Murder in Honolulu: A Skye Delaney Mystery (3 page)

Ridge and I had been dating for the past six
months. I wouldn't exactly call what we had serious, insofar as my
wanting him to put a ring on my finger. Being on my own for some
time, I had become extremely possessive of my independence and
privacy and was in no hurry to share my space with anyone on a
permanent basis. Ridge seemed to understand and fully accept this,
being of the same mind after a disastrous marriage, which probably
accounted for half of why we seemed to work so well together.

The other half was that he tolerated my
infrequent but not very pretty mood swings, knew when to leave me
alone, was a great cook, and an even better lover.

An added fringe benefit of having Ridge
around was that he came in handy during those not so rare occasions
when I needed official snooping or able-bodied assistance in the
every day and sometimes dangerous world of private
investigations.

"I've never had the pleasure of meeting the
current Mrs. Carter Delaney," hummed Ridge in bed, his strong arm
holding me close to his taut body, "but from what I've heard, the
former prosecutor's wife is hot stuff."

I jammed my elbow into his ribs and watched
him wince. "I wouldn't know about that," I said tartly. "And now is
definitely
not the time for you to fantasize about my
ex-husband's wife."

The afterglow of making love for the past
hour was dimming quickly.

Ridge groaned. "I wouldn't dream of
fantasizing about anyone but you these days." He planted a nice
kiss on my lips. I enjoyed the taste of him. "I only go for pouty
ones with long blonde hair and a smokin' hot body."

I soaked in the compliment and felt my
annoyance beginning to wane.

Ridge sat up and asked nonchalantly: "So are
you going to take the case?"

I looked at him dumbfounded while partially
covering myself with a satin sheet, as if he hadn't already gotten
a bird's eye view of every inch of me. "What case?"

"Delaney versus Delaney," he said cutely.
"Sounds like pretty routine stuff to me." He grinned. "Let's face
it, it took guts for him to come to you of all people for
help."

I couldn't believe my ears. "Give me a
break! Guts or not, why the hell would I want to find out for poor
Carter if his wife is fooling around on him?"

"What are you afraid of?" Ridge asked.

"I'm not afraid of anything," I insisted.
Except for maybe not being in full control of my own life at all
times, I thought. But I knew it didn't work that way in the real
world. We were all victims of circumstances for which we often had
little to no control.

Ridge eyed me suspiciously. "You don't still
have the hots for your ex, do you?"

I stared at his chest, then into his eyes,
rolling mine. "What do you think?" He gave me that look all men
have—the one that says they need to hear the words of reassurance.
"No, I'm
not
still hung up on Carter Delaney," I said with
an edge to my voice. "You of all people should know that, Ridge. I
don't make a habit of sleeping with one person while fantasizing
about another—" I hoped that would erase all doubts.

It didn't.

"Prove it," Ridge challenged me, "if only to
yourself and maybe to Delaney. Take his case just as you would any
other client. After all, it's just business, right?" He twisted his
lips and added: "Who knows, you might even find it
therapeutic."

I sneered at him. "Thanks for the advice,
Dr. Phil."

He grinned crookedly. "Just wait till you
get my bill. I don't come cheap."

I could vouch for that, as his expensive
tastes included having a sometimes difficult girlfriend.

Reluctantly, I climbed out of his king-sized
bed and gathered up my clothes that were scattered about the floor
as if a tornado had passed through.

"What are you doing?" Ridge asked with a
frown.

"I'm going home," I told him.

"Why? I hope it wasn't anything I said or
didn't say."

I slid into my jeans and zipped them. "It
wasn't. I have to feed my dog—"

He got out of bed. "Can't it wait—maybe for
a couple of hours?"

"No," I said. "Ollie starts to get antsy
when he goes practically all day without eating." I looked around,
but couldn't find my cami, which seemed to work to Ridge's
advantage.

He came up behind me and wrapped massive
arms around my waist. "Are you sure you aren't just a little pissed
at me?"

I wriggled out of his arms and gave him a
sincere look. "There's nothing to be pissed about."

At least not with you
, I told myself,
reserving that for my ex at the moment.

Ridge looked relieved. "Good. I just don't
want you to throw away Delaney's money for all the wrong
reasons."

He was starting to press his luck and my
patience.

I sighed and told him: "This may come as a
surprise to you, but what's wrong for one person may be totally
right for another—"

So maybe I was a little pissed at Ridge for
seeming to represent the typical male in sizing up the situation.
It was as if there was no room in the scheme of things for
emotional baggage or ethical principles where it concerned making
money. I wasn't sure I bought into that or if he really did.

I found my top, which had somehow ended up
beneath Ridge's black denims. He gathered up his clothing.

"Any chance we can start the night over?" he
asked lamely.

I couldn't help but smile at the thought.
"Don't ask more of yourself than you're capable of delivering."

"Try me," he dared.

Though a repeat performance was pretty damn
tempting, I grinned and said, "Isn't that what I just did?" while
glancing at the wrinkled bed coverings that betrayed the hot and
heavy activity that had taken place there tonight.

"At least let me drive you home," Ridge
offered.

"My car will get me there just as quickly,"
I said, and kissed him lightly on the mouth. "You can walk me to
the door, though."

He grumbled and hugged me as we walked in
step through his ranch style home on Keeaumoku Street in the
Makiki section of Honolulu that
wasn't far from my office
.

I could never be upset with Ridge Larsen for
very long. His intentions were usually anything but self-serving.
Yet I couldn't help but wonder if by pushing me into this case, he
was more motivated by his own insecurities than any self-doubts I
may have had.

My instincts told me that both were likely
to be tested before this thing was over.

CHAPTER
TWO

I left Ridge's house at eight o'clock,
feeling a bit worn down for a day that had begun with Carter and
ended with Ridge. At the moment, I was happy to be going to my own
little piece of paradise, where I did my best thinking alone.

I had a one-year-old Subaru Forester that
fit quite nicely into my current monthly payment budget. I drove to
Waikiki, where I owned a nice house on a palm tree lined, dead-end
street not far from the beach. I purchased the two-story plantation
style home shortly after my divorce was finalized from an elderly
couple who decided to move back to the mainland. It was my good
fortune to be in the right place at the right time to get the
property, which had been well maintained and reminded me of the
home where I grew up on the island. My parents had been beach bums
who island hopped before settling into Oahu and having me.

I could hear my dog barking when I pulled
into the driveway. Ollie was a five-year-old German Shepherd, named
after my late uncle who was as mean as a junkyard dog and ornery as
ever. In fact, more often than not, Ollie was just the
opposite—sweet and gentle as a lamb, as long as he was not
provoked.

Opening the front door was all he needed to
make me eat my thoughts, as Ollie literally attacked me. Okay, so
it was just his way of playing and asking me "Where the hell have
you been all day?" Or maybe "I'm hungry as a dog. What's for
supper?"

We ended up wrestling for a few minutes
before I turned on the ceiling fan in the living room, then fed
Ollie his favorite dog food. He wanted more, but I wasn't about to
let him get fat on me. That wouldn't help either of us.

After freshening up and changing into a
sleeveless shirt and denim shorts, I allowed my sore feet some
freedom from footwear, padding barefoot across the hardwood floor
and into the kitchen. I made myself a salad and ate it with two
slices of wheat bread and a glass of red wine. Ollie loved to hang
out on the kitchen's cool ceramic tiles more than anywhere else in
the house.

However, the kitchen floor still took second
place to the backyard. When he began to grow restless, I got the
picture, letting him out of the house to run around in our nice
sized, fenced in yard. I joined Ollie a few minutes later and
tossed a Frisbee around for him to chase, making sure he stayed
clear of my vegetable garden.

Back inside, I watered the
flamingo flowers
,
vanda orchids
, and heart leaf philodendron I kept
throughout the house, which helped give the place a Hawaiian
botanical garden look.

By the time I was ready to call it a night,
I had tucked Ollie in his basement hideaway, read a couple of
chapters of a John Lescroart novel, and watched the news.

Before drifting off to dreamland, I had more
or less decided that, for better or worse, I would take on the task
of spying on the current wife of Carter Delaney. Business was
business, I convinced myself, even if it happened to involve my
ex-husband and his ex-mistress. I still hadn't decided if I wanted
his suspicions to prove false or right on the money.

Only time would tell...

CHAPTER
THREE

Every morning at five o'clock, Ollie and I
ran on the beach for an hour or so. While he was comfortable in his
furry body, I preferred a loose T-shirt, shorts, and running shoes.
Staying in tiptop shape was becoming more and more difficult for me
as gravity and age became natural obstacles. Fortunately, I had
determination and powerful legs on my side. Ollie also had
determination and strong legs, matching me step for step on a short
leash.

It was seven o'clock when I called Carter's
office. His voicemail picked up so I left a message for him to call
me. Oddly, in not having to speak directly to the man I once could
never get enough of, I somehow felt as if I had been given a
reprieve.

Maybe this wasn't meant to be after
all
, I thought
.

Somehow, I had a feeling I wouldn't be let
off the hook that easily. As if on cue, the phone rang and it was
Carter on the other end.

"Aloha kakahiaka, Skye," he said, which
meant good morning in Hawaiian.

If you say so
, I thought, but
responded nicely in kind: "Aloha kakahiaka back at you."

"Hope I didn't wake you," he said, sounding
like he really meant it. Apparently Carter wasn't returning my
call.

"You didn't," I told him, giving him the
benefit of the doubt that he'd somehow forgotten I had always been
an early riser.

He paused. "Look, I wanted to apologize
about running out on you like that yesterday. Guess I just let my
frustrations and suspicions get to me."

That was about the most I could expect from
Carter Delaney as far as groveling. And it was enough for me,
considering I'd already had a change of heart.

"I'll take the case."

"Really?" There was a note of surprise in
his voice that was clearly more for my ears than anything.

"I charge two thousand a day, plus
expenses," I informed him. What I didn't say was that I had raised
my normal fee by five hundred dollars, figuring I deserved it from
my rich ex for what he wanted me to do.

He didn't argue the point.

"When can you start?" he asked
anxiously.

Was he that desperate to find out if his
wife was sleeping around? Or was I missing something here?

I decided not to think so much and just do
the job he was paying me handsomely for.

"If you can stop by the office this
afternoon to go over some details," I told him, "I'll be happy to
begin right away."

"How does eleven sound?"

"Perfect. I'll see you then."

I remained seated on my sofa for several
minutes after hanging up, second-guessing if I was doing the right
thing in getting involved in my ex-husband's marital problems. I
had to admit, there was a certain amount of irony and a lesser
degree of curiosity in taking this case. My bottom line wish was
that it was over and done with as soon as possible with minimal
casualties along the way.

* * *

"Where do I begin?" Carter asked as he sat
before me in my office. As usual, he was impeccably dressed in a
sharp suit, as if to wear anything else would somehow spoil his
image of the consummate successful businessman now than he no
longer had to get his hands dirty as a prosecutor.

I looked down at my desk nervously and
started counting the dust particles, as though about to go on my
first date or something. I realized that, in effect, we were
starting all over in communicating with each other in the post
marriage era. And I had a feeling it wasn't going to get any
easier.

"Why don't you start by telling me why you
think your wife is cheating on you," I suggested with a straight
face.

Carter reverse-crossed his legs clumsily.
"There are a number of reasons. Darlene's never home for one, and
when she is, she's usually bitchy, lies about where she's been and
who with, and"—he forced himself to look at me—"we haven't made
love in months..."

I colored a little in that moment where it
seemed like our own intimate past had come back to haunt us. He had
certainly given what seemed to be legitimate reasons for his
suspicions. I took notes, attempting to treat his case as I would
any other client's.