The Scent of Waikiki (Trouble in Paradise Book 9)

by Terry Ambrose

  I shifted uncomfortably, but the old lady was correct and it was only right that I tell her so. “Mrs. Nakamura, I believe you have hit the nail on the head. There has to be something fishy going on. Given what Grace told you, and what you’ve heard Chance tell us, do you think there’s something else we might be missing?”

  “I am not an investigator, Mr. McKenna. I would not attempt such speculation.”

  “I’m not asking you to speculate. I’m wondering if you know anything else about Grace you feel we should know. In other words, is there a slice of the pie missing?”

  “I believe your food analogy to be quite inappropriate for a complex problem of human interactions.”

  I hated it when she made me feel like I was in fourth grade. But if she thought my analogy was inappropriate, she’d really be offended by the snappy retort I was biting back.

  “Auntie, I think what McKenna is asking is if Grace told you anything else that would be helpful in figuring out a connection between these three incidents.”

  “I know, child. However, I could not pass up an opportunity to encourage Mr. McKenna to step beyond the confines of such a simple concept.”

  “In other words, you were jerking my chain again.”

  Mrs. Nakamura clapped her hands together with glee and smiled at Benni as she nodded once. “You see, he is learning.” She turned her smile on me. “What a good student you are turning into, Mr. McKenna. Now—about Grace…I have no additional information. I also believe I may have overstayed my welcome. You have your assignments, young men.” She wagged a bony finger in the air and stood, wavering slightly.

  Benni started to stand, but apparently realized she wasn’t in much better shape. I tilted my head at Chance, who hopped up and took Mrs. Nakamura’s arm.

  “Let me assist you home, Auntie. I’m very interested in what additional lessons we might want McKenna to learn.”

  The old woman cackled as she let Chance lead her out the apartment. By the time they were through the door, she was jabbering away.

  I glanced at Benni, who stared at her nearly empty wineglass.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “For what? For being yourself? I knew what I was getting into when I agreed to marry you. You shouldn’t have to change to please me. If I can’t deal with all of this, it’s my problem. I have to figure it out.”

  She stared at me, her brown eyes locked onto mine. Deep in the pit of my stomach, anger burned. Not at Benni, but at myself because in that moment it was as though the connection we’d always felt had suddenly short-circuited.

  “Is it the wedding?” I blurted.

  “No. Yes. It’s everything, McKenna. Since the moment Grace walked in here our lives have been turned upside down—again. Maybe I just need some time to myself.”

  A wave of fear washed over me. I felt like I’d been sucked deep under it and if I tried to breathe, I’d drown in my emotions. I tried to watch Benni’s face, but she was looking away, avoiding my gaze.

  “What are you saying?” I croaked.

  “I need some time to myself. I have to sort through things. Get my head together. All those wonderful clichés. We have them for a reason, you know?”

  “It’s not like you to ramble. Are you leaving?”

  “Maybe I’m just having the wedding jitters. There’s so much pressure to get things right. Sarah was asking a bunch of questions before you showed up. This thing with Auntie and Grace. It’s all so much.”

  We both jerked upright as the screen door opened and Chance returned and began talking.

  “That Mrs. Nakamura, was she ever chatty. She’s a hoot when she’s drunk.” When Chance was a few feet away, he stopped and scrutinized us both. “What’s going on here? I’m interrupting.”

  Benni stood, smiled at Chance, and put a hand on his chest. “It’s fine. You two have a lot to talk about. Right now, I need a little nap.” She left the room without even a backwards glance.

  “McKenna?” Chance sat next to me and laid a hand on my arm. “What happened? You look like a man who’s just lost—everything. Literally.”

  I swallowed hard and bit my lower lip. “I don’t know what just happened. Unless I’m mistaken, Benni just broke up with me.” I got up and steadied myself with a hand on the table. “Can you wait here? I have to talk to her for a minute. If she really is breaking up, I may need—I don’t know what that could be.”

  “Tell you what, if you’re not back in five minutes, I’ll return to my place. I’ll be there if you need me. Just come by anytime.”

  “Thanks, buddy.” I patted his shoulder. “You’re a good friend.” I left him standing there as I entered the bedroom.

  CHAPTER 31

  I expected Benni to be packing her bag in preparation for a trip back to the Big Island. Instead, she was lying on the bed, curled up on her side, sobbing gently. Overhead, the fan whirred silently. I watched it, hoping when I looked down, the heartbreaking vision I’d seen when I walked in would be different. What I wouldn’t give to see her sitting on the side of the bed, those crinkly little lines around her eyes she hated so much, accenting her smile. It wasn’t happening.

  “Benni?” I whispered.

  “What?”

  I took one step, then another. With each, a deeper ache grew inside me. This was not how our lives should be going. We had a wedding to plan. Living arrangements to sort out. But most of all, I wanted someone to share life with. I’d done alone and hated it. Now, I wanted to share—I just hadn’t learned how to do it yet.

  Sitting on the bed next to Benni, I rested one hand on her shoulder. “What can I do to fix this?”

  “To fix what, McKenna?” Her eyes were rimmed in red, her cheeks stained with smeared mascara. She pulled herself to a sitting position, crisscrossed her legs, and looked at me. “To fix you? Me? Us?”

  “We could start with me. I’d be good with that.” I smiled at her, raising my eyebrows in hopes I could cheer her up.

  She dabbed at a stray tear trickling down her cheek with the wadded up tissue in her right hand, her almond-shaped eyes brimming with more tears as she watched me. “You don’t get it, do you? This isn’t about you or me. It’s about us. When we first got together, all this murder stuff was exciting. It felt like we were on an adventure and doing good for people. I realize now that was a fantasy world because I never foresaw any bad consequences.”

  “Until Maui,” I said, my voice flat.

  “I love the fact that you were able to help Auntie’s ‘ohana. And I was okay with all the wedding preparations and the stress and even the question of where we were going to live—until this thing with Grace started. Ever since then, I’ve been feeling a growing sense of worry. I keep seeing this vision of me wearing my wedding dress—but I’m not at the altar, I’m standing over your grave.”

  Despite the room being warm in temperature, a shiver ran down my spine. The front screen door closed and I suspected Chance had given up on the wait, but I was not going to give up here.

  “I know it sounds cliché, but you’re more important to me than a hundred of these adventures. I’ll tell Chance he’s got to do this on his own. We can transition me into his research guy. How’s that?”

  Her laugh was weak and the implication obvious. I was not a research-only kind of guy. We both knew that. Why pretend otherwise? I brushed my fingers over one of the forest-green flowers on the Hawaiian quilt Benni’s brother Alexander had given us. It was a handmade work of art made by multiple members of their ‘ohana and a symbol of the family’s aloha spirit.

  The pressure behind my eyes built. That aloha spirit seemed so far away in this moment. “I don’t want to have to give the quilt back,” I said.

  Benni frowned, dabbed her cheek with the now brown-and-black stained tissue, and stared at me. “You’re worried about a quilt?”

  “No.” I shook my head and took her hand. “The quilt symbolizes our love. It’s a manifestation of how strong we can be.” I pointed at one of the seams. “You
see how all the parts are sewn together? How they, as a whole, are stronger and more beautiful than any one of them would be on its own? That’s us.”

  Instead of looking at the quilt, Benni was still watching my face. “I never realized you were such a quilting expert,” she said, then suppressed a giggle. “You do surprise me, McKenna. Almost every single day.”

  “I want to do that for the rest of my life.” I seized her other hand and gripped tight. “Please, can we give this another try?”

  She rolled her eyes, then sighed, and nodded. “On one condition.”

  “Anything. Just name it.”

  “You finish what you started and you don’t get killed.”

  I paused, considered her conditions, sure she wasn’t giving up her fear, only trying to bury it. “Technically, that’s two conditions.”

  She smiled weakly. “Okay, two.”

  “I’ll accept yours, if you accept one of mine. And it’s only one.”

  “Here we go again. I guess if we’re going to be married, we need to be able to compromise. What’s yours?”

  “That you tell me when I’m doing something stupid.”

  She sighed, watched my face for the longest time, then nodded. I must have been holding my breath as I waited, because the moment she’d agreed, I felt an overwhelming sense of relief.

  “Now, go talk to Chance. I’m sure he’s worried you’re going to abandon him. I need to get cleaned up—and take something for my headache. All this drama is brutal.”

  “He’s probably back in his apartment. I told him if I wasn’t back in five minutes we’d have to catch up later.”

  “Poor guy. He wants to be a PI so bad.”

  “He needs to go to work for a real agency so he could put in his hours and get his license.”

  “He’s having too much fun working with you, McKenna.”

  I rolled my eyes, then nodded. “I know. Somehow, we keep coming across all this weird stuff.”

  “Go find him. I couldn’t stand the thought of Lexie becoming a widow before she even gets to the altar.”

  “Got it. Keep us both from getting killed.” As I left the room, I had a feeling Benni had only granted me a temporary stay. There was no doubt in my mind we’d be revisiting this discussion.

  I headed for Chance’s apartment, which was across the courtyard. A soft breeze drifted through the walkway, it being the only other sound besides the clip-clopping of my slippahs on the bottoms of my feet.

  I’d never been much of a flip-flop kind of guy on the mainland, but living here changed my philosophy about shoes. I typically found them an encumbrance that prevented feet from being able to breathe properly. The other advantage to slippahs was that they went on and off easily. One of our customs is to remove our shoes when entering a home and that was much harder to do when you had to fiddle with laces.

  Standing outside Chance’s door, I listened to the sounds of soft jazz coming from inside. In so many ways, Chance was different from others in his generation. He hated rap music, loved jazz in its many forms, and had a growing appreciation for Hawaiian music.

  I was about to knock on the screen door when I heard him tell me to enter. His apartment was a different layout than mine, a bit more spacious, but still a far cry from mainland standards. There was no entryway. Instead, the front door opened straight into the living area. Beyond that there was a galley kitchen and dining area combination. At the back was the bedroom and bath.

  Chance was sitting at the dining table, staring at the front of the apartment when I spotted him. “What’s up, buddy?” I asked.

  “I’ve been thinking, McKenna. It’s time I stopped relying on you so much. I can’t go running to you every time there’s a problem on a case. I have to find my own sources and way of doing things.”

  “This is about Benni, isn’t it?”

  He shook his head. “Maybe a little, but not completely. It’s about me. I’ve become dependent on you.”

  I laughed, then shook my head. “No. You’re not dependent on me, Chance. You have the car. You’re working on your PI license. I only have my two feet, a bus pass, and some curiosity. If anything, it’s exactly the opposite.”

  “McKenna, don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

  “I’m not.” A few butterflies formed in my stomach as I watched his face. So serious—no, somber.

  “I’ve loved working with you. You’ve taught me so much about skip tracing and investigating…” He stopped and sniffled.

  “And murders,” I quipped. My attempt at levity fell flat, and the butterflies burst into a swarming flock of flapping wings.

  “Yeah, murders. But my goal has always been to make it on my own. I have to prove myself.” He glanced away, his eyes brimming now.

  “To your dad?” I asked.

  He glanced down and gave me a weak smile. We fell into silence and listened to the music. After a few seconds, he said, “I’ve been lying to you, McKenna.”

  “About what?”

  “The PI license.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I told you I needed a hundred hours to get my license. That’s not true. I need four years with an agency.”

  “Four years?” I swallowed hard and stared at him. This made no sense whatsoever. “Why would you lie about that?”

  He smiled and shrugged. “It’s a long road.” Looking up at the ceiling, he sniffled and took another long breath. “I never learned the meaning of job discipline, so maybe this is a good thing. We had some good times, McKenna. But I have to find my own way.”

  “Wow.” I couldn’t think of what else to say. “Why tell me this now?”

  “There’s been a lot going on. You’ve got a wedding to plan. Benni’s going to make a beautiful bride.” He sniffled again, grabbed my shoulder, and gave it a hearty shake. “And I have to figure out what I’m going to do, how I’m going to live my life…and where.”

  A cold chill ran down my spine. Gone were the butterflies and the obnoxious unease they created, and in their place was a full-on panic attack. “Are you giving me notice?”

  I waited for his answer, my jaw hanging slack, and my heart suddenly stone cold. This was not the way things were supposed to work. I was supposed to be getting married and that was now in flux. Chance and I were a team—and that was ending?

  “I have to talk to Lexie. I’ve been thinking about asking her to move in and I just don’t know if this place would be big enough for two and…”

  “Stop.” I held up my hand, barely able to breathe or think. “Please. Don’t make pity excuses. Don’t worry about me, kid. I’ll be fine.”

  I turned to leave, wanting nothing more than to find a place to hide. A place where I could think. Work out what needed to happen next.

  Instead of turning right toward my apartment, I headed left to the stairs and the second floor. Why, I wasn’t sure.

  CHAPTER 32

  The second floor lānai of the Sunsetter Apartments is one of those forgotten gems. It was never intended as an area for tenants, at least, not according to the landlords. There is no furniture up there, though I had found a discarded folding chair once along with an ashtray filled with cigarette butts.

  As the manager, I came up here periodically to check and make sure there was no new damage to the building, there was no trash accumulating, or even that a homeless person hadn’t set up camp. Today, the area was clear and tidy. From the top of the stairs, I walked over to where a low wall bordered the makai side and watched the ocean.

  Few of the tenants knew about this spot and, in fact, I made it a point to discourage them from coming up here. Fewer visitors meant less traffic which reduced the opportunity for something to go wrong. The truth was, the view from up here was spectacular. The trade winds caressed my skin, but in this moment, I was only here to think.

  I replayed the events of the past couple of hours and kept coming to the same conclusion. My life was a mess of my own making. The skips I’d tracked down had be
en correct. I was like a hungry dog with a bone. Once I had a mission, I would not, could not, be deterred. I should have insisted we turn Danny over to the cops. When Angela Keating turned up dead, I should have walked away. And I definitely should have been on time to meet Sarah the Chaplain.

  “What are you going to do, McKenna?” I asked the sky, the palms, the breeze coming off the ocean. The trade winds had shifted direction today. They were stronger, warmer, and probably signaled a change in the weather. I, too, was ready for a change.

  “What are you going to do? You’re going to do what you do best.” I gazed out at the ocean, felt in my pocket, and wrapped my fingers around one of my keys, gripping so tight if felt like the jagged edges of the key might rip through my skin. That pain and my job might end up being the only things I had left. That, and my unwillingness to give up. I pulled the keyring from my pocket and headed downstairs to Grace’s apartment.

  Grace lived in one of the studios on the makai side of the building. From her back slider and small lānai, she had a peekaboo view of the mountains. It was more peekaboo than view, but it was a selling point when you were competing with places like Angela Keating’s where it looked across an alley into another apartment.

  Grace had left her front window open for airflow. It wasn’t the best for security, but it was common practice in this complex, even when the tenant was gone. To be safe, I knocked, waited, then knocked again. When there was no answer, I slipped the key into the lock, and called out, “Grace?”

  No answer.

  I announced myself. “Landlord.”

  There was still nothing, so I closed the door behind me and looked around. She still had the same old ratty orange couch with the pullout queen bed. I smiled as I recalled how much the moving guys had complained about the weight.

  The bedspread was a vague match in color, which I supposed was an asset when you lived in a studio. There was only one nightstand and on top of that were three books—textbooks, from the look of them—all about marketing. The place was small and it wasn’t going to take long to search. A breakfast bar only large enough for two separated the kitchen from the living room. There was a microwave tucked up against the wall and a laptop computer on the left side. To the right of the laptop was a half-filled glass of water, a small stack of bills, and a steno pad.