Murder in Honolulu: A Skye Delaney Mystery (9 page)

"Lay it on us," Ridge said eagerly.

Sumiyo led us to a table where the results
of her lab work still lay. She lifted a clipboard. "First of all,
the preliminary DNA results show that the samples almost certainly
came from the same source," she said. "And, secondly, it seems that
your dog bit someone with a rare blood type."

"How rare?" I asked.

"Very rare," she said. "Someone is walking
around this city with AB negative blood and a very painful dog
bite. I'm guessing it's a shoulder wound or a defensive wound on
their arm or hand—"

Ridge wrote something down and then glanced
at me. "Hmm.... Rare blood type. That should narrow things down for
us."

"I'll call the medical examiner's office to
get Carter's blood type," Sumiyo said. "If only to rule out—"

"That won't be necessary, as far as ruling
out goes," I interjected. "If I'm not mistaken"—and I was
not—"Carter's blood type is AB negative."

I was starting to believe that Carter's
death was a suicide, and that Ollie must have bitten him. Maybe
that also accounted for the scratches I'd seen on Carter's legs. I
deduced that Carter probably surprised Ollie when he entered the
house without my presence and Ollie thought he was an intruder,
which he was, and bit him.

But that still didn't tell me why Carter
would kill himself. Nor did it end my suspicions as to the timing
of his death. I found it more than a little shaky that Carter died
before I could tell him that his wife was seeing another man and
doing drugs.

Was that merely coincidence of the worst
kind?

Then there was that reporter who seemed to
know Carter had hired me, even though Carter had seemed to go out
of his way to keep his suspicions from becoming public knowledge.
What was that all about?

There was one more thing that just didn't
sit right with me about Carter's death. Other than some scratches
on his legs, I didn't recall seeing anything that looked like a dog
bite on his body or any wounds with blood. Could there have
actually been someone else in the house with the same rare blood
type as Carter?

What were the odds of that?

Admittedly, the odds did not seem very good
that Carter had been the victim of anyone other than himself. But I
never allowed long odds alone to sway me one way or the other.

I withheld judgment for now, wishing I
didn't have a sinking feeling that this was more the beginning than
the end of the mysterious death of Carter Delaney.

Ridge dropped me off at my house at
three-thirty. The police had completed their investigation of the
premises and departed. I would pick up Ollie from Ridge's place
later.

Right now, it was time for me to regain
control of my life, hard as it would be. Alone. Ridge, bless his
heart, did not argue the point. But he did offer to stay over. Or,
at the very least, check on me often.

"I'll be all right," I promised, and made
myself believe it.

He flashed me a doubtful look from the car.
"Just do me a favor. Keep your gun loaded and close by. Just in
case—"

I assured him I would, all things
considered.

"I'll let you know when the autopsy report
comes in," he said before driving off.

It now seemed as if the results would be a
mere formality, which, in and of itself, left me weak in the knees
with concern.

* * *

I went for a swim in the ocean. It beat
swimming pools any day of the week. As with jogging, it was my
answer to relaxing my mind and working out at the same time. I also
used exercise as an opportunity for solitude when getting away from
my world and all its troubles seemed a necessity. Only something
was missing. It was Ollie as my constant companion for staying in
shape. He also happened to be a very good swimmer. Ridge was still
dog sitting for me. I'd have to suffer alone this time.

After an hour or so, I returned home
exhausted with much work to do and precious little time to heal my
emotional wounds. My house had been left a mess by the city's
finest. All in the line of duty, they would say. I called it a bit
overzealous, knowing they would get to go to their own orderly
homes when they were done messing up mine.

I called Natsuko and asked her to come over
for an extra day this week. I could use the help. She was only too
happy to offer her assistance and also satisfy her huge appetite
for curiosity, not to mention a free meal.

"It must have really freaked you out,"
Natsuko said with a contorted look on her face. "Seeing him in the
tub like that and all..." She shivered.

It was ten times worse that you could
ever imagine
, I thought.

"I've definitely had better days—" I moaned,
and gazed pensively out the kitchen window.

I considered the ineffectiveness of my
security apparatus, which had apparently allowed Carter to enter
uncontested, even with a key. The alarm seemed to be working
perfectly now.

Natsuko shuffled her way into my periphery.
Glancing at her, I asked: "Did you forget to activate the alarm
when you left yesterday?"

"I don't think so," she responded
defensively. Then in an about face, said: "I was late for a class
and had to run back home for a minute. Maybe it did slip my
mind...but I'm still pretty sure I set the alarm."

"All right," I told her, though feeling less
than certain. It could explain how what was supposed to protect the
place from intruders, or at least notify the security company, had
not. I wasn't sure if this made me feel better or worse.

Natsuko was off the hook this time, as there
were other issues to deal with.

"I couldn't believe it when I read in the
paper that
the
Carter Delaney was
your
ex," she
exclaimed. "I know you had the same last name and all, but—"

But you just can't imagine the wealthy
and charming Carter actually being married to me
, I thought,
slightly amused. Giving her the benefit of my gaze, I muttered: "It
was a long time ago. Before he became
the
Carter
Delaney—"

We both took a moment to collect our
thoughts before Natsuko asked: "Was he your first love?"

"Yes," I told her.

"And were you his?"

"I think so," I said while thinking that
Carter had always hinted at that without coming right out and
saying it. Later, it made no difference one way or the other.
Especially when he decided that he had enough loving to go
around.

"Did he want you back?" Natsuko asked,
moving to the other side of me so that she could see my eyes,
having apparently recovered from the shock of my marriage to
Carter.

I made it easier for her by looking directly
at her. "No! He was married to someone else."

Natsuko must have missed that in the paper,
judging by her reaction. Never mind the fact that their marriage
had hit a few bumps in the road of late.

"I'll bet he never got over you," she said
mischievously.

If that were true, Carter sure chose a
rotten way to make his point, I thought. I preferred to
believe—suicide or not—the circumstances went well beyond his
feelings for me.

I told Natsuko: "We both knew going our
separate ways when we did was the best thing at the time. I doubt
anything had changed since then."

Not for me it hadn't.

"One thing has changed," Natsuko said
solemnly. "Your ex is dead—"

I left the kitchen on that depressing note.
Natsuko followed, saying: "When the police came for my fingerprints
and told me what happened, I realized I had just missed him—"

I regarded her with a raised brow. "What
makes you say that?"

"I remember passing his car when I left,"
she said. "He almost hit me. I wondered why he was in such a hurry
to—" She stopped on a dime.

"How do you know it was Carter?" I asked
bluntly, knowing I was grasping at straws here.

Natsuko looked at me as if it were obvious.
"He was driving a silver Cadillac DeVille like he owned the road or
something. The police described his car to me."

"I see." After sucking in a deep breath, I
told her unenthusiastically: "I think it's time we got to work in
here."

For the next three hours, we cleaned up
everything the police had left in disarray, and then some. But
there was no cleansing away the memory of Carter in the bathtub.
Whether the house could ever truly be the same again remained to be
seen.

Natsuko had disappeared to who knows where
when the doorbell rang. Since I felt relatively safe answering the
door in broad daylight, in spite of being unarmed, I didn't bother
to check to see who it was before opening it.

Standing before me was Carter's widow...

CHAPTER
THIRTEEN

Observing her up close, face to face,
Darlene Delaney was thinner than I realized, but definitely not
gaunt. There were no outward signs of drug abuse. In fact, she
appeared remarkably healthy, with a clear and enviable complexion,
while sporting her new haircut. She was dressed rather
ostentatiously in a paprika skirt suit with a matching hat, an
off-white French cuff blouse, and high heels. The shoes made us
about the same height as I stood there in flats. At the
moment—wearing my cleaning jeans and a baggy old tee shirt—I felt
somewhat diminished in stature.

"You don't look like a private
investigator—" Darlene said as we stood on opposite sides of the
entryway.

It sounded more like an accusation than an
observation.

I sneered, thinking sarcastically:
Well,
y
ou don't look like a woman in mourning. Or, for that
matter, an adulteress and drug abuser. Obviously, looks can be
deceiving. Or maybe not
. "PI's come in all shapes and sizes," I
told her.

She touched the brim of her hat. "I
guess."

I studied Carter's widow, curious as to the
nature of her visit, which she revealed before I could beat her to
the punch.

"I could never do that sort of thing,"
Darlene told me. "Carter wouldn't have allowed it, even if I'd
wanted to. It wouldn't fit his idea of the 'good little wife'...at
least not the second time around—"

The man hadn't been dead for forty-eight
hours and his widow was wasting no time drawing unflattering
comparisons between us.

"I guess people change," I said resentfully,
not sure whom the resentment should be directed toward. Truth be
told, I was the one who had changed more than Carter. Yet he
clearly seemed to be in the middle of some major turmoil in his
life—before it ended.

Natsuko chose this well-timed moment to
resurface. "I have an exam in the morning I need to prepare for,"
she advised me, practically squeezing between us to get out the
door. She eyed me with a good-luck-you'll-probably-need-it look,
and said: "I'll see you next week, Skye—"

"Mahalo for coming to help," I told her.

She smiled. "No problem. I can always use
the extra money." Then Natsuko added: "If you need someone to talk
to..."

"I have your number," I finished for her,
smiling appreciatively.

As soon as she left, Darlene said unevenly:
"If this is a bad time..."

I gave my uninvited guest a sarcastic look.
"I wonder what gives you that impression."

Her mouth became a straight line. "Look, I
really didn't want to come here to—"

"Then why did you?" I felt I was entitled to
ask.

Our eyes met. "It seemed like it was time
for us to meet," she uttered, licking the gloss on her lips, "under
the circumstances. I'm guessing if I hadn't come to see you, it was
only a matter of time before you showed up at my door."

The lady was slick
, I thought, and
obviously brighter than I'd made her out to be. Made me wonder just
what she was up to. Did she come to gloat over stealing Carter,
several years too late? Or to solicit sympathy from someone who
could relate to her loss?

I gave her the benefit of the doubt and
decided to play along for now. "You're right, we were going to have
to cross paths sooner or later," I said coolly. "Now is probably as
good a time as any."

She took that as her invitation to come in
and it was.

In the foyer, Darlene flashed me what looked
like a practiced smile and put out a perfectly manicured hand.
"Carter has told me so much about you," she gushed, "I feel as
though we've already met."

We had, in a roundabout way, but I wasn't
ready to show my hand just yet.

"So do I," I hummed.

I shook her hand. It felt moist, and I
wondered if it was from the heat or nervousness beneath her cool
exterior. It occurred to me that drug addicts were prone to
perspiring while in need of a fix.

We stood there staring at each other in
silence for a few moments of where-do-we-go-from-here before I
broke the ice. "Can I get you something to drink?" I asked her.
"I've got beer, wine, papaya juice, coffee, tea..."

She shrugged. "I'll have what you're
having."

Two glasses of papaya juice coming up, I
thought. I went into the kitchen, half-expecting her to follow. She
did not. At the last moment, I had a change of heart and poured
some red wine into two goblets.

I found Darlene in the living room, which
was the last room Natsuko and I had worked on. It was presentable,
but there was still the distinct smell of death in the air, as
Carter's corpse had passed through here on its way to the morgue.
We would both have to deal with it in our own way.

Darlene seemed fascinated by my ceiling fan,
as though it were spewing out air crookedly or something.

"Your wine," I said, startling her.

She took the glass and sat on the sofa. I
joined her.

She met my eyes and asked bluntly: "Why did
Carter choose to kill himself in your tub? I mean, couldn't he have
chosen a more dignified way to commit suicide?"