I thought about it for a moment. I needed to get to bed early since I'd need to be up before dawn for the Classic. But something was niggling at my mind. "Phil!" I said and realized belatedly that I'd said it way too loudly.
"What about Phil?" Jimmy asked.
"I need to talk to him. I want to know what he meant about Derrick being responsible for Kailani's death."
Jimmy did a U-turn in the middle of the road. "You're not talking with him without me."
He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed his number. "Phil, hey, it's Jimmy. If you get this in the next few minutes, I'm on my way to your house. Need to talk to you about something. Thanks."
We drove a couple of miles, taking several turns off the main road. We pulled up to a small duplex. A couple of guys were hanging out on the porch on one side. One guy had a guitar in hand, while the other strummed a ukulele. The peaceful music wafted on the wind, and I shivered. It was hauntingly beautiful.
Jimmy knocked on the door of the other duplex, but no one answered. He peeked his head around the porch. "You guys seen Phil today?"
"Nah, brah. He's been in there all day," the guy with the guitar said.
"Thanks." Jimmy knocked again and then turned the handle.
Immediately something felt off. The air was still. Too still. There were no sounds of snoring or movement. The tick, tick, tick of the air-conditioner unit cooling off was an eerie soundtrack to the otherwise silent room.
"Phil? It's Jimmy. I've got Autumn with me, so if you're not decent, put some clothes on."
No answer.
Jimmy pushed open the door to the bedroom. I heard a scream that seemed to go on for days. When Jimmy's hands pulled me against his chest and patted my hair, I realized it was my scream that I'd heard.
There, hanging from the ceiling fan, was Phil Mano.
* * *
I sat on Phil's couch, my head in my hands and a blanket around my shoulders. Jimmy had said something about shock, and the EMS guys had insisted I sit still until they cleared me to leave. Detective Ray and the homicide team filed in. I guess with all the murders of late, everyone wanted to be sure they documented this before ruling it a suicide.
I didn't think Phil had killed himself, but then again, I didn't really know him. He'd been completely devastated yesterday morning at the news of Kailani's death.
A few minutes later, one of the policemen came out of Phil's room. "Detective Ray, you need to see this." He handed Detective Ray a piece of folded-up paper.
"You've got to be kidding me," Detective Ray said.
Jimmy jumped up off the couch from where he'd been sitting beside me and walked over. "What is it?"
Detective Ray looked as if he wasn't going to tell him but then must have changed his mind. Maybe since Jimmy was head of security at Aloha Lagoon, the detective decided to keep him clued in.
"It's a love letter from Patti Stone. If you can call it that. She professes her undying love for him but then says if she can't have him, no one can."
A chill crept up my spine. Could Patti Stone have killed Phil? It would make sense. She'd clearly had a thing for him. She'd made a pass at him in front of everyone at the party she'd hosted. And she'd also tried to kiss Noe at the luau the night he was killed. Maybe she murdered Kailani to remove her competition and Noe and Phil for rejecting her attentions. Talk about a scorned love.
As far as I knew, she'd not had an affair with either of the surfers, but it certainly wasn't for lack of trying. Patti's constant flirting and groping were so over the top, even her husband had taken notice. I thought back to the conversation I'd overheard between her and Derrick when he'd told her to quit making a fool of herself.
I stood up, needing to get my circulation moving. One of the EMS guys looked as if he'd stop me, but I just ignored him and walked toward the front windows. Propped up beside them was a beautiful surfboard, similar to the one that Dax had. The branding at the bottom said Ecoboards.
Curious to see these one-of-a-kind eco-friendly boards up close and personal, I brushed my hands along the surface. It was a work of art. Teal paint with yellow and black filigree on the bottom and top. I ran my hand along the edge, admiring the shiny coat, when something popped out of the side. Interesting. It was like a small compartment built into the side. Maybe people kept their wallets or keys or something in it while they surfed? You'd have to be a pretty confident surfer, in my opinion. I'd lose the thing and then be stranded on the beach.
I reached inside the compartment and pulled out a small bag. In it was a white powdery substance. It looked very similar to what I'd seen in the photos of Dax and Derrick. I wasn't a genius, but that didn't look like a wallet or keys. It looked like drugs. Was this how they were transporting the drugs? Smuggled inside the surfboards?
"Detective Ray?" I called out over my shoulder, not taking my eyes from the baggie.
"Detective Ray?" I repeated louder.
"What is it?" he snapped, clearly irritated by my interruption.
"I think you'll want to come over here, sir," I said.
I could hear his footsteps as he crossed to me, then his sharp intake of breath.
"Is that—"
"Yep, I think it is," I said back.
"Where did you find it?"
"In the surfboard."
"In it?"
"Yes, right here," I said, motioning to the little hidden compartment on the side.
"Ms. Season, why are you contaminating my crime scene?" the detective growled.
I turned then, my hand on my hip. "If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't have this little piece of evidence, now would you?"
He looked up at the ceiling. I wasn't sure what was so exciting up there. The men in my life were always looking up at something extremely interesting on the ceiling. I followed his gaze. Nope, nothing. I shrugged.
"You want to take this?" I asked, holding out the baggie to him.
"Yes." He took the bag from my hands. "Fortunately, we have your fingerprints from Kailani's crime scene. Anything else you touched?"
"Nope." I turned and walked out of the apartment. About that time, the coroner walked out with a gurney, a white sheet draped over it. My knees went weak, and they buckled. Strong arms caught me from behind.
"Let's go home," Jimmy's warm voice whispered in my ear.
And my knees went weak again, this time for an entirely different reason.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The thing about cameras is that every one of them is different. It takes time and practice to learn how to use the camera effectively, learning each little nuance. It's the same with lenses. Each one is just a little bit different. I really needed time to practice with my camera and the new lenses I'd bought. The following day would be a huge event and could make or break my career. If I took a premium shot, I'd be set.
But as much as I needed to practice with my camera, I couldn't stop thinking about all the little pieces of the puzzle. If Patti wanted to have affairs with Phil and Noe, why would she kill them?
I just couldn't see either of those guys hooking up with Patti. Did their refusal send her on a killing spree?
Or maybe Derrick killed Phil and Noe out of jealousy? He had seen Patti acting the fool over them, twice now that I had witnessed. So many moving parts, and my head was starting to hurt.
I'd asked Jimmy to drop me off at the resort so I could get my bag and my car. He'd cleaned up my locker, so I sat on the bench in front of it, pondering what to do next. I needed to find out more about the Stones. Were all their boards equipped with the secret compartment? Did it have another function, or was it specially made for Phil's board?
Patti's conversation about the surfboards and the merchandise came flooding back to me. The drugs had to be the merchandise she was speaking of. It was just too coincidental for it not to be. So that had to mean that Patti was in on the drug business, as well as Derrick.
I remembered Phil's weird reaction during our conversation on the beach when he and Dax had said that D
errick hired them to transport things. It all made sense now. Derrick had hired them to transport drugs in their surfboards. If Phil's had a compartment, I was sure Dax's did too, even though I'd yet to find his board to check. I assumed Noe had been in on the business as well. Or did Noe find out about it and want to go to the police? Maybe that was why he was killed.
And how did Kailani fit into all of it? Was she an accomplice? Or did she just know too much?
I needed to get into the Stones' house and see where they were keeping the boards for the Classic. I had to see if all their surfboards came with secret compartments. And maybe I'd find more drugs, and I could turn it all over to Detective Ray.
But how would I get into their house? I looked up at the ceiling—the men were always fascinated with it when they were around me—and it hit me! The pictures! I could take my computer to Patti's house and show her the proofs.
I pulled out my cell phone to call her and then realized I didn't have her number. Summer would have it.
Grabbing my things, I rushed out of the locker room and to the front desk. Fortunately, there were no guests around, so I slid to a stop in front of the desk.
"Did you hear about Phil?" Summer asked.
"How do you hear about these things so quickly?"
She just smirked at me.
"Yeah, Jimmy and I were the ones to find him."
"What? Oh my gosh, Autumn. That's two dead bodies in two days. I'm sure that's some kind of record."
"Yeah well, not one I ever had any interest in breaking. Anyway, I need Patti Stone's number. Do you have it?"
"Why do you need her number?"
"Because I need to show her these proofs," I lied.
"No you don't. What's the real reason?"
"Fine." I looked around and then lowered my voice. "I need to get inside their house. I think they may be running drugs or something. That has to be connected to all the murders, don't you think?"
"Have the police ruled Phil's death a murder?" she asked.
"Well no, not yet. I just left the crime scene, and they're still processing everything. But they will."
"Maybe he killed himself out of grief."
It was a solid assumption, except I couldn't accept that idea. "Maybe. But I don't think so. Something doesn't feel right about that."
"So you're going to go into the lion's den? Right into their evil lair? Alone?" Summer shrieked.
"I can't tell Jimmy, or he won't let me go," I protested.
"I can't imagine Jimmy being able to stop you, but he's right. You can't go."
"Summer, I have to figure this out. My camera—"
"Don't give me that line about your camera. You want to figure this out for other reasons. Admit it." She cocked her hip, trying to pass off an imposing figure—her blonde hair, pert nose, and slight figure at odds with her façade.
"Fine. I need to know. I need to know why three innocent people were killed and why I was run off the road."
"You were run off the road?" Summer shrieked a piercing shrill that I was sure broke some sort of noise law.
"Shh. Keep your voice down. Geez."
"Sorry. When?"
"Last night."
"And still you want to go into the den of thieves?"
"What's with all your weird allusions? Yes, I want to get inside. And I want to check for where they might keep the shipment of surfboards I heard Patti talking about on the phone."
I filled Summer in on what I'd found in Phil's board. Her mouth hung open in shock.
"It's like something out of a spy novel," she whispered, looking around as if someone was surely right then eavesdropping on our conversation.
"Tell me about it. So, Patti's number?"
"Fine. I'll give it to you on one condition."
"What's that?"
"You take me with you!"
* * *
That was how I found myself sneaking around a beach shed on the Stones' property with Summer an hour later. I'd called Patti to arrange a time to meet, and although she'd declined, claiming grief over another one of her family's deaths, I'd finally convinced her that it would do her some good and would be a great way to memorialize Phil and Kailani since I'm sure I took some amazing photos of them. She'd finally agreed, and after grabbing my laptop from home, we'd driven to the Stones' mansion.
The place was enormous—all glass windows and teakwood. There was a veranda that appeared to span the entire perimeter of the house and tall hedges that had been carved into intricate shapes. The driveway was circular with a stone water feature in the center. The Stones had obviously done well for themselves.
We parked the car and walked around the house, looking for some kind of storage where they might keep the boards. As we came around the front of the house, I noticed a shed out on the beach below.
Traipsing down the hill to the coast, we kept looking behind us to make sure no one was watching.
"What do we do if we get caught?" Summer asked.
"We'll just say we wanted to look at their private beach before coming inside. I just need to get a peek inside the shed. You be the lookout."
Summer nervously twisted her hands in front of her. It was distracting.
"Stand right here," I said and then moved to the front of the shed, while Summer took the back, watching the house.
I opened the doors and stepped inside. There were rows and rows of Ecoboards, just like the ones that Phil and Dax owned. Quickly I ran up to one and slid my hand along the side, hoping to find the little button that popped out the door for the compartment. But there was nothing there.
I tried two more before realizing they weren't fitted with the compartment either. Strange. I thought for sure I was onto something.
A weird birdcall came from outside the shed, and I hurriedly left, pulling the doors closed behind me.
"What was that?" I hissed at Summer.
"Someone's on the veranda," she hissed back.
I looked up but couldn't make out who it was. "Just act like we're admiring the water." We turned and looked out at the waves crashing onto the shore for a few short minutes. "Ok, now as nonchalantly as possible, let's make our way back up the path."
Summer skipped up the walk, and I rolled my eyes. She looked like a deranged third grader, not a grown woman out for a leisurely stroll along the beach. I reminded myself not to bring Summer along on any other covert operations.
We reached the front door, and I rang the bell. The song "Hakuna Matata" chimed out, and I giggled. I couldn't help myself. Here we were standing at a presumed drug runner's house, and they had a song from The Lion King as their doorbell chime. I wasn't sure what I expected—rap music?
The door opened, and a woman in a black dress with a white apron stood there, a dour look on her face. What a cliché!
"May I help you?" she asked, her thick accent hinting at German descent.
"We're here to see Mrs. Stone," I said and motioned to my bag. "I have proofs I need her to approve."
The bored maid turned her back on us, and I assumed we were supposed to follow her. She wasn't much on manners.
The inside of the house was just as beautiful as the outside. It had a sleek, modern feel with dark wood beams and white marble floors. The walls were all a soft white, but there was nothing on the walls in terms of art. White couches sat facing each other near a contemporary fireplace that ran up between the floor-to-ceiling windows.
"Autumn! How lovely to see you. Isn't it awful what's happened to poor Phil?" Patti appeared clothed in another gosh-awful velour tracksuit like she'd worn the last time I'd seen her. This time in purple. I glanced down. Yep. Sky-high purple stilettos graced her feet. When my eyes met hers, I was taken aback. It appeared that she'd been crying, so maybe her grief was real. Her eyes were puffy, and her nose was red and slightly swollen. It looked as if her makeup had been worn off and smeared around her eyes.
"I'm so sorry to bother you, but I thought that maybe Phil's or Kailani's friends and family might wa
nt some of these pictures for the funerals."
"That was very thoughtful of you, Autumn." Patti smiled slightly and motioned toward one of her uber white couches.
I was terrified my jean shorts would rub off on it, leaving a blue butt mark in its wake.
"Please sit."
As I stepped inside the room, an enormous aquarium taking up the length of one wall caught my eye.
"Wow! That's amazing!" I said, passing by the couches and going straight to the aquarium.
"It's our pride and joy," Patti said. "Those are my babies."
I'd heard of purse-carrying socialites, but never fish-touting ones. I approached the aquarium, and the cutest little fish with spiky scales swam over to the glass.
"He'll follow your finger," Patti said over my shoulder.
"Really?"
She nodded, and the smile on her face took years off her age. "Go ahead. Try it."
I put my finger on the glass, and the little fish swam over, flipping its back fin like a dog would wag its tail. When I moved it, the fish's mouth opened as if it were smiling at me, and it started following my finger.
I laughed. "I can't believe this."
"He'll let you pet him too. Watch." Patti stood on a stool next to the aquarium and put her hand on the top of the water. The little fish swam up, and Patti stroked his back. He moved like a dog or cat might, making sure she hit all the right places.
"That's so cool," I said, looking over my shoulder at Summer. She didn't seem quite as impressed.
Patti's face fell, and I noticed a change in her demeanor. "I had two. This one's Charlie, and I had a little girl pufferfish named Lola, but she died a few days ago."
Pufferfish. One died. It couldn't be.
Alarm bells were going off in my head. "How did she die?"
"I'm not sure. Gerta must have found her and disposed of her little body. I know people think I'm crazy"—they did, but probably not for the reasons she was thinking—"but these little fish are just the sweetest, and you don't have to clean up their piddles and diddles all over the floor."
Piddles and diddles? Was she nine?
The urgency to search the house increased as the realization that Patti Stone owned pufferfish and one of them went missing recently settled around me. I was having a difficult time controlling my breathing, and Summer was looking at me like I'd grown a second head. "Could I use your restroom?" I blurted, startling both Patti and Summer.
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