I thought about calling Alana and reporting my conversation to her, but she’d technically warned me off the case. I didn’t really have anything concrete to begin with anyway. It was just a theory, and it was more Olivia’s than mine. I finished my beer quickly and decided to explore the idea of Charlotte’s guilt. There was only one place I knew to look - her house.
Chapter 16
The Key
I drove to Charlotte’s neighborhood and parked a few blocks from her house. I approached the house from the beach. Her backyard was fairly secluded, and I hoped no one saw me walk onto her property.
I’d been training fairly regularly on picking locks. Alana had informed me that anyone could learn how on YouTube. I’m really not that computer literate, and I keep forgetting that you can pretty much learn anything on that website. I wouldn’t be surprised if there was someone somewhere who had uploaded a video on how to perform brain surgery.
I had found several videos on how to pick a lock. I watched a couple but ended up clicking off of them because they were so poorly shot. The third video looked like it was professionally done, at least I could make out what the person was actually saying. The video said a two-year-old could learn to pick a lock in under a minute. I was hoping that was an extreme exaggeration since it took me around twenty to thirty minutes to pick my first one. I’d gotten considerably better at it, though, and I was able to get inside Charlotte’s house in under three minutes.
As soon as I walked through the door, I realized there might have been an alarm system. I stopped and waited for the inevitable blare, but nothing came. I shut the door behind me and then realized I wasn’t really sure how to begin. The problem was I didn’t know what exactly I was looking for.
The ultimate reason for me being there was that all three of Charlotte’s grown children had seriously conflicting versions of what they thought Charlotte wanted in regards to her will. They painted pictures that could only be true if there were multiple Charlottes. That meant someone had to be either lying or just in serious denial of what his or her mother really wanted. That didn’t necessarily mean Charlotte had those mixed feelings as well. Maybe Mill, Jen, and Joe simply saw things the way they wanted to see them. Nevertheless, I was here, and I decided I might as well snoop around.
I started upstairs in Charlotte’s bedroom. Yes, I know exactly what you’re thinking, and I felt incredibly guilty for violating her privacy, but I rationalized by remembering that her murder might never be solved unless I could uncover something, anything really. I was desperate, and isn’t there a saying about desperate people doing desperate things?
I went through her nightstand and found nothing out of the ordinary. I searched every drawer and under every article of clothing. I went through the closet, but there was nothing beyond dresses, shoes, and hats. I looked through the spare bedrooms, their closets, even the master bathroom and the bathroom down the hall. I found nothing interesting.
I went back downstairs and searched through her office. There were several file folders in a large cabinet. I looked through each folder and confirmed everything was related to the hotel operations, just as I expected. I looked through her desk and found more folders, all hotel stuff and nothing more. I stood and walked over to the books on her shelf. There were no mysterious objects hidden in their pages.
I walked back to her desk and flipped through the pages on her desk calendar. She had one of those old-style ones that covered a large portion of her desk. There was nothing hidden between the pages of the months. I turned the calendar upside down and found two pieces of white paper underneath. Each piece had two creases like they had been folded to fit inside an envelope. There was no envelope there, however.
Each page had one line of black type on the top. One line said “You aren’t innocent.” The other line asked “Who is the real monster?”
They weren’t threatening by any means, at least not an overt threat of bodily harm, but they had to be from the same person or persons who sent the other letters.
Charlotte had hidden them under her calendar versus throwing them away like she did the others. Why did she do that? I didn’t know why she hadn’t told me about these or given them to Alana so she could dust them for fingerprints.
Then a thought occurred to me; Charlotte had already mentioned these letters when we spoke in Mara’s office. These were very likely the two original letters, and Charlotte had lied about what they actually said to make her case sound more dire.
I looked at the two lines again - You aren’t innocent. Who is the real monster?
I didn’t know what Charlotte had done or what this person thought she had done to warrant those kinds of messages. I took photos of the pages with my phone and placed the calendar back over them.
I walked into the living room, but there was really nothing to search. All I saw was a sofa and two chairs, no drawers or cabinets or trunks. The kitchen was my last stop. I searched through the pantry first. I saw the empty space on one of the shelves where we’d removed the remaining wine bottles for testing.
I then walked back into the kitchen and went through the drawers and cabinets. I found a couple of wine-bottle openers, forks and knives and spoons, plates and bowls, and pots and pans.
The last drawer I came to could best be described as a junk drawer. I think most of us have one of these in the kitchen. It’s usually filled with batteries, receipts we shouldn’t throw away, paperclips, rolls of masking tape, the odd coin or two, and maybe a knife or razor blade. Charlotte’s junk drawer was no different. I pulled everything out and placed it on the counter. Then I saw it - a single key tucked in the back of the drawer. It had been hidden under the mess. I pulled the key out and saw it was attached to a key ring. The key ring was attached to a small, circular piece of cardboard with the number 604 written on it. I didn’t remember seeing anything in the house that could have referred to that number. I thought 604 must have identified a locker or storage unit.
I pulled out my cell phone and Googled “storage units in Maui.” A few different places popped up. One of them was located just a few miles away from the house. I called the office number listed on their website.
“Yes, may I help you?” the woman asked.
“Yes, my name is Mill Chambers. My mother Charlotte Chambers passed away a couple of weeks ago. I just found a key in her belongings that I believe may be in reference to her storage unit. I can’t remember if she used your location or another. Can you verify whether she was a customer of yours?”
“One second, Mr. Chambers.”
I could hear the woman typing on a keyboard.
“I’m sorry, but we don’t have any records of your mother having a unit here.”
“Thank you,” I said.
I ended the call and went back to the Google results on my phone. I tried the next-closest storage unit. This one was located near the airport. It wouldn’t have been a very convenient location for her to use, though. I repeated my speech and got the news that Charlotte Chambers did have a unit rented there.
I slipped my phone and the key into my pocket. Then I placed all the miscellaneous items back into the junk drawer. I looked around the kitchen. Everything seemed to be in place. I closed and locked the back door behind me. No one was on the beach, and I hoped my luck would still hold as I exited Charlotte’s backyard and walked down the public beach.
I found the storage unit complex easily. I parked in the small lot in front of their office. Fortunately, there were no customers inside. There was only one person working behind the counter. He was a young guy, maybe barely out of high school.
“Hi, I’m Mill Chambers. I called you earlier about my mother’s storage unit.” I pulled the key out of my pocket. “I believe she had unit 604. Could I get the code to drive my car into the complex?”
“Sure thing. I just need to see some I. D.”
I paused a moment. It wasn’t like the request for the I. D. was a major surprise. I had hoped the knowledge of the unit an
d the key would have been enough. I removed my wallet and pulled five twenties out. I fanned them out and laid them on the counter in front of the young clerk.
“Unfortunately, I forgot my driver’s license,” I said.
He looked at the money on the counter. Then he looked up at me. “I think I just saw your I. D. when you opened your wallet.”
Smart kid. I reached back into my wallet and removed another hundred dollars. I placed them on the previous stack of money on the counter.
“I think you’re mistaken. I left my I. D. in my other pair of pants, and I promise not to remove anything from the unit. I just want to see what my dearly departed mother kept there.”
The clerk casually picked up the money and slipped the stack of twenty dollar bills into his pocket.
“Star 555. Then the pound symbol. Then 604.”
“Thanks.”
“Unit 604 is in the last row.”
“Thanks, again.”
“No problem, Mr. Chambers. Sorry for the loss of your mother.”
I left the office and went back to my car. I punched the code into the security keypad by the metal gate. The gate rose slowly, and I drove to the last row of units. I found 604 about half-way down the lane. I parked in front of the door and got out. The key worked, and I pulled the door up. It squeaked and groaned like it hadn’t been opened in a long time. Of course, they always sound like that.
The unit was half-full at best. It mostly contained boxes of old clothes, a couple of chairs, and a few bicycles that looked like they were kids’ bikes from an older age. Maybe they had once belonged to Mill, Bethany, and Joe, and Charlotte didn’t have the heart to throw them away.
I searched through all her clothes and boxes of VHS tapes of movies I remembered but hadn’t seen in forever. She had boxes of old kitchenware - stuff that looked worthless and broken - and things that should have been tossed or donated a long time ago.
I grew more and more frustrated with every worthless box I opened.
I looked through a box of old newspaper clippings. There were articles on the Chambers Hotel, as well as the occasional story on one of her kids. I saw that Mill’s junior high school basketball team had won the Maui Championship, and Bethany had won some state-wide essay contest.
I came across a stack of several shoe boxes. I opened the first two boxes and found the expected shoes. They were hideous by the way.
I leaned against the wall of the storage unit. Whatever secrets this lady held had apparently gone to the grave with her. To make matters even more depressing, I had paid the clerk two hundred bucks to go through Charlotte’s junk.
I was about to leave the unit when I looked down at the last few shoe boxes. I bent over and tore off the lids from those. Two of the three had shoes in them just like the other boxes had. The third box, however, was filled with several letters and a couple of yellowed photographs.
The letters were handwritten. The print was small and neat. One of the photographs was of two people - Charlotte and a man I didn’t recognize, not immediately that is. The second photograph was of Charlotte, the same man in the other photograph, and a new man. This new guy looked a lot like Mill, so I guessed he was the first Millard Chambers.
I looked back at the first photograph. Then I looked at the second one again. The original guy had a striking resemblance to Joe Chambers. The clothing and hairstyle was a lot older, but the facial structure was similar. The dead giveaway, though, was the eyes. The most probable conclusion was that Charlotte had an affair with this man, and Joe Chambers was the result. Maybe Mill and Bethany knew the truth. It would explain their animosity for their younger sibling.
I remembered Candi telling me that Joe had told her his brother and sister had “hated him since his birth.” Perhaps they were well aware of their mother’s infidelity from the time of her pregnancy.
I pulled out my phone and took photos of the two yellowed photographs. I then put the photos back in the shoebox and removed the letters. I read them all. Their contents confirmed my theory and gave a clue to the identity of the mystery man. He signed his name with one letter – e.
E confessed his love for Charlotte in each beautifully written letter. He repeatedly asked her to leave Mill for him. He promised to take care of her, to treasure her, to take her away from the source of her pain and misery, but the letters gave no indication of what caused that pain and misery.
I read them each twice. If I didn’t feel guilty for violating Charlotte’s privacy before, I did now. I felt horrible, and I wasn’t even sure if this was related to her murder in anyway. Yes, it explained Joe’s feelings of being an outcast in the Chambers family, and maybe those life-long feelings resulted in him killing his own mother and forging her will. On the other hand, maybe Charlotte held a special place in her heart for Joe. He was the result of her affair with this man. I knew how E felt. He loved Charlotte. There were no letters from Charlotte, though, returning the feelings. Had she regretted her affair? Was she tempted to run away with him? Why had she stayed with Millard if she ultimately loved this other man?
I put the letters back in the shoebox. I then put the lids back on all the boxes and stacked them like I had found them. I looked around the storage unit. Everything looked like it was in its place, but I wasn’t even sure if Mill or Bethany even knew about the unit. If they had, they probably would have taken the letters and two photos and either hidden them away in their own houses or destroyed them. I shut the door and then relocked the lock. I climbed into my car and turned the air conditioner on full blast. It had been really hot inside the unit, and I was drenched in sweat. Only hot air blew out. I had forgotten the AC had quit on me during the slow drive to Charlotte’s funeral.
During my drive home, all I could think about was my conversations with Charlotte regarding her late husband. Her entire reason for not selling the hotel was because she had wanted to honor Millard’s request not to sell the business. She threw a party to honor what would have been his ninetieth birthday. Yes, it had been my idea as a way to get all of the members of the Chambers family together, but Charlotte had still spent our time together at the event praising Millard. She told me her husband had been a genius. He had designed their impressive house on a napkin. He had designed the hotel himself. She had painted a picture of him as a Renaissance man. What had led this woman to cheat on a man like that? Had she always viewed him in that glowing light, or was her commitment to him the result of him giving her a second chance?
I got home and went immediately to my laptop. I Googled everything I could find on Trevor Edelman, hoping to learn the name of his father. Finally, I found something. His name had been Edward. Edward Edelman. Double e’s. He had to be the author of those love letters. Charlotte had had an affair with her husband’s partner - the man Millard ultimately had a huge falling out with and the man who Millard forced out of the hotel and paid pennies for his shares. Everything made sense now. It had to have been the affair. Millard found out Charlotte was sleeping with Edelman. He’d even gotten her pregnant. No wonder Millard kicked him out. I would have done the same. I’d have done a hell of a lot more, actually.
I didn’t know how Millard could have forgiven Charlotte. Perhaps he didn’t know the baby was Edelman’s. Maybe Charlotte had slept with them both and managed to convince Millard the baby was his, though that secret wouldn’t have stayed a secret for very long. Joe looked nothing like Mill and Bethany. Millard Senior would have had to been a blind man to not see that.
Again, I thought of calling Alana and telling her this family secret, but what did it really reveal other than a dark chapter in Charlotte’s story? I came back to the same dilemma I had thought about in the storage unit. None of this proved anything in terms of her murder.
I sat on the information regarding Joe’s real father, at least who I thought was Joe’s father, for a few days. I really wasn’t sure what to do with it. I’d seen Alana each of those days. I knew she was frustrated with her lack of progress on the case, bu
t I couldn’t shake the feeling that this secret was nothing more than a family scandal. Yes, it was a big family scandal. However, it didn’t seem possible that it could be connected to Charlotte’s murder. Alana was being pulled in other directions, too. It wasn’t like all other law enforcement business stopped on the island just so she could focus all of her attention on solving the riddle of Charlotte Chambers’ murder.
I spent the next week not doing much of anything. I thought about driving around the island and taking more photos, but then I’d get discouraged and not do it.
I hung out with Foxx several times at Harry’s. The subject of Hani never came up during our conversations. I wasn’t sure if that meant they had already decided to cool things off or if things were actually getting more serious, but he didn’t want to tell me. I assumed it was the latter because he never hit on any women during those long sessions at the bar. That was unlike him. In fact, I had never seen him not do that at a bar.
I spent the mornings swimming laps in the pool and just lounging in the sun. I knew it was terribly indulgent of me, but I was depressed over my failure to solve the case, and the sun kept me from plunging into deeper misery.
When I wasn’t at the bar or swimming in the pool, I would take the dog for long walks, hoping some small but significant detail that only my subconscious had registered would pop up, and everything would suddenly become clear. Unfortunately, that didn’t happen.
I did, however, manage to piss off one of the neighbors when he saw Maui the dog pooping in his yard. I already had the plastic bag in my hand, but the guy started banging on the narrow glass window beside his door. This, of course, startled my dog, who immediately got uptight and couldn’t finish his business in a timely fashion. That delay gave my neighbor the time he needed to exit his house and get half-way down his driveway before I could bend over and pick up the waste.
Blood like the Setting Sun: A Murder on Maui Mystery Page 16