Something's Rotten in Paradise (Maui Mayhem Cozy Mystery Book 1)

by Aysia Amery

  “Hello, Lester. I’m Ginger. I know you’re probably wondering why I can see you, and I can’t tell you the reason; it just happened when I was a child. I know you were poisoned, and I want to help you to bring your murderer, or murderers, to justice. Will you help me?”

  His eyes left mine and peered over at Pako.

  “He’s a detective friend of mine. He’s helping me to help you. He can’t see you. Only I can see you.”

  Lester’s attention was now on me again.

  “I can’t hear you, but we can still communicate. I have done so with many spirits in the form of pantomime. Have you played charades before?”

  He shook his head.

  “Okay, I’m going to teach you the fundamentals, and you should be able to catch on fairly quickly. Will you play?”

  Before he could give me a nod or shake, his form began to disappear.

  “No, no, no, no!” I cried out.

  Dagnabbit! I plopped with a slouch on the sofa like a sports fan watching a game whose team just got defeated.

  “What happened?” Pako asked.

  “He’s gone.”

  “Who the hell doesn’t know how to play charades?”

  “I know.” I shrugged. “I have a feeling this might take a while. You should’ve brought a sandwich.”

  “You think he’s coming back?”

  “I sure hope so.” Most of the time they do, and I can normally get through an entire session. But there were times they’d disappear as though something zapped them back to wherever it was they rested.

  No sooner did I say that, Lester was back.

  “Okay, please don’t leave, Lester. We need to get through this.”

  He nodded.

  Thank you! He was willing to cooperate.

  “Okay, when there are times you can’t find something to point at or act out with action, then you have to give me clues with telling me how many words and syllables, and what it sounds like. For instance, this is four words, first word, first syllable.” I did all the motions while I explained.

  “This is ‘sounds like’—” I pulled my ear “—then you act out whatever easiest word that rhymes with the word you want me to guess.”

  I then made a small space between my thumb and forefinger. “And this means short word, like a, it, and, the, and so on. I’ll ramble through them, and you stop me when I hit the right one.”

  I studied his face to see if he might be confused.

  “You think you have it?” I asked.

  He nodded. Good; he was a fast learner.

  “What you can’t answer with a nod or a shake of your head, you need to answer using charades, okay?”

  He again nodded.

  “I don’t believe that Fiona or Penelope poisoned you. They wouldn’t have been so stupid to leave all that evidence behind. I believe someone framed them. Do you know who that person is?”

  He didn’t answer. Hmm. Why wasn’t he answering that question?

  “You don’t know who poisoned you?”

  Still no answer, just a blank stare.

  Did he not have a visitor, and someone just left a poisoned bottle for him to drink by himself? Then they came back to plant the other two glasses after he was already dead?

  “Can’t you tell me anything?”

  He’s going to act something out. Okay, great!

  He was walking in place.

  “Walk.”

  He shook his head.

  “You’re shutting a door behind you. You’re walking again. Leave?”

  He nodded emphatically.

  “How many words in the sentence?” I asked.

  He held up three fingers.

  “Okay, ‘leave’ is the first word.” I smiled like a child coming out of a candy store with goodies in my hand. We were finally getting somewhere.

  “What’s the second word?”

  He made an inch space between his thumb and forefinger.

  “Short word.”

  He nodded.

  “A?”

  I waited.

  “It?”

  He nodded.

  “Leave it...to Beaver?” I yelled out. I immediately felt stupid. What the heck was I saying? Of course it wasn’t Leave It To Beaver. Jerry Mathers would not be in Hawaii poisoning people. Not to mention, that’s four words, not three.

  I could get caught up in the game sometimes as though I were playing it with my family during the holidays.

  But what could he be possibly saying that started with ‘Leave it’? Leave it here? Leave it there? Neither of those made sense to what clues he would be giving me to solve his murder.

  “Okay, give me the third word.”

  He held up two fingers then tapped them to his forearm. He got this game down so well, it was hard to believe he hadn’t played it before.

  “Okay, two syllables.”

  He tapped his forefinger to his forearm.

  “First syllable.”

  “Short word.”

  “A?”

  He nodded.

  He gestured the second syllable and pulled his earlobe.

  “Sounds like.”

  He looked around as if trying to figure out how he was going to do this next act. He got down on his hands and knees. He was digging. Was he a dog? He pointed to his mouth. Okay, he moved his head and lips as though dropping something from them. He was pushing the ground as though covering what he just buried.

  “Bone? Are you burying a bone?”

  He smiled and nodded a few times. He stared at me, waiting for my answer.

  “Tone. Zone. Phone. Lone—”

  This time, his head nodded so fast and repetitiously, he looked like one of those bobblehead toys.

  “Lone?”

  Another nod.

  His eyes focused intently on mine.

  “Leave...it...a...lone. Leave it alone?”

  He nodded, but this time slow and deliberate, and his demeanor was that of one giving up on their life. I guess in his case, death.

  The game was over.

  “Why would you say that? Why do you want me to leave it alone? Do you want your killer to go free? I don’t understand.” I pleaded with my most puppy dog eyes.

  But he was done. He faded into nothingness.

  “He’s gone,” I told Pako.

  “What’s wrong with this dude? Sounds like he doesn’t want his killer caught.”

  “I don’t get it, Pako.” My spirit was dampened like a soldier told to retreat from a battle they believed in.

  My disheartenment didn’t last long though.

  I squared my shoulders. This soldier wasn’t going to give up the fight. I wasn’t about to leave it alone. Even if Lester didn’t care, I cared. I wasn’t about to let this go so easily.

  “Pako, we have to talk to his father and have a look around Lester’s place.”

  “I thought his father was dead.”

  “Not his biological father, silly. The father he grew up with. Joseph.”

  “Okay, but we’ll go after lunch.”

  “Is food all you can think about?”

  “I’ll order a beer with it.”

  “I give up!”

  Chapter 10

  Pako called in to get the address for Joseph Langley. Fiona had to give the police all the names of the people who were at her home the night of the dinner party. Jemma, Reese, mine, as well as Fiona’s staff, were all on that list.

  It was easy for Pako to get Joseph Langley’s address once he had a copy of that roster. Come to find out, Lester’s address was the same. That was good. We could now kill two birds with one manapua (barbecued-pork-filled bun).

  We had lunch at a cafe, then headed over to Joseph’s home in Lanai City. He had a modest house, about the size of the Duboits’ ohana cottage. Its weathered paint was an olive green with an off-white trim. Three short steps led to a porch with a white railing. Shrubs and plants garnished the landscape, but the garden sprouted wilted flowers with dried sprigs. Bruised plumeria blossom
s and dead leaves littered much of the property.

  Pako knocked on the door.

  Heavy footsteps on a wooden floor shortly approached.

  “Joseph Langley?” Pako asked. “I’m Detective Anzo.” Mr. Detective flashed his badge.

  Joseph squinted when he saw me.

  “This is Ginger Lee. You might remember her from the Duboits’ dinner party? Can we come in?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  The tall man moved aside to let us pass.

  The inside of the Langley home was as unkempt as the property. The floor looked swept, but boxes and just ‘stuff’ were everywhere. Maybe Joseph was in the middle of removing his wife’s and son’s belongings.

  The next thing my eyes darted to was the array of swords and knives mounted on the walls. From samurai swords, bayonets, sabers, ornamental knives, some vintage, some not—it was just a smorgasbord of all things cutting. Somebody was a serious collector.

  Joseph must have noticed my attention to his wall. “My father had that collection and passed it down to me. I would’ve passed them down to my son had he lived.” Solemnness gloomed his face.

  A chilling thought occurred to me. I wondered if his wife used one of those knives to end her life. A shiver ran through my spine. Why did I have to go there? Now I was going to be picturing all kinds of gruesome scenes.

  “I’m so sorry about your son, Mr. Langley,” I said, my eyes conveying my sincerity.

  “Please call me Joseph.”

  I touched his arm in a kind gesture. In that moment, an Egyptian man—a Sultan, with a sword and surrounded by buildings, bridges, mosques and a hell of a lot of cats—flashed before my eyes.

  I removed my hand from his arm and smiled.

  Joseph gestured for us to sit on his couch, so we did, while he sat across from us in a light gray easy chair. The poor man looked as though he were the last person left on the planet. His drawn face had dark bags under his eyes disclosing his sleepless nights. He had lost two members of his family recently. That had to be hard on him.

  “What can I do for you?” he asked.

  “We’d like to know more about Lester. Also, we’d like to check out his room. I take it he lived here with you?” Pako asked.

  The big man nodded.

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Was Lester depressed?” I let Detective Pako ask all the questions for now.

  “Yeah, of course he was. Who wouldn’t be when your life depended on a kidney transplant you couldn’t get. But he didn’t sulk around or wallow in self-pity every day, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

  Sounded as though Lester made the best of things. It wouldn’t be easy keeping a positive attitude when challenged with a life-threatening illness.

  “Did he show any suicidal tendencies?”

  “No. He wanted to live. He might’ve had moments of weakness where he’d want to give up, but he’d snap out of it. He was a fighter.”

  Joseph regarded Pako for a moment. “I was told this was a murder investigation. Wasn’t my son poisoned? I thought there was some evidence at the scene.”

  “We’re just checking every angle, sir. We’re not saying one way or the other what happened. We don’t have any conclusive evidence yet.”

  I kept silent while Pako asked his detective questions. They were what I would’ve asked anyway.

  “Do you know if your son had contact with any of the Duboits?”

  “Not that I’m aware of. We met them for the first time that night we went over for dinner. The only one I contacted before that was the wife. I doubt Lester had any contact with any of them. But then I don’t keep tabs on my boy 24/7, so if he did, I didn’t know about it.”

  “How did Fiona Duboit react when you first contacted her?”

  “I phoned her and told her our story. She wanted to see my wife’s suicide note, so I sent her a copy. She called me a few days later, and we talked about her helping us to get Lester that kidney transplant. She seemed nice enough and genuine about wanting to help.”

  “Is there anything else about Lester that you feel we should know?”

  “Don’t have much else I can say. He was a good boy. He didn’t complain much. But he did have a dark side.”

  That opened my eyes a bit wider.

  “He was into some kind of thing similar to voodoo. He called it some other name, but I can’t remember it. When I asked him if he stuck pins in dolls, he said no, it wasn’t like that; they did different kinds of things. But he didn’t get any more specific than that.”

  Joseph shifted in his seat.

  “He didn’t talk much about it with me. Quite frankly, I didn’t want to know. I told him as long as he didn’t bring that stuff into the house, I didn’t care what he did for his hobbies. Don’t know where he learned that stuff from.”

  Pako and I looked at each other. That bit of info was certainly a surprise.

  “Do you have anything to ask?” my detective friend asked me.

  I shook my head. Lester’s room was where I felt treasures into his life may be hidden and where we needed to be.

  I turned my attention to Joseph. “Can we see Lester’s room now?”

  “Sure.” The man stood up from his chair. “This way.”

  We followed closely behind.

  Lester’s room wasn’t what I had envisioned. Not after what Joseph had just told us about the voodoo-type hobby. But he did say he didn’t allow Lester to bring it into the house, so I guess that was why.

  Even so, if he was into voodoo-ish practices, wouldn’t his room feel dark and gloomy? Maybe I’ve just seen too many horror movies. There was certainly nothing strange going on in this room. Far from it. It looked like a typical boy’s room, but not that of a 20-something-year-old, more as though he were still thirteen.

  The room was painted in sky blue with a navy blue trim. A mobile of stars and planets hung from the ceiling, while posters of dwarven fantasy cloaked the walls. A bookshelf of paperbacks sat next to the window across from his bed. I spotted titles like The Hobbit, and The Lord of the Rings trilogy by J.R.R. Tolkien. Multiple dragon books by authors Weis and Hickman, a collection of George R.R. Martin novels, and a slew of other titles with ‘Orc’ and ‘Elf’ in them also lined the shelves.

  We opened drawers and closets, but nothing stood out that merited any special attention. There was nothing here. We had hit rock, not oil.

  There was no sense wasting anymore time, both ours and Joseph’s, so we figured it was time to head out.

  “Can I use your bathroom?” The water I drank at lunch had caught up with my bladder.

  “Down the hall on the other end, to the right,” Joseph said as he pointed out his instructions.

  After I had found relief, I walked toward the living room and noticed two framed photos on the wall in the hallway. A boy and a girl. The boy was obviously Lester at around eight years old. The girl’s photo was taken about the same age. Her brown eyes twinkled with her smile as dark brown curls swept around her cheeks and squared jaw, caressing her face. They were portrait-type photos in oval frames. I took out my cell and snapped a shot of the girl.

  Pako and Joseph were standing by the door chatting nonchalantly. Something about Joseph’s knife collection. Pako would be interested in that.

  I waited until they finished so as not to rudely interrupt, but as soon as there was an opening, I asked, “Do you have a daughter?”

  Joseph hesitated and stared blank-faced at me.

  “Umm, yes, but she died a long time ago.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

  The poor man, he had nobody left in his family. There were no other children’s photos on that wall, so he must’ve had only those two.

  “Shall we go?” Pako asked me.

  “Thank you so much for your time, Joseph. We truly appreciate it.” My smile was sweet and sincere.

  “Don’t mention it.”

  As Pako drove and I sat staring out the window, a thought hit me
. I sat upright in the passenger seat as though a pin pricked my butt.

  “Oh my god.” I stared at Pako.

  His attention turned from the road to me. “What?”

  “I have a hunch.”

  Turning the radio volume down, he said, “Well, spill it. Don’t leave me hanging.”

  I looked at him with my eyes gleaming as though I’d just discovered a rare, exotic gem. “We have to talk to Vogel’s girlfriend.”

  “Why? I thought you had ruled her out.”

  “I think she’s Joseph’s daughter.”

  “What? No way.”

  “Yes, way.”

  He gazed in my direction again. “Did she interact with the Langleys at the Duboits’ dinner?”

  “Well, no, but I did notice her and Lester glancing at each other every now and then. It seemed odd to me, but I dismissed it at the time.”

  “You think something kinky was going on with them?”

  “Gads, no! They weren’t ogling each other. It was nothing like that.” I wanted to laugh. His first thought would be something like that. I think a lot of guys have a side of kinkiness to their libido, even if it’s subconsciously. Too funny.

  “Look at the list. What’s her address?” he asked me.

  I pulled out the sheet from the binder and scanned the names.

  “I should call her first,” I said.

  “Why?”

  “Because you don’t just drop in on women. What if she’s in curlers and no makeup?” Okay, the curlers were a bit idiotic since it was in the middle of the afternoon, but I was making a point.

  “You wahines are so silly.”

  “Men don’t care about looking like a slob when unexpected guests show up, but most women care about those things. I hate it when people don’t call ahead.”

  “You’re just vain. I’ve seen you without makeup. What’s the big deal? You haven’t turned anybody to stone yet, have you?” He laughed.

  I sighed. He just didn’t get it. But he was right. It was pure vanity. I needed my makeup like those needing a cup of coffee in the morning. Why would it matter how I looked? Vanity. That’s the only honest answer.

  “Yeah, one day when my boobs touch the floor, and my skin is so wrinkled I look like a Shar-Pei, then I won’t care.”

  “Geez, thanks for that image. It’s forever burned in my brain now. Have I turned to stone yet?” He grinned at me. “By the way, your boobs have no mass to even sag, so what you worried about?”