Maui Widow Waltz (Islands of Aloha Mystery Series) (24 page)

CHAPTER 32

A
s
soon as we left the parking lot, Lisa Marie tore into the exquisitely wrapped
hat box and plopped her new wig on her head. She pulled down her windshield
visor—probably expecting a mirror—but my Geo lacked the ‘convenience package.’

“You sure have a crappy car.” She grabbed
the edges of the wig above her ears and tugged, adjusting it side to side. “How
do I look?”

I gave her a quick once over. A red
Jeep in front of me had its left-turn signal blinking, and I was keeping an eye
out for brake lights.

“I think it may be a little too
high on this side.”  I reached over to fine-tune it, but she jerked her
head out of reach. 

She yanked the left side down just
as I braked hard to avoid hitting the Jeep which had come to a complete stop.
The wig ended up forty-five degrees off-kilter.

“You bitch! You did that on
purpose!” Her shriek nearly made me kill the engine. I downshifted and dodged
around the inert car. A glance in my rearview mirror confirmed my suspicion—the
driver was holding up a newspaper-sized map. Traffic behind him bobbed and
weaved to avoid a collision. I figured it was just a matter of time…then I
heard a
bam
! Normally, I would’ve stuck around to give a witness report
but I couldn’t trust what might come out of Lisa Marie’s mouth. 

She spent the next few minutes of
the ride rummaging through her Prada bag.  She pulled out a gold clamshell
compact encrusted with semi-precious colored stones. Okay, if it had been
my
compact they would have been semi-precious stones. The green and red stones on
her
compact were probably real emeralds and rubies. She clicked it open and used
the three-inch mirror inside to admire her new hairdo. She also freshened her
lipstick, spit-smoothed her eyebrows and investigated her chin for stray hairs.
I marveled at her ability to preen with such concentration, seemingly oblivious
to the stunning ocean views passing by on the highway.

We pulled into Olu’olu twenty
minutes later. As soon as the gate parted, I saw the detective’s car parked in
the driveway. Lisa Marie snapped her compact shut.

“Oh, hell,” she said. “What now?”

I figured they’d come to officially
release her from being a suspect. I wasn’t clear on how the police worked, but
it seemed to me if they’d ordered you to stay put, they were obliged to
formally advise you when you were free to go.

Lisa Marie snatched the wig from
her head and shoved it into the hat box before getting out of the car. “No use
giving away my beauty secrets,” she said when she caught my confused look.

Josie met us at the door and told
us in a whisper the police were waiting for Lisa Marie in the sunroom.

“I tell them you go to doctor’s.”
She gave Lisa Marie an expectant smile, but instead of a
thank you
for
covering for her, Lisa Marie snapped, “You shouldn’t lie, Josie. Your nose’ll grow.”

Josie looked bewildered. Maybe
Pinocchio wasn’t a popular kid’s story in the Philippines. She recovered
quickly, though, and looked down at Lisa Marie’s hat box.

“You buy something nice?”

Lisa Marie nodded and handed her
the box. “Put this in my room. But first, bring me a drink. I’m going to need
it.”

“Ice tea? Coke?”

“No, I said a
drink
. A
screwdriver, with two shots and no ice.”

Josie turned and went down the
hallway.  

 “Do you want me to go in
there with you?” I said to Lisa Marie. “They may tell me to leave, but at least
they’ll see someone’s here at the house with you. I’m pretty sure they know
your dad’s gone back to the mainland.”

“Suit yourself.”  

I took that as tacit approval and
followed her into the sunroom. The two detectives were perched on the bright
yellow sofa, spines ramrod straight, feet flat on the floor. Each wore
taupe-colored pants and a muted beige print aloha shirt. They looked like two
spots of drab in a sea of luminous color. Two tall crystal glasses of ice water
sat untouched on the coffee table in front of them. 

Josie came in and handed a matching
glass to Lisa Marie. It appeared to be an enormous serving of orange juice. No
doubt the cops figured Lisa Marie must be some kind of health nut.

“Ah, Ms. Prescott,” said Wong. He’d
stood when Lisa Marie entered the room, and he remained standing. “Nice of you
to join us. Did we or did we not have an appointment this afternoon at one?”

“As my maid already told you, I had
something personal I had to do.”

I looked at the clock on the wall.
It was one thirty. Lisa Marie wore an expensive Rado watch, but I’d never seen
her even glance at it. In fact, time seemed of little significance to her.

“And who might this be?” Wong
nodded my way.

“She’s my personal assistant. I’ve
asked her to be present to make sure you don’t pistol whip me or plant drugs in
my pocket or something.” Lisa Marie shot him a coquettish smile. His face
remained impassive but I noticed his right hand clench into a fist.

“Does your assistant have a name?”

I weighed my options of stepping
forward and introducing myself versus letting Lisa Marie handle it. I chose the
latter. It wasn’t my fight, and if the cops were there to release her, I’d
probably be following them out the door anyway.

“She’s nobody. Do you want her to
leave?”

“Yes. If you’re unwilling to
provide us with her name and her connection to this case, then I’m afraid
she’ll have to step outside while we talk.”

I felt strangely stung by the dismissal,
but figured it was probably for the best. I went down to my room to call Steve
and Hatch and make sure everyone had gotten home safely after the fire. I
figured I’d keep it short and use the extension in my room. No use burning up
my cell minutes.

Steve answered.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey, yourself! You okay? I lost
track of you. Are you still at the fire? I didn’t recognize the caller ID.”

“No, I’m back at Olu’olu. Wong’s
here and I’m using the guest room phone.”

“I never got to tell you about that
hinky videotape. Guess what they found out?”

I didn’t have the heart to pop his
balloon. “What?”

“It’s got a bum time code. Seems it
was recorded at a different time and even on a different
day
.”

Okay, so maybe discretion
is
the better part of valor. A different day? Sifu Doug hadn’t mentioned that.

 “How’d they figure that?”

 He explained about time code,
which I already knew, and then he continued. “The cops reviewed the dock
worker’s schedules for the past couple of weeks and matched the names against the
images of the people on the video. The tape with Lisa Marie and Kevin arguing
was from Sunday afternoon, three days
before
Kevin’s body showed up on
the beach.”

“Huh. So that would explain why
Lisa Marie still had hair.”

“And that’s why the tape is worthless.
At least a dozen people saw Kevin after that.”

“Yeah, including me.”

“Guess what else has happened?
The
Maui News
bought three of my shots of the fire. They especially liked the
one of Hatch doing CPR on the dog.”

“Speaking of the Canine Crusader,” I
said, “How’s he doing? He sucked in a bunch of smoke up in Farrah’s apartment.”

“He’s taking a nap. I had to
practically carry him into the house he was so worn out.”

“I’ll bet. Dragging that cast up
and down Farrah’s back stairs had to take a toll. But if he hadn’t shown up and
brought Lipton back to life, I don’t know if Farrah could’ve handled it.”

“Yeah. So are you coming back home?
I mean, without that video, what’ve they got on Lisa Marie?”

 “Wong’s here now. I’ll wait
and see what he says. If he says she’s free to go, I’m sure Marv’ll have her
going back to the mainland on the next thing smokin’. Why don’t I give you a
call in another hour or so—say, three o’clock?”

“Sounds good. I’m stickin’ around,”
he said. “I’ve had enough excitement for one day.”

We hung up. The call had gone on
longer than I’d intended. I wouldn’t put it past Marv to deduct for time I’d
spent on his phone, so I looked around for my purse to call Farrah from my
cell. My bag wasn’t in my room. I must have left it behind in the sunroom when
I’d been hastily booted out by Glen Wong.

The French doors to the sunroom
were standing open. I looked in. No one was there. I scanned the entry table
just inside the doors. I was certain that’s where I’d put my purse and keys
when I’d come in, but now the top was just a clear expanse of highly-polished
hardwood.

I left to go search for Josie. She
was in the far hallway, running a dry mop across the tile.

“Did you happen to pick up my purse
and keys from the entry table in the sunroom?”

She looked puzzled. “How did you
drive your car away without your keys?” she said.

Okay, we were having one of those
conversations where Part A is not, by any stretch of the imagination, fitting
into Part B.

“I haven’t driven anywhere. I was
in the guest room on the telephone.”

 “Oh no.” She ran to the front
door and pulled it open.

The police car no longer blocked
the driveway. Trouble was, my green Geo was long gone as well.

CHAPTER 33

I
sprinted to the gate house and startled George, who had his head down gawking
at a magazine. I averted my eyes as he slapped it shut and shoved it under a
shelf below the open window. 

“Hey man, it’s not dirty,” he said
when he saw me looking away. He pulled the magazine back out and showed me the
cover—
Surfing
. I felt myself start to smile, visualizing a guy his size
struggling to get upright on a long board.

“Did Lisa Marie just leave in my
car?”

“No,” he said. “You did. A couple
minutes ago.”

That took me a few seconds to
process. But it didn’t appear he was burning up any brain cells processing it
along with me.

“No, George. I’m here. I’m not in
my car. Lisa Marie’s in my car.”

“It looked like you.” He came out
of the gate house and stared out toward the highway, as if hoping to spot the
Geo parked on the other side of the gate.

“Did you see which way she went?”

“Not sure, but I think she turned
right. Like I said, I thought it was you. I figured you were headed back up to
Pa’ia.”

I glanced around for a means of
pursuit, and settled on the four-car garage at the far end of the property.

“What’s in there?” I pointed to the
garage doors.

“Mr. Prescott’s cars.”

“Good. I need to use one of them.”

“Can’t.” He shrugged and shook his
head, giving me a forlorn look.  

“Oh, I think I
can
. You see,
Lisa Marie’s father hired me to keep an eye on her since the cops are watching
her every move. Now she’s stolen my car and taken off. I need to find her—and
fast. Otherwise,
somebody’s
going to have to explain to Mr. Prescott why
he opened the gate and allowed Lisa Marie to drive out of here all by herself.”

Now
he looked like he was
burning up some brain cells.

“Mr. Prescott took the Benz to the
airport this morning and it’s still over there,” he said. “The Bentley’s got
something wrong with the fuel injectors so it stalls. The only other car is
Mrs. Prescott’s little Porsche.” He pronounced it
porch
, but I knew what
he meant. “She don’t let nobody drive it—not even
Mr
. Prescott.” He chuckled,
as if anyone daredevil enough to say ‘no’ to Marv Prescott deserved his
admiration.

“Please get me the keys,
now
.”

“I can’t. She’ll kill me.”

He crossed his arms in front of his
massive chest and smiled a Buddha smile. I reached out and gripped his right
wrist in my right hand, while stepping to his side. Then I twisted the wrist up
behind him while sweeping my foot around his well-muscled calf. I had him
locked in a lopsided leg wrap. His face froze into an astonished look as he
teetered on the edge of a fall.

“You can give me those keys
standing up or from the ground nursing a bad sprain. Up to you.” I pulled his
arm up higher.

“They’re on the wall in the shack.”
He nodded toward the gatehouse.

I released him and went to the
gatehouse door. At the back of the tiny space was a pegboard with metal hooks.
Four sets of keys hung there, but only one set sported the red, yellow and
black Porsche logo. I unhooked the key chain and trotted back to George. He was
rubbing his wrist and shooting me major stink eye.

“Open the garage door,” I ordered.

“You press the button on the keys.”

I looked at the key chain in my
hand. In addition to ignition and valet keys it had a tan plastic fob with a
green button in the center. I pressed the button and the furthest garage door
slid up. The overhead light spotlighted a dazzling red Porsche Boxster
convertible with a gray top.

“That’s it?”

“Yes, ma’am. But you can’t drive it
outta here unless I open the gate.”

“So? Open the gate.”

He shook his head.  “I do that
and the Missus finds out, I’m a dead man.”

 “Then don’t open it. Problem
is, when Marv calls, I’ll let you explain how you let Lisa Marie leave on her
own when the cops said she couldn’t. Think about it, George. Who’d you rather
piss off?  Mrs. Prescott or Mr.?”

“Okay, get out of here. But bring
Miss Lisa Marie back real fast. And don’t do
nothing
bad to that car.”

***

I could barely see over the
steering wheel of the low-slung convertible. My Geo was not an especially
high-sitting ride, but this felt like I was fanny-buffing the pavement. If I
came into a big inheritance this particular model probably wouldn’t make my
shopping list. But whew! talk about acceleration.

I careened through the turns on the
Honoapi’ilani Highway sneaking up on slow-pokes and blowing around them like
they were in neutral. I mostly waited for the center line to turn from solid to
dashes, but sometimes I risked it. I knew every inch of the highway, and Tina’s
car could outrun and outmaneuver not only the wimpy rental cars but probably
cop cars as well. In a fit of bravado I considered trying to tune the radio to
KPOA-FM, but I had too much going on with keeping an eye on the road ahead,
downshifting when necessary, and scanning side roads and turnouts for my green
Geo.

I sped straight up the highway
toward Kahului. I knew Lisa Marie didn’t have much of a head start, but with
only George’s tentative confirmation of which way she’d gone I was pretty much
going on gut feeling. Since this was the road we’d traveled to the wig store,
it made sense if she was just out for a joyride she’d stick to the tried and
true rather than risk getting lost. 

At the Kuihelani Road turnoff, I
caught a glimpse of a scabby green car making a dog-track right turn. I tried
to convince myself it wasn’t my car—in fact, I was mortified to see how
pathetic the car looked, even from this distance—but it was the right size,
shape and color. It took the Boxster only seconds to get close enough to
confirm the disgrace.

Kuihelani becomes Dairy Road and
then heads straight on out to the Maui airport. Maybe Lisa Marie was planning
to head for home now that she’d been sprung. But why steal my car? Why not
summon a limo, with cut glass liquor bottles and mirrored windows? 

My theory about her making a dash
to the airport was nixed when the Geo took a screeching two-wheel right
turn—without stopping at a red light—at Hana Highway, only a few blocks short
of the airport entrance. Oncoming traffic dodged and horns bleated, but Lisa
Marie barreled ahead. She was now on the road to Pa’ia. Was she headed to my
shop? Maybe she’d learned of the fire and wanted to see the damage for herself.

At the intersection of Highway
37—Haleakala Highway—she fooled me again. She slipped into the right lane and,
again without signaling, took another right turn. Okay, now I was totally
confused. Highway 37 leads to the Upcountry area—a place with no major shopping
or entertainment and certainly no exodus off the island. It offers peaceful
farms and cooler temps. Nothing up that way—short of an invitation to Oprah’s
lavish estate—would hold much appeal for Lisa Marie. I made the turn.

Haleakala Highway is steep. In
fact, we learned in driver’s ed that it’s one of the steepest paved highways in
all of the United States. If you take it all the way to the top, you’ll climb
to ten-thousand feet above sea level in only thirty-eight miles. After a couple
of miles, it was obvious the Geo was struggling. Smoke belched from the
tailpipe. I imagined Lisa Marie, foot smashed to the floorboard, screeching
obscenities as the little green machine wearily clawed its way up the incline.

I eased up on the gas pedal. The
Boxster was raring to go, but if I’d downshifted and let it have its way I’d
have overtaken Lisa Marie in less than a minute. By this point, apprehension
wasn’t my goal. My curiosity piqued, I wanted to see where she was headed. I
promised myself I’d intervene if her joyride threw her into the category of
‘harmful to self or others,’ but until then, I was willing to go along with her
game.

I had to move in closer than I’d
liked as the highway approached Highway 377—the turn-off for Crater Road.
Straight ahead on 377 is the farming town of Kula; a left turn feeds into the
twisting, turning ascent to the national park, ending at the cliff rim of
Haleakala Crater. Lisa Marie turned left. I checked the gas gauge on the
Porsche. It was still nearly full, but by now the Geo would be hovering near
the “E.” Even if it made it up the steep road to the summit, there was no way
it’d make it back down again.

I hadn’t been to the crater since
I’d moved back to Maui after college, and I’d forgotten how much cooler and
windier it was up there. I hung back so she wouldn’t see me, but I was fooling
myself. Most likely by now, Lisa Marie had noticed she was being followed by a
red car identical to her stepmom’s.

I gripped the wheel while keeping
an eye out for stragglers from the bicycle tour groups that coast down the
mountainside every day. The number of injuries and even deaths from these
alleged ‘easy rides’ from the top was a grim statistic rarely shared with
tourists, but you sure as hell never see locals paying good money to risk life
and limb on the narrow twisting roadway.

 At this point there were no
more intersections or turnouts, so I kept back a quarter-mile to avoid being a
constant presence in her rearview mirror. Every time I’d encounter a switchback
I’d see a flash of green as the Geo relentlessly chugged uphill—a white plume
of exhaust spewing from its tailpipe. Within seconds the exhaust mingled with
the patchwork of low-lying clouds we encountered as we climbed higher.

From the looks of things, Lisa
Marie was heading straight to the top.