The Scent of Waikiki (Trouble in Paradise Book 9)

by Terry Ambrose

  Chance led the way to the elevator. We went to the lobby, spoke to a very unhelpful desk clerk, and were threatened with a call to the police if we insisted on causing a disturbance. On our way out the door, Chance’s phone rang and he glared at it.

  “What’s this? More bad news?” He punched the green button on the screen with a bit more force than necessary. A moment later, he said, “We’ll be there in two minutes. We’re right next door.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “Bootsy Flanigan. She says her life is in danger.”

  CHAPTER 39

  We rushed back to the Honolulu Sands, being sure to lock the garbage bag safely in the Ferrari on our way. It had been only a few minutes since Chance had talked to Bootsy, but when she flung open the door, she started on a mini-rant.

  “Where have you been? I could have been dead in the time it took you to get here!”

  “It took a little longer than we thought it would,” Chance said. “Can we come in?”

  She shoved the screen door open and then stormed back into her apartment. We followed and found her pacing the tile floor in her living area. The apartment was small, like most in Hawai’i, so she had little room to work with. She’d get about four steps in, then have to spin around and repeat. Her bare feet slapped against the tiles with each step she took.

  “What are you going to do to protect me?” Bootsy’s dark eyes flared with anger as she glared at Chance, then me.

  Bootsy had already demonstrated herself to be, what should I call her? Emotionally flamboyant? The urgent phone call and her conspiracy-theory act felt very over-the-top.

  “We need to know what kind of threat we’re dealing with,” Chance countered. “Why don’t you start at the beginning?”

  “It’s all about that stupid perfume Stephen just had to have.”

  Chance and I glanced at each other. He looked just as confused as I felt.

  “Do you mean the box Angela stole from Island Passion?” Chance asked.

  “Yes,” Bootsy snapped, then puckered her lips as she pulled her hair away from her face. “Stephen always wanted to be this big perfume guru or something. He hated being a waiter. Always thought it was beneath him, but he was good at it and made good tips. He’d been to school and studied all that chemistry stuff.”

  She waved her hand in the air as if dismissing the subject as trivial. But I recalled the discussion with the Surfing Professor and how he’d described Stephen as one of the few students who’d been interested in the industry. I also figured there weren’t a whole lot of fragrance research or manufacturing positions available on O’ahu.

  “Did he apply for jobs in the industry?”

  “He wanted to stay here.” Bootsy shrugged and rolled her eyes. “I don’t get it. What’s with the people here? All he had to do was move and he could have done what he wanted.”

  To those not from Hawai’i, that rationale made perfect sense. But even though I hadn’t been born here, I knew the feeling. We who lived in paradise would do anything to stay.

  “From what I understand, Island Passion is the only major fragrance-employer we have. And even they don’t do everything here,” I said.

  The color in Bootsy’s normally pale complexion drained. She looked stricken. “He was always griping about them…her.”

  “What’s bothering you about Island Passion? Why did you get so upset when I said the name?” I watched closely for something that would give away her true feelings—a facial muscle twitch, a change in her breathing, or an unconscious hand movement. “This isn’t just about a stolen box of perfume, is it?”

  Her dark painted lips tightened into a thin line. She jumped at the loud banging noises in the distance from a trash truck shaking the contents out of a dumpster. “It’s her. She killed Angela, and now Stephen. Anybody involved in this is going to die.”

  “Stephen Brantley is dead?” I must have heard her incorrectly. The guy had gone underground, not… “When? How?”

  “He was mugged outside of work Wednesday night. A tourist found him in the parking lot and called 9-1-1, but he died before the ambulance got there.”

  My breath caught and I couldn’t think of what to say. That had to have happened just a few hours after we’d been at Club Mystique.

  To his credit, Chance held his cool. “Who’s the ‘she’ you’re referring to, Bootsy?”

  “Skye Pilkington-Winchester. She found out about how Stephen bullied Angela into stealing that perfume so he could get back at her.”

  Chance and I did the look-at-each-other-with-skepticism thing, then he let me take the lead. “That doesn’t make any sense whatsoever, Bootsy. If Skye found out Stephen was behind the theft, all she had to do was call HPD. Besides, nobody in their right mind takes revenge on an employer just because they don’t get hired.”

  “That was only part of it. Sure, Stephen was angry about the job. He applied there like twenty times. That’s why he started seeing Angela, so she could get him an interview with Skye. She finally got him in to see her, but instead of a job interview, Skye was asking him all sorts of personal questions.”

  “What kind?” Chance asked.

  “Like the super-personal kind. She was coming onto him and when he told her he wasn’t interested, she started touching him. He said it made him uncomfortable, but she just kept it up. He totally freaked out and left. The poor guy was humiliated.”

  I took a slow breath. So that’s what this was about? Revenge because Skye wouldn’t take no for an answer? “Did he tell this to Angela?”

  “For sure. She thought they were friends at that point. So did I. It never occurred to me that Stephen was just using Angela as a way to a job. I liked the guy, but Angela was my friend. We talked. And now that woman killed her because she needs to tie up all these loose ends.”

  Looking at Chance, I asked, “Do you think she’s capable of it?”

  “I don’t know, McKenna. We heard how vindictive she could be the last time we crossed paths. But murder? I don’t know if she’d do it intentionally.”

  “She did visit Angela Tuesday night,” I said.

  “So did Stephen. And Joseph had a key. He could have come back.”

  Bootsy was staring at us, her dark lips forming a wide open oh. She croaked, “She was here? In Angela’s apartment?”

  “A neighbor across the alley saw her,” I said. “We don’t know what time. Late, though.”

  “We need your help in understanding this, Bootsy. It’s the only way we can protect you.” Chance waited until she nodded and took a breath, then continued. “You said Stephen was mugged. Was there a weapon used?”

  “The guy who found him said it looked like someone had bashed in his skull.”

  “Was it more than one blow that killed him?”

  Bootsy shuddered. “I don’t know.”

  Chance shook his head and gazed between the two of us. “It’s unlikely Skye could have killed Stephen. I bet he weighed fifty pounds more. He was certainly six inches taller. She would have had to strike him from behind, render him unconscious, then maybe she could have delivered a fatal blow.”

  “So you don’t think she’s strong enough to knock the guy out?” I eyed Chance, not because I doubted his conclusion, but because he had the martial arts experience and knew this stuff.

  “I don’t. But I could see her hiring it out and giving some general directive like, ‘make this go away.’”

  The hairs on the back of my neck prickled at the thought, but it was true. Skye was a woman who married for money. Got what she wanted. Moved on. “You’re thinking about the guy who was spying on Angela, aren’t you? He gets instructions to clean up a mess and how he does it is left up to his discretion. Nice. Neat. Tidy.”

  Bootsy had been standing on the sidelines chewing on one of her blue-tipped fingernails. It seemed crass to warn her she was going to ruin a perfectly good nail job. The color was apparently quite the rage and even Benni had said at one point she was thinking of giving it a try.
Well, snap, I’d forgotten about Benni’s message.

  I pulled my phone and the prickly sensation on the back of my neck turned into an icy chill.

  “Chance,” I croaked, then cleared my throat. “Benni and Lexie are talking to Skye right now.”

  “Someone you know is meeting with her? She’s a killer!”

  Chance ignored Bootsy and peered at me. “How do you know they’re with Skye?”

  “Because I got a message from Benni while I was talking to Connie Murray.”

  “Who’s she?” Bootsy fixed me with that inquisitive stare people give you when they’re just being nosy.

  I ignored her and continued, “I thought it was just something to do with the wedding or one of those ‘when are you coming home’ questions.”

  Bootsy crossed her arms over her chest and glared at Chance, then started to pace again. “This could put her over the edge. You need to do something to protect me.”

  Chance and I looked at her simultaneously. In unison, we said, “Shut up, Bootsy.”

  CHAPTER 40

  Sitting in the plush-leather passenger seat of Chance’s Ferrari, I stared morosely through the windshield. “We shouldn’t have yelled at Bootsy.”

  Chance nodded. “Yeah, I suppose telling her to shut up was not the best move.”

  “She kicked us out, buddy. I’d call that a pretty bad move.”

  “Why worry about her? We both know she’s in no real danger, so let’s just forget about her. Okay?”

  “Works for me. Water under the bridge. What’s done is done.”

  “McKenna, you’re beginning to irritate me.”

  “Got it. Don’t irritate the driver..”

  Chance glared at me. “Do you have your bus pass with you? You’re going to need it very soon.”

  “I’m done. Now, what are we going to do about the girls?”

  We debated the options—rush to Skye’s office and save them from the Evil Queen’s clutches, pretend nothing was wrong, text back and ask for a status update. They all sucked because each one had a huge downside—and don’t think we didn’t debate every single one of those, too.

  “If we go in with guns blazing we risk blowing everything and someone getting hurt,” I said and looked out the window at a couple of joggers. “That’s just not an option.”

  “McKenna, we don’t have guns, plural. We have one. Mine. And you’re right, that would be a huge mistake. Besides, Skye’s not going to murder two women in her office.”

  “Talk about cause for eviction,” I grumbled. “Look, let’s try the low-key text. Something like, ‘Howzit? Need help?’ Are you okay with that?”

  “I’m good with a text.”

  I tapped out the message, had Chance check it, then sent it off into the textosphere. A few seconds later, I had a response. It didn’t take long to read. Four little words. I cleared my throat and muttered, “Very concise.”

  “What, McKenna? Spill it.”

  “She said, ‘girl talk, butt out.’”

  Chance practically grabbed the phone out of my hand and was in the process of reading the message when his phone pinged. It was a message from Lexie.

  “What’s yours say?” I asked.

  “Ditto 4 u.” He sounded positively morose.

  “No hearts? No flowers? Emojis? Maybe they’ve been kidnapped and this killer Skye hired is texting for them?”

  “Seriously, McKenna? Why would the killer bother? Besides, there is an emoji. Look.”

  He extended the phone so I could see the screen. It was the standard round face, but instead of a smile or hearts, the face was sticking its tongue out.

  “Kid, you’ve been raspberried.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  My phone pinged with another Benni message. I scrambled to grab it and nearly fumbled the phone as I tried to open the message. My jaw dropped as I stared at it.

  “What, McKenna?”

  “I got two raspberries. They’re having way too much fun with this.”

  “Obviously, their lives are not in danger. I think we need to let them do their thing while we dig into the trash bag back at your place.”

  “Good idea. Let’s go.”

  Fifteen minutes later, we were sitting at my dining table, the small plastic bag’s contents spread across the tabletop. There were a few tissues smeared with what looked like makeup, a facial cloth like what Benni used, an empty packet of teeth-whitening strips, and a credit card receipt for a pizza delivery the night before. In short, a lot of nothing.

  “Didn’t Emily tell you the spy was a man?” Chance asked.

  “Steward agreed with her, but I’m not sure he ever saw the guy. But these tissues and this facial cloth? This is from someone removing mascara and lipstick. Either our spy is a woman Emily mistook for a man or he’s also a drag queen.”

  Chance gawked at me. “You really know how to narrow things down, don’t you, McKenna? Look, we have a last name from the card. Let’s assume it’s a woman and Emily was wrong.”

  “Fine by me. She kept taking these little mental day trips. All hands are definitely not on board—if you know what I mean.”

  “McKenna…”

  “Okay, okay, I’ll be nice. The truth is, I respect her for being able to live on her own—and I’m worried that someday soon I’ll be standing in front of my lānai slider alone and wondering if anyone will come visit me.”

  “Don’t worry, McKenna. You have friends.”

  “For now,” I muttered, then pointed at the receipt. “We’re looking for a woman with the last name of Ito?”

  “We can assume she’s a PI or some sort of gun for hire,” Chance added.

  I opened my laptop and began a search. After a few minutes, we discovered a local private investigator. “Bingo. N. Ito Investigations. There’s a phone number, but no address.”

  “This N. Ito is not making things easy.”

  “They never are,” I said. “But it won’t take long now. First, let’s check social media.” To my surprise, N. Ito kept a low profile. No Facebook page. Nothing on Linked-In. We were at a dead end. “Okay,” I said. “Let’s try public records.”

  There were a few court cases involving an N. Ito, but nothing substantial and certainly nothing with an address. It looked like we’d have to make contact to get her address. I stood, stretched, and checked my phone. We’d been at it for nearly an hour and there was still no sign of the girls.

  “Do you think we should check on them?”

  Chance shook his head tentatively. “I don’t know, McKenna. We both got raspberried. To me, that means they are pretty adamant that we should keep our…” He stopped in mid sentence at the sound of two women laughing. We both turned to the front door as Benni and Lexie bustled in.

  “She was so much fun,” Benni said.

  “I love her sense of fashion,” Lexie gushed as she pulled out a tube of lipstick from a bag with ‘Island Passion’ stenciled on the side.

  Good God, Benni had one of those bags, too. “You’re back!” I said.

  Benni stopped rummaging and glanced up at me. “Oh, hey. Are you two having fun?” Her eyebrows went up as she peered around me at the dining room table.

  If I didn’t know better, I’d swear she was drunk. Again. “Benni? Have you two been drinking?”

  The two of them burst into laughter and looked at each other. Chance still sat at the table and was staring at the girls. Yup, he was struggling with this whole situation, too. I doubted if he’d ever seen Lexie drunk before noon. In truth, I was even more shocked because it had just been last evening when Benni had done the same thing with Mrs. Nakamura.

  “That Skye, she sure knows how to run an office.” Lexie faced us, wavering on her feet, a goofy grin on her face. “Did you know she has a fully stocked bar?”

  “No. I didn’t.” My tone came out harsher than I’d intended.

  “Me, either,” Chance grumbled as he stared at Lexie, who was bouncing around as though she were listening to a favorite t
une on the radio.

  Benni raised one eyebrow and skewered me with a schoolteacher’s look of disapproval that would have made Mrs. Nakamura proud. The image evaporated when she stuck out her tongue. “Pooh on you.” She practically shimmied as she spoke. “We’ve offended the great investigators, Lex!”

  “Maybe they need a few mimosas?”

  The two of them exchanged giggles while Chance and I let out an exasperated sigh. “So did you learn anything from your meeting?”

  They both nodded, overly serious looks on their faces.

  “Never drink mimosas on an empty stomach,” Lexie said.

  Benni bumped Lexie with her shoulder and squealed, “Or on top of a half bottle of wine!”

  Good grief, this was going nowhere fast. I sighed. “I think we need to let you two sober up while we go do some serious work. Chance and I have a lead to follow up on.”

  The two of them sat on the couch next to each other. They both leaned back and crossed their legs, but Lexie’s eyelids drooped ever so slightly. Obviously, her nap time was right around the corner.

  Benni shook her head slightly as though trying to clear it, and said, “Oh, he wants to be serious. Okay, here’s the deal. Angela stole a box of Primal from the company a couple of days before she died. Skye found out. Told her she was going to fire her and the perfume showed up the next day. End of story.”

  “Not quite,” I said. “Angela died somewhere in there.”

  “Well, yes. Technically. But Skye had nothing to do with it.”

  “Technically?” I asked. “How do you know that, Benni?”

  I held her gaze until she glanced sideways at Lexie. “He can be such a grump.”

  Lexie’s eyes burst open and she sat up straight. “I agree. McKenna, don’t be so grumpy. We found out something really important.”

  Behind me, I heard Chance stand. He went to the couch and sat next to Lexie, put his arm over her shoulders, and she slumped into him.

  “Babe,” he said. “It might be good to lead with the important stuff because somebody dying is a big deal.”

  Lexie rested a hand on Chance’s chest and moved her head so it rested on his shoulder and the couch. “You can be a real grump, too.”