Murder in Honolulu: A Skye Delaney Mystery (7 page)

"Dammit!" Ridge Larsen cursed after he
learned that Skye had found Carter Delaney in her bathtub, the
victim of an apparent suicide.

Why
the hell would he commit
suicide and at Skye's house of all places
?
Ridge thought
as he drove his department-issued dark sedan to the house.

He felt awful for Skye. She was the toughest
woman he'd ever known when dealing with adversity. But this was
different. This was a man she had once been married to. And she had
been working for him, with Ridge's encouragement.

It wasn't going to be easy to simply push it
out of his mind, as cops tended to do in the course of routine
homicide investigations of nameless strangers. This figured to be
an investigation that was far more personal than Ridge was used
to.

Especially since it involved the woman he
was currently seeing. They seemed to get along as well as anyone
could expect, and certainly much better than he got along with his
ex-wife. He had no idea how long things would last between him and
Skye. Maybe months or even years. They hadn't placed any parameters
or prerequisites on their relationship. All that really mattered at
the moment was that they enjoyed each other's company, were a
perfect match in bed, and left the door wide open for whatever the
future may bring.

Now he'd been assigned the investigation
into a possible homicide that took the life of the man who had been
lucky enough to marry Skye then, like a damned fool, threw it all
away. Ridge contemplated how this set of dynamics might play in
taking on this case, rejecting any thoughts of a conflict of
interest. He would treat the case like any other insofar as being
professional enough to see it through.

* * *

Ridge pulled up to the curb in front of
Skye's house. There were already squad cars there and an ambulance.
He got out of the vehicle, thought a moment longer about what he
would find inside, and went up to the front door. He was wearing
his usual cheap navy suit, loafers, and a deadpan look. He
identified himself to a young uniformed officer, and went
inside.

The first thing Ridge noticed when he got to
the bathroom was the only thing he couldn't miss—Carter Delaney's
nude body partially slumped over the side of the now empty Jacuzzi.
As he assessed the former prosecutor's remains, it was hard to
imagine this stiff being Skye's ex-husband. But death did that to
you, he realized. It took away your physical stature and vitality,
and left nothing but a pitiful shell. This was made even worse if
it came by way of a criminal offense.

Ridge closed his eyes for a moment. When he
opened them, he saw one of the crime scene investigators who
indicated that they had finished collecting the evidence from the
victim and his immediate surroundings.

He stepped into the hall where a team from
the medical examiner's office was standing by. "Get him the hell
out of here," Ridge ordered them.

"Will do," muttered one tonelessly.

Ridge bypassed them and approached a young
female officer who was standing guard to prevent any tampering with
evidence.

"Where is Ms. Delaney?" he asked her
anxiously.

"In her bedroom, sir."

Ridge headed in that direction. He wondered
if anyone at the scene was privy to his relationship with Skye.
They hadn't exactly tried to keep it a secret. But Skye seemed in
no hurry to let the cat out of the bag, as if it would somehow
complicate his sometimes-unofficial assistance with her private
detective work. From his standpoint, he would be happy to be the
man in her life for the whole world to see.

But, for now, there were more important
things to be concerned about, starting with Skye's well being.

Then he could turn his attention to the
mysterious death of Carter Delaney.

CHAPTER
NINE

"Why would Carter kill himself?" I cried out
to Ridge as the reality of this tragedy really began to sink in.
"It just doesn't make any sense..."

Certainly not where it concerned the Carter
Delaney I knew. But perhaps he wasn't the same man anymore. Maybe
his personal and professional demons had driven him over the
edge.

Or not.

Ridge had been assigned the case as a
possible homicide. In walking a tightrope, he was also playing the
role of sympathetic boyfriend. Though I hadn't always embraced the
idea of our romance being public, for reasons that were more
professional than personal, it had to take a back seat to my
overwhelming need to feel connected to someone after such a
tragedy.

"I've never heard of a suicide that did make
sense," he replied in his detective-like voice as we sat on the
comforter atop my Queen Anne bed, away from the activity outside
the room. "But that doesn't stop people from taking their own lives
all the time, Skye—" Ridge said, putting a comforting arm around
me. "Obviously Delaney was having some marital problems. Maybe he
just decided it wasn't worth the aggravation."

Maybe. But I wasn't buying it. Not in my
house.

"If so," I said, "why would Carter go
through the trouble of hiring me without giving me the chance to
give him the information he paid for?"

Ridge scratched his chin, as if searching
for answers there. "The note said he had work pressures. Maybe he
had reached the point where he no longer gave a damn what you found
out about his second wife—"

Even in my hour of grief, I couldn't help
but think like a private detective and ex-cop. My mind kept coming
back to the alleged suicide note. I had never known Carter to type
anything in his life, especially when there was always someone to
do it for him. Why start now?

I looked into Ridge's deep eyes, which were
already trained on me, and asked: "Don't you find it just a bit odd
that Carter chose to leave a
typed
suicide note rather than
a handwritten one that would be easier to verify? After all, he was
a former prosecutor who had to know what suspicions this note would
leave behind."

Ridge thought about it for a moment or two,
then said: "Have you considered that he wasn't thinking like a
onetime prosecutor who wanted to leave no room for doubt?" His arm
tightened around me. "If this was a suicide, I'd say your ex was
thinking more like a desperate man whose only intention in coming
here was to die...and for
you
to find his body."

I broke away from Ridge's warm embrace and
looked at him with annoyance. "Is that why Carter agreed to meet me
this afternoon at my office? To keep me preoccupied so he could
break into my house and drown himself in my bathtub with a suicide
note stuffed in his mouth? I don't think so..."

Ridge seemed to reflect on my argument
against suicide, while lightening up. Unfortunately, his counter
argument was even stronger. "The spare key you kept under the plant
holder on the porch was on the kitchen counter," he pointed out.
"There was no indication of forced entry. Hell, apparently your
alarm wasn't even set, practically inviting anyone to come in. And
you admit yourself that it's at least possible Delaney might have
thought your meeting was supposed to be here."

My body tensed as I contemplated this
against my better judgment. I still wasn't sure why the security
system wasn't on. At this point, I had to assume that it had been
tampered with.

Ridge looked me in the eye and said evenly:
"I'm talking to you right now as a cop. And I'm telling you that
right now it looks like Carter Delaney planned to kill himself when
and where he did..."

"What about the blood we found on Ollie?" I
asked, still doubtful about the suicide angle. "Was Carter planning
to kill him too, but for some reason decided to lock him in the
utility room instead?"

"We don't know yet if Ollie bit Delaney or
even if Delaney bit the dog," Ridge offered humorlessly. "For all
we know, Ollie's injuries may have been self-inflicted. Dogs can
get stressed out too when they encounter unexpected situations.
Maybe he got a little crazy there."

I had to admit even in my despondency that
the circumstances surrounding Carter's death did not as yet add up
to murder. But the part of me that felt I knew him deep down inside
refused to believe he would take such a macabre means to end his
life. I told Ridge as much.

He rolled his eyes at me and said: "Maybe
the man you knew, or thought you knew, died a long time ago."

We were interrupted by a knock on the door.
Ridge got to his feet almost instinctively in that moment. I felt
obliged to do the same. The last thing either of us needed was to
let our personal relationship compromise the investigation in any
way.

A thirty-something crime scene investigator
walked in. "We're about ready to dust this room for prints," he
told us. "You know, standard procedure and all..."

Ridge frowned. "Can't that wait? I doubt
you'll find anything useful in the lady's bedroom."

"It's all right," I told Ridge, knowing this
was a reaffirmation of our relationship that Carter was strictly in
the past where it came to intimacy. But since the issue on the
table was his death and possibly a homicide, I didn't want to stand
in the way of progress. I turned my attention to the investigator.
"Do whatever you have to. The sooner this thing is over with, the
sooner I can reclaim my life and house."

He nodded and went for help.

Ridge looked a little embarrassed at the
notion that the very real possibility existed that the only prints
they would find in the room belonged to the two of us, and Natsuko.
He put a hand on my shoulder. "Until we get this thing sorted out
one way or the other, I think it's probably a good idea for you to
stay at my place."

I had no doubt that this was the homicide
detective speaking and not the man I was seeing romantically.
Either would have been warmly received under the circumstances. I
nodded at him and said: "I accept your offer. I'll just grab a few
things..."

Ridge gave me a pleased look before saying:
"I'll be outside—"

I watched him close the door and wondered
what this whole mess meant to our future, if anything.
I have to
try to keep a level head here and not allow my emotions to get too
off track
, I told myself. Then my thoughts turned to Ollie and
the fact that the extent of his injuries was still not known.

* * *

"Has anybody notified the wife yet?" Ridge
asked a burly detective as I watched the covered body being carted
out the front door, giving me the chills.

"We haven't been able to reach her," he
answered.

Ridge gave me an
I'm-not-surprised
look and told him: "Well keep trying! She must be
somewhere
in this damned city!"

Yes, somewhere
, I agreed. But where
and with whom? Her lover or her drug dealer?

I seriously wondered if Darlene Delaney
would even care that Carter was dead. That he was an apparent
suicide victim. If Carter really had killed himself, I couldn't
help but think she had driven him to it.

Right now, I still had far more questions
than answers.

As if the nightmare of having my house
turned upside down by the people I used to work with wasn't
enough—in addition to the trauma associated with seeing your
ex-husband go from a strong man to a soft corpse—waiting outside
was more unexpected grief. The overzealous media had gotten hold of
the breaking news story and were out in droves.

One hulk of a man in a Hawaiian shirt and
denim jeans said as though he really cared: "My heart goes out to
you, Ms. Delaney. Can you tell us exactly what happened here?"

I met his eyes and responded tersely: "I
think that would best be answered by the authorities. Now if you'll
excuse me..."

He backed off respectfully with a nod and
another inquisitive journalist quickly took his place.

With an overnight bag in hand, I
successfully managed to "no comment" my way through all but one
particularly persistent reporter—a tall, slightly built male in his
mid thirties with curly dark hair, intrusive gray eyes, and a
crooked mouth.

"Ms. Delaney," he said, matching me step for
step in a wrinkled brown suit as I headed for Ridge's official
cruiser, "why did Carter Delaney kill himself in your house?"

I shot him an angry glare. "I think you'd be
wise to wait for the autopsy before you start drawing conclusions
as to the cause of his death."

Regardless of what I thought about Carter's
death, I was not about to let some hotshot reporter looking for a
story turn speculation into fact.

He persisted to irritate me. "Is it true
that
your
ex-husband, Carter Delaney, hired you to spy on
his current wife?" he asked.

How the hell did he find out about
that?
I wondered, feeling bile begin to rise in my throat. I
could imagine him replying,
"
I have my
sources
."

Which didn't tell me anything. All I knew
was that Carter's life was about to become an open book and there
was little I could do about it, except try to limit the damage
where it concerned me.

I pinned my eyes on the reporter and told
him: "What a client hires me for is privileged information."

He stood in my path as though determined to
get an answer that he could make something out of. "So, is that a
yes
then?"

I sucked in a deep breath while glancing at
his press badge that identified him as Liam Pratt. "Look, Mr.
Pratt, if you know what's good for you, you'll get the hell out of
my face!"

We got into a brief staring match before he
backed off. I had put it down as a victory until I realized I had
been assisted by the intimidating presence of Ridge who had come up
behind me.