by J. C. Long
A buzzing sound rang out through the wide, cafeteria-esque room, and several doors on the far side of the room opened, allowing in a flood of people in orange jumpsuits. Some of them were shackled at the wrist and ankles, while some weren’t.
I craned my neck anxiously, trying to catch sight of Grace in the crowd. All around me, people were standing up, waving their hands to draw someone’s attention. I remained seated, hoping it would help me stand out to Grace. It must have worked, because suddenly someone in the crowd broke off toward my table. Grace.
She looked a bit haggard and worn, but otherwise fine, thank God.
“Orange is really your color,” I said teasingly as she joined me.
“Don’t be an ass; it doesn’t suit you,” Grace fired back, dropping into the uncomfortable chair.
“I think it suits me just fine.” I propped my elbows on the table, leaning in to examine her closer. “How are you? And I mean really, don’t just tell me you’re fine.”
“What do you want me to say? I’m not staying at a luxury spa.” Grace ran a hand over her face, slouching a bit. “Considering everything, I’m fine. My lawyer hopes to have me out on bail soon. I’m on the docket for first thing Monday morning.”
“Well, hopefully we can have you out of here sooner than that,” I said. I explained what I’d discovered at Carrie’s house and what happened afterward. “Do you know anything about this Delgado thing?”
Grace shook her head. “The only Delgado I know is a business owner here in Honolulu. I don’t know why anyone would want her to investigate him, though. If someone did hire her to do that, it could be risky. He’s a very wealthy and influential man here.”
“Risky enough to get her killed?”
Grace shrugged. “I really don’t know—but considering someone tried to kill you to get that file, I’d say yes. You know, you could try talking to the last clients that Grace met with the day that she died. As far as I was aware, she was going to be in a bunch of meetings.”
“Do you know who these people are?”
“I know a few names, but none of their details. All of that stuff is in the main calendar…” she trailed off, shoulders falling, and I guessed she’d hit a snag in her own trail. “The main calendar is back at the office.”
I groaned, lowering my head to the cold surface of the table. I wanted to bang my head on it, but I doubted the guards would appreciate it. “The office that is now a crime scene.”
“Yeah, that’s not working out in our favor.”
I started to reach for Grace’s hand across the table when one of the guards caught my eye. He gave his head a firm shake and I stopped, resting it on the table instead. “Listen to me, Grace, I don’t care what I have to do to get you out of here, I’ll do it. I know you’d do the same for me. I’ll meet with these people, somehow. I don’t care if I have to pay my entire inheritance to do it.”
“Just be careful, Gabe. You already nearly died. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
I rolled my eyes dramatically at her. “You overreact too much, Grace. It was just a bit of choking—maybe the guy was into erotic asphyxiation, that’s all.”
Grace’s withering look told me just what she thought of my attempt at levity.
We chatted for a few more minutes, but it seemed like no time had passed at all before the guards announced “Time’s up!” and marched the inmates back through the doors.
As I exited the facility, I called Peter’s number, hoping it wasn’t too early.
“Hello?”
“Peter! Hi, this is Gabe Maxfield. We met—”
“I remember,” Peter interrupted. For a moment, I didn’t think he sounded happy to hear from me. When he spoke again, though, there was no trace of it, and I wondered if it was just my imagination. “What can I do for you?”
“I was wondering if we could meet at your work this morning. I have a few things I need to find out, and also some information to share with you about what might have led to Carrie’s murder.”
“Did you find something?” Peter’s voice sharpened, my words piquing his interest.
“I think so, yes. The only way to make sure, though, is to get something from the Paradise Investigations office.”
“How quickly can you get there?”
I wasn’t sure, given my current location. “Hold on a sec.” I let the GPS do the calculating. “Not taking traffic into consideration, looks like about twenty minutes.”
“Okay, I’ll meet you there. Drive safely.”
Peter’s sudden eagerness reminded me that I could not have been the only person who really wanted to find out what happened in that office. Carrie had been Peter’s boss, as was Grace. I’d found the perfect ally in my hunt—I was sure of it.
Traffic in Honolulu was the third worst in the nation, from what I’d heard, and this morning it lived up to its reputation. It took me nearly an hour to reach the offices of Paradise Investigations.
Directly in front of the office was the small Mazda I had seen in Peter’s driveway. He leaned against the driver’s side door, arms crossed over his chest, looking around impatiently. His tense shoulders relaxed when he saw me pull up.
“Sorry,” I said, getting out of the car. “Traffic was a nightmare.”
He gave a humorless half smile. “Welcome to Honolulu. What was it you found out?”
I looked around. I felt foolish doing so—there clearly wasn’t anyone nearby—but after being attacked by someone I figured myself entitled to be paranoid. “Is it okay to go into the office?”
Peter dug into his pocket, pulling out a set of keys. “The crime scene tape is still up, but the police aren’t here anymore. They probably processed the place yesterday, so it should be fine.”
I followed him to the door, waiting as he unlocked it. I didn’t really like the idea of going back in there, even though I knew the body was long gone, having been carted off to the coroner’s office for an autopsy, but the image of it lying in the corner of that office swam to the forefront of my mind. Only the fact that there was no other way to get the information I needed motivated me to step inside when Peter held the door open for me.
“What did you learn?” Peter asked, closing the door behind me. His movements became somewhat automatic, no doubt the routine he went through every day. He turned the lights on and then made his way to the small desk there in the waiting area, taking a seat behind it.
I told him about the file and the theft from my home.
“So they got everything?” Peter didn’t bother hiding his disappointment.
“Not everything,” I assured him. Peter’s eyes snapped up to mine. “He only got the notes Carrie wrote. Whoever he was, he didn’t know about the film, and he left it behind.”
Peter’s brow furrowed. “You still have it, then? That’s excellent! Glad that it hasn’t all been for nothing. Let’s hope the photos are enough to find who did this and clear Grace’s name.”
I thought about Grace sitting there in that orange jumpsuit, looking haggard and worn. “It better be.”
“So what did you want to see me about here?”
“I went to see Grace today, and she suggested I talk to some of the clients Carrie was supposed to meet with to find out something about her behavior or mindset and get an idea of what was going on. Grace doesn’t have access to that information—”
“But I do,” Peter finished. Before I’d even finished my first sentence, he’d already pulled open the long drawer in the middle of the desk and withdrawn a soft, black, leather-bound desk planner. The thing was so big the dates could be seen clearly from the International Space Station. “Thursday, Carrie had four different clients to meet, starting at nine in the morning, the last at five—obviously the last two she didn’t make, but the first two she should have.”
Peter scribbled down the names and addresses of the two clients who Carrie had been scheduled with and passed them to me. “Did you give this same information to the police?” I asked, reading the nam
es on the paper. Victoria Reed and Sakura Ohashi. I idly wondered what they would want with a private investigator.
“Of course,” Peter said, sounding reproachful, as if I suggested he’d done something illegal. “I don’t know how much they’ve investigated, but they have the information, if they want it.”
“Thank you so much for this, Peter.” I pocketed the paper and started for the door.
“Wait, just a minute,” Peter called, stepping around the desk after me. “About the film roll, what are you going to do with it?”
“I haven’t really thought that far ahead yet, but I guess I’m going to need to find a way to get them developed and see where they take us.”
“Let me know when you figure something out—or if you need any help in that department. I’m sure together we could get it done.”
I smiled at his earnestness. “I’ll do that. Don’t worry. I’ll definitely keep you updated. I’m sure Grace will really appreciate this, too.”
Back in my car, I set myself for the first destination on the paper. It only made sense to start at the beginning and see how far she progressed through her day before going back to the office.
Victoria Reed was an upper-middle-class white woman who, apparently, looked to hire the firm in order to find out if the man she was having an affair with was having an affair on her. She couldn’t answer any question I asked her about Carrie’s behavior—didn’t even remember her name. It could not have felt more like a waste of time if I’d just sat in a parking lot staring off into space for the length of time I’d spoke with Victoria Reed.
Hopefully the second client would be more helpful.
As I was en route to the Ohashi address, my cell phone rang. I glanced down and snorted. The ID read Stud. I thought Maka was joking when he said he’d filed his number under that.
“Hello?”
“Gabe, I was just calling to check in on you.”
Strange. I couldn’t understand his fascination with checking up on me. Granted, that behavior came in handy last night, but it was still a little unsettling. “Who is this? My caller ID says Stud, but I don’t know any Studs, so I think I’m going to hang up now.”
“Don’t act like you don’t think I’m a stud.”
I hated myself at that moment for smiling, but I couldn’t help it. There was something about Detective Maka Kekoa that reached me, and I had little power to resist. “No, I don’t think you’re a stud—because, one, I’m not a teenage girl in the nineties, and, two, you’re not a horse.”
“I mean, I’ve been compared to one before, in some ways.”
I laughed out loud, one loud ha before I managed to swallow it back, but the damage was done.
“Hah! I got a laugh. I knew you think I’m funny.”
“Is there a reason you called, or was it just to overcompensate verbally?”
“Oh, I’m not overcompensating. Want me to prove it?”
I thought about the vivid dream I had of Maka, his cock big and hard. God, yes, yes I want you to prove it. But that was a thought I kept locked away firmly in my mind. Aloud I said, “Please don’t.”
“Okay, your loss. I was calling to check in, see what you were doing.”
“Checking out a few leads.”
“Leads?” The playfulness evaporated from Maka’s voice like mist in the heat of the sun. “You should not be tracking down any leads.”
“Well, Grace had some great ideas, so I thought I’d check them out while you were busy running down her alibi or whatever it is you’re doing.”
“That’s a terrible idea,” Maka said flatly. I could imagine the furrowed brow of disapproval on his face.
“Going to see Grace was your idea.”
“I didn’t say follow along a breadcrumb trail that she lays out, did I?”
“She’s not the witch from Hansel and Gretel, Maka.”
“The witch didn’t lay the crumbs; the kids did to find their way home.”
I gripped the steering wheel tightly, staring at the radio, through which the phone call was currently playing thanks to my hands free mode. Was he always this frustrating? “I just talked to a Botox-filled upper-middle-class WASP. I think I’m only in danger of boredom.”
“Be careful, please? The last thing I need in my life is another homicide to investigate.”
“Considering I like my safety, I can do that.”
“I’m starting to wonder,” Maka muttered. He sounded as frustrated with me as I was with him. “Oh, by the way, you need to be back at your apartment by six tonight.”
“What? Why?”
“Police business. Just be there, okay?”
“Okay, I’ll be there.”
I brought the call to an end as I reached the address for Sakura Ohashi that Peter had given me.
Sakura Ohashi was a middle-aged Japanese woman. Her gaze was distrustful when she spotted me standing on the other side of her door—I guess I couldn’t blame her, since I was a strange white male.
“Excuse me, are you Mrs. Ohashi?”
“I am,” she said hesitantly. “What is this about?”
Beyond Mrs. Ohashi, I saw a middle-aged man, hair well-groomed, a perfectly trimmed beard, still black with barely any flecks of gray. He stopped a few feet behind his wife, leveling a hard gaze at me over her shoulder.
“My name is Gabe Maxfield. I’m here because Thursday you met with Carrie Lange from Paradise Investigations, correct?”
“You tell her we won’t pay!” Mr. Ohashi marched to the door, gently sweeping his wife aside with his arm. “She’s crazy if she thinks she’s getting money for that bullshit consultation!”
The anger surprised me. “That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about, sir. Can you tell me about the consultation, about Ms. Lange’s behavior?”
“There was no consultation,” Mr. Ohashi snapped. “She showed up, talked to us for ten minutes, and then got a message on her phone and ran off. She didn’t even have time to ask us about why we wanted to hire her in the first place.”
“I’m really sorry to hear that, Mr. Ohashi,” I said, hoping I sounded sincere. “Did she offer up an excuse as to why she just ran off?”
“Nothing,” he spat. “Just said she needed to collect something from her office, asked us to call and reschedule. I told her no way in hell. I told her if she left then, she could just forget about our business. She said, ‘I’m sorry you feel that way’ and ran out the door.”
I wondered what she could have read on her phone that would make her act like that. If there was something, then the police would have found it, since they had her phone and had found the messages between Grace and Carrie. Maybe they had more reason than I knew to suspect Grace. Perhaps Maka and Benet withheld something when they were telling me why they arrested her.
But her lawyer would know, right? Then again, Rembauer wouldn’t feel particularly inclined to disclose the information to me, no doubt. If there was more, Grace didn’t tell me. Maybe whatever it was simply wasn’t discovered by the cops.
“Can you tell me if she was upset when she left or scared or something similar?”
“I don’t know. She left too fast to tell.” Mr. Ohashi scowled. “I don’t care if she was upset; she was unprofessional, and she won’t be getting our money! You tell her that.”
I opened my mouth to inform them I couldn’t do that—nobody could, because she was dead—but stopped myself. What good would come of that? All it might do is upset these people. Or it would just be information they didn’t want to hear because they didn’t care. I’d heard what I needed to hear from them, hadn’t I?
Now I just needed to find out what it was that sent Carrie rushing back to work. What was she intending to do there? The files on Delgado were at her house, so she wouldn’t need to rush to the office for it. Or was there more to the file that she had at work? Was a component missing? If so, how important was it? One missing piece made the whole puzzle useless, and in this, it might be no different. If there was som
ething at the office, it might have been the difference between finding Carrie’s killer and failing miserably.
“Thank you for your time, Mr. and Mrs. Ohashi. I’m sorry things didn’t go well for you in your consultation. I hope that your situation can be resolved to your liking. Have a good day.”
There was still quite a bit of time before I needed to go back to my place to meet Maka, so I went to the local library to use the computer and looked up as much information as I could about Delgado.
Most of the stories I came across were fluff pieces, talking about good deeds the company was doing, or research grants they were donating to local schools. Sometimes, though, in smaller papers, there were articles about some of the more underhanded and shady things reporters accused Delgado of. Rumors about the family being tied to organized crime on the island, that sort of thing.
The public face versus the private truth? My mother used to say that she was wary of someone who seemed too good, because it most likely was a façade masking something more. I doubted the good works and philanthropy of Delgado and his family were what led to someone hiring Carrie to tail him, so maybe there was some truth to the crime syndicate rumors.
If so, that was bad news. Everybody knew you didn’t screw with organized crime. Police had to approach the matter delicately, cautiously, so a civilian PI? What could she have possibly been thinking? She as good as signed her own death warrant.
A grim thought struck me: had I done the same, looking into all of this? I’d already had my place broken into, already had someone just a hairsbreadth away from killing me. Had I put my own life at risk trying to help Grace?
Chapter Nine
I arrived back at my condo at ten to six to find Maka leaning on my door, looking like he didn’t have a care in the world. He was no longer dressed in the Hawaiian shirt, but a dark blue button-down shirt tucked into a pair of well-fitting gray slacks, Birkenstocks, and a nice woven belt. His hair was combed back similar to how it was when I first met him.
“There’s something wrong with you, you know that?” I told him, pulling my key out of my pocket.