What could she say? It wasn’t fair to try to interview Lama at work. “See you later then.” She walked back to her Jeep and decided to go talk to someone at Floriano’s apartment building.
The building manager shook his head and said, “Look, lady. The cops were here right after the fellow with the tights arrived. They already asked me a bunch of questions.”
“I understand you already talked to the police—”
“Yeah, like I said, right after I let the guy with the tights in the door.”
“Do you remember the name of the guy in the tights?”
“Eddy or Edwin, maybe.”
“Edward?”
“Yeah, maybe Edward. He asked me to open the door and let him in because Garcia didn’t show up for his dance lesson or something. I told him I couldn’t do that and he handed me a donation.”
“So you let him in. What did you see when you opened the door?”
“Look, lady, I’m not saying another word.” He thrust his hands in his jeans pockets.
Maile reached in her purse for her billfold and dropped a twenty on the sidewalk. “Oops.”
He bent to retrieve it and stuffed the bill in his pocket.
Maile cocked her head. “Let’s try that again. What did you see when you opened the door?”
“Nothing. The living room and kitchenette looked fine. Then I heard Eddy cry out from the bedroom and I ran in there. There was Garcia sprawled out on the floor, bare-ass naked.”
“What next?”
“Eddy said “he’s dead” and started to cry like a baby. I called the cops and they called the coroner and in about four hours they all called it a suicide and got out of my hair.”
“Did you see anybody you didn’t recognize come in the building the night before Mr. Garcia died?”
“No, but I don’t monitor all that. Evening is my own time.”
“Are there any other entrances to the building?”
“Yeah, the back door, but you have to have a coded keycard, like this, to use it.” He reached in his pocket and held up a navy blue card with a mountain scene in the background. “Almost no one uses the back door. Too far from the parking lot.”
“Are there security cameras?”
“Nope. Too expensive according to the owner.”
“Mind if I take a walk around the building?”
“Knock yourself out.” He put his hands back in his pockets.
“Thank you for your time.” Maile walked to the back of the three-story brick building. She didn’t see any way someone could have scaled those walls, so if someone murdered Floriano, the killer either walked in the front door or had a keycard to the back door.
Chapter Seven
Later that day, Maile drove to Lama’s place. He lived across the bridge over in Ballard in a two-story apartment building. The address he gave her was the number on the ground level. Maile noticed the empty brown stalks in the flower boxes and wondered what kind of flowers they were and if Lama had grown them.
She rang the doorbell and fidgeted while she waited for Lama to answer the door. She checked the address again to make sure she had the right place. Then she saw Lama pull into the attached garage with his food truck. He joined her on the front steps in a few minutes and apologized for being late.
She pointed to the flowerbeds. “Are you the gardener?”
“Yeah. I like to grow some purple and pinks in the summer. Brightens up the place.”
He opened the door for her and she entered a tidy large room with a bicycle parked in the hallway and a variety of large soup pots stacked on the kitchen counter. A large gray tabby peeked from behind the couch.
“What’s your cat’s name?”
“Queen Lili.”
“Like Liliuokalani?”
“Yeah. Gentle, smart, and gets treated like royalty.”
He offered her a beer.
“No thanks. I have to drive home.”
“Technically, you don’t have to.”
“I plan to though, so could we get started?”
“All right, Miss Private Eye. Let’s get started.” Queen Lili jumped to his lap and Lama stroked her back.
“How well did you know Floriano?”
“He ate my food almost every day, but he didn’t always come to the truck himself. Sometimes Edward picked up lunch for everyone and sometimes Clarissa. I only saw Floriano about once a week.”
“Clarissa, the prima ballerina?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know if he had friends other than the ballet folks?” Maile tapped some notes into her iPad.
“Me, I guess. I never heard him talk about anyone else.”
“Did you ever hear anyone talk badly about him?”
“Some of the ballet folks thought he was conceited, but you don’t off somebody for that.” Lama slouched in his recliner. “Maybe he did kill himself. People do sometimes, you know.”
Maile dropped her iPad into her lap. “I’m stuck, Lama. I want to help Floriano’s mother, but you might be right. Maybe he did commit suicide.”
“Are we done with the questions? I’d like to show you something.” He looked at his watch.
“Done for now, I guess. What do you want to show me?”
“We have to take a short drive to get there. Are you game?”
“Why not?” She followed him out the front door. He led her to a red Mustang convertible.
“Nice ride.” She snapped her seatbelt on and Lama eased the car down the street.
He shifted the gears expertly and she leaned back to enjoy the ride. Fifteen minutes later he parked on the street and they got out.
“What’s the name of this place?”
“Kerry Park.”
He reached for her hand and she let him lead her. She could see the lights of Seattle and the top of the Space Needle.
“This is one of the most beautiful views of the city, day or night,” Lama said.
“It is beautiful.”
“When I think about Hawai’i, I think about surfing. When I think about Seattle I think about this view and all the city has to offer. I thought you might like to see the skyline from here.”
Maile squeezed his hand and he smiled and led her back to the car. Back at his apartment, he invited her to stay and eat. It’d been seven hours since she ate the teriyaki burger and she felt hungry, so she agreed.
Lama whipped up a Spam loco moco. The smell of the rich brown gravy drew Maile into the kitchenette. “Thanks for showing me the skyline. It reminds me I live in a beautiful place. It’s not Hawai’i, but Seattle has its own charm.”
He turned from the stove and looked at her as if he adored her. On impulse, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him until her lips ached.
When he released her, she helped herself to a beer.
“I thought you didn’t want to drink and drive.” Lama looked over his shoulder as he stirred the gravy.
“Who’s driving?” Maile smiled and raised her eyebrows.
****
The next morning, Maile woke up with a throbbing headache alone in Lama’s bed. She tiptoed into the living room and found Lama curled up on his couch with a blanket draped over his torso and Queen Lili tucked under his arm.
She started to count how many beers she’d consumed the night before. “Ugh,” she said aloud when she realized more than five. At least she had her clothes on. No hanky-panky. And even if she wouldn’t have minded a little hanky-panky with Lama, she wanted to at least remember the hanky-panky when the time came.
She knelt by the couch and kissed him awake. “I have to go. Do you have any aspirin?”
He sat up and when Queen Lili strode to her food dish, he pulled Maile onto his lap. “Head hurt?”
“Yeah. Remind me to stop at three. I’m a lightweight when it comes to alcohol.” She stood up, then sat back down immediately and held her head in her hands.
“Coffee will help. I’ll make you a cup for the road.” Lama walked to the kitchenett
e and came back with a glass of water and two aspirin. “Lie back down until I have your coffee ready.”
She did as he suggested. “I hope this headache goes away. I need to do more interviews today, but first I want to go to my apartment and get cleaned up.”
Lama brought her a cup of coffee and a slice of dry toast. “I have to get going, but you stay as long as you need to. Just lock the door when you leave. Will I see you later?”
Maile sat up to sip at her coffee and nibble on the toast. “As long as I feel better. How about my place this time? Around seven o’clock?”
He grinned and handed her a piece of paper and a pen. “I’ll need your address and I’d like your phone number.”
Maile wrote down the information and asked Lama for his phone number, too.
He leaned down to kiss her forehead. “I’ll bring the food—beef stew is on the menu today.”
Maile drank her coffee and laid her head back on the pillow. Two hours later she woke with only a dull headache, but a big ache for Lama. She wanted that man in the worst way.
She really needed to leave. She looked around the apartment for her purse. It didn’t seem to be anywhere. She thought she’d set it down on the floor by the recliner when she arrived.
Maile knelt down and looked under the chair skirt. She swept her hand under it and giggled when an array of items appeared from the bowels of the chair. She retrieved her purse and stuffed the other items back where she found them, including a little baggie with what looked like a shredded dried plant. Did Lama smoke pot? She stuffed everything back under the chair. Lama certainly didn’t need to think she snooped around his apartment in his absence.
The drive home was a tangle of traffic and after she showered and took two more aspirin and drank a Coke, she felt ready to continue the investigation.
She drove over to the Seattle Ballet studio and asked Patricia if she made appointments for everyone or just Mr. Berwin. Patricia conceded that she only handled the Ballet Master’s appointments, but she wanted to help Maile find justice for Floriano. “Edward instructed me to assist you with an interview room if you came back. Who would you like to speak to?”
“Charles Newton and Clarissa Moorman.”
“They are both in session with Edward in practice room three. They should break within the hour. I’ll reserve room ten down the hall for you. You can watch them practice if you want.” Patricia waved her hand across the wide expanse of tile floor.
“Thank you.” Maile stood at the plate glass window and watched as the only woman in the practice room spun on her toes. Clarissa. The male dancer, presumably Charles, grasped her waist and lifted her while she draped her lean body across his. The dancers stopped abruptly and stood side by side, with their heads hung.
Edward walked to the dancers and waved Charles to the side. Clarissa started to spin on her toes again. Edward lifted her from the floor with a look of such tenderness that Maile developed goose bumps.
She did not see the same look in Clarissa’s eyes.
Edward motioned Charles back to the floor. The dancers went through the sequence several times before they stopped. Maile watched as Edward motioned for Charles. Clarissa walked to a bench, drank from a water bottle, draped a pink sweater over her shoulders then sat to remove her toe shoes while Charles stood in front of Edward with his head bowed.
When Clarissa left the practice room, Maile approached her and introduced herself. “I wonder if you’d mind answering a few questions about Floriano.”
Clarissa mopped her head with the sleeve of her sweater. “What kind of questions?”
“Like, did he have any enemies?”
“Why should I answer your questions?”
“Because there’s a chance your partner was murdered.”
Clarissa looked over one shoulder, then the other. “We should talk in a more private place.”
“Patricia reserved an office for my interviews.”
Again, Clarissa looked around. She hummed a little tune and screwed up her lips. “Not here and not now. I’ll meet you in the alleyway behind the building tomorrow at three o’clock. I can’t be distracted today while I work with Charlie.”
“Okay. I’ll talk to you then. Thank you.”
Maile went back to the window and wondered if Edward finished chewing out Charles. At that point, Edward waved his arms dismissively and Charles went to the bench and put on a navy blue hoodie. When he came into the hallway, Maile approached him, introduced herself and told him why she wanted to talk to him.
Charles looked at the ceiling, and then asked sarcastically, “Has Edward given permission?”
Maile nodded and Charles followed her down the hallway to room ten. “Take a seat, please,” Maile said.
“I can’t sit yet. I need to move so my muscles don’t tighten.”
Maile took out her iPad and started to ask questions of the moving target. “How well did you know Floriano?”
“I am, or shall I say was, his understudy. We practiced together six days a week. We didn’t socialize.”
“Did he ever talk about anyone who might be upset with him?”
Charles stopped pacing. “There was one time I remember he said Clarissa expected him to be perfect all the time. I joked he only had to be perfect when he danced with her, not all the time. He answered that he meant “all the damn time.””
“What was their relationship?”
“There were rumors.”
“Like what?”
Charles put one foot on a chair and leaned into a stretch. “You know. She controlled him by sleeping with him. Comments like that.”
“Was she sleeping with him?”
“Who knows? Clarissa may have started the rumors herself. She’s really quite mad, you know. The crazy prima ballerina.” He struck a haughty pose.
“Did Floriano ever give you any indication that he planned to kill himself?”
He scoffed. “Why would he? He had it all. He gained the position as principal shortly after joining the company. It’s one of the highest recognitions in ballet.”
“I see. Do you know of anyone who hated Floriano enough to murder him?”
He turned his back to her. She watched his shoulders rise and fall for a couple of beats before he turned to face her. “Hmm. The better question is who didn’t?”
Chapter Eight
Lama whistled while he packed some rice and beef stew in take-out containers before he headed out for Maile’s apartment.
Maile answered the door in sweatpants and an oversized gray T-shirt with a Hang Loose logo.
Lama held out the bag of food. “You must feel better.”
“Good as new.”
“Nice digs.”
“Yeah, I like it. My partner’s uncle owns the building, so he made it affordable.”
She walked to the fridge and took out two Longboards. Lama raised his bottle to hers. “I’m supposed to remind you to stop at three.”
Maile nodded. “I’ll only have a couple. Hair of the dog and all that.”
Lama kissed her on the cheek. “Well, here’s to getting to know you better.”
Maile clinked bottles with him, took a swig and opened the food bag.
She went back to the kitchenette and grabbed forks, spoons and bowls. They sat down at the table and removed the plastic tops from the containers. Maile closed her eyes and took an audible breath. “Mmm, mmm, mmm.”
She asked Lama to pose for a photo with the food so she could send it to her Auntie Lei in Hawai’i.
Lama loved to watch this woman with food. “Do you always get so excited about food?”
“Only good Hawaiian style food.” She scooped some rice and beef stew into her bowl and started to eat. “Who taught you to cook?”
“My mom. Seems like we’ve always cooked together.”
“Give her my compliments.”
“Will do.”
They talked about Hawai’i and Lama said he remembered when his family first moved to Seattle
. “I was sixteen and loved to surf. My mom and dad tried to get me interested in other things, like football, but nothing compares to the feel of the wave under my board.”
“I know what you mean. I miss riding the waves, too.”
Lama emptied his Longboard and Maile fetched another one from the fridge. “Later on, my mom admitted to me she’d felt homesick for the whole first year we were here.”
“I hope my homesickness stops before a year is up. Eating Hawaiian food helps with the transition though.” She took a bite of stew.
Lama helped clear the dishes and Maile put on some Israel Kamakawiwo’ole music. When “Over the Rainbow” played, Lama took Maile’s hands and pulled her into a dance. He urged her closer and whispered in her ear that he wanted her. She tilted her head backwards to receive his kiss. He stroked her back and kneaded her bottom while he planted kisses on her face, ears and neck.
Maile tugged at his shirt and caressed his chest. She led him to her bedroom. Lama lowered her to the bed and slowly unbuttoned her shirt. He started from the top button and trailed kisses from her neck to her navel. Her body rose in response.
She reached for the front clasp to her bra and Lama watched as her golden brown breasts spilled out. He lowered his body to hers and tugged at her sweatpants.
Lama’s phone rang and interrupted the magic.
The ringtone belonged to Clarissa.
****
Maile rolled over and connected the clasp on her bra. Maybe she should be glad for the interruption. She had work to do in the morning and still didn’t know a lot about Lama, except that he took phone calls in the middle of a heated moment.
She suspected a woman on the other end of the line because Lama excused himself to the bathroom with his phone in hand.
Maile went to the kitchen, opened another beer and turned on the TV.
When Lama joined her he sat down next to her and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “Sorry about that. I have to go. My friend has an emergency.”
Maile looked at his face. “Yeah. We were moving too fast anyway.”
“Or not fast enough.”
“Either way, go take care of your friend. I have work to do.”
Choreographed Crime (Miss Demeanor 3) Page 3