by Kay Hadashi
“Tell Ota he can put on a dress and pack his own heat next time.”
He locked the small pistol in the glove compartment. “Not that there’s much heat in this thing.”
“Where would you expect me to put it in this dress, anyway? Not like I have any pockets.”
“It would fit in your bra,” he said.
“Bra?”
“You mean…”
“I tried wearing one, but it got too crowded. Let’s just say I can’t risk splitting a seam.” They got started on the road.
“The point of wearing something so tight?” he asked.
“Doing my best to give Honey Breathe-hard a run for her money.” She checked his face for a reaction. “I need to get Oscar’s attention somehow. What better way than wearing a dress that fits like this?”
While they drove, Brock primed Maile for priorities in Ota’s investigation, and a reminder to focus on Swenberg. It took a solid hour to get from Manoa to Hawaii Kai, even in Sunday traffic. The upscale residential area surrounded channels of water that fanned out like fingers. Long cul-de-sacs extended into each finger, with a single row of houses along each side. The townhouses were grand in luxury if not in size. Most had a little dock on the water, often with a ski boat or cabin cruiser moored. Luxury European cars sat in driveways.
“Different lifestyle here than in my crappy little neighborhood,” Maile muttered.
Brock eased the sedan down the street, which was filled with cars along both sides. Turning around at the end, Maile spotted Oscar Swenberg’s place. It was one of the few with walls along each side, with leafy tropical landscaping filling the front. Hedges of bougainvillea and palms provided security and privacy along the front, lending a sense of hidden tropical elegance.
“I could never even dream of living there.”
Brock parked and opened her door for her. “Well, for one afternoon, you can get a taste of it. Any questions before we go in?”
“Just a few butterflies.” Maile shifted the dress over her body to get the fit right. She still wasn’t sure about the delicate scarf going with her outfit, but she left it alone. “I feel like it’s opening night at the opera.”
“That’s better than how I’m feeling.”
“Hey, you’re the guy I’m supposed to be leaning on,” she muttered as they walked along the sidewalk. “There’s a whole new set of rules in this game from what I’m used to dealing with.”
They were stopped at the driveway by two burly bouncers asking for their names to check on a clipboard.
“Brad Henley and date,” Brock said.
“Date’s name?” When Maile didn’t answer, the bouncer looked up at her. “Your name?”
“Oh, me.” She swallowed hard, already losing the game. “Mai…” After giving the name some thought, she started again. “Mary Sp…ell…man.”
The bouncer seemed to do an internal eye roll, but wrote her name on the guest list. When he nodded for them to enter, Brock took Maile by the arm and led her toward the front door. She could hear the music before they were even in the house. They took a warm-up lap around the gardens to settle nerves.
“Mary Spellman?” he whispered. “That’s the best you could come up with?”
“I didn’t know I needed an alias. Who’s Brad Henley?”
“My first partner on the force. He was my senior trainer.”
“You guys swap names like that? Isn’t it risky?”
“I doubt he minds.”
“Why?” Maile asked. She liked the feel of her arm through his.
“He died in the line of duty a few years ago.”
“Oh, sorry. How?”
“Shot during a stakeout.”
With a shudder, she let loose of his arm. “I’m going to find something to drink. Can I bring your something?”
“On duty,” he whispered. “So are you.”
“Okay if I have a ginger ale?”
“Just don’t let it go to your head.”
Before leaving, she asked, “How’d you get your name on the invite list, anyway?”
“Connections.”
“Maybe that’s something I should know for when people ask me who I know that got me into Swenberg’s party?”
“Lenny the snitch.”
Chuckling, she left Brock behind in the garden. “Great, Lenny gets paid for doing nothing, and I’m here for the ginger ale.”
Spotting Honey—AKA Laurie—in the middle of the living room, Maile kept a wide perimeter, weaving between other women that were listening to how Honey struck gold once she signed on with Swenberg Talent. From what Maile could see, Honey was putting her biggest assets on display for everyone to see.
“Whatever. She struck gold when she had her assets done.”
Instead of the ginger ale, she got a white wine spritzer, which didn’t last long. That was replaced by the ginger ale, which she took for a walk through the house. Ota wanted her to ask questions, but her agenda was to look for the box that Carl had taken into the water at Hanauma Bay a few weeks before. Maile figured that if she could find it on the premises, it would be the smoking gun. She joined up with a group of women even more scantily clad than she was on a self-guided tour of the bedrooms. ‘Sloppy’ was the term that kept coming to Maile’s mind in describing how some of them would be after they’d had a few drinks. It hit her then how completely opposite this place was from the church service she’d avoided that morning.
Nowhere did she see the Swenberg Box, as she’d come to call it, sitting out on a cabinet or chest of drawers, on bookshelves or in cubbies. The last place to look was back in the living room, where Honey was no longer holding court. Instead, pot had shown up and joints were being passed around. Taking a fast lap through the room, scanning for the box as she went, she got outside before she ran out of breath.
Brock was there in the shade of the patio. “Learn anything?”
“Yeah.”
He turned to face her. “What?”
“I’m going to get a job as a false eyelash installer. That’s where all the money is.”
He smiled his reply. “Seen Swenberg?”
“Only Honey Spank-my-bottom. She was putting a few secrets on display.”
“Will you just…” He shook his head, grinning. “Why don’t you try milling around by the yacht while I go in the house.”
“You won’t pass a workplace drug test when you come out again,” she muttered. She walked down the flagstone walkway to where the yacht was moored. That’s where she found Honey holding court with a new group of overdone femme fatales. This time, Honey was going on about how she and Oscar were planning a trip around the islands on the yacht, which included snorkeling in secluded coves.
That sounded familiar to Maile. Was he going to look for something in a giant head of coral, something like a box? Or was that too simple of a deduction?
A few of the women were going onto the yacht for a tour. In her heels, Maile took crossing the gangplank into the yacht one step at a time. If she were to slip and fall off, she’d have a major wardrobe malfunction, belying a few secrets of her own. She was helped down to the non-skid deck by hands of strangers, one or two of which groped a little too much for her tastes.
The boat tilted and bobbed in the water, not from waves but from unevenly distributed people beginning to dance. Once she had her sea legs, her heels acting a little like a pirate’s peg legs, she went around the yacht, feeling the smoothly polished wood, checking out the furnishings, and peering over the side to look for fish in the water. The boat had a mast for sails, but also large engines below the deck, something she learned by listening to a talk being given to a small group of men. Edging around the group, she discovered it was Oscar Swenberg, the host. They made eye contact for a moment, and Maile thought she saw a coy smile on his face just as he broke contact to resume his seafarer’s lecture.
“Bingo,” she told herself. “I knew this dress would work.”
Instead of waiting around for him to break
free from his gang of wannabe mariners, she went in search of Honey, who was now aboard the vessel. If the man was discussing powerful engines, the woman should be showing off the bedroom, Maile figured. She went to the cabin steps and descended.
With little ventilation, the air was stuffy below the deck. Maile removed her silk scarf, allowing for just a little more air to get to her skin. She wanted to blot her face, but silk doesn’t absorb much, and she’d worn a little makeup that day. All she could do was fan her face with the paper-thin scarf.
“So, um, this is actually called the berth of the cabin,” Honey said in an ultra-sweet voice that Maile didn’t remember Laurie having. It was something else fake about her. Added onto the trailing end of her statement was a giggle. “It’s where we sleep, and you know, whatever else we do out at sea.”
Maybe the ladies that were down there already had plenty to drink, but they all giggled. Just like with Oscar, Maile caught Honey’s eyes and smiled.
“Oh, hello. We have a newcomer,” Honey said. “What’s your name, hon?”
“Mary. Sorry to interrupt your tour. I just wanted to take a peek in the cabin. It looks very comfortable.”
Maile turned to make her way up the ladder-like steps to the main deck. Before she left, she noticed there were only two beds, both of them narrower than single mattresses. Wondering if something folded out to make a larger bed, she started up the ladder of steps. On his way down was Oscar. His group of cronies had departed, leaving him alone.
“Greetings,” he said. He blocked her way out. “I’m Oscar. Have we met?”
“Only in my dreams,” Maile said. Now that she’d made contact, she’d have to make it worthwhile. That meant she’d have to flirt with him, whether her mother liked it or not. “Oh, wait! I didn’t mean it that way. I meant I dream of living in a place like yours. And your boat is wonderful.”
“I’ve been fortunate. But your hand is empty. Can I get your something to drink?”
“I’ve already had something at the house, and I’m afraid that I might take a tumble with the boat rocking back and forth like this.”
In fact, the boat was rocking more than she first realized and needed to steady herself by hanging onto a handgrip. When a motorboat of some sort passed by in the channel outside, it made the yacht tilt and careen even more, bumping Maile into a doorframe. It looked like Oscar pretended to fall forward, stopping his gentle fall by grabbing the doorframe close to her hand. Their hands met, and he made a point of looking into her eyes for a moment a little too long.
Maile moved her hand to another spot. “Dangerous in here.”
“A yacht can be much more dangerous than some people realize.”
“Especially below deck. You know, where there’s privacy.”
Taking her arm, he took her to the galley in the opposite direction as the sleeping berth. “I only have wine here on the boat. Is that good enough? I can send someone back to the house for something else?”
“Wine would be fine.”
He opened a bottle of Californian white. “This is actually a yacht, not a boat. They’re not exactly the same.”
“Oh? That’s interesting.”
“In a way, it is a boat. You see, all craft are considered boats, but not all boats are yachts.”
“With that big tall mast on it, I would’ve called this a sailboat,” she said, taking the glass of wine from him. They touched glasses before sipping. Instead of a glassy clink, it was a clack that an unbreakable material would make.
“It could be called that, also. You’re not a sailor?”
“Afraid not. I’m a landlubber. That’s a word, right?”
“I don’t think people use it much anymore. Are you here with someone?”
“A new boyfriend, if you can even call him that. I’m not sure how he was invited. I think he has some sort of boat at the Ala Wai Marina.”
“Maybe we can all go sailing together some time. What do you do?”
“For work?” This was something else Maile wasn’t prepared for. She was still a little surprised she’d gotten a private audience with Oscar so easily. Coming up with a quick idea that was only half phony, she rubbed her ring finger. “I was married, until the old man passed on. I never knew until after he was gone how well off we were. Complete tightwad while he was alive. Now, I’m just trying to figure out what to do with my life.”
“Sorry for your loss. Some widows continue to wear their ring after…sorry.”
“No, it’s okay. I’m over it, mostly. I’m hoping to someday meet someone else, and I’ve found that’s pretty hard to do while wearing a ring. Not that my so-called boyfriend cares.”
“You’re still living in town?” he asked.
“Kahala, near Diamond Head Point. Too much for just me. All the rest of my family has gone to the mainland. Just me, now.” She’d decided masquerading as the lonely, young widow was best in order to lead the conversation. She hoped she wasn’t rushing the topic, but she knew Honey would show up eventually and take him away. “What about you? Do you have family here?”
“They’re all gone. Well, I shouldn’t say that. I have a couple of brothers, but it’s been so long since I’ve seen them, I’m not sure I could recognize them.”
Bingo! “That’s so sad! What’re their names?”
He cocked his head and gave her a serious look. “You’re not a reporter crashing the party, are you? Because I’ve had enough of these so-called investigative journalists, inviting themselves into my life, only to get a few pieces of dirt, and then slam my name in the media. They always seem to be sent by a rival company.”
She forced a giggle. “No, I assure you I’m not a reporter. Not my favorite people, either. They never seem to have any good news to report, you know?”
“Not that I ever see,” he said.
She risked reaching out to straighten his collar. “So, it sounds like we’re a couple of orphans. What do orphans do for fun?”
“They find girlfriends like me,” someone said right behind Maile. The voice had a note of irritation to it. “And girlfriends turn into wives.”
Maile turned around when Oscar introduced Honey and shook her hand. A giant engagement ring was waved in front of Maile’s face.
“You’re engaged?” Maile asked. “That’s wonderful!”
Honey glanced at Oscar, who was busy refilling his wine glass. “Not officially, but it’s only a matter of time.” Honey giggled. “And the right persuasion.”
“But you’re wearing that beautiful ring.”
“What’re they called?” Honey asked. “Promise rings?”
“Very sweet. So old-fashioned. But sometimes all it takes is the right persuasion to make it official,” Maile said, trying to force a giggle of her own. It didn’t work.
By then, Oscar had stepped away to welcome new visitors to his yacht.
“You look familiar,” Honey said, after searching Maile’s face with her eyes.
“I’m pretty sure this is the first time we’ve met. I think I’d remember otherwise. Never been to Oscar’s house before, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Who’s your plastic guy?”
“Plastic guy?” Maile asked back.
“Who did your face?”
“Oh.” Maile touched her cheek without thinking. “Doctor Maybelline.”
“Maybelline? I haven’t heard of…oh, I get it!” Honey tittered an annoying laughed. “Have we worked together?”
“I don’t work in entertainment.”
“You grew up here?” Honey asked, still searching Maile’s face.
“Lanikai.”
“Which high school?”
Maile felt like she was getting the third degree. Honey was proving to be as tough of an interrogator as Detective Ota. Or maybe she was on to Maile’s secret identity. “Kailua High.”
“Did you know a gal there named…”
Maile knew very few people from Kailua High School or Lanikai, having grown up on the opposite
side of the island. She’d had nursing school classmates and workmates at the hospital from windward Oahu, but just like Maile, they ran in entirely different social circles than Honey or Oscar.
Oscar returned to interrupt just in time. He took a business card from his pocket and wrote something on the back to give to Maile. “Honey, maybe we should let our guest see the yacht on her own while we go back to the house. Maybe she’ll want to come on a cruise with us some time?”
Maile breathed a sigh of relief that she had escaped Honey’s inquisition, and the trouble that was sure to come with her answers. As far as she could tell, Honey—Laurie—hadn’t recognized her. She finished her wine in two quick swallows, and not knowing what else to do with the glass, rinsed it and hung it in the rack where it came from. By the time she was up on deck again, she saw Oscar and Honey halfway across the lawn to the house, and her chances for getting any more information from him now gone.
Chapter Eight
“Well, that was a bust,” Maile said, as they left the neighborhood. “Is it always as hard as that?”
“Hard as what?” Brock asked.
“Trying to corner someone long enough to pry information out of them.”
“Not so easy doing police work, is it?”
“No, especially when you go on a stakeout and no one feeds you. I thought there’d at least be sushi. All I ever saw was booze.”
“I heard a blender whirring at one point. Should’ve been a few calories in whatever they were whipping up.”
“I saw one girl relieve herself of that stuff over the side of the boat. It looked to me like too much dancing on a sailboat rocking back and forth, along with whatever green stuff she’d had to drink, ended up not being a good combination.” Maile felt her stomach grumble for food. “Speaking of empty stomachs, do I at least get a meal out of this little caper?”
“Ota could meet us somewhere to debrief what we learned at the party.”
“Fine, but not at Chop Suey City.”
“What’s wrong with that place?”
Maile thought of the waitress she had a dislike for, one that acted too friendly to Brock. “Too much competition.”