen would know who to call about a dead body.”

  “For an unexpected death, you’d still call 911,” I informed him.

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “Did you see anything unusual that day?” I asked.

  “You mean in the field?”

  “Anywhere.”

  “No. It was the weekend, so there weren’t no visitors. I was the only guy working the field. I didn’t see nothing unusual.” He sat up and crossed his one leg perpendicular so his ankle rested over his other knee.

  “Did you see when anybody left the house?”

  “Yeah. I saw Elaine, Lance and Nolan leave.”

  “What time was that about?”

  “Before lunch. I dunno the exact time. I don’t go checking my watch every time somebody comes and goes.”

  “Did you like Tony?”

  Ken raised his bushy eyebrows. His long black bangs fell over his eyes as he shifted in his seat. I might’ve just hit on a touchy spot.

  He swiped his bangs to the side. “To tell you the truth, I hated the guy.”

  Oo-okay, one more suspect added to the list. I was surprised they were so eager to blurt out this stuff. Then again, they didn’t know we were investigating this as a murder case.

  “I heard Tony wasn’t such a nice guy,” I told him, hoping to spark a tirade from him.

  “That’s putting it mildly. But my beef with him is because of my father.”

  “Oh?” My ears perked up.

  “A few years ago, my father got bronchitis and decided to call in sick, but Tony needed him to work that day due to a big order from an important new client. Tony wouldn’t take no for an answer and so my father gave in. A few days later, he came down with pneumonia and died.” Ken’s nostrils were just about puffing out steam.

  Oh my, that’s awful. “I’m so sorry to hear that.” Sounded like Tony didn’t have much regard for his workers’ welfare.

  “I would’ve quit back then, but my mother works here too, and she didn’t want me to leave. If I left, she’d have to go too cuz I’m her commute. We live in Haiku. She’s worked for worse places before and didn’t wanna have to find another job and risk going through that again.”

  “What does your mother do here?”

  “She helps Elaine with the customers. Elaine’s good to her, always has been. She’s never had to deal with Tony, which I was glad about.”

  “You’re a good son to do that for your mom. It must’ve been hard on you though, having to work a job you hated.”

  “I didn’t hate the job. It was Tony I hated.”

  Ken uncrossed his legs and slouched on the bench once again. My butt was starting to complain too. This bench was no recliner.

  “I just have one more question,” I said. “Then I’ll let you get back to your work.”

  He didn’t respond and just waited for me.

  “Have you ever noticed anything going on with Tony and Helen?”

  “You mean if they were foolin’ around?” he asked.

  “Yes, or just anything worth mentioning,” I said.

  “Hell, yeah, they were foolin’ around. About two weeks before I found Tony lyin’ in the grass, I heard ‘em arguing here in the greenhouse. Helen was ranting on about him getting a divorce. She said something about telling Elaine if he didn’t. I didn’t stay to hear the rest. I might’ve hated Tony, but hearing a guy get nagged turns my stomach. I was married to a woman who nagged, nagged, nagged, and I wouldn’t wish that on even my worst enemies. Anyway, I was just passin’ through on my way to the kiosk, so I kept right on walkin’.”

  Guess he wasn’t no Gladys Kravitz. I’m ashamed to say, juicy drama sucked me in. My ear would’ve been stuck to the greenhouse glass like bubble gum under a theatre seat.

  Ken stood from the bench. “That’s all I know,” he said.

  I got up too. “Thanks, Ken. I appreciate you talking with me.”

  “No problem.”

  As he put on his gloves, I made my leave.

  Before heading back to my minivan, I decided to see if I could get a chat session with Tony again. Maybe this time he could tell me why he thinks he was murdered.

  Thank goodness abusive talk wasn’t easy in charades. I didn’t need none of that crapola!

  :: Chapter 10 ::

  After roaming around a few minutes, I finally found a spot where I was sure to be out of sight from anybody moseying about the farm. There weren’t many people here today, either workers or visitors, so that was good.

  Nestled behind a protea bush as tall as me, which was 5-foot 3, I called out to Tony’s ghost. As if dying to talk to me, he appeared almost immediately.

  “We didn’t get to finish the last time, and I have more questions to ask you.”

  He nodded.

  “You still think you were murdered?”

  Two more nods.

  “What makes you believe you were murdered?” I sure hoped he could pantomime this out for me.

  Tony put two hands around his neck and opened his mouth as though gagging.

  “You were choked?”

  He shook his head.

  Now he put his hands, one on top of the other, on his chest with his tongue hanging out and still gagging.

  “You’re coughing? Or throwing up?”

  His eyes glared at me like that of a man ready to swat a pesky fly.

  “Okay, look, let’s start over. Your autopsy showed that you died of respiratory failure due to muscle paralysis. Your wife said you didn’t have any allergies, but that doesn’t rule out botulism or any other type of food poisoning. Something you ate most likely caused this.”

  He nodded. Good, his demeanor wasn’t so hostile now.

  “Do you remember what you ate just before this happened?” I asked.

  He held both hands in front of his mouth, fingers facing toward him perpendicular to his lips, while his teeth chomped and chomped and chomped, moving an inch at a time from left to right.

  “You were eating a sandwich?”

  More nodding. Okay, great, we’re getting somewhere.

  He continued, holding one hand in front of him, his fingers curled upward as though it held something the size of a cantaloupe in it. With the other hand, he held a utensil, probably a spoon, then scooping into t
he bowled hand he brought the contents to his lips, pursing them in a sipping gesture.

  “Soup?” That had to be it.

  He nodded. Wait, I think his wife said she made a sandwich and gave him leftover fish stew, not soup, for lunch. I guess that’s close enough. If I hadn’t already known it was stew, that would’ve been harder for him to pantomime.

  “So you had only your lunch and nothing else?”

  He confirmed that with a nod.

  Okay, so now we’ve established that either the sandwich or the fish stew killed him. Now which?

  “Show me how you felt while you were dying.” Maybe if we could establish the symptoms, that might give a clue as to what kind of poisoning. Although, I would imagine that most types of poisoning made you sick to the point of retching, abdominal cramping, and the like. Still, it couldn’t hurt to get a clearer picture of what he went through in case there was a distinguishing factor.

  He touched all his fingers to his mouth, tapping them randomly to his lips as though playing a fast-moving staccato on the piano.

  “Tingling? You felt tingling on your lips?”

  He pointed his index finger at me and smiled. Man, how I loved charades. Good thing I was fairly good at it. In any case, I was glad Tony didn’t feel a need to swat me with a newspaper.

  He wasn’t done. Next, he did the same thing but with his tongue stuck out.

  “You had tingling on your tongue too?”

  Yup. Confirmation on that.

  Hmm. Tingling on the lips and tongue.

  For his next clue, he batted his eyelids while rolling his eyes around, swaying his head as though in a tizzy.

  “Are you feeling dizzy?”

  He nodded. I was on a roll!

  His hands were now flattened over his stomach with his tongue slightly hanging out from his lips. I think he’s going to be sick. He didn’t go any further with it, so I guessed.

  “You felt nauseous?”

  Again, a nod. Woo-hoo! Another bean on the bingo card.

  But he wasn’t done yet.

  With his next act, he dropped to the ground, stretched out his legs and stiffened his arms to his side as though he were lying in cement.

  “You couldn’t move? Were you paralyzed?”