Choreographed Crime (Miss Demeanor 3) (2 page)

Chapter Two

Maile returned to the office and bragged to Cory about the fabulous food truck she’d discovered. “Made my day. Maybe my week.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so into food.” Cory fiddled with her hoop earrings.

“What can I say? I love good local Hawaiian grub. You can’t imagine how delicious it was.”

“Are we still talking about food?”

Maile raised her eyebrows. “We were, but now that you mention it, it wouldn’t bother me to get to know Lama better.”

“First name basis already?”

“You bet.”

Maile walked back to her desk and started to research driving routes from the food truck to her apartment and where to locate microbrews from Hawai’i. She’d need beer with her
poke
.

Ten minutes before closing time, Maile heard someone in the reception area. She saw a stout woman with light brown skin and dark circles under her eyes in front of Cory’s desk, a newspaper clutched to her chest.

“Please. I need to speak with an investigator.”

Cory asked the woman for her name.

“Mrs. Fernandez-Garcia. My son was murdered.”

Maile walked to the woman. “I’m Maile Kuhiwinui, private investigator. Shall we go to the conference room and talk?”

Maile led the woman to the conference room and placed a bottle of water in front of her before she sat down with her iPad.

The woman pushed the newspaper in front of Maile. “The police say he committed suicide.” She shook her head back and forth. “He would never do that. It’s a sin.”

“Let’s start at the beginning, Mrs. Fernandez-Garcia.”

The woman started to wring her hands and suck in her lips. Finally, she spoke, “My son danced with the Seattle Ballet and someone… someone…”

Maile handed her a box of tissues. “Take your time.”

“Someone murdered him.”

“Why do you suspect murder?”

“He would never take his own life. We are Catholic.”

“I know this must be a very difficult time for you, but I need more information to start an investigation.”

“The coroner told me he died from a drug overdose.”

“Did he say what drug?”

“Digitalis.”

“The heart medication?”

“Yes. He had arrhythmia. The cardiologist prescribed digitalis to control the irregular rhythms.”

Mrs. Fernandez-Garcia reached into her purse, took out a prescription bottle and handed it to Maile. “The coroner gave me this along with Floriano’s clothing.” She wept into her hands. “He said…he said the police found it lying on the floor of his bedroom near where they found him.”

Maile nodded and tapped some notes into her iPad.

“Did Floriano have any enemies?”

“He was a good man. Everyone loved him.”

Maile asked if she had any other evidence that someone murdered her son and Mrs. Fernandez-Garcia pulled a Bible out of her purse.

Maile briefly wondered if she had a religious zealot in her midst.
Great,
she thought.
Not a case at all, just some wacko who wants to convert me.

The woman opened the Bible and handed it to Maile. “Floriano marked this passage.”

Maile saw the ribbons streaming from the bottom of the Bible.

“How can you be sure it’s this page with all the ribbons marking pages?”

Mrs. Fernandez-Garcia pointed at verse 2 Kings 4:39-40. Maile saw some reddish-brown spots. “I’m sure because this is my son’s blood.”

Chapter Three

Maile walked Mrs. Fernandez-Garcia to the door and promised to contact her in the next couple of days. Maile sucked in a breath. She’d only worked one homicide as a cop. She just happened to be the one on duty when the call came in. There was a disturbance down on Bayfront and by the time she and her partner arrived two men lay dead from gunshot wounds. She interviewed a handful of people who claimed they heard or saw what happened. Then she turned her notes over to the detective and she’d driven away. She didn’t feel confident she could handle a murder case. “Crappity crap.”

“What’s up?” Cory asked.

“You know that ballet dancer who committed suicide?”

“Yeah, I heard about that.”

“That woman’s his mother. She swears he would never commit suicide because they’re Catholic and he left a clue in his Bible.”

“Sounds like an interesting case.”

“I guess so. But murder? Why couldn’t I get an easy case for practice? Fraud or adultery or something not so…so serious?”

“You can handle it. And the mom might be wrong. Maybe he did commit suicide. You know what they say about artists.”

“Yeah, well, I’m going to head home. Lama promised to save me some
ahi poke
.”

Cory screwed up her face and twirled her giant hoop earring. “What the hell is ahh-hee po-kay? Sounds like some kind of lap dance.”

“Get your mind out of the gutter. It’s a raw tuna concoction. Decadent as all hell and great with beer. You really should try it sometime.”

“No thanks. I like my protein cooked.”

“I’ll check in tomorrow. I think I’ll go over to the Seattle Ballet building in the morning and ask some questions.”

Maile pushed her arms into her rain jacket, pulled up the hood, and headed for her Jeep. It was almost six o’clock. She hoped Lama had waited for her.

****

Lama looked at his watch and tapped his toes. Five-forty five. He’d give the pretty
wahine
another fifteen minutes and then he’d have to go. Who knew if she’d ever return? He kicked himself for not asking for her number. Maybe she already had a boyfriend or husband and just didn’t wear a ring.

He twirled the shark’s tooth on his necklace. Clarissa made him remove it when they slept together that one time. She said it disgusted her. He’d worn it to the ballet with a shirt she provided and long dark pants. His cousin loaned him some closed leather shoes that pinched his feet. He only forgot about his discomfort when Clarissa swirled onto the stage and danced. Her fluid motions looked effortless and complicated all at once. And then Floriano pranced onto the stage and stole the show. It wasn’t until after he lifted her slight form above his head that the audience turned their attention back to Clarissa.

Later at his apartment when he undressed her, Clarissa asked if he thought the audience liked her performance better than Floriano’s. He’d tilted her face to his and promised she’d performed perfectly.

“Lama?”

He snapped to attention. Maile had shown up. “Hey, ready for the best
poke
in Seattle?”

“I am. Sorry I’m late.
Mahalo
for waiting.”

“That’s all right. I thought you might want to have a beer with that
poke
, so I picked up some Longboard Lager.”

“I don’t know if I can find my way home if I drink a beer.”

“Where do you live?”

“Capitol Hill.”

Lama hoped she’d invite him to her place, but it didn’t look promising. “Tell you what. I’d like to spend some time with you. You know, get to know you better. And if you don’t want to drink when you have to drive, I respect that, but you have to have beer with
poke
, right?”

“That’s the plan. I mapped out a route to a store that carries Kona Brews and I planned to stop on my way home.”

“So, we have a dilemma.”

Maile tilted her head. “How about I take the
poke
home this time and I’ll stop by tomorrow and we can make a solid plan.”

He shook his head. “At least take a couple of beers with you. Save yourself a stop.”

She tried to hand him some money and he raised his hands in protest. “See you tomorrow.”

He watched her leave and realized he still forgot to get her number.

****

Maile walked briskly back to the Jeep. If she turned around now, she’d invite Lama home with her. And what did she really know about this guy except he was good-looking man and made perfect Hawaiian food?

As soon as she arrived home, Maile popped the cap off the bottle of Longboard and took a satisfying slug. She set up her laptop at her kitchen table and opened the plastic container of
poke
. The first forkful would’ve had her in Lama’s arms if she’d stayed in town with him. Just like the
loco moco
, it tasted perfect. She took another swig of beer and another bite of fish and settled into her tasks for the evening.

First, she sent a text to her partners to say she finally got her first case. While she waited for their responses, she finished eating her
poke
and logged into her Facebook account to catch up with her Auntie Lei.

When her doorbell rang, she knew it’d be the girls. She opened the door and saw River, Shay and Cassie with armloads of ingredients Maile recognized as the makings for River’s pineapple mint mojitos.

“Get in here.” Maile hugged all of them.

“So, congratulations and tell us about your case.” Shay plopped down on the couch.

River called from the kitchenette, “Do not start without me. Let me get the drinks made first, okay?”

When they settled on the couch and chairs in the living area, Maile relayed everything she knew about Mrs. Fernandez-Garcia’s claim that someone murdered Floriano. “I’ll start interviews tomorrow morning. I need to make a list of people from the ballet company who knew him best.”

After they finished their drinks, Cassie carried the glasses to the sink. “Yuck! Maile, what the hell was in here?” She held up the
poke
container.

“My dinner. It’s called
ahi poke
and it’s a raw tuna salad made by a damn good-looking Hawaiian guy.”

The ladies giggled and Maile told them about Lama.

“What did you find out when you researched him?” River asked.

Maile furrowed her brow. It didn’t occur to her to research him. In Hilo, you just asked the family name and where they lived and hoped for the best. “I didn’t research him.”

Shay stared at her. “Let’s do it now. We need to make sure you’re not falling for the wrong kind of guy.”

Chapter Four

The fools believed Floriano committed suicide.

I’ve read the article about his death several times now and I’d believe it if I didn’t know better. He deserved to die. He was no more than a haughty foreigner who pranced around the company as if he owned it and stole the limelight each time he stepped on the stage.

Lucky for me he had a documented heart condition.

I easily walked into his apartment building unseen. I’d hustled him for two damn years before he gave me the keycard to the back entrance of his apartment building so we could rendezvous secretly. Neither of us wanted anyone to know about our tryst. Especially me.

It had been too easy. He was a creature of habit and insisted on his food from Kalama’s food truck. I remember I joked that it would kill him one day.

If only he’d listened to me.

Then again, I suppose I would have killed him anyway. I knew he medicated with digitalis, but I couldn’t trust there would be enough pills in his prescription to provide the kiss of death. The dried leaves from the summer crop of foxgloves were so easily disguised in the chicken teriyaki sauce.

I allowed him a few kisses before I warmed his dinner and served it on a glass plate. I poured wine and encouraged him to finish his dinner like a good boy before I’d join him in his bed. He ate heartily while I anticipated his end.

I poured his second glass of wine and he reached for my hips. I straddled him in his chair and whispered promises in his ear. Floriano moved like a cat while he removed his shirt and tugged at mine.

I admit I teased him with kisses to his bare chest and allowed him to fondle me, but I stopped him before anymore happened saying his kisses were enough for now and I wanted to sleep next to his beautiful body before we made love.

Every compliment burned my mouth, but in the end it was worth it.

When he jumped from the bed and began to vomit in the toilet, I forced myself to rub his shoulders and comfort him. He apologized to me.

I glanced at my watch and calculated his demise. And I couldn’t help myself, I laughed in his face. It had not been my plan, but suddenly I wanted him to know I was in charge of his death. I told him I needed him off the stage.

I loved it when he dropped to his knees and begged me to call an ambulance. He promised to leave the country if I let him live. And I just laughed at his absurdity.

He crawled to his bedroom and reached for his Bible from the nightstand. I watched as he fumbled with the colored ribbons, sweat beading on his bare chest and knees bent in a fetal position, until he bit his own finger and drew blood, dripping a few drops on his precious Bible before he clutched his chest and lay still.

I gloved up and started to clean him with water-free cleanser. I changed the bedding and replaced it with the clean sheets I had in my duffle bag. I found the prescription bottle of digitalis in his medicine chest and spilled the remaining tablet into my duffel before I dropped the empty container on the bedroom floor.

I traced the length of him before I slipped out of the building.

I checked my watch. I’d only been there for a little over two hours. In my wildest fantasies, I never imagined it would be so exhilarating to take someone’s life.