Roland pulled the Paradise Produce business card out of his pocket and held it up. “Supposedly you gave this to the chef at the Goddess that morning.”
“Couldn’t have been me.” Keith shook his head.
“Your name is on the back,” Roland told him. He handed Daws the card.
Daws turned it over. “That’s my name, but it’s not my handwriting.”
His boss leaned forward to look at the card. Daws handed it to him. Edson turned it over, carefully studied the card front and back.
“We keep a box of these sitting right by the door downstairs for the drivers. Anyone could have come in and picked one up before one of us noticed.”
“The chef said you gave him a free crate of kale and Chinese parsley. Said you were trying to get him to start an account.”
“We don’t give out free samples,” Shihara said.
“Listen, all you have to do is show the guy my photo,” Daws said. “I was never there that morning. If he says I was, then he’s lying.”
“Which is why I requested photos of all of your drivers when I called,” Roland said.
“I have them right here.” The secretary had stopped pretending not to be listening. She opened a desk drawer, pulled out a manila envelope and handed it to Roland. He handed it to Em without opening it.
Then he stood up and so did Em. Roland thanked Shihara and Daws for their co-operation. Before he started down the stairs Roland paused, his expression thoughtful. He was studying Daws.
“Do all your drivers wear those shirts?” Roland asked Shihara. Roland’s notebook was out again, his pen poised above it.
“They do,” Edson nodded. “All the shirts are green with the company logo on the back.”
EM HELD HER silence as they crossed the parking lot to the car. She could tell Roland was lost in thought, no doubt going over the interview, putting the pieces together. Once they were in the car and she’d clicked her seat belt, she turned to him.
“I believe Daws,” she said.
He turned the key in the ignition. “Why?”
“He just seemed really sincere.” She shrugged. “I dunno why.”
“I think so too. I don’t think he was at the Goddess that morning.”
“You don’t think Kimo lied, do you?” There was no way she could be wrong about Kimo, but either he was lying or the veggie guy was. No one but Kimo had seen Daws there that day.
“No one saw any produce van that morning,” Roland said. “We have no car description. It would sure help if there was one person who could back Kimo up.”
“What now?”
“Now we eat.”
In two minutes they were back at Mark’s Place. Em’s car was right where she left it in the parking lot. They went inside, waited in line. If they’d come in before the interview there wouldn’t have been such a long wait, but Em decided it was worth it as she carried a plastic take-out box filled with a huge salad made with fresh greens out to the picnic tables in front. Roland swung his leg over the picnic bench and set down a katzu chicken plate lunch.
“I’m worried about Kimo,” she said.
“Nothing to worry about. I’ll show him the photo. I don’t think he’ll recognize Keith Daws.”
“Which leaves us with a bigger problem. Who would impersonate the veggie man? And why?”
“Maybe someone else from Paradise Produce. Someone trying to frame Daws.”
“Which is why you wanted photos of all the drivers.”
“Exactly.” He cut another bite of breaded fried chicken fillet, shoved it in his mouth, and chewed it up. “But Shihara already faxed me a schedule, and all of the other drivers and trucks were accounted for that morning. Supposedly none of them were on the North Shore until well after noon, and then it was just one truck and one driver.”
They ate in silence for a few minutes before Em remembered.
“So what’s the interesting detail about Marilyn?”
“We found her cell in the car and dried it out. She called someone named Orville Orion in the early morning hours just before she died. Does that seem odd? What’s their connection?”
Em picked up a tomato wedge with her fingers, dipped it in the plastic dressing cup.
“He’s a friend and a neighbor of hers. He was at the rehearsal party that night with a bunch of other Princevillians. He’s the president of their homeowners’ association.” She popped the tomato into her mouth.
“He called her a couple of times but didn’t leave messages. She called him back around 1:15 a.m.”
Em paused with her plastic fork halfway to her mouth. She lowered the fork.
“She called him that late?”
“Wasn’t that right before she left your place?”
She nodded. “She left the bar and went back to the house to get her iPad and . . .” Em suddenly paused.
“What?”
“It’s probably nothing.”
“But you’re thinking it might be something.”
“She said she was going back to the beach house to get her things and freshen up her makeup.”
“So?”
“So who freshens up makeup at one a.m. when they’re planning to go straight home?”
“So she could have been headed somewhere else.”
“Orville Orion’s place. Maybe she called to let him know she was on the way.”
“The night before her wedding,” he said.
“To my uncle.”
Roland glanced at his watch and downed two scoops of fried rice in six bites. Em could tell he was anxious to take off. She closed the lid on her salad container.
“I’ll take the rest home.” She finished what was left of her soda.
Roland got to his feet, empty take-out box in hand. He picked up her soda cup to toss it in a bin along with his rubbish and waited at the edge of the parking lot near the trash can.
“Thanks for lunch,” she said. “And for letting me sit in on the interview.”
“Don’t get any ideas about going into crime fighting on your own,” he told her, finally smiling.
“Don’t worry.”
“Where are you headed?”
“I have to go by the mortuary and pick up Marilyn.”
His eyebrows headed toward his hairline.
“She’s been cremated.”
“Ah.”
“I’m still trying to connect with her nephew. He finally called me back, but I missed him. He left a voicemail. I called him back and asked him to call me tonight around six, that’s around ten in the morning in India.”
“Good luck. I’ll probably see you soon. I’m going to head up to the Goddess with those photos of drivers and talk to Kimo again,” he said.
“What if he IDs Keith Daws?”
“Then one of them is lying big time.”
22
Back to the Looney Bin
“Okay, so . . .” Em looked at the cardboard box she’d belted into the passenger seat. “Why did you call Orville Orion at one fifteen in the morning a few hours before you were going to marry Uncle Louie? Answer me that, Marilyn.”
The box was silent.
“Freshen up your makeup? Really? Something’s up, and we’ll get to the bottom of it one way or another.”
Em started humming the old Blondie tune “One Way Or Another.” She was really into it the last quarter mile to the Goddess, tapping the steering wheel, singing at the top of her lungs, “I’m gonna get ’cha, get ’cha, get ’cha, get ’cha.”
She turned into the parking lot and instantly recognized Big Estelle’s van and the other Maidens’ cars.
“Welcome back to the loony bin.” She parked and unclicked the seat belt around the box. “Welcome home, Marilyn.”
; She waited until there was no one in the parking lot. Her flip flops slapped against the pavement as she hurried over to Louie’s office door. Inside, she opened one of the old rusted lateral file drawers still full of years of receipts she hadn’t gotten around to tossing or filing yet and tucked the box safely inside. Filing and organization were at the bottom of Louie’s things to do list. Marilyn would be perfectly safe in the drawer until Em went over to the house.
Trying to enter the bar without being noticed, she opened the interior door wide enough to slip out and discovered there was no need to worry about being noticed yet. Kiki had all the dancers gathered around tables, and they were deep into conversation. Precious was seated beside Kiki in front of the group. The LP was jotting down notes on pink lined paper.
“Here’s the name and phone number of our dressmaker.” Kiki handed Precious a slip of paper and Precious copied the information as Kiki kept talking.
“You’ll need to call her ASAP and tell her you’re a new member. She’ll make an appointment with you so that she can take your measurements and will keep them on file. You’ll only need half the fabric we do, so there’s probably enough left over yardage to make most of the costumes you’ll need.” Kiki turned to Suzi. “Do you have the list of dresses?”
Suzi nodded and turned on her iPad. “She’ll need the white ruffled muumuu, the turquoise gown with the taro leaves, the group pareau, the off the shoulder blood-red dress we just used for Kalua.”
“That’s a lot of dresses.” Precious stopped writing and looked at the women.
“Oh, there are even more. They aren’t cheap, either,” Flora assured her.
Em noticed Precious didn’t respond to Flora and figured there was probably no love lost after the Gatorade incident.
“So they’re expensive?” Kiki said. “So what? Cut some more hair. Raise your prices at the salon. We don’t let just anyone become a Hula Maiden.” Kiki lowered her voice. “Considering you were a good friend of Marilyn’s . . .”
“You do want to be a Maiden, don’t you?” Suzi paused with iPad in hand. “Because we can’t go wasting fabric if you’re going to up and quit right away. Have you thought about all the practicing you’ll have to do? Especially before a big show. Can you take time off work?”
“I own my own salon. I set my own hours,” Precious assured them.
“Just saying, it takes a big time commitment.”
“Right. So is that it? That’s all the dresses she’ll need?” Kiki was digging in her bag.
Suzi nodded. “That’s it for now. Do you think we’ll ever do the Kalua fire dance again?”
There was a gasp from Lillian whose arm was still bandaged. “My dress is singed. I think it’s ruined.”
“Singed? It could have gone up in flames. Thank goodness it was treated with fire retardant,” Big Estelle said. “Good thinking, Kiki.”
Kiki shrugged. “Of course. I believe there’s extra fabric.”
“So?” Suzi was waiting. Precious looked terrified.
“Not everyone will have to do the fire dance from now on.” Kiki bit her lip, thinking a minute. “Maybe just volunteers from the girls who’ve been dancing longest should handle flaming coconuts.”
“I’m out,” Lillian said.
“Me, too.” Precious appeared relieved.
Em walked over to where Sophie was drawing beer for three big guys seated at the bar staring at a TV mounted in the corner. They were watching a surf contest, completely ignoring the Maiden meeting.
“Did you pick up the package?” Sophie asked her.
“I did. Mission accomplished. I had lunch with Roland.”
Sophie paused to stare at her. “Really?”
“Nothing fancy. Take-out.”
“Still.”
“Yeah.” Em tipped her head toward the ongoing meeting. “How long has this been going on?”
“An hour. Precious decided she wants to learn hula, and the Maidens talked it over, and she’s going to join them. Kiki went over the history of the group . . .”
“Oh, no.”
“Oh, yes. That took about forty minutes. About halfway through, Little Estelle threw the Gadabout into gear and roared out, sloshing her Blue Hawaii all over the floor. Said she was going to wait for Big Estelle on the beach.”
“Have you seen Roland?”
Sophie said no. “Is he coming up here?”
“He needs to talk to Kimo again.”
“Don’t let Kiki know. She’s worried.”
“I can’t say as I blame her.”
“Has Roland got a lead?”
“All I can say is that he found out someone’s lying big time,” Em said.
Sophie glanced toward the kitchen door. “I hope it’s not Kimo.”
“You and me both.”
EM WAS IN the office when Roland finally walked in. She’d just copied Orville Orion’s name and phone number out of the phone book.
“I thought you’d get here long before me,” she said.
“I thought so too, but they needed someone near Kalaheo, and the guys on patrol were stretched pretty thin. I answered the call.”
“Not a murder, I hope.”
“Nope. Seems like those are reserved for the North Shore.”
“Not funny. Robbery?”
He shook his head no. “You know the place on the makai side of the road with the big Jesus Coming Soon sign on the roof?”
“Uncle Louie said it’s been there since the seventies.”
“At least. Some guy convinced himself Jesus really is coming soon. He took a beach chair and climbed up on the roof to wait. He wouldn’t come down.”
“What did you do?”
“The fire department was already there, but he wasn’t budging. I climbed up and finally convinced him that if he didn’t come down that we’d forcibly remove him, and if I threw him in jail he’d miss the second coming.”
“So . . .”
“He climbed down.”
“Don’t you wish all your cases were that easy.”
“For sure.” He was carrying the envelope of photos. “Kimo here?”
“In the kitchen. Would you like me to have him come in?”
“Sure.” He looked around at all the framed photos of Uncle Louie with famous dignitaries, movie stars, and royalty who had visited the Goddess at one time or another. “I’m starting to feel like this is my annex.”
“Good thing there’s never much actual work going on in here.” She went to get Kimo and then went back into Louie’s office with him. Roland didn’t ask her to leave so she tried to disappear into the board and batten wall paneling.
Roland had the photos spread out over the desk. He greeted Kimo and then asked, “Recognize any of these guys?”
“None of ’em,” Kimo said after taking his time to study each photo.
“None?”
“Not one.”
Em was so relieved she wanted to hug him. She didn’t make a peep.
“What’s up?” Kimo asked Roland.
“These are all the Paradise Produce sales and delivery men.”
Kimo shook his head. “The guy I met had on a brown shirt, like the UPS man.”
“And that’s who gave you the card.”
“Right. And the kale and Chinese parsley.”
Roland picked up a photo. “This is the real Keith Daws.”
“That’s not the one who was here.”
“Then somebody is impersonating a Paradise Produce deliveryman,” Roland said. “Somebody who doesn’t even have the right color shirt.”
“Why?” Kimo wondered aloud.
“To get into the kitchen?” The question popped out of Em without warning.
Kimo and Roland had obviou
sly forgotten she was there.
“Just detecting. Sorry,” she said.
“Go on,” Roland said.
“Maybe whoever killed Bobby that morning came here looking for something else, and Bobby got in the way.”
“Looking for what?” Roland started to pile up the photographs.
“My sashimi knife?” Kimo scratched his head.
“I have no idea,” Em said. “It’s just a thought.” She was still so relieved that Kimo hadn’t pointed out Keith Daws she had to really focus.
“So who killed Bobby Quinn and why?” Roland shoved the photos back into the envelope. “I’m starting to think that his murder must be connected to the murder of Esther Villaviejos.”
“The maid at the resort,” Kimo said.
Roland nodded. “Bobby was staying out there. Let’s say he met Esther, and they had an affair. When Victor Villaviejos found out, he came here and killed Bobby. His wife suspected and confronted him, so then he killed her and got off the island.”
“You said the maid was thirty-nine. Bobby was a good ten years younger, if not more.”
“She was still good looking, a little frazzled though.”
“She had a problematic husband. Anyone would look frazzled,” Em said.
“How did Villaviejos get off the island?” Kimo asked.
“Boat?” Roland replied.
“You have a photo of him?” Kimo asked. “Maybe he posed as the deliveryman.”
Roland used his cell phone to have Villaviejos’ DMV photo emailed to him. When it came through he showed it to Kimo.
“He has dark hair like the guy I talked to, but that picture’s not very clear,” Kimo said. “I can’t tell for sure.”
Kimo went back to the kitchen. Em was alone again with Roland.
“What now?” she asked.
“I’m going to stop by Mr. Orion’s on my way back to town.”
“I’d love to be a fly on the wall for that.” She didn’t ask if she could ride along.
“I’d rather talk to him alone. He might not open up in front of you.”
“Will you let me know what he says? I know you’re not obligated. I promise I’d never do anything to jeopardize the case.”
“I’ll call you as soon as I get a chance.”
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