The Scent of Waikiki (Trouble in Paradise Book 9)

by Terry Ambrose

  His jaw dropped and it looked like he might say something rude about bladder control, but then he closed his mouth. His jaw muscles worked as though he was chewing on a bad piece of meat. He angled his neck and motioned for me to follow. “We can use the restrooms in the Queen Kapi’olani.”

  Uh oh, I hadn’t planned on having company. I smiled back at him. “Lead the way.”

  As Steward passed, he said, “Had my own share of emergencies. But you’ve got to do your business ahead of time, McKenna. Can’t be doing this ‘I have to go potty,’ when we’re ready to complete the mission.”

  “Right. Sorry. It’s a bladder thing I’d rather not talk about.”

  Steward stopped, turned to face me, and his forehead creased. “Oh. I didn’t know.” With that, he turned and strode off toward the hotel.

  As I followed, I pulled out my phone and tried to text Chance. Unfortunately, texting and walking were mutually exclusive actions for me. I finally gave up and stuffed the phone in my back pocket. It was obvious Steward had been in the hotel many times based on the way he strode through the front doors and made his way to our destination.

  Inside the restroom, I made a quick excuse and grabbed one of the stalls. With the door closed, I shot off a quick message to Chance, letting him know exactly where we would be. Timing was now going to be critical. How was I going to meet up at the Sands with Chance and prevent Steward from making an escape?

  I was still contemplating the question when Chance’s reply came in. He’d be here in twenty minutes. Yikes, that was a long time to stall—no pun intended. After a minute or so, Steward started to complain about how long I was taking. I finished up, went to the sink, and began washing my hands. As I scrubbed my palms, backs of my hands, and fingers, I glanced at him.

  “The CDC has these hand-washing guidelines,” I said. “It takes a while, but it prevents the spread of disease.”

  Steward crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall. “What kind of wimpy prima donna are you? You don’t like my driving, you have to pee every five minutes, and now you take half the day to wash your hands.”

  I meticulously rinsed off the soap and faced him. “I’m not a prima donna. I just don’t like taking unnecessary chances. You, on the other hand, are kind of reckless.”

  “Live for today, I always said. I got no regrets. Now let’s go.”

  “I have to dry my hands!”

  “Use your shirt.”

  He grabbed my sleeve and tugged me toward the door. I followed, patting my hands on my muted-print shirt as we walked. I fell in line behind Steward and checked the time. I’d killed five minutes already.

  Angela Keating lived on the second floor of the Sands. As we exited the elevator, Steward took a right. He paused at the first door, gazed at it for a moment, then winked at me. “Backup plan,” he whispered, then knocked on the door. “Time for Plan B.”

  “Which is?”

  He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Claire Wood. She sees everything.”

  The door opened and a middle-aged woman with thinning brown hair and bright blue eyes gazed back at us. After only a moment, her eyes lit up in recognition.

  “Steward!” She stepped into the hallway, threw her arms around him, and then stood back. “I haven’t seen you in ages. Where have you been?”

  He removed his glasses and pocketed them. “The boy put me out to pasture. I sit on my duff all day and pretend to be interested in who comes in to drop off a package. I’ll probably retire in another year. What about you? You’re still here.”

  “Still flying. When I feel like it.” She had a lopsided smile and wore no makeup.

  Steward turned to me. “Claire’s a private pilot. She has her own charter service. I delivered packages to her at least once a week.”

  Her smile widened, and she glanced at me. With a high forehead and those blue eyes set wide, she had a definite wholesome look about her. She looked like the kind of person you might meet and feel comfortable with immediately. Like a moth approaching a flame, her gaze settled on me for only a moment, then returned to Steward.

  “Do you have time for coffee?” She clasped Steward’s hands, raised her thin eyebrows, and gazed at him expectantly. I, for one, had never invited my package-delivery guy in for coffee. In fact, I wasn’t even sure what he—or she—looked like.

  “That would be lovely,” Steward said.

  I shot a quick glance at Steward. Lovely? This couldn’t be the same maniac who’d driven us here. Claire’s smile brightened, and she practically dragged him inside. Before I followed, I glanced down at the street. Still no Ferrari. Which meant no Chance. I pulled out my phone and managed to send a quick text letting him know which apartment I was in.

  When I entered, Steward was sitting at a dining room table, his hands folded in front of him, a smile showing through that gray beard of his. Now that I thought about it, this was the first time I’d seen him happy since we’d met.

  Claire stood in a small galley kitchen. It was a typical apartment arrangement with a sink and dishwasher on one side, a stove and refrigerator on the other.

  “What brings you here, Steward?” Claire asked.

  His gaze darted in my direction. It was as though he’d forgotten all about me for a brief moment in time. “McKenna and I are actually looking for the lady who lives next door.”

  Claire sucked in a quick breath. Her pale skin colored and she turned her attention to me. “I’m so sorry,” she gushed. “I was so caught up in seeing Steward again that I completely forgot my manners. I’m Claire.” She set down the coffee carafe and stepped forward, her hand extended.

  “McKenna,” I said as I shook her hand. “No worries. I know how it is when you run into an old friend.”

  Once again, Claire’s gaze darted to Steward. “Oh, we were more than friends. He’s the one who got away.”

  Steward’s eyes crinkled into a smile, and he avoided looking at me. Holy cow. Geezer Guard was embarrassed.

  “It’s a long story.” Steward mumbled, looking down as though he were addressing the tabletop.

  Claire shook her head and smiled. It was the good face. The one people use to make someone else feel better. “It’s okay, Steward. You know it worked out for the best. Neither of us were in the right place at the time.” She gestured at an empty chair. “Please, sit.”

  There was an awkward moment of silence as Claire returned to the kitchen. I took the opportunity to look around. The apartment was nothing special. I’d guess it to be around six-hundred square feet. The only view was of the condo complex on the opposite side of the alley. The building towered over this one and I suspected it cast Claire’s apartment in shade for much of the afternoon. The small lānai had room for a two-seater bistro set. As was typical, there was a safety railing about three feet high. With that kind of railing, it was wholly unlikely Angela had fallen. She’d either jumped or been pushed.

  Claire handed a steaming mug to Steward, another to me, then returned for one of her own. As she settled in at the table, she said, “So, Angela. Poor girl. Why are you be asking about her?”

  “I manage an apartment and one of my tenants lost money on a scam that may have been perpetrated by Angela’s boyfriend. We’re trying to find him.”

  Claire sat back in her seat, her eyes locked onto mine. “Wow. That’s above and beyond the call…wait, you’re name’s McKenna? Are you that landlord who cracked the big scandal with…what was her name?”

  It was my turn to blush. I did not handle celebrity well. It also could make conducting interviews more difficult. “Skye Pilkington-Winchester,” I said. “In fact, that’s how I got involved in this mess. Skye’s company may somehow be tied in.” Better to keep it vague and let Claire fill in the blanks with her own set of facts, I figured. Not wanting to get bogged down in some kind of murder-fascination thing Claire might have, I added, “So, two boyfriends?”

  Claire shook her head. “Two. That was Angela’s problem.” She sighed and cont
inued. “I’m not sure the second was a boyfriend, though. He was more like a friend.”

  “Can you describe them?” I asked.

  The color in Claire’s cheeks slowly flushed to a bright pink, and she looked away. “Yes. Total opposites. One was Joseph. You probably know the type—typical island bad boy. He had this scruffy beard and a couple of tattoos. What she saw in him—well, who am I to judge?” She glanced at Steward and shook her head.

  “Claire’s husband was like that,” Steward said. “We all made our mistakes.” He shrugged and leaned back as he sipped from his cup.

  “We did.” Claire nodded, then glanced at me. “Does that help?”

  “It does.” I rotated my mug in my hands. Why hadn’t Chance gotten here? I looked back to Claire. “Did Joseph make deliveries here?”

  Before Claire could respond, Steward shook his head. “Joseph never had this route. He worked the North Shore.”

  “He’s one of your drivers?” Claire regarded Steward with obvious surprise.

  “He was one of Robert’s choices. Personally, I never really liked the guy.”

  No, no. We were not getting off track. I interrupted their exchange with another question. “You said there was a second boyfriend?”

  “I don’t know if Stephen was a boyfriend or not. Tall, clean-cut, handsome. The complete opposite of Joseph.”

  Steward seemed unsurprised by how well Claire knew Angela’s life. To me, however, there was something very odd. How did she know the names of both men?

  I was about to ask her when there was a knock on the door. Uh oh. The cavalry had arrived. Talk about bad timing.

  CHAPTER 20

  “Grand Central Station,” Claire said. She laughed and scrunched up her face as she stood. “This never happens. I wonder who that could be.”

  Steward sat to my left frowning. When he looked at me, I felt a deep sense of regret. He’d been enjoying himself. Claire had helped anchor him and steady his paranoia. He was just an old guy who felt abandoned by life. Been there, done that, I thought. In that moment, I hated myself.

  “I’m sorry,” I muttered. As if to justify my actions, I added, “You seemed unstable. I was worried.”

  “For yourself,” Steward said flatly. “Open the door, Claire.”

  She gave Steward a final glance, then did as he’d asked, shaking her head all the while. I heard Chance’s voice first, then that of Steward’s son. For the second time in as many days, I felt like the lowest of the low. With my texts, I’d yanked away the one bit of happiness Steward had felt in…how long?

  I glanced at him and said, “I’ll make it up to you.”

  His jaw puckered and he shook his head, but his eyes had misted over. My regret deepened as I saw Robert rush toward his father. “Dad! I was worried sick about you. You can’t be running off like this. Remember, we talked about it.”

  Steward downed the last of his coffee, stood, and sighed. “I’m okay, Robert.” He pushed past his son and went to Claire, who was standing with her back against the wall.

  Behind her, a photograph with one of those cliché sayings stenciled across it hung on the wall—Live for Today. She had her arms crossed over her chest, tears in her eyes, and kept rubbing her jaw as though she could massage away her sense of loss. It was so obvious—she knew something was wrong with Steward. And that saddened me even more.

  While the couple embraced, Robert shifted his weight from one foot to the other. I went to him, laid a hand on his shoulder, and whispered in his ear. He nodded as he listened, then waited until Claire and Steward had finished their goodbyes.

  I was sure Claire would give us the boot at the same time Robert and Steward left, but she shook her head at me as they filed out. Chance and I waited until she had closed the front door and returned to the little dining room.

  “Steward asked me to finish answering your questions.” She sniffled, then swiped at her cheek. “I’m sorry. It’s all so sad.”

  “What happened to him?” I asked.

  Claire shook her head. “I don’t know. There are drugs he can take to manage the flashbacks, but—well, you saw him. Steward never was one to let anything get in the way of his life.” She glanced at Chance. “I’m sorry, we weren’t introduced. Claire Wood.”

  “Chance Logan.” He handed her one of his business cards and glanced around the apartment. “Beautiful place.”

  “I’ve lived here for more than thirty years.” She glanced toward the lānai slider. “Long before that monstrosity went in.”

  “You probably had a nice view before they built that,” I said.

  “I could see Waikīkī Beach. It was lovely. Now, it’s all skyscrapers wherever you look.”

  “Do you spend much time out there? On the lānai?” I asked. To the side, I noticed that Chance seemed content to let me finish what I’d started with Steward.

  “That’s my little sanctuary out there. It’s not nearly as quiet as it used to be, but most of the time it’s not as bad as you would think. Angela was the same way. She was always spending time on her lānai.” She turned quickly to Chance, smiled, then looked back at me. “There’s only a few feet between her lānai and mine. I was baking brownies one day when she was out there and I told her if I had longer arms I could just pass her one when they were done. We thought it was hilarious.”

  “So you were close?” I asked.

  “No. It was all just cordial. I think she thought I was too old to relate to or some such thing. I think she was close with Bootsy, but I’m not sure about that.”

  I let my attention flick over to Chance, who had pulled out a small notepad. It looked like this conversation was all on me, at least for now. “Who’s Bootsy?”

  “She’s in 102. Another fashionista. I’m pretty sure the two of them got along famously.” Claire stared out the open slider. Tears brimmed in her red-rimmed eyes.

  “I can’t tell you how sorry I am about Steward,” I said.

  She gazed in the direction of the lānai. “We had some good times sitting out there.” She sniffled, bit her lower lip, and quickly added, “There was never anything romantic.”

  It seemed an odd comment since she’d already described Steward as the one who got away. I smiled and nodded politely. “Because he was married?”

  “In the beginning. Later, his wife died, but he had Robert. He said he couldn’t get involved with anyone until Robert was out of the house. But he seemed to sense I was lonely and always took time out of his route to chat. For a while, I even started ordering things I didn’t need just so he’d deliver them.” She sniffled and wiped away a tear. “How desperate is that?”

  “We all do things at times that later seem silly. Yah?” In my own case, I’d done plenty that was far more desperate. “Do you know what his condition is?”

  “It’s got something to do with the war.” She must have seen the confusion on my face because she immediately added, “Steward fought in Viet Nam. He was in the 5th Special Forces Group.” Claire looked at Chance and grimaced. “He received several medals when he was your age. He hated talking about it because it always brought back memories.”

  “You said something about a medication to control the flashbacks?”

  Claire sucked in a breath and she bit her lower lip. “Every once in awhile he’d just stop taking them. Is that why you’re here?”

  I reached for my cup, raised it to my lips, and realized it was empty. What did I tell her? The truth? A lie would be far crueler. I recapped our escape from the warehouse, the trip to Joseph’s apartment, and how eager Steward had been once he’d heard the name of this complex. When I finished, I added, “He seemed more settled around you.”

  “He was?”

  The look I saw in her eyes was one of hope, but then she winced and shook her head. Her breath caught as she choked out the words. “It would be too hard…for both of us.”

  “I understand,” Once again, I had no desire to increase her burden. “So, how did you get the names of the boyfrien
ds?” I regarded her casually, but she still glanced away.

  “Angela always left her slider open. Since I like to sit out on my lānai in the evenings, I overheard several of her conversations with Joseph. Their arguments could get quite loud. The last time I heard them she was yelling at him. ‘Joseph, stop! Please, stop!’ I almost called the police because I thought he was abusing her. Right after that, it quieted down and he left.”

  Chance and I stared at each other for a moment. I took a deep breath. Was this a case of domestic abuse gone too far? “Were you here Tuesday night?”

  “I had a morning flight to Maui and got stuck there overnight. Engine problems.” She took a few breaths, then continued. “Most of my clients are wealthy business people who hate flying commercial. The Maui trip was for one of my regulars. A warning light came on during the flight, so after we landed I had to have the plane checked out, but the mechanic couldn’t work on it until the following morning.” She shrugged. “It was nothing, but I didn’t get back here until late Wednesday.”

  “What about Stephen? You knew his name also.”

  Claire laughed. It was the first time since Steward had left. And while it was high-pitched and musical, she also wrapped her arms around her. I couldn’t tell if she was self-conscious or guarding her emotions.

  “He was the exact opposite. A completely caring man. He was only here once that I know of. That was last week—Thursday, I think. They were on the lānai talking—oh gosh, it was kind of late…maybe ten o’clock. He was so gentle. So kind. I guess Angela had had a big argument with Joseph earlier in the evening.”

  “Did the guys know each other?” Chance asked.

  “I doubt it,” Claire said. “You’d have to ask Bootsy. She might have an idea. To my knowledge, they never met. And Joseph’s name only came up once during that conversation.” She fingered her earlobe, then rested her hand against her cheek. “I can’t imagine she’d ever tell Joseph about Stephen.”