Maui Widow Waltz (Islands of Aloha Mystery Series) (14 page)

“C’mon,” he said, “Birkenstocks and
Gucci loafers under the same bed? No way.” He grinned as if he expected me to
punch his arm and admit I was joking.

“Trust me. It defies logic, but I
witnessed it in action. He’d even offered to buy this building so Tank Sherman
couldn’t kick Farrah and me out. I think he really cared about her.”

“Well, maybe it was a peanut butter
and caviar thing,” he said.

I gave him a confused look.

“You know, one of those weird
combos that people swear is great. What did Lisa Marie think about the two of
them hooking up? She okay with it?”

“Not by a long shot.”

We looked at each other and held
the stare.

“Now what?” Steve said.

“Now I need to head down to Olu’olu
to see what they want to do and try to get some bills paid.”

“Can I do anything to help?”

“Could you clear out a few shelves
in the kitchen? I have a feeling Farrah’s gonna haul in a load of comfort
food.”

“Sorry to state the obvious, but
most of the shelves are already bare.”  

I chewed my lip. “You know, this
morning my life was clipping along pretty good; just two days to go…” I shook
my head. No use itemizing the dismal events of the past four hours.

“You know your life could’ve turned
out a lot worse,” said Steve.

“Oh yeah? How?”

“You could’ve been a guy betrothed
to Lisa Marie.”

CHAPTER 18

I
took my usual route toward home but instead of turning right at my street I shot
right past it. I then made a right at Haleakala Highway and then a left at
Highway 36 to Hansen Road and then to Waiko Road to Highway 30 over to the West
Side. It certainly isn’t the most direct route from Pa’ia to Olu’olu, but by
snaking along back roads I avoided the Kahului traffic and the extra miles gave
me time to think.

My plan was to convince Lisa Marie
to scuttle the wedding out of respect for Kevin. By the time Olu’olu came into
sight I had my whole speech prepared—‘That’s what Brad would want you to do;
and even if he does show up tomorrow he’ll be proud you respected his friend’s
memory,’ blah, blah, blah. I cringed at shamelessly putting words in her mouth
since I was pretty sure there were some serious cracks in her psyche.
Cancelling the wedding could split it wide open. But regardless of whether she
went along with my plan or not I was duty-bound to wrestle a check out of Marv.
If I didn’t get paid before he and Tina sashayed out to the airport, I had no
doubt it wouldn’t take long for me to become just another blocked number on his
cell phone.

The gate was closed when I turned
into Olu’olu. I waited at the speaker box, burning gas I couldn’t afford, for
what felt like five minutes but was probably more like one or two. I tapped the
horn.

“Keep your shorts on,” snarled a
voice through the speaker.

“It’s me, Pali Moon. I need to see
Lisa Marie.”

“She’s not seeing nobody.”

“How about Marv? Is he taking
visitors?”

“Mr. Prescott’s gone.”

“Would you please open the gate?
I’m here about the wedding.”

“I’m not supposed to let in any
cops or reporters.”

“I’m none of the above.”

“Prove it.”

“C’mon. You know my voice by now,
and I know you’ve got a camera on me. Look at this car. Would any
self-respecting cop or reporter drive a piece of crap like this?”

“No.” There was a hesitation.
“Unless maybe you’re undercover or something.”

“I’m the wedding planner. You’ve
let me in nearly every day for the past week. Open the damn gate—pretty
please.”

I parked in my favorite spot close
to the end of the driveway. As I walked toward the house I was once again
rocked back on my heels by the stunning ocean view. White-capped waves crashed
against the jagged black rocks of the breakwater. Kevin’s body had been
battered by similar rocks only a few miles south.   

Stepping up to the door, I pulled
myself up straight and put on my combat face. I waited, but the door didn’t
swing open as it usually did when I approached. I knocked and waited some more.
Nothing.

I knocked again—loudly this time
—then followed it up with a finger on the doorbell. I heard the bell chime a
few bars of
Aloha ‘Oe
inside the foyer, but still no one came.

Since the guard at the gate had let
me in I was sure someone must be there. I stepped away from the front entrance
and headed to my left—along the
ma kai
, or shoreline, side of the
house—to check if maybe someone was on the lanai.  

Lisa Marie was stretched out on a
lounge chair wearing only a pale pink bikini bottom. Her bare fried-egg breasts
and shaved head glowed ghostly white in the mid-day sun. She sported oversized
dark aviator sunglasses that covered most of her sunken cheeks. Her overall
appearance brought to mind a gigantic insect larva. 

I hoisted myself onto the low rock
wall that circled the lanai. I was about to jump down on the other side over
when a hand grabbed my upper arm in a crunching grip.

“Where you think you’re going?”
said a man, six feet tall and at least half that wide. I recognized his
growling voice from the security gate. His
kukui
nut-brown skin and
lion’s mane of frizzy orange-tipped black hair stood in sharp contrast to his
blazing white teeth. I pegged him as Fijian. His fierce grin reminded me that
Fijians didn’t abandon cannibalism until the late 1800’s. I sent up a prayer
he’d gotten the memo.

“Whew, you scared me.” I said.

“You supposed to wait at the door,”
he rumbled. His jutting unibrow shaded squinting eyes. “No one allowed back
here.”

“Sorry. I knocked and rang the bell
but nobody came. Then I noticed Lisa Marie out here.  She’s the person I need
to talk to.”

“Go back and wait at the door.” He
gripped my arm tighter, pulling me off balance. I had no choice except to
scramble back down the way I’d come. Once I regained my footing, I looked up at
him. His eyes were fixed on Lisa Marie. Though he was no doubt tempted to stay
and gawk, the opportunity to shove me around must have appealed to him even
more. He hauled me toward the front entry, taking such long strides I could
barely keep up. I flexed my bicep, hoping to stave off a nasty upper arm bruise.
He stiffened his grip in response.

Josie waited at the open front
door. The security guy heaved me forward with a shove, then wordlessly stalked
off.

“I so sorry,” she said. “I was in
the kitchen and the bell comes and I had to turn off the cooking, and …” She
prattled on, anxiety raising her voice to a squeak. 

“Are you okay, Josie?” I said.

“Oh, Miss Moon. Is terrible. First
Mr. Brad is lost, and now Mr. Kevin drowned….” She picked up the hem of her
apron and dabbed at her eyes.

“I know. I came down here to talk
to Lisa Marie about the wedding.”

“There can be no wedding!” She
shrieked as if I’d suggested her first-born son step in as the new proxy.

“No, of course not. We need to talk
about
cancelling
the wedding.”

She nodded and motioned for me to
follow her to the sunroom. It was in deep shadow now, the windows tightly
shuttered. I couldn’t see outside, but I knew Lisa Marie was stretched out only
a few feet away on the other side of the windows. Josie offered me a seat; then
crossed the room and opened the exterior door.

I heard muffled conversation
through the half-open door. A half-minute later Josie reappeared and gestured
for me to come outside.

“She not feeling good,” she
whispered. “Please say only happy talk.”

Like that left much to say.

“Hi, Lisa Marie.” I gave her a
little wave. “How’re you doing?” She didn’t respond. I pulled a wicker chair
over next to her and sat down.

She reached down and picked up a
pareo
—a
Tahitian shawl—and draped it across her shoulders, covering her bare bosom.

I waited for her to say something,
and when she didn’t, I did what most people do when faced with dead air: I
started blathering.

“Wow, what a rough morning, huh?
You look pretty darn good, considering everything that’s happened. And check
out that view—like they say, another beautiful day in paradise.” I looked out
toward the islands of Lana’i and Kaho’olawe glistening on the horizon. “Looks
like the rain has finally let up for a while….”

I yammered on, doing color
commentary on island life in general and nothing in particular. When I finally
took a breath, she let out a sigh with so much hurt behind it I wanted to lean
over and give her a hug.

“You look like shit,” she said. “Is
that what you’re planning to wear to my wedding rehearsal this afternoon?” She
pointed to my shorts and tee-shirt.

“No.” I mentally kicked myself for
even considering the hug.

“It starts in two hours,” she said.
“Don’t you think you should change?”

I stood up, fighting the urge to
grab her by the shoulders and shake her until her teeth rattled. I imagined
dramatically slapping her pale sunken cheek. She’d blink a couple of times and
then say,
Thanks, I needed that
. Okay, not gonna happen, but it was a
satisfying fantasy.

“Lisa Marie, I need to talk to your
dad. Do you know where he is?”

“He left.”

“Where’d he go?”

“Who cares? Tina said they’d be
gone for a few hours.”

“What did your dad say when he saw
your hair?”
Or rather, your total lack of hair.

 “What do you think? He yelled
at me.”

“That’s it?”

“You want details? Okay, he called
me a whack-job and told me I look like hell. Then he said he was done trying to
help me be normal.”

“Lisa Marie, I’m afraid I have some
bad news.”

Her eyes flashed. “No! I’m sick,
sick,
sick
of your bad news. If you say one more word I’ll have security
throw you out.”

She jumped off the lounge and
violently shook out the
pareo
, then quickly wrapped it around her,
tucking and folding until she’d created a pretty impressive cover-up. Without
so much as a backward glance, she went inside and slammed the door behind
her. 

***

At Ma’alaea Harbor I took the Kihei
cutoff, turning
mauka
—inland—at the Mokulele Highway to the Haleakala
Highway. I turned again at Haili’imaile Road. It was almost the reverse of the
route I’d taken earlier. I floored the Geo—which amounted to getting it up to a
neck snapping forty-five—through the Haili’imaile pineapple fields before
taking the left at Pu’u Lane to my house.

When I pulled into the driveway,
Hatch was sitting outside on the wide front porch. His head was down and his
hands were busy with something in his lap. He didn’t look up as my car crunched
over the gravel and stopped in front of the house. If I was interrupting a
private moment it didn’t seem like he cared.

“Hey,” I called out.

“Hey, yourself,” he said still
working away at his lap.“I gotta tell ya, this is the cutest pup of the bunch.”
He raised his cupped hands and showed me the same little brown and white
patchwork pup I’d held down at Farrah’s.

“Oh yeah, that little guy’s my favorite
too.”

“I hate to start an argument, but
I’m pretty sure it’s female.”

“Ha! No problem with me. Better to
figure it out now before Farrah names it ‘
Paka
’.”

“Which means…”

“Bob—in Hawaiian.

He placed the tiny pup back in his
lap and tickled its belly. Lipton whined behind the screen door, no doubt
fretting over being separated from her offspring.

“You’re going to have to share the
pups,” I said. “Farrah’s coming to stay with us for a few days. She’s taking
Kevin McGillvary’s death pretty hard.”

“Oh yeah. Steve said he’d talked to
you. Why didn’t you call me back?”

“I’ve been avoiding the phone. I
figure dealing with Lisa Marie everyday gives me a pass to dodge my creditors
for a while.” 

“Speaking of the blushing
bride—how’s she taking the news?”

“About Kevin? As far as I know, she
hasn’t heard. I was just down there, and when I tried to tell her, she
threatened to have me thrown off the property. To tell the truth, I was kind of
relieved. She’s gotten pretty scary.”

“But the wedding’s called off, right?”

“I’d love to say, ‘yes,’ but it’s
not official. Seems Lisa Marie’s still holding out hope Brad Sanders will
magically appear tomorrow.”

“So the wedding’s on?”

 “For now. I’m operating with
very sketchy information. Marv Prescott wasn’t around for me to talk to and
Lisa Marie’s firmly anchored in Denial Bay. It’s not like I’ve got all the
answers. I still can’t figure out how Kevin managed to drown at Little Beach—in
his skivvies.”

“I may be able to help you fill in
a few blanks.”

“Great.”

“You probably won’t like it,” he
said.

“What’s new? I haven’t liked much
of anything that’s happened today.”

 “Well, as you know,
McGillvary’s death was thought to have been an accidental drowning. But now
that they’ve done the autopsy, that’s changed.”

“He washed up at Little Beach,
right?” I couldn’t wrap my brain around how a nearly-naked body washing up on a
beach didn’t point to a drowning.

“They recovered him there, but the
evidence points to something else.”

“What evidence?”

“The autopsy showed there was no
water in his lungs. But even more important, they found a severe brain injury
due to blunt force trauma.”

“Like he hit his head?”

“Exactly,” he said. “Or, he got
smashed in the head. They’re bringing in Maui Sheriff’s detectives.”

“Do they have any idea where it
happened—on land or in a boat?”

“Don’t know yet.”

“And he was in his underwear,
right?”

“Just him and his Calvins.”

I let the new information roll
around my mind a little. “If they’ve contacted detectives it sounds like they
think it might not have been an accident.”

“That’s what it sounds like. And
guess who’s on their short list for questioning?”

“Marv Prescott.” I blurted it
out—remembering that famous line from Casablanca:
Round up the usual
suspects.

“You’re half right. It’s a Prescott.
But it’s the grieving widow, Lisa Marie.”