Yoshiko had little trouble getting a job at a television station, as her homegrown qualities and journalistic instincts made her a natural. She worked her way up from reporter to anchor, with very little social life along the way, although she had been propositioned enough. She decided most men were bad news but, more importantly, Yoshiko knew she never wanted to become vulnerable to a man like her mother had, only to be discarded like garbage. Let some other naive woman fall prey to a man's good looks and bad intentions.
Yoshiko had even managed to suppress the limited memory of her father as she put her life in order. Then, as if a ghost who was not willing to let either her or her mother rest, Ben Crawford once more stabbed at her consciousness.
The article read: BEN CRAWFORD, PROMINENT REAL ESTATE DEVELOPER, SPEARHEADS KAANAPALI BEACH'S LATEST RESORT HOTEL PROJECT.
The accompanying photograph left no doubt in her mind that it was the same Ben Crawford who had abandoned her mother as he went on with his life. Her mother had kept photographs of her former lover, as a means to always keep a part of him for herself.
In gazing at the photo and seeing herself in the process as his progeny, Yoshiko felt anger of indescribable proportions well up inside of her. How dare he come back to Hawaii to throw around his millions on the grave of her mother! Why couldn't he have stayed on the mainland, far enough away so she could forget he ever existed?
For two years, Yoshiko watched and listened with revulsion as the Kaanapali Palms Hotel was renovated with what she considered to be tainted money from the man who basked in riches while she and her mother had drowned in absolute poverty. Yoshiko cried a lot and tried to disassociate herself from Ben Crawford and his interests. After all, what happened between him and her mother happened so long ago it did no good to let it wreak havoc on her life.
Then she would tell herself: But it has already wreaked havoc on my life. After all, she was the product of that non-caring bastard, whether she liked it or not; and whether he liked it or not. She could not simply pretend that he didn't exist—especially now—or that he had not destroyed her mother's life and, to some degree, her own.
That was when Yoshiko quit her job and moved back to Maui, where she gained employment at the Kaanapali Palms Hotel as a maid—the same type of job her mother held until the very end of her life. It was there, in her illegitimate father's latest palace, where she hoped to enact her and her mother's vengeance.
Yoshiko felt it was only then that both she and her mother could hope to find peace.
* * *
"In two weeks, we will officially open to the public," Ben Crawford said jubilantly. "Each and every one of you should take great pride knowing that you will be a big part of the Kaanapali Palms Hotel's beginnings..."
Pride! How can you talk about pride? Yoshiko thought with disgust. What about my mother's pride? Did you care about that?
"...I do hope that you will all attend our grand opening party, as the people who have worked their asses off to enable us to open on schedule..."
The self-indulgent speech was halted as the speaker became aware of the person entering the room.
All other eyes turned to look at the shapely features of the young woman wearing a halter top and white cropped pants, with long blonde hair cascading over her shoulders. Her mouth curved into a toothy smile and she appeared pleased that she had suddenly become the center of attention.
Ben motioned for her to join him, although she looked as if she needed no enticing, and he produced a wide smile as if he had just become a proud father. It was then that Yoshiko suddenly knew he had.
The woman now stood at Ben's side and was nearly as tall as he was. "For those of you who haven't had the honor," Ben said to the audience, "this is my daughter, Leigh..."
There was a disjointed splatter of alohas and hellos.
Maggie shoved a well-placed elbow into Yoshiko's side and snorted enviously: "Looks like Mr. Crawford isn't too important for one very lucky female."
Yoshiko twisted her nose petulantly, and remarked more saucily than she intended to: "Yes, she certainly is the lucky one."
So that was the daughter she had heard about. Yoshiko sucked in a deep breath, for some reason feeling a tinge of jealousy. But, of course, she knew what the reason was and it had nothing to do with the fact that Leigh was gorgeous and obviously knew it and flaunted it. No. It was that she benefitted from a fairy tale existence as the only known daughter of this rich man; while Yoshiko was just his bastard child from a forgotten romance a long time ago.
It should be me up there, Yoshiko thought bitterly, instead of standing in the back of the room as some lowly hotel worker as far as they were concerned.
Her father and half-sister better enjoy the fun of their flashy new hotel and their perfect life while they can.
Yoshiko was going to make Ben Crawford pay for what he had done to her mother, not to mention depriving her of her rightful heritage.
She would see to it that bastard would regret the day he walked out on her mother.
* * *
Standing just a few feet away from Yoshiko, another hotel employee was also hanging on every word of Ben Crawford.
Eugene Keebler was a tall, lanky man of twenty-nine with a freshly shaven head and yellow, uneven teeth. He was a janitor at the Kaanapali Palms Hotel. He was also, by his own description, an opportunist.
And all of a sudden he had come up with an opportunity he felt was too damned good to pass up...
The first time he had come up with an idea to increase his financial worth, Eugene Keebler was thirteen years old. He lived in Hilo on the Big Island of Hawaii with his mother and four sisters. They were so poor and food was so scarce that he decided stealing was the only way they would survive. He started out by stealing fruit and vegetables from the produce market and eventually escalated to breaking into neighbors' homes when they were out and taking any money he could find.
He was fifteen when he got caught and shipped to Honolulu to spend a year in a reformatory. It did not reform him. Instead, he left believing hustling was a far easier way to get ahead in life. He just had to be more careful the next time.
When he returned home, things had changed. Two sisters had married and left the island, one was pregnant, the other hated him, and his mother was ill. He became an outcast in a broken home. He watched his mother die, and then left the island for good to go to the mainland.
With no education past the seventh grade, but street smart, which he believed was the greatest form of education anyhow, Eugene hustled his way around the country doing everything from writing bad checks to stealing cars to robbing old ladies. In between, he worked odd jobs, waiting for the next golden opportunity to present itself.
It did when he and some buddies decided to rob a bank in an Atlanta suburb. Eugene was twenty-one, no longer a kid, and accountable to the adult courts should he be caught.
He was not.
Ever since the year he spent at the reformatory, he managed to stay one step ahead of the law by never staying in one place too long (his longest stint was six months in Chicago) or becoming too chummy with his acquaintances.
So far it had worked like a charm.
He had been on Maui for three months now and had pretty much kept a low profile, particularly after he was nearly apprehended robbing a gas station on a return trip to Honolulu.
He needed a place to cool off and make an honest living for a while. And Maui was the perfect place to do that. After chilling in Lahaina, he had landed the janitorial job at the Kaanapali Palms Hotel a month ago.
He hated it and he hated his supervisor.
But he was thankful that he had acquired the means to put food on the table for a while without constantly having to look over his shoulder.
However, as was the case with all deviant minds, conformity could only last so long, especially when opportunity was staring him right in the face.
* * *
Eugene scratched his chin thoughtfully. This grand opening
bash the main man spoke about might be just what the doctor ordered. If he was not mistaken, Ben Crawford and others at the hotel had said that everyone associated with the hotel would be there. That meant investors, the money men and women behind this project, would attend. It seemed like a perfect opportunity for these people to show off their worth. Diamond rings, credit cards, fat money clips, and more... The very idea had Eugene drooling with anticipation.
Why, if enough people showed up, the event could net him a tidy profit. And if he was really lucky, it would be enough to keep him afloat for a while—maybe a good while. The way he saw it, robbing these people would be a piece of cake, and most importantly, he would have the advantage of the unexpected—something that was not always true with established hotels that already had their security well in place.
He would recruit a couple of buddies he had hooked up with who could use some cash.
No one would get hurt, other than those who could most afford it. Those who could not, wouldn't have much to lose anyhow. But he would take what they had anyway, thank you.
He had long since learned that people tended to cooperate real fast if they believed it could mean the difference between living and dying.
Eugene decided he would make them all strip, including Crawford himself. He would really enjoy watching daddy's little girl get naked.
Hmm! Let me see, Eugene mused, two weeks and counting. That would be just enough time to work out the details and put his plan into motion.
* * *
Leigh had taken a quick tour of the hotel and the well-manicured grounds. She had come away impressed, but not exactly starry-eyed. And why should she be? After all, her father owned or was a majority stockholder of several hotels and condominiums, most of which were just as nice, if not as expansive.
What she really wanted to do was cool off. So she disengaged herself from the semi boring tour and went up to her private suite. She dug a two-piece swimsuit out of her suitcase.
The orange halter bikini top and bikini bottom fit tightly and accentuated her breasts and firm buttocks. Equipped with a towel, Leigh headed to the pool she liked best: a massive indoor-outdoor fresh water pool designed like a tropical maze with plants, waterfalls, and rock formations. She was well aware that she encountered more than a few roving eyes, and gave as much as she received.
She had just splashed into the water, when Leigh heard the familiar and sexy voice say: "You look like you belong in there—"
Leigh cleared her eyes of water and directed her attention to the person. It was the chauffeur. He was dressed in dark swim trunks, sporting a taut, lean body, and a sensual smile.
She licked her lips and returned the smile coquettishly. "What are you doing here?" Not that she was complaining—not one bit—but still, he was not a hotel guest. Was he?
He gazed at her with amusement. "I work here, remember."
"Not dressed like that you don't," she said sarcastically, finding it hard to keep her eyes off him.
He looked at himself and laughed. "No, not like this. I'm on break. I always try to get in a few laps every day." He paused and then grinned. "Especially today—"
For some reason, Leigh resented him using the pool or any pool at the hotel. Why should he get free privileges when others had to pay for that right? Of course, she too, was taking advantage of her opulent circumstances. But that was different. Wasn't it?
As if reading her mind, he said coolly: "If you're wondering about me swimming here, don't worry, I have permission. All of the staff does, as long as it doesn't take away from a guest's use of the pools."
Leigh accepted the fact that he had a perfectly good excuse for using the pool, especially since he wasn't really interfering with her use of it. She flashed that winning smile of hers again. He was so good looking and she figured he would be a good playmate for her.
She asked sweetly: "So what's your name?"
"Masami."
Masami what? she asked herself, but then realized it didn't matter. What did matter was that he looked like he might be a lot of fun. Might as well get off on the right foot.
Demurely, she cooed: "Masami, would you care to join me?"
Nodding, his velvety brown eyes lit up as if he had struck gold. "You know damn well that I would."
He dove into the pool, causing water to splash in Leigh's face.
They played, teased, bodied up, and made out with Leigh boldly taking the lead, before she decided she was not quite ready to go any further. Not in her first hour of her first day there.
Later, say tonight, would be a different matter altogether.
Leigh left the persuasive lips and burning eyes of super-hot Masami in the pool and departed for her suite alone. She supposed she should make a well-timed appearance at the staff meeting. Daddy had requested she come. Frankly, it sounded like a real bore. On the other hand, she might meet some really gorgeous guy who could keep Masami forever at bay.
* * *
Whaler's Village was located not too far from the Kaanapali Palms Hotel and featured some of the finest restaurants and shops on Maui's west side. Overlooking the beach was arguably the Village's most frequented, most popular, and certainly largest restaurant: The Shoreline Lounge. It had a fountain that meandered through the indoor/outdoor eatery, two levels, live music nightly, and a menu that featured authentic Hawaiian cuisine, as well as good old-fashioned mainland American favorites.
It was happy hour, the sun was still baking the air, and the place was packed with patrons chattering, drinking, perspiring, eavesdropping, dropping by, picking up, and otherwise engaging in fun and frolic.
Known as the Queen of the Village, Rosita Okamura confidently walked around the restaurant like she owned the place, which was not surprising since she did. At least fifty percent anyway. The other fifty percent belonged to her husband Kalani. Together they had opened The Shoreline Lounge twenty-five years ago, or the same year they got married. The restaurant started off slowly, the marriage fast.
A decade later, the trends reversed. A hysterectomy ended their longstanding bid to conceive some new Okamuras, and effectively neutralized their great sex. Meanwhile, tourism on Maui had increased substantially by the turn of the century and business boomed as a result. It was the latter success that became the cornerstone of their relationship, which suited Rosita just fine. She had always had her priorities in order: money, respect, youth, and sex.
The money came rolling in and she loved every moment of it. There was nothing more satisfying than wealth.
Respect. A close second. She took pride in being the Queen of Whaler's Village. It showed that longevity meant something in a business where the failure rate was higher than you could count.
Youth. Now that proved considerably more difficult to manage. At fifty-five, Rosita would be the first to admit that she was no longer the Maui high school beauty queen that wooed men for years after, including Kalani. Gone was the svelte body, replaced by creases and folds that not even her personal trainer and regular exercise could get rid of. What had once been soft laughter lines at the corners of her brown eyes were now deep creases that remained whether she laughed or cried, thanks to too much sun exposure. Her once thick, long black hair was now a short bob, dyed blonde to better hide the gray that had been showing up for the better part of a decade.
But that did not mean she conceded beauty for age. Two face lifts had done wonders to make her look at least ten years younger and considerably more appealing. Her capped teeth gave her a lovely smile.
Then there were her breasts, always and still her most inviting feature. Again, she had called upon the surgeon to put in implants to replace sagging breasts, so they were once again nicely sized, firm, and high.
Sex. Ahh, the way to keep her energy up and the perfect tonic for staying young. Although the lackluster sex she shared with her husband in recent years convinced her as much as anything that their marriage was now just mainly for convenience and the love of money (and neither of them were prepa
red to give up either of these things), it did not eliminate Rosita's sex drive or, she suspected, Kalani's. In fact, a certain swagger he had exhibited of late suggested he was having an affair.
But with whom?
Did it really matter?
She decided it did not. After all, she herself had found solace in the arms of young studs whose athleticism and libido matched her own.
As long as she and Kalani remained discreet, why should either of them have to deny their urges when neither seemed capable of satisfying the other?
Wearing a figure-flattering Hawaiian dress, a long pearl necklace, and matching earrings, Rosita looked the part of a perfect hostess, which she believed she was, as she smiled appropriately, asked patrons if everything was all right, and chastised employees who were spending too much time fraternizing with customers.
And where on earth was her partner and darling husband?
The hell if she knew—and maybe it was better that she did not.
He had a very distressing habit of sometimes disappearing for hours, leaving the restaurant in her very capable hands.
Not that she minded too much. From the start, she had been the one to make it all work, even though Kalani readily took most of the credit. And she let him. Men needed high powered egos to function. Women did not. What she did need was...
Rosita spotted what she needed. Chad Gibson. He was a waiter in his late twenties and an extremely good looking dark-haired hunk with an incredible six pack, and the latest stud who kept her satisfied under the sheets. And why shouldn't he? She paid him enough.
Right now it was time for him to earn his keep.
Calmly, she sauntered over to him, careful to keep up the soft smile for her audience even though she was already thinking about Chad making love to her.
Murder on Kaanapali Beach Page 25