03 - Three Odd Balls (5 page)

“They’re a little scary.”

I pointed to his shirt. “Almost as scary as you wanting more of those.”

He grinned. “Take a walk with me?”

***

A tempest is what Adelé Nightingale would call it. Later that night it poured. Jetlagged and wide awake, I lay in bed and listened to the wind howl and the rain beat down on the roof of Paradise. I kept listening and could even hear the waves crashing on the shore in the distance.

Jetlag never felt so good, I thought to myself and snuggled a little closer to Wilson’s sleeping-like-a-baby body. But I still didn’t sleep. Eventually the rains stopped, and I decided it would be rather atmospheric to take a walk around the grounds at—I glanced at the clock on the nightstand—2:15 a.m. I slipped on my flip flops, ignored the fact that I was in my pajamas, and tiptoed down the garden path heading toward the ocean.

A light was on at Song of the Sea bungalow, where I assumed the Hoochie Coochies had taken up residence. At least they weren’t practicing at that hour. I passed Louise’s darkened bungalow, and the swimming pool. The tiki bar was closed, thank God. If it were still open, I could just imagine my mother, lounging on a deck chair, sipping yet another of her beloved drinks, and devising yet more improbable scenarios for Adelé Nightingale to somehow get down on paper.

I wandered along, admiring this and that tropical plant or flower. I recognized the bromeliads and gingers, and of course the roses, but failed to identify many of the more exotic species. “Puts my little rooftop garden to shame,” I said to the wind and kept going.

Indeed, I decided a two a.m. stroll through the garden might become part of my regular routine during my stay at the Wakilulani Gardens. I was thoroughly enjoying the solitude, if not the quiet. Who knew how noisy a tropical wind could be?

I meandered my way toward the beach. The lights were out in Chris’s bungalow, but a light was on at my mother’s. Tessie’s a night owl, and jetlag or not, ten pink drinks or not, I was not at all surprised she was awake.

I was deciding if I should disturb her when Mother dashed out onto her porch. Her gaze darted back and forth along the beach until she noticed me standing there in the foreground.

“There you are, Jessie,” she said in a faltering voice. “I’m glad you’re here, but maybe you should go get Wilson.”

“Excuse me? It’s the middle of the night, Mother. He’s sound asleep.”

She sighed. “Well then, maybe we should call the Hawaiian police instead.”

My face dropped. “Why?” I sang.

“Because, Honeybunch, there’s a dead man in my bungalow.”

Chapter 5

“Maybe we should go get Dad,” Chris said, and I almost landed on top of the dead guy.

I steadied myself on my mother’s threshold and stared aghast. But it was rather difficult to decide what to stare at—the dead guy on the floor, the pool of blood he was lying in, or the bare-chested Christopher Rye, who had stepped forward from the corner of the room.

I chose Chris’s chest. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“He’s been stabbed, Jessie. We need to get Dad.”

I raised my head and found his eyes. “I’m not leaving my mother.”

He pushed me aside and jogged away into the night.

I was frowning at the tray of pink drinks on the bed when my mother tiptoed inside.

“Those are very flattering,” she said quietly and pointed to at my pajamas. “Yellow suits you, Jessie.”

I told her it’s my favorite color and admired her own baby blue nightgown. And doggedly determined to avoid looking at the dead guy, we continued along this surrealistically odd tangent of conversation until Chris returned with his father.

I was relieved to see my beau the homicide detective, but Wilson reminded me he was off-duty and out of his jurisdiction. Then he glanced down at the body and started issuing orders.

“Get out,” he told Mother and me in no uncertain terms. “And don’t touch anything. Jessie, help her down the stairs so she doesn’t have to use the railing. Go stand in the sand. In one spot. Do not wander around.”

He turned to Chris. “You! Run up to The Big House. Tell whoever’s up there, no one leaves. Buster can guard the parking lot. Tell him to bring the police down here when they arrive.”

He turned again, and in one step, made it to Tessie’s nightstand. Using the edge of the T-shirt he had thrown on, he picked up the receiver. “Move, people!” he ordered, and we did.

***

But Buster Okolo was not so adept at following simple instructions. He came back to Seagull’s Roost with Chris, wringing his hands and sputtering out question after question about who was dead, how it happened, and how could something like this happen, anyway.

None of us had any answers, but Wilson still spoke with authority. He stood his ground at the top of the porch stairs and refused him entrance. Buster argued that he was the owner and needed to see what had happened. Wilson argued it was a crime scene and needed to be left undisturbed. Chris hovered at the bottom of the stairs telling Buster to listen to Wilson. I contemplated asking my mother where she had purchased her nightie.

Wilson again reiterated that someone needed to guard the parking lot. “There’s been a murder here.”

“Murder?” Buster squeaked, and the rest of us nodded.

He stood frozen while that horrid fact sunk in. Wilson again mentioned the parking lot, and Buster turned around and walked off.

Chris made as if to climb the stairs himself.

“No!” Wilson held up a hand. “Go stand beside Jessie,” he ordered and then glared down at me. “And you stay,” he said. “You, too, Tessie,” he said in a much gentler voice and walked back inside.

“Yes, Wilson, honey,” my mother answered to the empty porch. She squeezed my hand. “I guess he knows us, Jessie.”

Yes, I guess he did. And considering the present circumstances, perhaps he had a right to talk to me in that bossy tone, since I have, in the past, on occasion, stuck my nose into his police business. One time I had even gotten my mother involved. Okay, so maybe that wasn’t the brightest idea I’ve ever had, but this time I was behaving myself. I had not done anything whatsoever to get in the way and was obeying Captain Rye without question. This, despite the fact that he was off duty and out of his jurisdiction.

Chris also decided to listen to Wilson. He came over and stood next to me as directed.

“What the heck happened?” I asked.

“We need to wait for the cops,” he said. “That’s what Dad wants us to do.”

“But surely we can tell Jessie what happened?” my mother said.

I smirked at Chris. “Surely,” I agreed.

“I’m afraid it all started with weather.” Mother pointed to her porch. “I was up there watching the rains come and go when Chris walked by on his way home from Emi’s. I invited him to join me, and we’ve been keeping an eye on the storm all night. We’ve been getting acquainted, haven’t we, Chris?”

I raised an eyebrow at Rye Junior. He shrugged, but said nothing.

“We stayed on the porch until it started raining that last time,” Mother said. “And then we moved inside.”

The tray of pink drinks I had glimpsed on my mother’s bed suddenly registered. “Don’t tell me you two have been drinking those stupid Pele’s Melees all night?”

“Nooo.” Chris finally spoke. “We didn’t have anything until the rain let up again.”

“But then we decided on a nightcap before the bar closed,” Mother added. “It closes at two, you see.”

No. I really, really did not see. But I only whimpered slightly as Tessie continued, “So I rang the bar and ordered one last pitcher of Pele’s Melees.”

I closed my eyes and prayed for strength.

“We ordered just a small pitcher,” she said in her defense. “Davy offered to bring a tray down, but Chris said he’d run up to the bar and fetch it himself.”

“It’s only, like, ten steps away,” Chris said. “When I got back, we decided to kick back on Tessie’s bed.”

I opened my eyes and glared. “And, of course, my mother just happened to be in her nightclothes, and you just happened to be half-naked?”

“It wasn’t like that!” they both exclaimed.

“There’s a perfectly good reason why poor Chris is half-naked.” Mother patted his broad, bare chest. “The poor thing was soaking wet from the rain when he got back from Emi’s. His tee-shirt is drying in my bathroom.”

I was asking if there happened to be any Advil in that bathroom when we heard the sirens. A minute later two people, who I assumed were the Hawaiian cops, rounded the corner of Seagull’s Roost. They were followed by a very nervous Buster, who was wringing his hands and sputtering inanities about how he did not understand how something like this could have happened.

Wilson welcomed them onto the porch, and as everyone filed into the bungalow, he issued yet another warning to us poor slobs down in the sand. “Stay!” he repeated. I saluted, and he disappeared through the doorway.

I cleared my throat. “So, let me get this straight,” I said. “The two of you were lounging on the bed together, drinking Pele’s Melees at two a.m., and some guy just happened to walk in and die right in front of you?”

“That’s right,” Mother said. “But I do believe it was closer to two thirty. And it wasn’t some guy. It was Davy Atwell.”

“Davy!?” I shrieked.

Chris shook his head at me. “You didn’t notice?”

No, I did not. I said something about the body being face down. “To be honest, I tried my best not to look.”

“I don’t blame you,” Mother said. “It’s a bloody mess, isn’t it?”

“In more ways than one,” Chris mumbled, his eyes fixed on Seagull’s Roost. “I bet I watched him mix his last batch of drinks ever,” he said. “I bet I was the last person he ever talked to.”

“What did you talk about?” I asked.

“He wanted to know which bungalow to charge for the drinks. I told him yours and Dad’s.”

***

“Let me get this straight,” the Hawaiian cop asked me. “You just happened to be outside your mother’s cabin when David Atwell dropped dead? Because you just happened to be taking a midnight stroll.” Captain Vega pointed at my pajamas. “In that outfit.”

“It was closer to two thirty,” I corrected him.

“What were you doing wandering around at that hour?”

“Insomnia,” I said. “I’m jetlagged since we just got here this afternoon.” I re-calculated. “Umm, yesterday afternoon.”

And what a difference a day makes, I thought to myself as I glanced around. Our once sleepy little resort was now swarming with cops. Up in the parking area scads of them were combing the pavement, flashlights in hand. Captain Vega and I were outside The Big House, sitting at a table on the patio. And other cops, some uniformed, some not, dotted all the other tables. Each of them was babysitting one of us.

My mother, Chris, and Wilson had already been interrogated. And Louise, the two Hoochie Coochies, and Buster were waiting their turns after Vega got through with me. Apparently Bee Bee was the only resident of the Wakilulani Gardens not under suspicion.

“Your walk?” Vega reminded me.

“I ventured out after the storm.”

“And while you just happened to be prowling around, did you see or hear anything out of the ordinary?”

“No,” I said firmly. “The wind was howling, and the waves were crashing. Considering the hour, I just assumed I was alone.” I pointed to my attire. “Hence the pajamas.”

Vega waited for more.

“Really,” I said. “I didn’t notice anything unusual until I saw my mother.”

“She’s unusual, alright.”

I folded my arms and glared. “My mother is amazing.”

“And your amazing mother just happened to know you’d be outside her bungalow? So she just happened to step out to her porch to tell you about the murder?”

I stopped glaring. “Okay, so I know it’s hard to believe, but you have to understand Tessie. She has this incredible intuition. Especially when it comes to me.”

“What was your incredible mother doing in bed with Christopher Rye? You got an explanation for that?”

“They were getting to know each other.” I heard what I had just said and sat up straight. “But it wasn’t like that!”

“Well then, what was it like? They were drinking, and they were both half-naked.”

“My mother was as fully-clothed as I am,” I said indignantly, which did not exactly help the defense. “And Chris,” I swallowed a groan, “was half-naked.”

“Half-naked,” Vega repeated and studied something on his notepad. “How long have you known the Ryes?” he asked.

“Why?”

“How long?”

“I’ve known Wilson for about five months. And I met Chris for the first time yesterday at the Atlanta airport. Why?”

“How’d you meet his father?” Vega asked, and I swallowed another groan. Why, oh why, did that particular question have to come up?

“I’m waiting, Ms. Hewitt.”

I took a deep breath and explained, as casually as possible, that Wilson had investigated me for murder the previous summer. “He’s a cop,” I added.

“So I gathered.”

What a surprise—Vega insisted on hearing the details of the Stanley Sweetzer murder investigation, and thus I summarized the whole sad story. “But it’s ancient history,” I insisted. “Wilson never did arrest me. I was innocent all along.”

Vega stared at me for a good long time, but I refused to squirm. “How well do you know him?” he asked eventually.

I caught Wilson’s eye from across the patio. He gave me a thumbs up, and I waved a few fingers. “We are very involved,” I said.

“I’m not asking you about your sex life, Ms. Hewitt. I’m asking you how well you know the guy. What do you know about his character? About his past?”

I sat up even straighter. “What are you getting at?” I asked.

“Wilson Rye’s character,” Vega repeated.

“Is excellent,” I said. “He’s honorable, and honest, and a damn good cop.”

“Yeah, and I’m sure you’re an expert judge on that.” Vega looked up from his notes. “What about his past?”

I blinked twice. “I don’t know,” I mumbled.

“What was that?”

“I said, I do not know about Wilson’s past.” That time I was loud and clear.

***

“We did promise we’d watch the sunrise at least one day while we were here,” Wilson reminded me as we plopped ourselves down in the sand.