Murder in Honolulu: A Skye Delaney Mystery (13 page)

That went double for me.

"Ollie," I called out to him after he chased
the Frisbee to the end of the fenced-in yard. He quickly brought it
back to me. "What would I ever do without you, boy?" I hoped I
didn't have to find out anytime soon.

While Ollie playfully licked my face, I told
him: "You may be the only one who can identify Carter's killer."
Once a dog had that blood scent in his nostrils, he would never
forget it. "If only I could take you inside and out of every damned
house in the city to snuff out a murderer—"

Later that evening I paid a visit to my
neighbors, hoping they might have seen someone or heard something.
Fat chance. One of my neighbors was an eighty-five-year-old woman
whose sight and hearing had deteriorated to the point that her
daughter wanted to put her in a nursing home. A younger couple just
down the street claimed they were too busy fighting with each other
to have noticed that a man was killed practically in plain view of
their residence, were it not for the palm trees.

One neighbor thought she might have seen
someone lurking around my house, but she couldn't remember if it
was before or after Carter's death. Then she decided that maybe the
whole thing had just been in her head.

What I was left with was the undeniable fact
that at least one person had managed to break into my house without
the alarm sounding, murder Carter, then put his body into the
tub—all without being noticed, or leaving behind any clues to point
the finger in their direction. Except for one. A very rare blood
type...

It occurred to me that Carter could have
actually come to my house with his killer, unaware that his life
was about to end...and, as such, not feel he would need to defend
himself. Not until it was too late.

That night I put my thoughts down in my
computer as I normally did for any investigation, detailing
everything I had so far and what was missing. It read like a
chronicle of frustration, question marks, helplessness, and the
real feeling that there was no end in sight in getting to the
bottom of Carter Delaney's untimely death.

CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN

The funeral took place on what felt like the
hottest day of the year in Honolulu. It seemed as if half the
city's dignitaries and business leaders were present, along with a
healthy dose of representatives from law enforcement, to pay their
respects. As a former prosecutor and self-made success story,
Carter Delaney had obviously made a lot of friends.

And likely just as many enemies, I
thought.

The widow was dressed in traditional black
and gave every indication that she was distraught. Beside her was
Carter's daughter, Ivy, who probably would suffer the most in the
long run in being denied a father as she came of age and beyond. I
stood next to Ridge somewhere in the middle of the rows of
mourners. Not being invited to take a spot amongst family members
was a bit dampening, but actually preferable. After all, it was
senseless to have Carter's first and second wives standing side by
side like we were some big, happy family, which clearly wasn't the
case.

Ridge, whose new partner was scouting the
area for a possible brazen appearance by Carter's killer, whispered
in my ear: "If the widow played any part in your ex's death, it
won't be easy to prove. Witnesses at a popular spa back up her
claims of being there at the time the medical examiner says Delaney
was killed." I could feel Ridge's warm breath on my cheek as I took
in his words, which were more of a relief than disappointment. "The
boyfriend's alibi is even more solid," he said. "Edwin Axelrod was
in San Francisco on business the day Delaney checked out. Looks
like we might be barking up the wrong tree on those two, no pun
intended—"

That was both good and bad news
, I
thought. The good news was a love triangle may not have cost Carter
his life after all. The bad news was it went against my gut feeling
that Carter hiring me to prove his wife was being unfaithful had in
some way, shape, or form figured into his death. I still wasn't
fully convinced that Darlene Delaney was free and clear as far as
playing a role—directly or indirectly—in Carter's demise was
concerned. Alibis and corroboration had strange ways of being
manipulated and arranged by people who wanted to cover their
asses.

"Where do we go from here?" I whispered to
Ridge.

"How about my place," he said suggestively.
"I'll ditch Kawakami and meet you there—"

I elbowed him in the side and watched him
wince deservedly. "I hardly think this is the time or place," I
said under my breath. "I'm talking about the case—"

Ridge appeared to regret his weak attempt at
seduction. Finally, he said: "Who the hell knows? Right now it's
anybody's guess who murdered Delaney. We're taking the
investigation one step at a time."

Knowing Carter, I honestly think he felt he
would live forever. Or at least long enough to go gray, white, then
bald, before spending his days on a chaise lounge reading the
classics, and lying on the beach. However, fate had intervened. The
thought bothered me, especially when I had serious reservations
that his death was set in stone. Whoever had murdered Carter was
not God, but a cold-blooded assassin.

"If only Carter hadn't gone to my house," I
muttered lamentably to Ridge. Even then, it was becoming obvious to
me that Carter had been targeted for execution whether he had gone
to my house or not.

I honed in on the pastor, a heavyset man
with thinning gray hair and a resonant voice that seemed made for
such occasions.

"...Carter Delaney will be sorely missed.
Not just as a public servant and a business leader in our
community, but as a husband and father. Darlene and Ivy Delaney
face the very difficult task of having to rebuild their lives. But,
God willing, and with our help, they will do just that—even as
Carter watches over them from above..."

In that moment, I was grateful that my life
had already been rebuilt since Carter and I split up. But that
still hadn't taken away my own unexpected feeling of loss.

My eyes wandered about the cemetery until
they latched on Detective Kawakami. He appeared to be eyeing
everyone suspiciously. I knew him from my days on the force. We
actually went out on a date once, but I quickly realized he wasn't
my type. He didn't necessarily agree, but never argued the
point.

Other familiar faces were present, including
that reporter who had gotten in my face on the day Carter died. Not
far away was Edwin Axelrod. I wondered if the man had shown up to
pay his last respects or to move in on the widow now that Carter
was conveniently out of the way.

Farther away from the crowd was a man who
looked very much like Darlene's drug dealer associate, Kalolo—the
one who supposedly never knew her as
Mrs. Carter Delaney
. So
what the hell was he doing here? I didn't like what I was
thinking.

My eyes left him for a moment to scan the
faces and profiles of other mourners. I had an eerie feeling that
there was a good chance whoever was responsible for Carter's death
would not be satisfied until they saw the dirt covering his
casket.

By the time I looked back to where Darlene's
drug supplier was standing, he was gone.

CHAPTER
NINETEEN

He paid his last respects to Carter Delaney,
just like all the other assholes who showed up, as if they really
gave a damn about him when he was alive. It was like a game.
Everyone played it, some better than others. Even he had to go
through the motions and pretend to be all broken up about the late
ex-prosecutor turned successful businessman, soon to be six feet
under. In truth, the bastard didn't deserve to be alive. He had
done the world a favor by dying.

It didn't make one bit of difference if the
police had labeled his death a homicide. The bottom line was that
Carter Delaney might be alive today if he'd cooperated.

If you don't play, you pay
, he
thought.

He gazed at Darlene Delaney. The
good-looking widow was giving the performance of her life, dabbing
at those teary eyes for the entire world to see. What was that old
saying?
You can fool others, but you can't fool
yourself
.

She sure as hell didn't fool him at all! He
knew that she wanted Delaney dead as much as Delaney had wanted to
her dead. Only Delaney didn't have the balls to go that far. But
his widow's wish had come true. Darlene had it all now, and there
was no more Carter Delaney to tell her what to do with it—including
that hot body of hers.

He watched Skye Delaney as she sat beside
Detective Ridge Larsen. They were far from the perfect couple, even
if they may have looked the part. The sexy private eye deserved a
lot better man than the detective. Or, for that matter, Carter
Delaney.

Why the hell couldn't they have just
accepted Delaney's death as a suicide? It had been so carefully
planned and executed. Now things had gotten complicated. An
investigation was underway to find the bastard's killer. This could
be dangerous for him. Very dangerous.

He had to be careful and watch his back. No
one else was going to. If he made one wrong move, they would be
onto him like white on rice.

He couldn't let that happen.

He kept his eyes steady as the detective
named Henry Kawakami—even in plain clothes, he could easily spot a
cop a mile away—passed by him looking for a sign that he had
something to hide.

Which, of course, he didn't to the naked
eye.

CHAPTER
TWENTY

"She's the cheating wife you were hired to
catch in the act?" Natsuko flashed me a wide-eyed look of
interest.

We were in my garden picking everything that
was ripe. Natsuko had volunteered to help as a break from her
household chores. For me, it was a respite, or so I thought, from
the ongoing investigation into Carter's tragic and very mysterious
death.

I wiped sweat from my brow, and said to her:
"Who?"

"Your ex-husband's widow!" She raised a thin
brow whimsically. "Am I right—?"

I figured what the hell, if inquisitive
minds really wanted to know, there was no reason at this point to
deny it. "Was I that obvious?"

Natsuko ate a handful of sugar peas and
said: "No—
she
was. After I thought about it, it didn't take
much to put two and two together," she said. "Isn't that what men
do best? Use one woman to get what they want from another woman,
and vice versa? The way I figured it, Carter Delaney needed someone
to get the goods on his adulterous wife. What better person than
his ex-wife who does that sort of thing for a living and probably
still had the hots for him."

I pursed my lips, thinking,
aren't you
miss k
now-it-all
. I told her: "You've been watching too
much TV, Natsuko. I gave up the hots for Carter a long time ago,
and he damn well knew it."

"Uh huh," she responded doubtfully.

"It's true," I said louder than I meant to.
I brushed away more perspiration from my face. It seemed to be
getting hotter by the moment.

"I'll just keep my mouth shut then," Natsuko
said as her way of apology. "I don't mean to pry into your
business. The man's dead and buried..." She ate some more peas and
decided it was time to open her mouth again. "His wife had some
nerve coming here the other day to check you out." She rolled her
eyes. "Wonder what he saw in her anyway?"

"You'll have to ask Darlene sometime," I
responded dryly. But I knew exactly what Carter saw in her: youth,
beauty, sex appeal, immaturity, and a new person he could mold and
shape into the person he wanted.

Natsuko was not exactly subtle in her views,
which sometimes got her into trouble. In fact, I was one of the few
people she seemed to approve of. Don't ask me why.

I gazed at her with a soft smile, pulled out
a carrot, and said: "Let's go in for something cool to drink."

Five minutes later, we were in the breakfast
nook downing strawberry-guava nectar like it was going out of
style. Natsuko was back at it once more, asking me: "Are the police
any closer to finding out who killed Carter? Or aren't they
talking?"

"The police only talk in circles," I said,
speaking from experience. "If they've got anything concrete, they
aren't saying."

Even Ridge had been unusually quiet about
it. Since the funeral, all he really had to say about the
investigation was that they were doing their best to solve this
high priority case.

I found myself regarding it in precisely the
same manner.

CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE

There were four messages on my answering
machine when I arrived at the office the next morning. One was from
Liam Pratt, the pesky reporter.

His message said: "Ms. Delaney, I'm still
interested in following up on the allegations that Carter Delaney
hired you to spy on his second wife...and what that might mean, if
anything, regarding his untimely death. If you'd like to meet with
me and talk about it you can reach me at..."

This guy doesn't know when to give
up
, I thought, irritably. Who the hell was his source? I didn't
recall reading anything about Darlene's affair coming to light.
What did he really want?

Though the better part of me wanted to stay
as far away from Liam Pratt as possible, my curiosity got the
better of me. Maybe he could shed some light on how he found out
about my investigation of Darlene and who else was privy to this
information.

I gave Liam Pratt a call, but got his
voicemail. "This is Skye Delaney, returning your call. I'd like to
talk to you—"