Isle Be Seeing You (Islands of Aloha Mystery Book 9)

by JoAnn Bassett

  Even though the sun was blazing outside, the concrete-block walls of the practice room made the area cool and shadowy. I slipped behind the office door jam and peered out as the exterior door creaked open.

  It was Detective Ho. He entered alone, closing and locking the door behind him. His hand hovered over the bank of light switches near the door, but he didn’t flip them on. I considered my options: call out my presence or wait and let him find me. I chose the latter. After all, the Palace of Pain hadn’t been sealed as a crime scene and as a key-holding member of the guan I had every right to be there.

  He stood in the quiet stillness of the practice room, apparently allowing his eyes to adjust. Then he started heading toward the office. I had only a few seconds to lock the open drawer and frame an explanation of why I was there.

  I stepped into the doorway just as Detective Ho got there. He skidded to a stop.

  “You startled me,” he said in a voice an octave higher than when we’d talked on Monday. “What are you doing here?”

  “I could ask you the same thing.”

  “I asked first,” he said in the petulant voice of a schoolyard tough. “And besides, I’m police. I can go anywhere I want during an on-going investigation.”

  He looked around the office, seeming to take in the general upheaval. “Were you looking for something? And how’d you get in? I made sure the door was locked when we left the other day.”

  “Look, detective, this is my home guan. I was given a key when I reached black belt status.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I heard you were at Douglas Kanekoa’s pre-appearance conference this morning.”

  “Seems boring news travels fast.”

  “It’s a small island, Ms. Moon. Not much goes on that we don’t hear about.” That’s the same line Detective Glen Wong used to give me. They must offer a class in platitudes at the police academy.

  He went on, “Is your being here a result of something you discussed with the accused?”

  “Are you questioning me? If so, I think you should read me my rights.”

  “You watch too many cop shows, Ms. Moon. This is not a formal interview. I’m just trying to ascertain why you’re in a confessed killer’s office. Not to mention this place looks like it’s been tossed.”

  “Obviously you don’t know Doug Kanekoa. He’s not exactly Martha Stewart when it comes to housekeeping.”

  “We processed this scene two days ago and this office was orderly. Now it’s not. I’m going to ask you one more time what you’re doing here. If you dodge the question or lie to me I’m going recommend charges of obstruction of justice. Am I clear?”

  “Crystal.” I’d always wanted to use that famous Tom Cruise line.

  We silently faced off for a few seconds. Then Ho folded his arms and said, “I’m waiting.”

  I mentally scrambled for a good fib. I’m not good with lying on the fly, so I went with something closer to the truth. “Doug asked me to locate a very small amount of pakalolo he kept here in the office. It bothered him that it might come out that an illegal substance was found at his place of business.”

  Detective Ho snorted. “Right. As if the court gives a rat’s ass about that when he’s facing murder charges.”

  “He’s a mentor to dozens of kids who train here and he’s got two teenagers of his own. Like I said, he seemed concerned about being branded a drug user.”

  “He’s a freakin’ murderer. He’s admitted to killing the mother of his kids. If the guy’s thinkin’ insanity plea you can tell him this fixation with a few ounces of weed isn’t gonna cut it.”

  I shrugged. It looked like Ho was buying, so I stopped selling.

  Ho looked around the room. “You find it?”

  “Not yet.” I shot him a tentative smile.

  “Where do you think it might be?”

  “Give me some credit, Detective. I’m not about to a help a cop locate contraband owned by a friend of mine.”

  “Fine, but let me be abundantly clear. I don’t care one iota about Kanekoa’s drug use unless it’s materially significant to either the motive or commission of the crime he’s been charged with.”

  “I swear it isn’t.”

  “Then I’ll make you a deal. You trot on out of here and if I stumble over it I’ll turn a blind eye. But that only holds if you agree to not come back. I’ve got a capital case on my hands and I don’t want some looky-loo screwing up the evidence.””

  I held up a palm. “Okay, I’m outta here.”

  “And you won’t be back?”

  “No reason to now.”

  “Good. Now get out of here. I’ve got work to do.”

  I was nearly to the door when Ho said, “You know, Detective Wong warned me about you.”

  “I’m sure he did. Did he also tell you I’ve helped solve at least four murder cases here in Maui County?”

  He scowled as if I’d insulted his mother. When it was pretty clear he wasn’t going to comment further I went outside, closing the door behind me.

  I didn’t want to go far, fearing if I didn’t retrieve whatever was in those manila envelopes there was a good chance Ho would stumble onto it sooner or later. I got in my car and headed out of the alley. It wouldn’t do to leave my Mini Cooper sitting there like a red flag. From what I’d observed, Ho wasn’t the detective that Wong was, but he’d surely figure out I was lying in wait if I didn’t even bother to move my car.

  I went around the corner to the Pa’ia Fish Market. It was nearly lunchtime and I’d skipped breakfast so a mahi sandwich sounded like a great way to pass the time waiting for Ho to leave. I perched on the end of one of the back benches and waited for my order to be called. The place was filling up but I still had the table to myself.

  My curiosity over the contents of the drawer pecked at me like a parrot working over a stale cracker. What was I supposed to find? And why had Doug been so circumspect in his instructions? It was hard to imagine he’d be concerned about a bag of pot when a life sentence was on the line.

  “Order fifty-seven.”

  I grabbed my sandwich and then wished I’d ordered it to go. I’d been away from the PoP for almost twenty minutes. Surely Ho had found what he’d come for and I’d be able to slip in and empty the drawer before anyone else came by. I wolfed down the fish sandwich, thankful there were no other diners on the other side of the table observing my complete lack of table manners.

  I was halfway back to the guan when I realized I’d forgotten to ask James about divorce laws in Hawaii. Could Finn just hire a lawyer and do away with our marriage without my consent? And what about our vows? Finn had pledged to stick with me “for better, for worse” and “’til death do we part.” Didn’t that mean anything?

  I cruised past the entrance to the alley behand the PoP and Ho’s plain white cop car was nowhere in sight. Just to be sure, I parked on Baldwin. No use throwing up a red flag in case Ho was still lurking around.

  Then I saw it. Ho had sealed the door with a crime scene sticker. A really big sticker. I looked up and down the alley to confirm I was alone and then started picking at the edge of it, but it was no use. The adhesive had bonded to the paint like white on rice.

  I fisted my hands in frustration. Why had Detective Ho waited three days before securing the guan? Was it possible he’d listened to a recording of the pre-arraignment meeting?

  I drove over to James Kanekoa’s law office. The receptionist was out. Through a glass partition I saw him munching on a sandwich at his desk.

  I waved and his head snapped up. He hastily wrapped up the rest of the sandwich as if I’d caught him in a shameful act and waved me in.

  “Sorry about that,” he said. “My girl took a long lunch today. Something about it being a friend’s birthday.”

  I let the reference to his forty-something receptionist as a “girl” slide but only because I was about to ask him for free legal advice.

  He gestured toward a guest chair and invited me to sit. “I’m hoping you’ve go
t some information for me.”

  “Sorry, I ran into a snag.”

  His eyes narrowed.

  “I went to the Palace of Pain but it’s been sealed as a crime scene.”

  “What? I was just down there yesterday. When do you think they sealed it?”

  “Hard to tell. I just came from there and there’s a big sticker on the door. Do you think there’s a chance they listened in on our meeting this morning? Doug mentioned the guan.”

  “If they did listen in, it’s a clear violation of the law.”

  “But you said yourself the jail watches. Maybe they used a lip reader?”

  James made a pfft sound. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “But still, don’t you think it’s pretty coincidental? I mean, your client mentions his place of work and then the next thing you know the place is sealed?” I squirmed under the scrutiny of his stare. But there was no way I’d admit to being the reason Ho had sealed the door.

  “I don’t believe in coincidences, Ms. Moon.”

  “Neither do I.”

  I gazed around the office seemingly taking in the gilt-framed diplomas on the wall. I was scrambling to come up with a good way to change the subject but came up short.

  “On different topic, would you mind me asking you a legal question?”

  “Sure.”

  “It doesn’t have anything to do with Doug. It’s me.”

  “Okay, fire away.”

  “Can someone divorce you without your consent?”

  He screwed up his face as if the question had come from so far out of left field he’d lost sight of the ball.

  “May I ask why you’re asking?”

  “It’s just speculative. I’m wondering, strictly hypothetically, if Hawaii law provides for divorce if only one person wants it.”

  “Ah, I see. Is one of your wedding clients trying to toss out the old before tying the knot with the new?”

  Why didn’t I think of that? “Yeah, something like that. I was just curious.”

  “Technically, divorce is a type of lawsuit. And the law requires both parties in a claim to be notified and allowed to respond. I don’t generally handle that type of case but I’m pretty sure it needs to be worked out between the two parties. It’s not like in those countries where a guy can just divorce a woman willy-nilly by saying, ‘Get lost’ three times or whatever.”

  “So, they need to agree?”

  “Not necessarily agree. But they each get a chance to respond. In some sticky cases it goes before a judge, but judges don’t like to get in the middle of stuff like that unless all other avenues have been exhausted.”

  James went on, “Sorry, but you’re gonna have to tell your client they need to clean up their old mess before getting themselves in a new mess.” He laughed and I smiled along with him, even though I was as sick of hearing “ball and chain” humor about being a wedding planner as he was of “shark” jokes about lawyers.

  I walked back to my car and drove to my shop. It was too early to call it a day but I sure wanted to. I fussed around on the computer for a few minutes before giving up and wandering over to the Gadda.

  As usual, Farrah was at the front counter. “Any oos-nay from in-Fay?”

  High on the list of Farrah’s quirks that make me grind my teeth is her use of Pig Latin. It’s right under her love of Twenty Questions. If I’m in a good mood, I play along. But unfortunately, I was about a hundred-and-eighty degrees from a good mood.

  “Farrah, would you just speak English? If you haven’t noticed, we’re not wearing training bras anymore.”

  She looked down at her billowy mu’u mu’u which was making a valiant effort at camouflaging her ample bosom. “Like trying to train these gigantic girls ever did me much good.”

  I chose not to pursue the matter. “And no, I haven’t heard from Finn since I saw you this morning.”

  “No worries. I bet I didn’t hear it right. I mean, maybe he didn’t say ‘divorce,’ but, ‘duh horse.’ Like maybe he’s thinkin’ of buying a pony for Hatchie. You know, we could totally groove on that. We’ve got that humongous pasture out back and the keiki would love having a pet they could ride on.”

  What with worrying about how I was going to get my hands on whatever was in Doug’s bottom drawer, along with stressing over Finn’s request for a divorce lawyer, my heart wasn’t in the mood to parse Farrah’s half-baked effort at walking back what she’d said that morning.

  “Let’s talk later,” I said. “I just came by to make sure we’re still good.”

  “No sweat. It’s gonna take more than a little trash talk to make me stay mad at you. So, I heard you went to the ale-jay this morning. Did you see Doug? Was he wearing an orange jumpsuit? Ya know, if a person’s got an orange aura, they’ve got issues, uh, down there.” She made a vague gesture toward her groin.

  “What?”

  “Yeah, totally bad color for prison clothes, right?”

  I let it slide. “Is Ono around? I want to ask him something.”

  “He went down to the boat a few hours ago.” She nodded toward the Felix the Cat clock on the wall. “He should be boogeying back soon.”

  “Would you ask him to call me?”

  She nodded. A customer came up to pay for their purchases so I leaned over the counter and gave her a hug before leaving.

  CHAPTER 16

  At dinner that night I dropped the bomb about Finn asking Ono to recommend a divorce attorney. Steve, bless him, reacted by appearing suitably appalled.

  “That rat. He may be gorgeous, and God knows the man’s a specimen, but to go behind your back like that is nothing short of an impeachable offense.”

  “I think he’s hoping for impeachment. That’s the point.”

  “Well, don’t give him the pleasure. You force him to throw you under the bus and then make him back up and run all over you again. If you can’t win, at least go out with the pity vote on your side. That’s how to get a big alimony award.”

  The conversation wasn’t going quite the way I’d hoped. “I don’t care about alimony. I want to save our marriage.”

  “I know you do, sweetie. And I want what you want. But if you change your mind, just say the word. I know a guy who knows a guy, if you know what I mean.”

  I had no idea what he meant, but thought it best to move on. “On another note, I have a big dilemma in the Doug situation.”

  “Really? Word on the street is he confessed. Doesn’t that sort of render ‘dilemmas’ moot?”

  “This morning he pleaded ‘not guilty.’ It’ll probably be on the news tonight.”

  “How can you confess and then plead not guilty? Is he going for an insanity plea? Or a crime of passion or something?”

  Steve rambled on about how he’d be so flattered if one of the guys in his life committed a crime of passion over him, but I’d stopped listening. Had Doug discovered Lani in a compromising position? He’d followed her and then acted as if it’d simply been a misunderstanding. Maybe instead of being relieved at what he’d learned he was just biding his time while he plotted revenge.

  But that was so unlike Doug. I’d seen the man battered and bruised by illegal moves and cheap shots more than once and he always took the high road. “The guy had to take me down any way he could,” he’d say. “’Cuz he knew I was about to clean his clock.”

  I’d never once seen him exact payback or protest a call. And I’d watched as clueless, or perhaps biased, tournament referees turned a blind eye to blatant cheating. How could Doug remain disciplined and magnanimous in battle and lose his cool in the worst way possible with the mother of his children? It didn’t make sense.

  Which brought me back to the dilemma at hand.

  “All that aside,” I said as Steve took a breath. “Here’s my problem.” I outlined my jailhouse visit with and Doug’s puzzling request. I explained about getting into the drawer but then having to leave everything behind when Ho kicked me out.

  “Why didn’t you just shove the stuff
in your purse? Heaven knows there’s enough room in there to stash a body.”

  Bad analogy, I thought. But I kept quiet.

  “I had no reason to believe Detective Ho would seal the door. I didn’t say anything to tip him off.”

  Steve shot me a withering look. “Oh, honey, I’d love to play poker with you. He knew you were up to something. Your face is about as simple to read as ‘The Cat in the Hat.’”

  “Fair enough. But I was under pressure.”

  “So now what? You trying to figure out a way to get inside without breaking the law?”

  “No way to do that now. But I’d settle for getting inside without getting caught.”

  “If you end up in jail, you’re gonna need someone to watch this house.”

  “What?”

  “I’m just saying it’s not a good idea to leave this place empty. What with Finn gone and you in jail, who’s gonna water the plants and make sure your ancient refrigerator doesn’t give up the ghost?”

  “I have a feeling this is leading somewhere, but I’m not sure where.”

  Steve hung his head. “I haven’t heard word one from the notice I put up at the Gadda.”

  “Nobody’s looking for a roommate? In this economy? That’s hard to believe.”

  “I think anyone who’s willing to share is going with Airbnb. More money and less commitment.”

  “So, in your usual round-about way, you’re asking if you can move back in here?”

  “For just a little longer. No more than a few weeks, six at the most. If I don’t find something by the end of August I’ll have to rethink staying here on Maui.”

  “But where would you go?”

  “My mom’s got an extra room at her place in LA.”

  “I thought she disowned you when you came out.”

  “Not disowned, exactly. More like she put me on the prayer list at her church, permanently.”