Murder in Honolulu: A Skye Delaney Mystery (8 page)

"Is there a problem here?" he asked
toughly.

"Nothing I couldn't handle," I told Ridge
with a scowl as the reporter wisely walked away.

Liam Pratt stopped for a moment and said
over his shoulder: "The truth is going to come out one way or
another, Ms. Delaney—"

CHAPTER
TEN

He watched from amongst the reporters as
Skye Delaney sidestepped questions about Carter Delaney's
mysterious death like she was dodging bullets. She put on a good
show as one tough lady PI.

She was hot to trot. He liked the way she
walked. You could tell she was a runner by the strength of her
stride and the grace of her strut. He found himself getting turned
on just by watching her thighs rub together inside those tight
jeans as she moved toward the detective's car.

No wonder Carter Delaney had reintroduced
himself to her. He probably figured if he couldn't have her all to
himself again, might as well have his ex work for him.

He wondered how Skye Delaney felt seeing her
onetime lover boy husband drowned in her bathtub. Not a pretty
sight.

He could see the headlines now: FORMER
PROSECUTOR AND PROMINENT BUSINESSMAN KILLS HIMSELF IN EX-WIFE'S
BATHTUB.

That should get people talking
, he
though with a laugh. And he'd listen, along with everyone else,
till he got his fill of it.

He watched as Skye Delaney and Detective
Ridge Larsen got in the car and drove off, leaving reporters
scrambling for neighbors and wherever the hell else they could go
for information on this breaking story.

He could only imagine what the two lovers
were talking about. They were probably on their way somewhere to
check on that damned dog's condition. She was almost certainly
asking Larsen why this thing had happened on her turf. He was
probably asking her the same thing.

They could ask Carter Delaney, except dead
men didn't talk.

CHAPTER
ELEVEN

In the car, Ridge cautioned me when he said:
"The going could be a bit rough for you for a while. After all,
it's not every day that something like this happens to a fairly
well-known figure in this city—who also happens to be a man you
were once married to."

I didn't need to be reminded of that, but I
heeded the warning nevertheless. Carter's death was not going to go
away—at least not until I knew why he died. And why in my
house?

We arrived at the veterinarian's office
where Dr. Garth Nishimura, chief veterinarian, greeted us. He was
in his early fifties, but looked younger with short, fine black
hair. He had done wonders putting Ollie back together a year and a
half ago after he broke his leg fighting a neighbor's dog, so I
felt totally comfortable with him in the vet's hands now.

When he returned to the waiting room after
about thirty minutes, I stood up anxiously.

"So, how's Ollie?" I asked.

"Couldn't be better, Skye," he said. "A
slight abrasion above his right eye was all we could find to
complain about." He led us to the room where Ollie was waiting
enthusiastically and apparently not the worse for wear. "I'd say he
still has many good years left in him," Dr. Nishimura said while
Ollie licked my face like it was a lollipop. "But I'm not so sure
the same can be said for whoever he took a chunk out of—"

Ridge and I looked at each other before
re-facing the doctor. "Are you saying Ollie bit someone?" I
asked.

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying."

I gave Ridge another look. No one had said
anything about any dog bite wounds on Carter. If that someone was
not Carter, then it would mean another person was in the house
around the time he died.

"I understand there's a police investigation
underway," Dr. Nishimura said.

I reintroduced Ridge as Homicide Detective
Larsen and he filled the vet in on the circumstances surrounding
Carter's death. Dr. Nishimura seemed genuinely shaken up by it.

"Will you be all right?" he asked me.

"I haven't really had enough time to think
about it yet," I answered truthfully, and glanced at Ridge.

"Doctor, what can you tell us about the
person Ollie bit," Ridge said.

He shrugged. "Not much, really. I sent the
tissue samples to the crime lab—" He scratched his flushed cheek,
then added: "It definitely was a human rather than an animal, I can
tell you that—and enough of an injury that medical attention was
likely required—"

"Unless, of course," Ridge remarked
thoughtfully while stealing a glance my way, "the person didn't
plan to be alive long enough to bother—"

* * *

It was deathly silent in the car en route to
Ridge's house. Even Ollie seemed unable or unwilling to muster his
normal vociferous barks. I couldn't read Ridge's mind, but mine was
occupied with more whys about Carter. Why did he really hire me?
Why didn't he show up at my office as scheduled?

You stupid bastard. Why did you have to
die in my house, leaving me to remember you like that?
I
thought, nonplussed.

The silence was broken when Ridge got a call
on his car radio. "We finally got in touch with Carter Delaney's
old lady," the voice crackled. "She seemed to take the news of his
death really hard—"

Both Ridge and I had serious reservations
about that, knowing what we did about Darlene Delaney. At the same
time, I felt an instant bond with Carter's widow. After all, we
were both married to him, for better or worse. Even a cheating wife
must have had some feelings for the husband and father of her child
that she had now lost forever.

Needless to say, Ridge's home-cooked meal
was ruined, as was our date. I was now a temporary houseguest, and
food was the last thing my stomach craved. And any musings about
sex were even further away.

Ridge didn't make a fuss on either score,
understanding that right now all I needed was some time to grieve
and deal with the tragic turn of events.

Sleep came easier than I thought it would. I
wasn't sure if it was due to the comforting embrace of Ridge's
muscular arms or the sheer exhaustion of a day that could not have
ended soon enough.

* * *

In the morning, I fixed breakfast in a
country style kitchen where I felt like a stranger. It was the
first time I had been there in the capacity of, well, almost a
wife. Ridge seemed quite comfortable at the prospect, playing the
would-be husband role to perfection. Surprisingly, so did Ollie,
who gobbled down his portion of waffles and maple syrup as if he
was in dog heaven. I could tell it was going to be difficult to get
him to return to his regular cuisine.

Too bad.

I had made up my mind that I would go back
to my place sometime today to face the music. I was not going to be
driven out of my own home by a dead body, not even Carter's. And I
certainly wasn't ready to change the nature of my relationship with
Ridge any time soon, even if he made it awfully tempting.

Ridge didn't have to talk me into
accompanying him to the Honolulu Police Department's crime lab. He
couldn't have kept me away. I had to know firsthand if the police
had found any signs of foul play in Carter's death. Ollie had
definitely greeted someone rudely. My guess was that it was someone
other than Carter, though those scratches I had seen on Carter's
legs bothered me.

"What type of man was Carter Delaney?" Ridge
asked during the drive, and added before I could answer: "I
actually met him once when he was still a prosecutor."

"Oh, really?" This was news to me.

Ridge shrugged. "It was no big deal. He
attended a community policing seminar in Portland when I was on the
force there. I never really got a feel for the man one way or the
other, except that he seemed pretty hard-assed about wanting to get
violent criminals and other troublemakers off the streets and
behind bars where they belonged." Ridge paused. "Evidently
somewhere along the line, his priorities took a serious hit."

I looked at Ridge after that last comment,
wondering if he somehow resented Carter's success in the business
world. I quickly rejected those thoughts. Ridge was as down to
earth as anyone and believed in everyone succeeding in life to the
best of their ability, as long as it was legal. This included
Carter. Still, I sensed that Ridge, a man who had been in law
enforcement much of his adult life, found it difficult to
understand how Carter could walk away from the legal profession,
leaving it behind for greener pastures.

Truthfully, I wondered the same thing myself
at times, but never questioned his decision since the Carter
Delaney I fell for had already established himself as a confident
and successful businessman when I entered his world.

I took a moment to think about the type of
man Carter Delaney was, which proved to be more difficult than I
cared to admit. There was something about describing a
person—Carter—in past tense that was unsettling, especially when
just yesterday he was still very much alive and seemed in control
of his life to some extent.

I regarded Ridge's handsome profile behind
the wheel, and said levelly: "The Carter I knew was sweet, kind,
smart, ambitious, opportunistic, and sometimes demanding of those
around him."

I wasn't sure if I had said too little or
not enough.

Ridge seemed to weigh my words while staring
straight ahead. Finally, he looked at me and said: "Sounds like a
guy who had it together—" He paused again. "Where do you suppose it
all went wrong?"

I fluttered my lashes at him with minor
annoyance. "Who said it did?"

I knew that I was defending my ex just for
the sake of defending him. It was obvious that something was deeply
wrong in Carter's life, and it had taken a deadly turn.

Ridge rounded the corner rather sharply.
"Everything I know so far about Carter Delaney says it," he said.
"For starters, he definitely went wrong when he let you get away.
His second wife was screwing around on him. Then he ends up in your
Jacuzzi—only it wasn't for a bath. Something or someone led him to
that point. Seems to me that every move he's made lately somehow
blew up in his face..."

"I never said Carter was a saint," I
snapped, though agreeing that my ex had erred in cheating on me and
ruining what had been a good thing by and large. "He had his faults
just like anyone else. If you're asking me if I believe his
problems drove him to commit suicide, I would say you're probably
asking the
wrong
Mrs. Delaney. Carter's death is as much a
mystery to me as it is to you. But that doesn't mean it was
inevitable, especially at my house."

We stopped at a red light and Ridge planted
his eyes on my face. "Everybody's death is inevitable," he said.
"It's just a question of when, why, and who's responsible. If
Delaney didn't do himself in, we'll know soon enough." He glanced
at the light and back to me. "Either way, Skye, the last thing you
want to do is blame yourself for his death—"

Ridge left it at that, and held my hand as
if for reassurance. I squeezed his fingers and offered a nod of
appreciation. Inside, part of me couldn't help but feel that if I
had only been there or maybe if he had never left, Carter might
still be alive...

CHAPTER
TWELVE

I had visited the state of the art crime
laboratory frequently in my other life as a police detective.
Fortunately, I had maintained a certain degree of respect in the
department, in spite of some lingering sore feelings both ways,
which allowed me access to areas normally off limits to civilians.
It didn't hurt to be accompanied by a well-respected homicide
detective either.

"Aloha, Skye," said Sumiyo Ishimoto, a
forensic specialist and ten year veteran of the force. She almost
looked like one of those TV forensic specialists complete with the
white jacket. Her jet-black hair was in a loose chignon and she was
several months pregnant with her third child.

"Hey, Sumiyo," I said.

"Nice to see you again," she said and then
frowned. "Wish it were under different circumstances, though."

"Me, too." I flashed Ridge a quick look of
despair.

"Sorry to hear about Carter—" Sumiyo seemed
unsure what to say after that. Ridge came to her rescue.

"It's a shock to everyone in the
department," he said, adding: "And probably lots of other people on
the island." He scratched his pate and asked her: "What did you
come up with?"

Sumiyo sighed. "Not much in the way of
fingerprints, I'm afraid." She put on her gold-rimmed glasses and
opened a folder. "The only legible prints lifted from the house
belonged to Skye, the housekeeper, and"—she looked directly at
Ridge—"we matched an index finger and thumb to you, Ridge..." She
batted her lashes and he seemed to cringe before recovering
quickly.

"That's it?" Ridge asked.

"Of course, we also found prints from the
victim—"

Ridge gave me a disappointed face. I
returned it. To Sumiyo, he said: "Mind if I take a look at that?"
His eyes lowered to the report in her hand.

She offered it to him.

I read the report over his shoulder while
Sumiyo was saying: "The hair strands we have appear to be
consistent with those from Carter's head, and dog hair. Of course,
DNA tests will confirm it."

The evidence for suicide seemed to be
mounting. Short of the autopsy results, which weren't due until
tomorrow, it now appeared that the person Ollie bit (assuming it
wasn't Carter) offered the best chance for a case of murder.

Sumiyo seemed to be reading my mind. "I did
come up with something interesting on the blood samples we got from
the vet," she said looking at me. "And those taken from your
bathroom—"