Paradise Crime Box Set 4

by Toby Neal

  A loud voice, vibrating through the nearby wall, broke his reverie.

  “Hell if I’m going to sit on my ass a minute longer waiting for this cop!”

  Chef Noriega was getting restless. Stevens heard a light feminine voice trying to calm the man. The two voices rose and fell in a familiar cadence that sounded like marital argument. He should have had the officer keep the wife out, but he’d been distracted.

  “Let’s go interview the man behind Feast,” Stevens told Mahoe. “Got your recorder handy?”

  “Sure, LT.”

  Stevens knocked once on the door marked OFFICE and turned the knob, pushing the door inward.

  Chef Noriega had his hands around the throat of the dark-haired woman, pushing her up against a desk. She clawed at his wrists, her face congested. Bulging, panicked eyes begged for help from behind the chef’s shoulder.

  Lei

  Lei had to grab on to the edge of the desk to heave herself out of the office chair. “Be right there, Captain,” she said into the office phone, and hung up. Once standing, she leaned back, digging her fists into the small of her back, arching to stretch. The curve of her belly still brushed the edge of the desk. “We got a new case.”

  Pono, her longtime partner, looked up from his e-mail. “What the hell. You’re supposed to be on light duty!”

  “It is light duty. I hope. Another cold case. We’ve been summoned to hear about it.”

  “Yeah, and look how that last one turned out,” Pono grumbled, referring to a cold one eight months before that was supposed to just be a time filler and had turned into one of the biggest cases they’d had in years.

  “I don’t know about the timing. I’m going on maternity in a few days.” Lei waddled to the door of the cubicle, tugging down the dark blue maternity smock she wore over skinny black maternity jeans. She’d had Ellen, Stevens’s mom, sew up a bunch of the same garment, a sort of uniform that, she hoped, minimized the obviousness of pregnancy.

  Pregnant cops were awkward for everybody. The guys got all protective and mother-hen-like, the way Pono was acting, the women wanted her out of sight, and the perps didn’t know how to act either. She was glad she wasn’t the size her friend Marcella had been at approaching nine months—but still, a basketball-sized belly pressing on her bladder constantly was challenging, and even light duty as a cop wasn’t a typical desk job.

  Pono took her elbow in the hall, but she tweaked it away. “Quit fussing. I can walk on my own two feet. Just because I can’t see them doesn’t mean they aren’t still there.”

  “Stubborn, you.” Pono shook his head. “I can’t wait for you to be done and out of here. I’m having a heart attack thinking you’re going to drop it in our office or something.”

  “You must have really been a wreck when Tiare was pregnant,” Lei panted, short of breath with her lungs so cramped. She tried to speed up, but felt the distinctive sensation of the baby moving. These internal feelings had gone from fishlike fluttering, to kicking that felt like tiny fists, to these late-term, long, slow rolls that inevitably ended up with feeling like she had to pee.

  Which she now did.

  “No one was more relieved than me when she declared she was done after we had a boy and a girl.” Pono spun his Oakleys by a stem as he slowed his stride to match hers.

  “Quick bathroom stop.” Lei turned toward the women’s room.

  Pono rolled his eyes. “Of course. I’ll see you in Omura’s office.” He continued on down the hall.

  In the stall, Lei settled herself on the toilet and smoothed the sturdy navy cotton over her belly. It pushed back against her hand.

  “You better be pointing downward. Not too long now, Baby,” she whispered. “I can’t wait to get this part over with and meet you.” They’d decided not to find out the baby’s gender, and she was glad of that choice, anticipating the surprise of what it would turn out to be. So far the pregnancy had been healthy and problem-free, but Lei knew she was still trying to guard herself from the grief of something going wrong—while knowing that there was no way to really do that.

  If something went wrong with this baby, she’d never have the heart to try again.

  She finished up and washed her hands. Her face was fuller in the mirror. Her hair was, too, and her breasts strained the fabric of a smock sewn two months ago. “Oh well. I’m out of here in two days, and I can wear nothing but sweats from here on out, right, Baby?” There was no comment from below but another jab to the kidneys. “Ow. Maybe you’re planning to play soccer for University of Hawaii.”

  A few minutes later Lei pushed open Captain Omura’s office door.

  “Surprise! Happy baby shower!”

  Everyone was yelling. A party squeaker went off, and a popper rained confetti down over Lei as she clapped both hands over her mouth in shock. It seemed like the entire department was crowded into Omura’s little office, and they all laughed and clapped at her expression as Pono fired off another popper. More confetti spiraled down. It was going to be a pain to get out of her hair, but her partner’s infectious grin brought an answering smile to Lei’s face.

  “Any excuse for cake,” said Detective McGregor, a big, bluff, red-faced man she’d butted heads with on a few cases. Jessup Murioka, the department’s teen tech whiz, came up to hug what he could reach of her and slip a sweet-smelling ginger lei over her head. Pono handed out pink-and-blue party hats and wrapped cigars. Standing guard in front of the huge cake on Omura’s desk was Tiare, his wife, wearing bright purple scrubs. She’d clearly come straight from the hospital, and the only thing bigger than the cake was her smile.

  Lei made her way through the hugs and shoulder smacks to Tiare’s side. “You’re the monster behind this idea.”

  “Of course. Couldn’t just let my little sistah skulk off to that fortress house without a going-away party.” Tiare enfolded Lei in her arms. She usually smelled of gardenias, and today was no exception. “Hope you finished that childbirth class. I know I agreed to be your labor coach, but I’m not going into it without you getting some instruction.”

  “We finished last week. Got the certificate at home to prove it. Thought Stevens was going to get sick during the videos, but he did the breathing and kept from fainting.”

  “The men get the easy part of the deal, not that they act like it.” One arm around Lei’s shoulder, Tiare addressed the milling officers and support staff. “I’ll cut the cake as soon as you folks throw a few bucks in for the office gift.” Tiare cut across the joking and horseplay. “We’re getting the family one of those fancy strollers that does everything but change the baby.”

  She handed a gaily-wrapped box with a slit in the top to Pono. Lei’s coworkers, teasing while doing so, dug bills out of their wallets and shoved them in.

  Captain Omura, smiling and sophisticated as usual, came around her desk and patted Lei’s shoulder. “How are you feeling?”

  “Really huge, with bruised kidneys. Thanks for asking.” Lei glanced around. “Where’s my husband? And Dr. Gregory?” The colorful ME was one of her favorite people.

  “They pulled a fresh homicide. Out at that chichi restaurant Feast.”

  “Oh, that should be interesting.” Lei felt her heartbeat quicken with interest, and the baby kicked in response. “Do you think he needs any help at the scene?”

  “Definitely not. Part of my present to you is sending you home after the party—a couple of days early. I checked with human resources, and you have some comp time coming to you along with the maternity leave.”

  “So there’s no case for us? Your call was just to get us into the office?” Absurdly, Lei was disappointed. What was she going to do for the next month until the baby came? She hadn’t let herself think too much about it, but now full-time motherhood was upon her.

  “You’ve got a case all right.” Omura patted her belly. “Right here, my little workaholic. Now, let’s have some cake.”

  Kathy

  Sergeant Kathy Fraser hesitated outside the open d
oor of Captain Omura’s office. She held a brightly wrapped gift, a box containing a new diaper bag that was more like a backpack. She’d spent considerable time puzzling over it online, looking for just the right item that seemed like something her ex-partner Stevens and his wife would use. Kathy had planned to just leave the baby gift for Stevens to find on his desk, but then the interdepartmental e-mail had gone out summoning everyone to Lei’s shower.

  Kathy smoothed her hair back and tugged on the edge of her buttoned-up uniform jacket, glancing around the noisy gathering.

  Lei Texeira, Stevens’s wife, was cutting into the cake on the desk amid much ribald joking—her rounded midsection, draped in a plain dark blue smock, got in the way of reaching the desk. Lei was smiling and pretty, a riot of curling brown hair flowing over her shoulders and her legs still slim in tight-fitting black jeans.

  A coil of jealousy tightened Kathy’s stomach.

  Lei had everything—a home she owned, a loving husband, and a baby on the way—not to mention the best job in the world.

  Kathy couldn’t bring herself to enter the noisy party. Lei wouldn’t want to see her anyway—she thought Kathy was after her husband, and nothing Kathy had said or done had dissuaded the other woman of it.

  Kathy turned and walked rapidly back toward the stairs to her office on the next floor, an office she still shared with Stevens, though he’d gone back to full-time detective work after a brief, disastrous trip overseas. He now worked a full roster of cases while mentoring junior detectives, and she hardly saw him.

  That was fine. There was an awkwardness between them that seemed permanent since his departure for that ill-advised venture. He’d returned from Central America damaged and distant, and the friendship they’d forged while working together in the new-hire training program was gone.

  Kathy’s shoes rang on the metal stairs as she rose to the third floor. It was just as well she and Stevens weren’t friends any longer. She’d had a ridiculous crush on him, and thankfully that was over, too. She pushed the door open and went in, setting the baby gift in the center of Stevens’s desk.

  The cell phone in her pocket rang. She took it out, checking who it was before answering.

  “Elena!” Kathy’s friend Elena Noriega hardly ever called during the day, too busy with a three-year-old and helping manage her husband’s famous restaurant. “What’s up, girl?” It was good to hear from a friend when she was feeling so lonely and vulnerable.

  “Oh, Kathy! You have to help!” Her elegant friend’s Spanish-accented voice was distraught. “Please come to Feast—they’re arresting Winston!”

  “Oh my God. Who is? What for?” Kathy was already moving, grabbing her weapon and purse, heading for the door.

  “Your ex-partner, Lieutenant Stevens, is arresting him!” Elena was sobbing now. “They’re taking Winston away. You have to stop them!”

  “Calm down, Elena.” Kathy tripped down the stairs. “What’s happened?”

  “Someone stabbed François Métier, our sous-chef. And the lieutenant was investigating with his partner, and Winston, he . . .” Elena blew her nose, trying to gather her composure. “He was very upset. We have to close Feast, and we have thousands of dollars of food spoiling. François was murdered, and Winston—he got mad. He lost his temper and choked me.”

  “Oh my God.” Kathy reached the exit and broke into a trot as she headed for the main doors of the police station in Kahului. She’d long suspected that demanding and brilliant Winston Noriega did more than just verbally bully his wife, though Elena had always denied it. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, yes . . . The…the lieutenant, he grabbed Winston and threw him against the wall. And when Winston came at me again, he punched him! And then he cuffed Winston and said he was charging him for the murder as well as assault. I don’t want to press charges on Winston for that. He was just upset and stressed!”

  Kathy frowned at this evidence of battered woman syndrome as she hurried across the parking lot. “Call your lawyer. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  Kathy ended the call as she reached her vehicle, a white Nissan Rogue. She plugged in her Bluetooth and speed-dialed Stevens, setting her cop light on the dash and getting on the road for Lahaina at top speed.

  Stevens didn’t answer his cell. She doubted Mahoe would answer either—they probably had their hands full at the moment. She left a message on Stevens’s voice mail.

  “Hey, Stevens, please call me back. I don’t know if you’re aware, but Elena Noriega is one of my best friends and has called me for assistance. It would be great to know what was going on from your end so I could help support the investigation. See you shortly.” She then called Dispatch, let them know where she was going and got details on the murder.

  Surely Kathy could help in some way, even if it was just to comfort Elena—but apprehension tightened the muscles of her arms as she drove too fast along the steep, winding road. She wasn’t sure how to handle it if her friend Elena was involved in murder.

  Chapter Two

  Wayne

  Wayne Texeira walked along the iron-rich red dirt path between rows of vegetables on his friend Teo’s farm, carrying a couple of large canvas bags as he followed the farmer. Teo Benitez had twelve acres of former pineapple land on the west side of Maui, and he’d been putting every foot of it into growing organic produce to supply the farm-to-table movement that was sweeping the nation.

  “Got some nice Japanese eggplant that are ripe,” Teo said over his shoulder. “Good for stir-fry.”

  “Sure, show them to me.” Wayne’s long stride kept up easily with Teo’s much shorter one. The enterprising Filipino was from a third-generation farming family on Maui, and he’d started out working on one of the upcountry flower farms. His aptitude with agriculture had led to leasing this parcel, backed by the owner of the flower farm. In a cross-cultural twist, Teo was studying Hawaiian agricultural practices and integrating them into his organic farming methods.

  Wayne liked to come out once a week and walk the fields with Teo, see what was coming into readiness, and plan his restaurant’s menus with that in mind. His little place, Wayne’s Hawaii Bistro in Haiku, was gaining a steadily increasing following as he sought to provide a varied, fresh menu that was Maui-grown.

  “Ho, you get so many weeds.” Wayne gestured to a field they were passing, green from watering but with the varied, uncultivated textures of local groundcovers.

  “That field’s resting—all those plants, they bind nitrogen in the soil. Those weeds never happened by accident—they’re native Hawaiian plants. Takes a lot of effort and time to get this pineapple and sugar land back to where you can grow food crops with this used-up soil.” Teo kicked a hard, clay-like clod out of the way as he gestured to a hillock of mulch that a worker was spreading out with a backhoe. “Got plenty of compost now though. I have a bunch of West side landscapers drop off their yard waste, and we grind it up.”

  “That’s a mountain of compost.” Wayne narrowed his eyes into the sun.

  “That’s what it takes to make the ‘black gold’ we need for growing.” Teo’s phone buzzed in his heavy-duty belt holster. He looked back at Wayne, squinting in the sunshine. “Gotta take this. One of my other restaurants.”

  “Sure, no problem.” Wayne skirted his friend as the man took the call, squatting to inspect some bell peppers, plump and brightly colored. He plucked them and slipped them into the bag. Wayne felt content as he reached deep among the plants with their smell of mulch and growing.

  His life was so different now than it had been all those dark years ago, when he’d done a twenty-year stretch for drug dealing. Wayne had his own business, he was helpful to those in recovery from addiction in the community, and he had the joy of living with his daughter, Lei, and her husband and son on a beautiful property—and soon he’d be a grandfather for the second time. Gratitude to God for redeeming his life filled Wayne—even as he felt a stab of familiar grief that his sister, Rosario, wasn’t alive to enjo
y these days with him.

  Teo’s voice rose in agitation, a spate of rapid speech as he strode up and down, waving an arm. His friend was usually so calm that Wayne frowned, glancing back, but he continued to pluck the bell peppers. He could stuff them with rice and spices and top them with Romano cheese for a nice baked vegetarian entrée.

  Teo ended the call and returned to Wayne’s side. “My friend Felipe told me that François Métier, the sous-chef at Feast, was murdered today. And Chef Noriega was arrested for it!”

  “Whoa.” Wayne stood slowly, an arthritic ache in his knees and lower back bothering him as he straightened. “They were your best customers.”

  “Yeah. François, he came to meet with me often over the produce. I planted with them in mind. Why would Noriega kill François?”

  “Why do the police think that? They must have a reason.” Wayne had become familiar with cops’ procedural processes through years of living with Lei and Stevens.

  “Felipe said Noriega was giving the cops attitude—you know how he is—and then he attacked his wife because he was pissed off about the murder. So they decided to slap the cuffs on him and take him in.”

  “Who were the investigators?” Wayne was pretty sure Lei wasn’t doing any more cases so close to going out on maternity leave, but with his headstrong daughter, he could never be sure about anything related to her job.

  “Felipe didn’t get names, but they’re all waiting in a room to be interviewed. He’s pretty upset. He wasn’t supposed to call me, but he wanted to let me know because he thinks Feast will be shut down for a while, and they were going to buy a whole lot of produce today.” Teo took off his Maui Organic Gardens ball cap and ran a hand through his hair. “Said the main cop was a tall haole guy.”