Honolulu Hottie

by Terry Ambrose

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Dr. Morph’s uneven gait merely intensified my unease as I followed through the short hallway. Images of a horror-movie hunchback guiding me to the mad scientist’s lab played like an ancient black-and-white film strip. He stopped in front of the door to a sparsely furnished room.

  “In there.” He pointed at the worn exam table next to a wooden chair. A shelving unit filled with small bottles behind glass doors was the only other piece of furniture in the room. I’d bet lab rats had better digs. Why had I agreed to this? I had no intention of letting this quack do any kind of exam, but how could I get out of it now?

  “I’m pretty nervous, doc. You know, it’s like Chance said, I get real worked up around, uh, medical professionals. You got anything to help calm me down?”

  Dr. Morph grinned at Chance. “Would you be amenable to having me give your uncle a mild sedative? Perhaps something to facilitate a more restful sleep for a short period of time? He’ll be much more comfortable. It would be an additional $50.”

  Chance winked at me. “Uncle, I think the doctor’s offer is just what we’re looking for. Would you agree?”

  “Works for me.” I took in a chestful of air and said a silent thank you to whoever had saved me from whatever the doc considered an exam. “Lay it on him, kid.”

  All I got from Chance was a blank stare, but the doc was suddenly on guard. How many times had he been in this situation during his career? Even the curls in his naturally curly hair seemed to quiver in anticipation of a warrant for his arrest or a double-cross. “What do you mean by that statement?” he asked.

  “The card, Chance. Give him one of your cards.”

  Finally, Chance got it. He nodded and whipped a business card out of his pocket. “We’re investigating the death of Victor Durisseau, Dr. Morph.”

  The doctor’s eyebrows bunched together and his lips moved as he read. He swallowed hard. “What’s going on here? Victor and I had nothing more than a distant relationship. Please leave. Now.”

  “BS, doc, your name is all over about fifty bogus claim forms in Victor’s files.”

  His jaw fell and for a moment I thought his bad leg might give out. His voice was raspy and weak. “You have Victor’s files?”

  “With enough evidence to put you away for the rest of your natural life,” said Chance.

  Okay, that was a bit of an overstatement, but the threat had the desired effect. The last of the doctor’s resolve crumbled.

  “What do you want?”

  “Answers,” I jabbed a finger at his chest. “For instance, how much were you being paid per patient? And were you supplying them with drugs, too?”

  The wrinkles on Dr. Morph’s face deepened. He shook his head. “I knew I should have gotten out.” He shook the card in the air. “You are not with the police. Why should I speak with you?”

  I shrugged. “We’re pretty tight with the cops.” It wasn’t entirely untrue. They had given me a ticket after I ran over a fire hydrant and flooded King Street right after I moved to Honolulu. They’d warned me about interfering in criminal investigations once or twice. Yeah, we were pretty tight.

  “If you do cooperate…” I paused and looked briefly at Chance before continuing. “We can put in a good word for you. Right, partner?”

  Chance gave me a thumbs up. “We can let them know how instrumental you were in helping solve Victor’s murder. We can even explain how you’ve realized the error of your ways.”

  “Yeah, you know the drill, doc. I mean, you’ve been down this path before, yah? Just like when you lost your license in Connecticut.”

  “I didn’t lose it! They found me innocent of wrongdoing.”

  “Maybe eventually, doc, but truth is a fickle mistress,” I said.

  Chance placed one consoling hand on Dr. Morph’s shoulder. “Do you really want to go through that again?”

  Morph wiped away the beads of sweat on his forehead. “I didn’t commit fraud by choice. Victor made me do it.”

  The greedy little bastard really wanted us to believe he was a victim? I’m sure that’s why he had a twinkle in his eye at the thought of filing medical claim forms on my behalf. Then again, maybe he wanted to explain—and that would be okay, too. “How did you know Victor?”

  “After the case in Connecticut, I was ruined—my savings were gone. I moved as far away as I could, but it didn’t help. I was never able to get into a practice and I couldn’t afford to start my own. The cost of living was killing me. Two years ago, I was doing some volunteer work with veterans. I kept hoping it would help me somehow. I was almost on the streets myself when a man told me he knew someone who helped veterans with their Aid and Attendance benefits. I expressed interest and he introduced us.”

  Morph was already sweating like crazy. The air was close, but it wasn’t that bad in here. I’d seen plenty of liars get creative when weaving their stories. As long as we kept this one off balance, he’d blow it. Just a little more pressure. “Who was this person who introduced you to Victor?”

  “I don’t see why I should bring him into it.”

  Chance went all blustery on us. “The cops will bring him in. You can bet on that, Doc.”

  I winced at his threat. How true it was—Victor’s business was rapidly turning into a prosecutor’s wet dream. Big headlines. Lots of notoriety. But, if we could make Dr. Morph think we were on his side… “Victor took advantage of a lot of people, Dr. Morph. It sounds like you could be one of his casualties. Think about it. This whole thing is unravelling fast and the one who talks first gets the best deal with the DA. You don’t want to be the one who takes the fall, do you? Who introduced you?”

  “Graham Reynolds.”

  I snuck a peek at Chance. “There’s that name again.” We let Morph continue.

  “Graham said he’d been working with Victor for several months and was netting a thousand dollars a month. I knew it had to be illegal, but I was desperate.”

  Why did crooks always think desperation was a good excuse? Yet, here we were, another second-rate thief justifying his need to break the law. “If Graham Reynolds really was bringing in that much money, where did it go? And, what was your role?”

  The doctor shook his head. When he sighed in resignation, it was like watching a balloon deflate. “I diagnosed patients with conditions allowing me to bill for procedures and services. Proceeds were split with Victor.”

  “There weren’t enough filed claims to justify a lot of money.” I said. “Not over a couple of years, anyway. What else did you do?”

  Dr. Morph groaned. The balloon deflated the rest of the way. There was a long pause, followed by a sigh of resignation. “I may have helped ensure assisted living services were required for a few of Victor’s clients.”

  And there we had it, the ongoing revenue stream. File once, collect forever. My lips formed an “oh” as I thought about what Paddy Merlin had told us. “Nice little business model. But, that’s not all of it, is it? Why was Victor’s business called FutureProof Investments for Veterans?”

  “I don’t know much about the other parts. From what I understand, Graham and a few others helped Victor sell investment services and products.”

  The confirmation of Paddy Merlin’s story was like a dagger cutting through the fabric of human decency. Victor had turned otherwise honest veterans against their peers. He’d made criminals out of decent men. The picture was so clear now. Thanks to Paddy, I knew exactly what questions to ask. “You’re lying, Doc. Did he set up trusts for his clients?”

  Morph shuddered and croaked, “Yes.”

  “Sell them investments with lucrative commissions? It would be good for him, but very high risk.”

  “He provided—everything.”

  Chance stood to one side, his eyes wide.

  Ask the right questions, pull the right strings, and Morph could be controlled exactly like the waiter in my dream. “The health benefits were becoming more difficult to process, weren’t they?”

 
“They weren’t as lucrative. Victor was shifting toward the financial side. I understood exactly what he was doing, but couldn’t say no.”

  “Why?”

  The doctor gazed at the cabinet. His eyes defocused and it looked as though he was remembering an event from long ago. I waited until he blinked and took a deep breath. “I turned him down in our first discussion.”

  “Why’d you change your mind?” asked Chance.

  “Victor was very good at finding information. He found what everyone else missed.”

  I glanced at the diploma on the wall. An image of the knights crumbling at the slightest touch flashed in my mind. Of course. Victor had a knack for destroying people. He must have found what would destroy Dr. Morph. “He had the proof that you were guilty in Connecticut, didn’t he?”

  His sigh filled the room with despair. “In our second meeting, he made threats. He said he could get my medical license revoked. I would have had nothing left.”

  “We’re not the cops,” I said. “There are no Miranda rights here. Your best bet is to save yourself and tell us what else you know.”

  Morph’s eyes teared up as he bit his lower lip. After a few seconds of silence, he began talking rapidly. “Victor had recently begun to lose his edge. He had become enamored of a new woman and was talking of getting out of the business. He said she had the means to support him in a style befitting his station in life.”

  “Who was she?” asked Chance.

  “I don’t know.” Morph raised both hands, as if surrendering. “That’s the truth.”

  Chance’s gaze bore into Dr. Morph’s. When the doctor looked away, it was obvious his game was over. He turned, went to the medicine cabinet, and pulled out a small decorative bottle.

  “This perfume is manufactured by the company owned by Victor’s new girlfriend.” He handed me the bottle. I recognized it—had read about the company. Island Passion. Very upscale. Their products were only available in the finest stores.

  Was this the woman in red? If so, finding her would be a cinch.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The owner of Island Passion turned out to be Skye Pilkington-Winchester, woman of some local renown after taking her billionaire husband for their Honolulu home, a cool million a year in alimony, and the new perfume business he’d encouraged her to launch. No doubt, Mr. Winchester felt his wife had become more involved in the business than he’d expected when the CEO and Mrs. Pilkington-Winchester were caught in a position that the press referred to as “compromising.” As one reporter put it, everybody “got something” out of the deal.

  Chance jumped at the opportunity to interview the divorcee, citing an opportunity to learn more about the business. I was interested in seeing how mainland hoity-toity dealt with its Hawaiian counterpart, especially when that counterpart was a young, divorced hottie.

  “Next corner—by that stand of palms—turn right.” I prayed I was right because Chance had finally agreed to let me navigate. God help me if I screwed up.

  “How’d Skye get the house, the money, and the business, McKenna?”

  I snickered. “Results speak for themselves, my young friend. Being about the same age as Mrs. Pilkington-Winchester’s husband, I can see where she might have coaxed hubby into enjoying every moment of his being taken. As far as I’m concerned, the lady deserves the blue ribbon in the trophy wife—er divorcee—competition. And by the way, watch the road, not the houses.”

  Chance pulled back into his own lane and apologized sheepishly. “If I’m not careful, you might take away my driving privileges.”

  “No worries. I have no desire to get behind a wheel again.”

  In the classic “we have money and aren’t afraid to flaunt it” style, our destination was on an oversized Kāhala District beach estate. “Welcome to the land of beachfront opulence, Chance. Where the lapping waves of the Pacific Ocean are just footsteps away. We’re about to visit the wealthiest of the wealthy. Let’s hope we can get past the guard dogs.”

  “You’re joking, right? She wouldn’t have…”

  “I don’t mean animals, but hired help. You know, someone who screens the calls. Besides, I don’t want to get anyone in hot water for failing to keep out the riffraff. That’s why were just going to show up. The worst Skye can do is to send us packing before we drool on her manicured lawn or shrubs.”

  The house was right down the street. Immaculate condition.

  Chance whistled as we drove in the driveway. “Wow, I haven’t seen so much polish and oiled wood since I left home.”

  So this was what Chance left behind on the mainland? Uh oh, I’d better watch my wisecracks.

  To my surprise, we were greeted by Skye herself. She wore a short, black, slimline skirt and red flowered blouse. Not to my surprise, she ignored me and gawked, wide-eyed at Chance. Even a blind man couldn’t have missed the hormone train wreck—I stepped aside and let the panting youngster take the lead.

  “Mrs. Pilkington-Winchester? My name is McKenna. My young friend here, Chance, would like to ask you a few questions.”

  Chance didn’t seem to notice the introduction, but he snapped to when I jabbed him in the ribs and made little shoving movements with my hand. He got the message and handed her a card.

  “Right.” He nodded, pulled a card from his wallet, and handed it to the smiling blonde. “Hi, Chance Logan.”

  Skye took the card, glanced at it, then smiled. I expected her to stuff the card into her bra with a promise to keep it close to her heart, but she didn’t. She sucked in a small breath, parted her painted lips, and traced an imaginary line with her fingerstips down to the neckline of her blouse.

  “Oh my, aren’t you adorable,” she whispered.

  I supposed the gulp I heard was Chance, but it could just as easily been my own.

  “Mrs. Pilkington-Winchester, could I ask you a question or two?” asked Chance.

  She winked, and in a sultry voice, said, “Only if you call me Skye. And, sweetie, I’ll answer any questions you have. Come in.”

  How low would I sink to get information? I’d already gotten Chance lined up with Lexie, who was from what I could see, the “sweet and innocent” type. Now, I was throwing Chance at this barracuda? Based on her reputation in the press, this woman was hotter than fire and judging by the look on Chance’s face, the last thing he wanted was an extinguisher.

  We stepped inside and waited as Skye eased the door shut with her back. She smiled again at Chance, still ignoring me. “I just got in from work.” She fingered the material of her blouse, revealing a generous amount of cleavage. “Please excuse my attire.”

  If a short black skirt and low-cut flowered blouse qualified as needing an excuse, I could forgive her anything. Mr. Winchester had probably felt the same way each time he was with her. Skye’s sandals slapped against the bottoms of her feet as she swayed down the hall. I glanced at Chance. He swallowed hard. I whispered, “At the rate I’m finding you women, I might be better off opening a stud service.”

  But, Chance’s eyes were glued to Skye’s rear end. If he’d heard anything come from my mouth, he gave no indication. He pushed past and left me standing alone.

  “I’m charging you extra for this,” I muttered.

  I hurried to catch up and found Skye seated, leaning back, legs crossed, on a beige couch. Massive architectural columns reached to the ceiling. Behind her, the back wall consisted of a series of sliding glass panels. The blue Pacific Ocean stretched to the horizon. Jeez, talk about excess.

  “Nice view,” I said. Once again, I was the only one to hear myself talk.

  Skye patted the cushion next to her. “Chance? Join me?”

  I might have yelled “I’m right here!” at the top of my lungs, but a green crystal mounted on a koa base caught my attention. Holy cow, was Skye the woman in green?

  Chance lowered himself onto the couch. Skye fingered his elbow. When he didn’t flinch, she leaned in close. “Hi,” said Chance.

  Good God, why had I le
d an innocent like Chance into this predator’s feeding ground? I had to get this visit back on track. Save Chance from himself. Or me from his father—who would surely cut off the rent checks when he found out what I’d done.

  “You wanted to ask me a question?” Skye ran her finger down Chance’s arm to his wrist, then pulled back. She used the same finger to seduce her neckline again.

  Christ, even I couldn’t stop myself from gawking. I had to stop this. Before it was too late. I said, “Um, Skye, can I call you Skye? Chance and I are investigating Victor Durisseau’s death and we understand you knew him.”

  Chance sneered at me. Was he—aroused? Oh my God. Would Lexie say anything other than goodbye? I coughed once to get their attention. “So, Skye, did you? Um, know Victor?”

  She leaned toward Chance, lips parted. “Intimately.”

  I’d be lucky if the testosterone racing through Chance didn’t give him a brain aneurism or a heart attack. I might as well start looking for a new tenant. Restraint was not in this woman’s dictionary. Or Chance’s right now.

  “So you and Victor were lovers?”

  Chance’s words certainly took me by surprise, but apparently not Skye.

  Her tongue ran over her lips. “Is that a problem?”

  “I really shouldn’t mix business with my personal feelings.” Chance smiled. Two parts Cary Grant, one part Don Juan.

  “Sweetie, we can mix anything you’d like.” She stroked Chance’s arm again.

  This kid was flirting with a woman who was as hot as molten lava. And from what I’d seen so far, Skye Pilkington-Winchester had no qualms about leaving scorched earth behind. It sounded like she’d taken Victor away from Cody. But that raised another question—did Cody know about Skye? The threesome from the dream flashed into my head. Good God, how far would Cody go to keep Victor?