Paradise Crime Mysteries

by Toby Neal

  Now that she’d made detective, she no longer had to wear a uniform and had come up with her own—black jeans, black running shoes, and tank tops—functional clothing that looked good on a slim, athletic frame. She shrugged into the loose cotton blazer she wore to hide the Glock .40 in its shoulder holster.

  “How about Sweet Leilani?” Jenkins referred to the famous Bing Crosby song. “Sweets for short.” He chuckled at his own wit.

  “No, dammit. Just Lei. My name is short enough.”

  “C’mon. It’s a Kaua`i thing. I like you as Sweets. Everyone’s going to crack up.”

  “You like cracks, I’ll crack you one.” She couldn’t help smiling. “I’ll get started on the missing person—take a run out and check the park, pick up his stuff from the rubbish.”

  “I’ll go by the alarm company the mansions used.”

  “On the way back I’ll check out the real estate agency that reported the burglaries. Jay Bennett’s wallet had one of their cards.” She tapped the item in question. “There’s a phone number on the back.”

  “Coincidence?”

  “Doubtful. C’mon—a series of robberies happen at houses managed by that company, and a missing guy leaves their card in his wallet? I’m trying the number now.” She flipped the card over, punched it in, and an automated message answered. “Disconnected.”

  “That is weird. Let’s meet for lunch at that noodle place and you can let me know how it goes. We’ll hit the papaya farm after.”

  “Sounds like a plan, J-Boy.”

  The Timekeeper set the jug of water down beside the Chosen. The man had curled instinctively into a ball on the floor of the cave, the collar padlocked on and tie-out cable secure. A chill from the surrounding rock must have penetrated his deeply unconscious state.

  One good knock to the head usually subdued the Chosen, and this latest was no exception. Usually they were malleable and confused for some days, or stayed unconscious until their Time.

  The Timekeeper tipped the man’s curly blond head back and poured water into his mouth. It was always a juggling act. If he waited too long, he ran the risk of being unable to find the next Chosen. If he took them too early, he had to keep them alive, and that could be tricky.

  He thought he could keep this one going long enough, but it was going to be close.

  Chapter Two

  Young lovers torn apart—this case pulled at her already. Lei couldn’t stop her eyes from landing on her bare ring finger as it tapped the steering wheel. There was still a faint band of lighter skin marking where the engagement ring had been, and her hand tightened.

  It had been raining in Hilo the day she’d taken the ring off. She remembered the patter of drops on the window, the rain reflecting the blank shock in Stevens’s eyes as she put the ring in his hand and folded his fingers over it.

  “I’m sorry. I’m all wrong for you, and I just can’t do this.”

  They’d been through so much together, and even as she’d broken up with him she didn’t know, couldn’t say why she had to. He put the hand with the ring in his pocket, looked at her a long moment. Pain hardened his eyes into opaque blue china.

  “Maybe he was right about you. You are damaged.”

  Her mouth had dropped open in shock—that he could hit her so low and so hard by quoting Charlie Kwon, her childhood molester. Stevens had turned and left, the door of her little house slamming hard behind him. She looked at the bare finger again, regret pulling down her mouth. He hadn’t deserved how she’d ended it. She was damaged.

  So what.

  Everything was what it was.

  But maybe now she could help another couple, do a little something for someone else in love. She pinched her arm, anchoring herself in the present moment as she’d learned in therapy so long ago.

  The road, a narrow two-lane highway winding between lush banks of jungle growth, required some attention. Lei still wasn’t over the thrill of owning her new Toyota truck, and she stomped on the gas just to feel the surge of power that answered. It wasn’t long before she pulled into the sandy parking lot at Pine Trees Park in Hanalei.

  She got out of the pickup and walked over to a picnic table that overlooked the ocean, doing a slow scan of the park. Decrepit, graffitied bathrooms and an outdoor shower occupied an open area among the towering ironwoods, a fast-growing timber brought over from Australia. Long, swaying needles shushed in the light breeze, waving over the empty expanse of lawn and beach. Behind the park, deeply shadowed valleys rose, cleft by waterfalls—a tapestry in shades of green.

  No sign of anyone camping the length of the park. At midmorning on a weekday with no surf at the beach break, the area was deserted.

  Lei leaned over the edge of the table, examining the sandy dirt underneath. She could see a dented shape where someone had lain—the same spot she’d seen the park crasher the day before. That must have been Jay Bennett—and this had to be where Kelly had found the slipper.

  The hairs rose on the back of Lei’s neck.

  She scanned the ground all around but saw nothing more. She got out her little digital Nikon and photographed the area. Snapping on a pair of gloves, she peered into the nearby metal trash barrel, reaching in and pulling up a sleeping bag clearly in need of a wash. Underneath it was another slipper and a backpack. She photographed the items in the can, then hauled it all out and took it over to the picnic table, setting the items down on the tabletop and upending the backpack.

  Out fell a tin of hand-rolled joints, pepper spray, matches, a bathroom kit with toothbrush, soap, comb, and a wad of cash in an inside pocket, an old-fashioned journal with a hasp, a couple of pens, canteen, and flashlight. She photographed the items on the table and the trash barrel for reference.

  A chill passed over her as she zipped up the bag.

  Why would Jay Bennett throw away all his worldly possessions, including enough cash and pot for at least another week of homelessness in paradise, other than suicide? If he’d been taken, what kind of perp threw away cash? And what could that slipper with the stones mean?

  Lei rubbed the black stone in her pocket as she headed back to the truck.

  Chapter Three

  Lei pulled into the parking lot of the Paradise Realty office in Kilauea—an old plantation home restored to better than its former glory. White paint gleamed against a traditional dark green background, and a new corrugated roof contrasted in brick red. Lei went up three stairs to a wide lanai, glancing down at the file with its clipped-on card before she pulled open a screened door and stepped into the teak-floored interior.

  A receptionist with a shiny tan and collagen lips looked up as Lei came in.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Yes. I’d like to speak with your manager regarding the break-ins at some of your rentals.” Lei pulled aside her jacket to show the badge clipped to her waistband.

  “Just a minute. I’ll contact the owner.” She pushed down an intercom button. “Ms. Wolcott, can you see a detective regarding the break-ins?”

  “Of course. Send him in.” The receptionist opened her mouth to correct her, and Lei shook her head, smiling. She was escorted into an interior office, decorated in what was being called the Tommy Bahama look—deep, comfortable aloha-print rattan chairs, woven mats, palmetto fans, and a gleaming desk with nothing but a Mac computer on it.

  Ms. Wolcott rose from behind the desk, a regal Hawaiian woman in a short, fitted muumuu, her black hair wound into a topknot and pierced with ivory chopsticks. She came around and extended her hand to Lei.

  “Oh, my mistake, Detective…?”

  “Texeira, ma’am. A pleasure to meet you, and I wish it were in happier circumstances.” Lei handed the woman her card.

  “Me too. Believe me, I’d rather be selling you a house!” Ms. Wolcott had a warm laugh. “Call me Lehua, please. We filled out the police reports and helped our owners with the insurance claims, but we never heard another word.”

  “Well, after three break-ins, the patrol officers b
umped your burglaries to the detective division. Do you have any theories, anything to add to the reports?”

  Ms. Wolcott sat on one of the comfortable armchairs and gestured to Lei to sit as well. Lei took a notebook out of her jacket pocket.

  “I have an idea. I think it might have something to do with the cleaning service, but I hope I’m wrong.”

  “What do you mean?” Lei uncapped her Bic.

  “The service is called Island Cleaning.” She got up and read a number off the screen of the Mac. “They were great for years, but recently my friend who owned the company died of cancer. Now the company’s being run into the ground by her daughter, whom I’ve heard has a drug habit. I ended up firing Island Cleaning, and the burglaries happened right after. They still had access codes to all our houses. So now I’ve talked to the security company, and we’ve changed the locks and codes. So far, no more break-ins.”

  “Hmm,” Lei said. “I’ll give Island Cleaning a visit, see what they say. Why don’t you give me contact numbers for all the rental owners, and your new cleaning service as well? You have my number if you have any further thoughts.”

  “Certainly.” Lehua went back to her computer, printing up the list of contact information. “Now, can I sell you a house? Maybe a nice starter condo?”

  Lei laughed. “Not ready for that kind of commitment yet. I’ll keep you in mind if I’m ever looking.”

  The intercom buzzed. “Ms. Wolcott? Your son is here.”

  “Oh, send him in.” To Lei she said, “We’re having lunch.”

  The door opened and a tall man walked in. He glanced at Lei—and his eyes widened. “Sorry to interrupt, Mom.”

  “Meet Detective Texeira. She’s investigating our burglaries. Detective, my son, Alika.”

  Lei realized her mouth had fallen open and rectified the situation. He was almost too good-looking, a tall, muscular example of the best of what happens when haole (Caucasian) and Polynesian mix to make hapa (half). Winged brows raked back from golden-brown eyes; dark hair framed a high brow, and dimples flashed.

  It was all a little overwhelming.

  “Good, I wanted to talk to a detective.” Alika came toward her with his hand extended. “I’ve got some information I want to discuss.”

  “Hi.” Lei stood. Her voice was short, and she felt her scalp prickle with embarrassment as she yanked her hand away too quickly. Handsome men made her edgy. Buying time to regroup, Lei looked down at her file, pulled out a photocopy. The Wolcotts took the two armchairs facing hers across a glossy wood coffee table.

  “I was just going to show this to your mother. I wonder if you know anything about it.” Lei unclipped the card from the file she’d carried in with her, held it up. “This card was found with the possessions of a young man we’re looking for. Do you know him?” She slid the card and the photo of Jay across the table.

  “No. Never seen him before.” Alika Wolcott shook his head. His mother’s curved brows drew together. She flipped the card over.

  “What’s this number?” She tapped the card.

  “I was hoping you would know. I called it earlier and it’s disconnected.”

  “Not any of our office phones, or any of our agents. I would recognize it. Wait a minute.”

  She stood up, pulled a key out on a fob clipped to a narrow pocket on her dress, unlocked a file drawer in the desk. Looked through and drew out a file, flipping it open. “I knew that looked a little familiar. That number is the old code to the security systems. We had it changed after the burglaries.”

  “Interesting,” Lei said, her attention sharpened. She made a note on her pad—Jay Bennett was involved with the burglaries. She gathered the materials back into the folder.

  “Oh!” Lehua exclaimed. “Do you want something to drink? Ice tea? Water?”

  “Water would be great,” Lei said. Lehua sailed out.

  Lei glanced at Alika Wolcott. He’d sat back in the cushy chair, his ankle over his knee, relaxed. He wore immaculate chinos, a subdued aloha shirt, slip-on loafers—the Hawaii business-casual uniform. He inspected her equally, lively curiosity in his eyes.

  “You aren’t what I expected in a detective.”

  “Oh? Well, I didn’t expect you at all.” That sounded all wrong—she knew it as she said it.

  He shrugged. “Fair enough.”

  “So you had some information you wanted to discuss?”

  “Yes. It’s about Island Cleaning.”

  “Your mother told me she suspects they may have had something to do with the burglaries.”

  “I agree. Not only that, I’m concerned about Lisa Nakamoto, the owner.”

  “The druggie?”

  Something flashed in his eyes, quickly suppressed. “Where did you hear that?”

  “I’m a detective. We have sources.” She wasn’t about to tell him his mother had been that source.

  “Well, that’s not a fair statement. Lisa may be caught up in something. I’m worried about her.”

  “What kind of something?” Lei pretended to take a note.

  “Something related to drug production. But she wasn’t that kind of person.”

  “Addiction makes good people do bad things.”

  “It’s not that simple.” His eyes narrowed, defensive. Lei did a relaxation breath—in through the nose, out through the mouth. Then another.

  “Let’s start over,” she said. “What would you like me to do about your friend?”

  “Locate her. See what’s going on.”

  “I can try, since it relates to this investigation.”

  “Here’s her number.” He grabbed a Post-it off his mother’s desk, scrolled through the contacts on his phone, and jotted the number just as Lehua came back in, carrying a glass of ice water.

  “Thank you.” Lei took a sip of water. Alika handed her the Post-it, his fingers brushing hers, and an unexpected awareness rippled through her. Spooked, she set down the glass and stood up. Charlie Kwon had ruined her ability to respond normally to an attractive man, and knowing that didn’t seem to help.

  “I have a couple of leads to follow up on here. Anything else?”

  “Well, yeah,” said Alika. “I’ve had a break-in at my model home. I’d like you to add it to the investigation.”

  “Okay. Tell me more.” She decided not to sit back down and flipped open her notebook.

  He gave a phone number and address outside of Kapa`a.

  “I’ll give you a call and stop by to inventory what’s missing.”

  “It was great to meet you.” Lehua came around from behind her computer, pressed a small square of tapa cloth into Lei’s hand. “This is someone I think could be helpful.”

  Lei glanced down at the hand-printed card on native fiber cloth. Esther Ka`awai and a phone number was all that was written there.

  “Who’s this?”

  “A local resource. I think you might need her help.”

  Lei frowned. “Okay. I’m looking for any and all leads.”

  Lehua Wolcott just smiled, enigmatic, and gave a little wave as Lei headed for the door. Alika followed her out to the truck. She got in and rolled down the window.

  “Island Cleaning cleaned my house. Or I should say, ‘houses.’” He leaned against the vehicle so his arm bracketed the window.

  She nodded. “Go on.”

  “I’m a developer. Island Cleaning had the contract to do all my construction cleans after a house was finished, and periodic cleans while they were on the market. I noticed the same thing my mother did—the work wasn’t being kept up, they missed appointments, and so on. I called Lisa one day to tell her to get her crew to shape up; she seemed really upset, crying, like she was in trouble. She seemed to want to tell me something, but she wouldn’t.”

  “Probably thought she could get somewhere with you by playing the damsel in distress.”

  “Hmm. So you admit some women might find me interesting.”

  “No. She just knew a sucker when she saw one.”

 
; They stared at each other for a long moment. He smiled. The charm of it lit his face like lightning.

  “You’re not that into me, are you?”

  “That would be a yes. Or is it no? Now you’re trying to trip me up.” She smiled, because she couldn’t help it.

  “You have a dimple.” He touched a finger to her cheek. “Right here.”

  “Hey.” She jerked her face away and turned the key. The truck roared into life.

  He grew serious and spoke quickly. “I mean it. I’m worried about Lisa. I think she might be in danger, being forced to be involved with these break-ins somehow.”

  “Who do you think is behind it?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe her boyfriend, Darrell Hines. He’s an icehead time-share salesman, got her into using.”

  “Right now all I’m working on is the burglaries. You’d do better to call Detective Furukawa—he’s in charge of drug investigations—with this ‘tip,’ but I’ll pass it on.” Lei felt the frustration of the limitations put on her. Furukawa, aka, “Fury,” wanted any and all information on the drug trade routed through him.

  “You left your card with my mother, right? I might want to call you.” Alika’s golden-brown gaze was intent.

  “Okay. Bye then.”

  Lei cut her eyes away and kept her voice cool. She pulled out and drove sedately down the road, flicking a glance to the rearview mirror. He was still standing there, watching her, jingling something in his pocket like a man making a decision. She glanced at her phone on the seat as if it might ring, caught herself, and turned up the radio to blast her thoughts away. She headed for the nearby noodle house for lunch, speed-dialing Jenkins to join her.

  The Noodle Shack was another old plantation house, unrestored this time but surrounded by lush plumeria trees. The worn, pockmarked floor, sagging screens, and battered wooden counter belied the delicious Asian noodles the place specialized in. Lei climbed up onto one of the worn vinyl stools at the long counter and ordered a saimin, Jenkins joining her.