Paradise Crime Box Set 4

by Toby Neal

  No.

  He just didn’t want his tomcat brother shitting in his personal sandbox. Things were messy enough with Kathy, between Lei’s jealousy and the weird vibes that remained from their almost-kiss before he left for Honduras.

  His ex-partner really deserved better.

  Stevens’s cell phone buzzed in its belt holster. He checked caller ID and answered only because it was Lei.

  “Hey, Sweets.” Stevens turned away from the watching eyes of the annoyed-looking kitchen helper he still hadn’t had time to interview. “What’s up?”

  “I heard you caught a fresh one.” His wife’s voice sounded a little thin, as it often did due to her lack of lung space. “You missed my baby shower.”

  “I know.” He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, willing the pain in his temples to subside. “I wish I’d been there. Were you surprised?”

  “Very. Good thing Baby didn’t decide to join us right there. I about had a heart attack with everyone yelling and the confetti poppers going off. Anyway, I don’t want to take up your time since I know you’re deep in it. I just wanted to tell you I’m on my way home—on early maternity leave. Captain Omura found me some comp time.”

  “Good. It’s been getting hard for you to get around.” He’d even had to tie her shoes for her as they got ready for work. “Everything okay?”

  “More than okay. I’m looking forward to being the one to pick Kiet up after school, for once.” Their son, now in first grade, was usually watched after school either by Lei’s father, Wayne, or Stevens’s mother, Ellen. “And I’ll be able to finish the nursery. But never mind all that. What’s going on with your case?” He detected a slightly frantic note in her voice. Clearly decorating the nursery wasn’t as appealing as a homicide investigation.

  Stevens caught the eye of the kitchen helper again. “You know what? I’ll have to fill you in when I get home. See you when I can. Love you.” He ended the call.

  He walked toward the staffer, a slender young man with the caffe-latte skin of mixed heritage and dreadlocks decked with beads in the red, yellow-gold, green, and black of a Rastafarian. “You seem to have something on your mind.”

  “Indeed.” The young man advanced. “Sage Bukowski. I’m a busboy and food runner.” To Stevens’s surprise, the young man had a well-educated British accent. He extended a hand and Stevens shook it.

  “I’m Lieutenant Stevens. Sorry we’re taking so long to interview all of you.”

  “I thought I’d make sure you knew Elena Noriega was sleeping with François, since you’re interviewing her for so long.” The young man slid his hands into the tight pockets of narrow stovepipe jeans he wore with a peace-sign-decorated tank shirt.

  “Thanks for that. What we’re more interested in right now is who else he was sleeping with.” Stevens took his notebook out of his back pocket. “Got any names for me?”

  Bukowski had plenty of them. “But none since he started the affair with Elena. Seemed pretty serious about that one, even if it was ‘secret.’” He made air quotes with his fingers.

  “What about you?” Stevens aimed his pencil stub at the young man. “The mysterious blogger claims Métier was bisexual.”

  “Just hyperbole.” Bukowski’s face flushed a little. “Métier was straight.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I’m not.” Bukowski winked flirtatiously. “I wouldn’t have said no to a bite of French baguette, had it been on offer.”

  Stevens snorted a laugh. “You certainly know a lot of gossip and have a way with words. Where’d you go to college?”

  “Oxford.”

  “So what’s a highly educated young man like you doing in a job like this?” Stevens gestured to the empty kitchen.

  “Kiteboarding. Maui’s the best in the world for that, and windsurfing. I’m a foreign national; not too many jobs here for Brits with a degree in literature. Chef is paying me under the table—I hope you aren’t going to report me.”

  “Got bigger fish to fry. Where were you last night between ten and midnight?”

  Bukowski pushed a handful of dreadlocks out of an eye, summoning his thoughts. “I got off at nine-thirty. I went out with some friends to a bar in Lahaina.” Bukowski named a place and Stevens noted it, along with his address and phone number.

  “Thanks. You can go. I’ll be in touch if I need anything more.”

  The young man headed for the front door with a wave.

  Stevens headed back to the office and ran into Mahoe outside the door. They could see Elena, texting on her phone, through the window into the office. “We just want to run through Mrs. Noriega’s story again, push for detail so we can verify if she had the opportunity to commit the crime—we already know she had means and motive.”

  “Yes.” Brandon nodded. “Should we interview the rest of the staff after that?”

  “We can’t leave Chef Noriega waiting at the station much longer, so let’s just take quick statements and make notes on who we want to follow up with for longer interviews. And I’ve already got one down I want to talk to more.” Stevens took out his notebook, thumbed to the page. “Sage Bukowski. That kid has the gossip and language skills to be the blogger.”

  Caprice

  Dr. Caprice Wilson poured herself a glass of bubbly water and added a slice of lime and ice cubes before settling herself into her favorite lounge chair on her little deck overlooking Hilo Bay. She leaned her head back and released a heavy sigh, letting go of the tension of a day filled with multiple consultations, a couple of therapy appointments with police officers, and an emotionally harrowing hour testifying at family court.

  The wind was settling on the bay, just a slight roughness to the cool water, and late afternoon sun gleamed on the coconut palms and banyans around Hilo. The long, deep, foliage-covered ridges around the bay seemed to hold the town in a jewel-like setting. Dr. Wilson let her eyes wander over the water, taking in a fishing boat coming in, a canoe team paddling by, the dip and swerve of a shearwater. She shut her eyes, and as they’d been doing all day, her thoughts wandered back to Lei and Stevens.

  She had a little time alone before Bruce got home from work, and she patted her lap. “Hector. C’mere, my man.”

  The elderly Siamese was pressed up against the invisible sonic barrier defining her yard and keeping him contained. Hector turned his regal head and gazed at her from unblinking crystal-blue eyes, dark markings circling them like eyeliner. When he was ready, and not a moment before, Hector turned and paced over to her, commenting loudly on the weather (damp) and his appetite (large). After so many years together, she understood him perfectly.

  Reaching his mistress, Hector jumped gracefully onto her lap, turned three times, kneading, and settled himself with a rumbling purr. Only then did Dr. Wilson’s hand drift down to stroke the cat’s creamy fur. Hector had been with her through so much—raising her son, Chris, a tumultuous divorce, a subsequent drinking problem after Chris left for college, and her eventual relocation to this idyllic spot on Hilo Bay that suited her new life so much better than the Hidden Palms estate home she’d built with her ex.

  “I don’t know why, but Lei is on my mind,” Caprice told the cat, tipping up his pointed chin to look into blue eyes that always reminded her of her son. Chris was settled in California now, graduated from college, and dating a young woman Dr. Wilson hoped she’d be calling a daughter-in-law someday. “I’ve learned to listen to that intuition.”

  Caprice thumbed to Lei’s personal cell number on her phone. Their relationship had evolved over the years from an early one of mandatory counseling to the friendship of colleagues who’d worked many cases together. Most recently, she’d assisted in Stevens’s recovery from a disastrous stint overseas.

  “Hello? Dr. Wilson?” Lei’s voice sounded near and immediate in her ear.

  “Hello, my dear. How are you and the little one?”

  “Not so little. Let me sit down.” Caprice heard a rustle and a grunt,
and pictured Lei as she’d seen her on a recent visit, feet up on the coffee table, one hand on the mound of her belly, wearing the maternity “uniform” she’d come up with. “Man, I’m looking forward to this part of parenting being over. They say it’s the way I’m carrying the baby that’s making me so uncomfortable. It’s all out in front, like a big ol’ basketball, and I can’t seem to get my breath, and I always have to pee. But you asked . . . ”

  “So everything’s just as it should be, then,” Dr. Wilson said.

  Lei laughed. “I guess.”

  “How’s Michael doing?”

  A long pause as Lei considered. “I think he’s okay. The EMDR treatments Security Solutions set up really helped. He’s still sober, and he hasn’t had any flashbacks involving Anchara since Honduras. But he gets headaches and has trouble remembering recent events—that hasn’t really improved. He gets frustrated with not feeling a hundred percent.”

  “Those are the results of head trauma, as I told both of you. He needs to take it easy, be patient with himself. And so do you. That last month of pregnancy can be tough.”

  “I miss running,” Lei said. “I’m off work for the duration. Captain Omura sent me out on leave a few days early. Cleaned out my desk this afternoon.”

  “Perfect. You can get ready for the baby now. Didn’t you tell me the nursery still needs a few things?”

  “We’re keeping the baby in with us in Kiet’s cradle at first, but yeah. I have to clean out the office and set it up for the baby. It’s a project, but I’m not sure what I’m going to do with myself for a whole month, uncomfortable like this.”

  “What about swimming? Go to the ocean. Get your exercise. It’s good for your body, good for the baby, and good for your state of mind.”

  “I’ve been doing that after work every day I can. But what I really want to do is have a case to work on. Something quiet.”

  “Lei, that’s a bad idea. Your cases always seem to turn into more than what they first appear.”

  “That’s what’s so great about my job. I miss it already.”

  “Well, let me tell you something.” Caprice stroked the purring cat, her gaze on the horizon. “The job will always be there, sucking every minute you’ll give it. But you will have this season with your unborn child only one time.” Caprice felt tears prickle her eyes, remembering Chris: how far away he was, how fast his childhood had gone with her working so much. “Put a pause button on and be a little restless—but be present.”

  “You sound like a therapist.” There was a smile in Lei’s voice. “Gotcha, Dr. Wilson.”

  “So are you having a baby shower?”

  “They threw me a surprise one at the station. Tiare, who’s going to be my labor coach, put it together. The station is buying us a crazy expensive stroller. That’s more than enough fuss for me. To be honest, my best friends are on Oahu, and they’ll come see us after the baby’s born.”

  “Marcella and Sophie, you mean.”

  “Exactly. Marcella’s hip-deep in work, married life, and baby Jonas. And Sophie—well, if I can get her out of her computer cave, it will be a miracle. But she swears she’ll come.”

  “So you still don’t know the baby’s gender?”

  “We want it to be a surprise. We’ve got the first names picked out, one for a girl and one for a boy, but we’re waiting on the baby’s Hawaiian middle name from Esther Ka`awai, who’s the baby’s godmother. She is praying about it and waiting for it to come to her. We might know the baby’s sex when she tells us that, and she’s never been wrong.”

  Caprice smiled at the excitement in Lei’s voice. “You’re embarking on your biggest mystery yet. I can’t help feeling a little like a proud grandma.”

  “You?” Lei snorted. “The youngest, prettiest grandma ever, then. Aunty is a better fit.”

  “Well, call me when you have any news. And seriously, slow down and relish this time. Even if you have another baby, there will never be another season just like this.”

  “You always have such good mana`o for me. Love you, Dr. Wilson.”

  “Don’t you think it’s time you called me Caprice?” Hector’s deep, rough purr vibrated through Caprice’s body as she stroked him. She’d asked Lei to do that before, to no avail.

  “All right, then, Aunty Caprice,” Lei said. “Love you. Talk to you soon.”

  Caprice’s former client Lei Texeira, healed and matured into an incredible woman, ended the call with a soft click. Caprice smiled, leaning her head back against the lounger. Rarely in her work did she get to witness the kind of transformation she had in Lei and her husband, and continue to be part of it. But this time she’d been able to, and what a journey it had been. Aunty or grandma, she couldn’t wait to hold their baby in her arms.

  Chapter Five

  C.J.

  Captain C.J. Omura settled herself with a Diet Coke in the observation room. She flicked on the audio monitor and stared through the one-way mirror at Chef Winston Noriega, seated at the bolted-down steel interview table.

  Noriega slumped in the chair and fiddled with the handcuffs in his lap. He was still wearing an immaculate white, side-buttoned chef’s coat, and his burly shoulders strained the sturdy fabric as they bunched. Dark hair, buzzed short, gleamed with pearls of sweat, but that wouldn’t last long in the strong air-conditioning they ran at Kahului Station.

  C.J. liked these quiet moments in the observation booth by herself. She could get a sense of the witnesses, observe their behavior when they thought themselves alone, and read their expressions, body language, tiny personal rituals, and self-soothing behaviors. Truth was, she’d always been a bit of a voyeur, and that curiosity, while having its downside, had served her well in her career.

  C.J. opened the zip-front leather binder she carried everywhere. Inside, a crisp new pad of legal paper was held down by an elastic strap beside a quality silver pen, a gift from her parents, slipped into a webbing sleeve to use for note-taking. Her date book, a handheld recorder, tube of hand cream, and her second phone were secured in a zippered mesh pocket.

  She checked the phone and read a text message from a familiar number. Meet me after work.

  C.J. frowned, then remembered not to wrinkle her forehead. Her mother, a noted beauty even at sixty, had passed on a whole list of appearance rules she followed. Omura adhered to most of them, though she’d rebelled against her mother’s dictums in most everything else. She texted her lover back.

  You don’t tell me what to do.

  A beat went by. Then, Sorry, gorgeous. Will you, pretty please with kisses on it, meet me after work at our special place?

  She grinned. Since you ask so nicely . . . yes. Wear something dangerous.

  Consider me your pirate for the night. I’ll shine up my peg leg.

  C.J. smiled again, thumbs flying. I’m more in the mood for something criminal this time. Think handcuffs, nightsticks, and the back of a paddy wagon.

  Cuff me and throw away the key, Captain. I’ve been bad, came back to her. I’ll provide the nightstick for some hard time. I’ll even wear orange for you, baby, though it’s not my best color.

  C.J. snorted a chuckle even as her heart rate shot up. He was irrepressible, naughty, and nothing she threw at him ever got him down. Their relationship was inappropriate and would never go anywhere; but he made her laugh, and that didn’t happen often enough.

  Not to mention, the sex was amazing.

  C.J. wiped the smile off her face and flipped the phone over as Lieutenant Michael Stevens opened the door of the interview room. “Hey, Captain. Did Noriega call for his lawyer?” Stevens asked.

  “No. I heard one was on the way at the wife’s request, but he never requested it, so you can proceed. Any new developments?” C.J. said.

  The tall lieutenant entered, shutting the door with a quiet click behind him. “Noriega’s wife confirms she was having an affair with the victim.” Stevens pushed rumpled dark hair out of his eyes. C.J. had always appreciated Stevens’s ruggedly handso
me appeal in an aesthetic way. Dark circles of fatigue or pain under his crystal-blue eyes only made them bluer, and his rangy body exuded power and a lithe grace.

  She’d had a fantasy or two about him in her lonely bed back in the day, when it seemed like he and Lei would never tie the knot; but as time went on, C.J. worried about them in a way that annoyed her. Thank God she’d gotten Lei home and on maternity leave before some disaster happened to her favorite detective in her ninth month. Lei was a magnet for trouble, attracting wackos and vendettas in a way that defied statistical odds.

  C.J. cared too much, felt the dependency of their little family in a way that made her second-guess herself, and Stevens’s bruised-looking aspect irritated her because of that. “Did you have a headache today?” she snapped.

  “None of your business, sir,” Stevens said evenly. “Did you want to catch up on the case or not?”

  C.J. bit back a retort. She tapped her nails on the worn counter. “Report.”

  “We took initial statements from all the restaurant staff we could round up. Got multiple motives for Chef Noriega and his wife: she was having an affair with the victim and he was abusive. The vic, Métier, was stealing recipes and more from Feast, planning to set up his own, competing restaurant. And there was a pattern of sabotage happening in the kitchen.” Stevens described a series of “accidents” and petty theft, flipping through his notes. “There’s also a blogger lampooning the place on a regular basis.”

  C.J. frowned, leaning back in the chair, tapping her fingertips together. “All this motive, and yet I have a sense you don’t think Noriega did it.”

  Stevens shrugged. “It was a stupid murder. Meaning, no effort was made to conceal the body or mitigate the consequences to the restaurant. Chef Noriega has an anger problem and abuses his wife. Seems like he’d commit a different kind of murder than a coldhearted stab to the back. I think Chef might have confronted Métier and killed him much more face-to-face—strangled him, hit him on the head, beat him to death. But a stab in the back with one of his best knives?” Stevens shook his head. “Doesn’t play for me.”