Vacations Can Be Murder: The Second Charlie Parker Mystery

by Connie Shelton

  The argument had ended with Page out cold on the floor, and Steiner being escorted to the drunk tank.

  I flipped the film back a few more days, but there was no further mention of the incident. I wondered whether it truly was a random bar fight, or had Gil and Steiner known each other?

  Even so, I wasn't sure how this new twist would help Mack. It still didn't alter the fact that Mack had admittedly been one of the last to see Gil alive, and that no one had yet brought Steiner's name into the picture. Not one of the people who had been around the maintenance hangar that night had placed Steiner there.

  Once again, I considered tracking Steiner down and questioning him. Again, I couldn’t seem to formulate questions that would make much sense.

  I switched off the microfiche reader and thanked the girl for her time.

  Back in my car, I debated where to go next. Without a better plan, I headed toward a little shopping area near the hotel to look for gifts for those back home. The various implications of the case roared around in my head, not solving anything, but not leaving me alone either.

  Finding a parking space at the small mini-mall of shops took about ten minutes—three passes through the parking lot before someone vacated a spot. I took advantage of their leaving, cutting off a sports car full of college kids.

  Situated in a center courtyard around which the twenty or thirty shops held ranks, I located a cluster of pay phone. I dialed Bill Steiner’s helicopter company, realizing that he would probably be out on a flight. To my surprise the receptionist put me right through to him. I briefly introduced myself and my purpose.

  “I ain’t talkin’ to no one who’s working’ for Mack Garvey,” his voice informed me harshly. “Talk to my lawyer.”

  “Wait!” I paused to be sure he hadn’t hung up. “I just wanted to ask a quick question or two—not about Mack.” I rushed the words out.

  He didn’t say anything, which I took as a go-ahead.

  “Did you know Gil Page before the night you got into the fight with him in the bar?”

  “Huh? Look, lady, I don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about.”

  “Never mind.” I thanked him and hung up. I believed him. And I’d known the theory was far-fetched.

  My hand rested on the inert phone receiver, my eyes staring out at nothing for a full three minutes, until I realized that a woman was waiting to use the phone.

  “Sorry.” I turned away.

  I spent the next hour at the crowded little tourist trap, stocking up on goodies to take home with me. Kona coffee for Elsa; macadamia nut chocolates for Ron—although he certainly doesn't need them; ball caps for his three kids. I also picked up a dozen postcards. If I mailed them this afternoon, they'd probably arrive in New Mexico within a week after I did.

  I strolled through a couple of the other shops in the little strip where I bought the treats, admiring the silks and hand painted clothing, wondering whether I should get myself a little something, too.

  Halfway down the row, I paused before a window, staring but not seeing.

  Holy shit, I thought. How blind could I have been?

  The mannequin in the window was wearing a lime green bikini with the matching jacket. That's what was missing from my room last night.

  I'd never returned Susan's jacket to her as I intended, but it wasn’t there after the break-in.

  I froze to the spot, my mind dancing.

  What was the connection? Susan didn't know I had the jacket. But, Catherine did. She had seen me take it from the pool, although I hadn't said anything to her about it. She would have probably assumed it was mine.

  And, what about Joe? If he had dropped the fuse from the maintenance hangar in my room, why did he take the jacket? What about his professed love for Catherine?

  If he thought he was protecting her, how did the jacket fit in?

  I had absentmindedly watched Catherine pack her suitcase this morning. If the green jacket had been among her things, surely I would have noticed it.

  And how did Catherine's being mugged tie in with the demolition of my room and the theft of the jacket?

  There were too many questions without answers, and it was beginning to make my head hurt.

  I headed back to the Westin. At the front desk they informed me that Susan Turner had checked out early this morning. Catherine Page had not left yet. It was only three-thirty. She had left her wake-up call for five-thirty, so I assumed she would still be asleep.

  In my room, I sat down to write out a few postcards. My thoughts refused to settle down, though, and I ended up writing a few lines of banality on each. I did write a brief paragraph about Drake to Elsa Higgins.

  Within a few minutes, I had the postcards finished, and was feeling restless. I thought about Steiner, and the fact that he'd had at least one blowup with Page. But would that provide motive for a murder almost a year and a half later? I doubted it. His apparent confusion when I’d mentioned Page’s name made me believe that he didn’t even remember the incident.

  Catherine's admission this morning that Joe had been in love with her kept tugging at my attention. It certainly gave Joe a strong motive. Especially if he got wind of the reaming out Gil had given Catherine over the phone that same evening. He said he'd overheard the discussion between Gil and Mack. I paced to the balcony. The fresh wind calmed me only slightly and I turned back inside.

  Maybe Gil’s phone conversation with Catherine had come to light. One by one, the puzzle pieces were beginning to come together. The answer was here, close.

  I needed to talk to Joe, to see his reaction to my new knowledge. But, the man intimidated me, and I didn't relish confronting him alone. If I waited until Drake was through flying, maybe he'd go with me.

  The late afternoon sun shone from under gray clouds and hit my glass door in a pink-gold shaft. I might still be able to find Joe at the heliport. There should certainly be people around, in case of trouble. I could always call Akito, and tell him my theory. Somehow, though, I didn't think he would welcome it. He was still set on the idea that Mack was the guilty man.

  Until I had proof, I'd rather leave him out of it.

  Pacing around the room wasn’t helping, though. I had to do something. I closed the drapes and left a light on, then made sure I had securely locked the door. The elevator seemed to take forever, adding to my sense of urgency.

  Outside, the sky had an eerie twilight feel to it. Although the sun wasn't quite down yet, the clouds had thickened considerably. I put the top up on the car, started it, and headed out to Rice Street.

  Traffic was heavy, people rushing to get home at the end of a long day. I left most of them behind when I made the turn toward the airport.

  I cruised slowly past the pads at the heliport. All the helicopters were in, lined up in a neat row, their rotor blades tied down for the night.

  All except Drake's ship.

  I glanced at my watch. Surely, he should have been in by now. The thread of anxiety which had run loosely through me all day cinched itself into a tight knot.

  The maintenance hangar looked quiet—too quiet. The helicopter wasn't there, nor was Joe's red pickup truck. I didn't like the feel of it. The puzzle pieces that had eluded me all afternoon suddenly fell into place. My gut clenched as I realized the killer had probably gotten away.

  Where was Drake?

  The clouds which had earlier gathered in clumps over the mountains had now spread into an even layer covering the sky like a heavy gray camping tarp. The wind whipped bits of debris across the ramp, the chain link fence catching the biggest of them. A ripped potato chip bag flew past my ankles as I got out of the car. I shoved my purse under the seat, slipping my car keys into my pocket.

  The guard was not in his enclosure, and the gate was standing wide open. Something wasn’t right. I remembered seeing a phone in the maintenance hangar. If I could get in, I would call Paradise's office to see if Drake had radioed in.

  The walk-in door was closed, but as I got nearer, I n
oticed the big sliding doors stood open about a foot. I felt a spatter of rain as I approached them, and heard thunder in the distance. Inside, the hangar was dark except for a single fluorescent fixture suspended over the workbench.

  My flat loafers made hollow sounds as I walked across the empty room, like a premonition of danger in a scary movie. The background music usually gets intense at that point. I tried to tiptoe, but the shoes only slipped off my heels, making more noise than ever.

  What was I so jittery for?

  The telephone sat on the bench. It was so encrusted with greasy fingerprints, I couldn't tell what color it had been originally. I looked down at my clothes. White had not been a good color choice. How many hours ago had I gotten dressed? I reached for the slimy receiver. Bringing it near my face made me almost choke.

  Luckily, I remembered the phone number for Paradise.

  "Paradise Helicopters," Melanie answered. Did I imagine a high-pitched edge to her voice?

  "Melanie, it's Charlie. Is anything wrong?"

  "Oh hi, Charlie. I don’t know . . . I can't raise Drake on the radio, and he's already thirty minutes late."

  "I'm at the maintenance hangar, and nobody is here; at least I can’t see anyone. Is Mack around?" I found myself trying to sound normal, not wanting to let her edginess get to me.

  "No, he had a meeting with his attorney. He's been gone all afternoon." She sounded about ready to cry.

  "What's your normal procedure in a case like this?" I asked. My own voice sounded shaky to me, and I forced myself to slow down. No sense in both of us going into a panic.

  "I don't know. Nothing like this has ever happened before," she whined.

  "Okay, Melanie, calm down. We have to think. Do you have a list of emergency phone numbers there somewhere?"

  I heard a lot of paper-crinkling noises before she answered. "You mean like the FAA, the control tower, those kind of numbers?"

  "That would be good for a start anyway. Also, why don't you try..."

  "Put the phone down. He's not coming back." The harsh voice behind me made me jump, sending my heart crashing loudly into my ribcage.

  I carefully lowered the receiver, placing it on its cradle at an angle so I wouldn't break the connection. I prayed that ditzy Melanie would have enough smarts to realize I was in trouble. I turned slowly, shielding the telephone with my body.

  Susan stood about ten feet from me, gripping a wrench almost the size of Delaware.

  She was wearing her green jacket.

  Susan. She hadn’t left the island after all. I wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved to terrified.

  Why, until a few minutes ago, hadn't I seriously considered her as a suspect? Because she had seemed so broken up over Gil's death? Because her alibi had checked out?

  "Why isn't Drake coming back, Susan?" I raised my voice slightly, hoping Melanie was getting all this.

  "Sugar in the gas tank," she answered. "I had to get rid of him." She laughed derisively at me. "You, miss smart-ass detective, you don't know anything. Your fly-boy lover was closer to figuring it out than you were."

  That stung. Especially since I didn't know what the heck she was talking about. I wasn't about to give her the satisfaction of asking, so I let her continue.

  "I was almost out of here twice now, and didn't make it because that creep screwed it up. The day after I killed Gil, I planned on getting out right away. I figured no one would find his body where I left it. Then Drake changed his flight pattern, and the whole mess came to light. I was really pissed when the cops wouldn't let me leave.

  “I hung around here for days of questions, being as cool as I could about it, until I finally got my chance this morning. I'm booked on the first flight out, and I'm loading my stuff into the car when your lover comes out to the parking lot. I couldn't believe it. His truck was parked right next to me.

  "I could tell, the minute he said hello, that something went off in his head. He stared at my rental car, and I knew he'd made the connection. If Gil drove the rental car out to the hangar to meet Mack on Friday night, how did the car get back to the hotel parking lot Saturday morning for me to use? He didn't say anything, but I knew that he knew."

  "So, why didn't you head straight for the airport this morning and beat it out of here?"

  "And be hauled back here the minute he told his story? No way. Plus, I wasn't sure how much you knew. For all I knew, once you figured out my jacket was the only thing missing from your room, I was probably the subject of your pillow talk last night. I followed you around all morning, but never could catch you alone.

  “After awhile, I figured that you really didn't know, or else you would have run straight to the police. I came back out to the heliport, and watched for my chance. Paradise apparently didn't have an early afternoon flight booked, because Drake didn't come right back after lunch. I waited until no one was paying attention, and sneaked out to the helicopter. I figured some sugar in the fuel tank would do the trick."

  I remembered Drake telling me that if a helicopter's engine quits, they execute a procedure called autorotation to bring it down safely. He said they practiced it regularly. There was still hope, but I wasn't going to tell Susan.

  Susan was swinging the heavy wrench up and smacking it softly into the palm of her left hand. I had to keep her talking.

  "So, you broke into my room to get your jacket back. Why? Wouldn't it have been simpler to just ask me for it?"

  "I couldn't take the chance that you'd looked through the pockets. If you had, you'd know that there was a cashier's check in there for a quarter mil."

  "Whoa! Two hundred fifty thousand, spendable?"

  "Gil had given it to me our first night here. The money was for me to get my health club built. You almost had me there, too, you know. When you got back from California, I was surprised you didn't say anything about it."

  Why hadn't I? Oh yes, Catherine Page had walked up, and a distracted Susan had beat a hasty retreat from the pool.

  “You carried a huge cashier’s check around in your pocket? Why didn’t you keep it in the hotel safe?”

  “Gil might have been able to get it back,” she answered

  I kept stalling. “You could have mailed it back to California. I don’t know, Fed Ex or something.”

  She shifted from one foot to the other, a tiny crease of uncertainty appearing between her brows. It didn’t matter at this point anyway. I just needed to keep her talking.

  "So, if you had the money, why did you have to kill Gil?"

  "To keep it. Remember, I told you he and Catherine had argued terribly over the phone. Well, toward the end of that fight, I heard him tell her that he would get the money for Jason's race car from another source. I knew that other source was either Mack Garvey or me. It made me so mad to hear him give in to Catherine like that, I told myself he wouldn't get the money back from me."

  "So you went with him to the hangar?"

  "Yeah. I offered to ride out there with him, to kinda calm him down after the fight with Catherine. He thought I was being considerate."

  "But the hotel verified that you ordered a movie in your room."

  "All you have to do with those pay-per-view movies is turn on the TV set to the right channel. They automatically bill you for the movie. So, as Gil and I were leaving, I switched on the TV, and hung out the 'Do Not Disturb' sign. I told him I wanted it to look like we were in, in case the maid came around. We had parked near one of the hotel's side entrances, so we didn't walk out through the lobby. No one saw us leave, and no one saw me return two hours later."

  "So, you came to the hangar with him, and waited for your chance."

  "We drove up and parked. I told Gil I'd wait for him in the car. Mack Garvey came pulling in about then, but he parked at the other end of the lot, and didn't see me. Gil and Mack walked up to the gate about the same time, and the guard let them in. Then the place really started hopping. Some girl drove up, and went over to talk to the guard. I couldn't hear what they were s
aying, but she looked real upset, and he finally steered her back to her car, and the two of them drove off.

  "I was in a dark part of the lot, and they didn't see me sitting in my car. They were no sooner gone, than I saw that mechanic that works for Mack. The one that always looks like he has a burr up his rear. He came walking around the side of the hangar, and when he got to the door, he stopped. He looked like he was listening to whatever was going on inside for awhile, then he beat it out to the parking lot, and took off in his truck."

  So Joe had told the truth.

  "I thought I better find out for myself what was going on. The mechanic hadn't pulled the gate tight, so I walked on in, and stood near the door so I could see through a little crack, and hear what was going on. Gil and Mack were going at it. Finally, Mack told Gil flat out that he didn't have any money. If Gil wanted to take the helicopter, fine, he'd have to take it by force. Mack just turned around, and walked out, leaving Gil standing there. I ducked into a dark shadow just before he came outside.

  "By then, I realized it's now or never. Gil was going to try to get the money from me, since Mack didn't have any. I slipped into the hangar. He had his back turned, and it was a simple matter to pick up the handiest heavy object, and whack him with it."

  "But, once he was dead, wasn't he heavy? How'd you move him?" I thought I heard a police siren in the distance, but I couldn't be sure.

  The wind had picked up, whistling through the rusted holes in the old metal building. I didn't like the way she swung the wrench a little more firmly as she got closer to the end of her story.

  Susan looked at me scornfully. "Heavy? I can bench-press two hundred pounds," she said. "His size made it a little awkward, but the weight was nothing."

  Nothing. Sure. I wanted to slap the smirk off her face, but I didn't want to break my hand doing it. I really was going to have to start working out—if I made it out of here in one piece.

  "So, how did you get him out to the Na Pali? Or, is flying helicopters another of your many talents?"

  Again, I thought I heard a siren, but the wind blew the sound away. Rain was beginning to drum on the metal roof, and we both raised our voices to be heard.