Murder in Honolulu: A Skye Delaney Mystery (21 page)

"Are you Nelson Lewinski?" I asked, to be
sure, adding: "Nellie?"

"Yeah, that's me. Who are you?"

"Skye Delaney," I said. "I'm a private
investigator—"

A thoughtful expression formed on his face.
"Delaney, huh? You wouldn't happen to be related to the late Carter
Delaney, would you?"

"Not that it matters, but we were married
once," I replied.

He sighed. "Believe me you're better off
without him!"

I had to agree, but said somewhat
resentfully: "I'm not here to talk about my private life."

"Too bad," he moaned and gave me the
once-over. "Exactly what are you here to talk about?"

"You—" I said and stepped toward the
desk.

He lifted a thick brow. "What about me?"

"I want to know about the gambling debts
Carter Delaney amassed and how far you were willing to go to
collect them."

Lewinski flinched. "I have no idea what
you're talking about," he claimed.

I planted my hands solidly on the desk and
leaned at him with a scowl. "You and I both know you were his
bookie, so let's cut the crap—"

He grinned, showing me his yellow teeth.
"Okay, so I took bets for Delaney. Big deal! He liked to bet on
college and pro football, boxing matches, and more. If wasn't me,
it would've been someone else to take his money."

"But it was
you
who Carter placed the
bets with—and now he's dead," I pointed out. "I'm sure the police
would be very interested in talking to you about it."

This seemed to unnerve Lewinski. "Now don't
get your feathers all ruffled, sweet lady," he said. "If you're
suggesting I had something to do with Delaney's death—"

"I am unless you can convince me otherwise—"
I told him, wanting to keep the pressure on just in case it was
warranted. "I know Carter was in over his head. Even slime like you
can resort to murder, if the shoe fits."

His nostrils expanded. "It doesn't."

When he reached for a top drawer, I clutched
the gun in my purse and said: "I wouldn't, if I were you. I'm not
about to take a bullet—at least not before giving up one or two
myself."

Lewinski raised his hands, as if in
surrender. "Hey, take it easy. I was just going to get my ledger
out." His hands lowered slowly. "Delaney's debts were paid in full
while he was still alive to place bets—"

He went again for the drawer.

"Careful..." I said, watching him like a
hawk as he removed a red ledger.

"Delaney was into me for one mil, until just
recently..." Lewinski said, flipping through the pages. "Lucky for
me and his widow, the account was paid up before he met his maker."
He stopped flipping. "Here, see with your own eyes—"

He handed me the ledger and I honed in on
some scribbling on several pages that included Carter's name,
various wagers, and a debt totaling one million dollars. Stamped
across the last page were the words PAID IN FULL.

Needless to say, I was floored that Carter
had gambled and lost so much money. Of course gambling of any kind,
including bingo, was illegal in Hawaii, but that didn't prevent
people from doing it. I wondered if Darlene was aware of his
betting excesses. How could she not be? But then I considered that
Carter had fooled me for years into thinking he was someone that he
wasn't. Why should Darlene be any smarter?

Lewinski was saying: "I'm old-fashioned when
it comes to record keeping."

Not to mention a ledger is easier to get
rid of if the authorities come calling versus having the info on a
computer
, I thought, glancing again at what certainly appeared
to be proof that Carter was in way over his head as a gambler.

"So you see, I had no reason to want Carter
Delaney dead," Lewinski contended. "Just the opposite. I was sorry
to see him go. He was the type of person any bookie could learn to
love: a big time gambling addict who always found a way to pay up
at the end of the day."

I studied the last page of Carter's entry in
the ledger. The debt paid was dated two days before he was
murdered. Did Carter have a premonition of his death? I wondered.
And what had he had to do to come up with the money, since
apparently his business income still left him strapped for hard
cash.

I looked down at Lewinski and asked: "How
did Carter pay you?" I closed the ledger and gave it back to
him.

"He didn't pay me," Lewinski said, running a
hand across his mouth. "His wife Darlene Delaney did. Paid off the
balance due with a cashier's check—"

The plot thickens
, I thought in
surprise. Why would Darlene pay off the debt—and why two days
before Carter was murdered? She'd clearly been holding out on me,
and likely the police as well. But did that make her an accomplice
in Carter's death?

In my preoccupation, I was caught off guard
when I suddenly realized that Lewinski was now on his feet and
scant inches away from me. Instinctively, I reached inside my
purse, but Lewinski was faster, grabbing my wrist in a viselike
grip and pulling the purse away with his other hand.

He tossed it on the desk and said leeringly:
"Now that we've finished our business, let's get to know each other
better on an intimate level..."

He was several inches taller and pressed his
body against me, still holding one wrist. Unfortunately for him, he
left my other arm free. I was still fresh off my one-on-one with
Kurt and was only too happy to put practice into real time use.

When Lewinski overconfidently moved in for a
kiss while slowly inching his hand up my thigh, what he got instead
was a hard fist slammed against his nose. While yelling and trying
to recover, he released my arm and I went to work, pounding his
face with rapid lefts and rights till my fists were sore. Then I
planted a knee squarely between his legs, figuring that since he
was looking for some action there, I'd be happy to oblige.

Nelson Lewinski fell to the floor writhing
and moaning in pain, his face a bloody mess.

I looked down at the man who made a living
off other people's misery and had overstepped his bounds with me,
and said with satisfaction: "Hope it hurts like hell! If I were
you, I wouldn't press my luck much further. Sooner or later the
debt collector will come looking for you and you may not be able to
pay the price—"

CHAPTER
THIRTY-FIVE

Elberta led me to Darlene, who was swimming
in an Olympic-sized pool in the backyard. The pool area had a spa,
lagoon, waterfall, and accent rocks, and was surrounded by lush
Hawaiian landscaping. Not to mention the mesmerizing ocean as a
backdrop. She completed a lap expertly while I waited for her to
arrive at my feet. It was obvious she was not expecting company, or
should I say
my
company.

"Ms. Delaney insisted on seeing you,"
Elberta said apologetically.

"It's okay," Darlene said with a pasted on
smile. "Nice to see you again, Skye. I think..."

"I need to talk to you—" I told her,
skipping the pleasantries.

"No problem," she said, leisurely floating
on her back. "How about joining me in the pool? I'm sure Elberta
can find you a swimsuit that fits."

I kept my cool under the hot sun. "No,
thanks," I said. "I prefer wearing my
own
suit." I gave her
a dirty look. "Anyway, I didn't come here to swim—"

Or, for that matter,
I thought,
to
watch you show off how you're living the good life while your
husband lays six feet under, though apparently now debt
free
.

She finally climbed out of the water, her
tanned body barely covered in a skimpy leopard print bikini.
Elberta handed Darlene a long mint green towel and received an
eye-to-eye cue that her outdoor services were no longer needed.

Darlene studied me while drying her face.
"Have you learned something more about Carter's death?"

I sighed before responding with a catch to
my voice: "I was hoping you could tell me."

Our eyes locked. She fluttered her lashes
and said: "I don't understand."

"Neither do I," I said, and probably
confused her even more. Squinting and sweating, I asked: "Can we
get out of the sun?"

I followed her to an acrylic table under a
market-style umbrella. A pitcher of iced lemonade and tall glasses
waited invitingly. We both sat in pine Adirondack fan back
chairs.

Drying her hair with the towel, Darlene
inquired curiously: "So what is it you were hoping I could tell
you?"

"How long have you known about Carter's
gambling habit?" I asked bluntly.

Her eyes grew. "How long have you?"

"Since Leilani Mahaulu told me—"

Darlene's reaction was a mixture of anger
and affirmation. "I should've known," she grumbled. "That bitch!
She had Carter wrapped around her finger and he loved every moment
of it."

You've got some nerve, lady
, I
thought.
Talk about the kettle calling the pot black
.
"That's between you and her," I stressed. "I'd rather talk about
the million dollars you paid to cover Carter's debt—"

Darlene shot me an annoyed look. "Is that
what that little bitch told you?"

"No, Nelson Lewinski happily volunteered the
information..." I announced and watched her shrink back into the
chair, while I thought about the way I left him in a heap on the
floor. "I find it just a tiny bit suspicious that the wife of a man
who was up to his eyeballs in heavy gambling debts managed to cover
those debts just days before he turns up dead—"

She tensed. "Yes, I paid off his bookie, but
only because I wanted to protect myself and my daughter from
something that could have destroyed Carter, and ultimately us."
Darlene met my eyes. "I had no idea Carter would be killed!"

I held her gaze. "Are you telling me that
Carter was being blackmailed?"

"No... Um... I was," Darlene stammered,
catching me by surprise. She sipped some lemonade and continued.
"Lewinski approached me and said that Carter owed him a million
dollars. He told me if he didn't get his money, he'd see to it that
the tabloids and anyone else who'd listen would find out that the
former prosecutor and businessman had illegally gambled away damned
near everything he had and could get his hands on—" She sucked in a
deep breath. "I scraped up the money by dipping into Ivy's trust
fund, selling some stocks and mutual funds in my name, and anything
else I could turn into cash. Carter was so wrapped up in his own
little world and big problems, he never even knew—"

And never would
, I lamented. Carter's
gambling addiction had nearly ruined him and had taken away from
his daughter's financial future, while tainting all of the positive
things he stood for in life. Was his death somehow related to the
gambling, I wondered, not really sure about anything anymore where
it concerned my ex-husband and what was going on inside his
head.

I regarded the second wife. In many ways,
she was probably more than Carter deserved and in other ways, less.
"For what it's worth," I told her, "I probably would've done the
same thing, given the same circumstances—"

Darlene licked her lips. "For what it's
worth, I'm glad you never had to."

I reflected on that while glancing at the
suddenly inviting pool. "Someday it might be nice to go swimming in
your pool."

"Anytime you like," she offered, and seemed
to mean it.

CHAPTER
THIRTY-SIX

It turned out that Carter's death was only
the start of a trail of untimely demises in Honolulu that may or
may not have been connected. Right now, my interest was solely on
discovering why Carter had been left head first in my Jacuzzi tub,
the victim of foul play.

Ridge provided one possible suspect. "Kalolo
Nawahi," he told me during a video phone chat, revealing the name
of Darlene's drug supplier. "He's been arrested a couple of times
on drug charges, but was released for lack of evidence."

I gathered as much, since the person Ollie
bit had no DNA on file in the
CODIS
database. Was Nawahi just lucky? I wondered. Or was there more to
him than dealing drugs, like having AB negative blood and
committing cold and calculated murder?

"Could be Nawahi discovered the lady he knew
as Amber was really Mrs. Carter Delaney, wife of the millionaire
businessman," Ridge suggested. "If that isn't enough, it just so
happens that when Delaney was a prosecutor, he put Nawahi's
half-brother, Julio Estrada, away for attempted murder. Maybe
Nawahi was trying to blackmail Delaney about his coke-using wife
and it went sour. Or maybe he just decided he wanted revenge on
behalf of Estrada, so Nawahi killed Carter—"

I looked at Ridge's face on the small
screen, digesting his words and the surprise about Nawahi's
half-brother. This notwithstanding, the facts and figures still
didn't add up in my mind and I told Ridge so. He agreed, sort
of.

"Okay, so maybe revenge wasn't the most
likely motive," he conceded. "But finding out that he could make a
hell of a lot more money from the husband than the wife might have
been more than Nawahi could resist."

"Possibly," I said, knowing that greed and
murder often went hand in hand, along with opportunity.

"Kawakami and I are going to pay Kalolo
Nawahi a little visit," Ridge told me. After a pause, he added
thoughtfully: "You want to meet us there?"

"Are you inviting me?" It wasn't every day
that he allowed me to ride along for an official visit with a
suspect. But this wasn't a run of the mill case where the stakes
weren't high for both of us.

"Just this
one
time," Ridge said
cautiously. "Maybe your women's intuition or something can tell us
if Nawahi is our man, assuming he doesn't volunteer the
info..."