Vacations Can Be Murder: The Second Charlie Parker Mystery (13 page)

Bare metal I-beams formed the ceiling, with
silver heating and cooling ductwork suspended below. A
paint-flecked metal step ladder stood in the middle of the
cavernous expanse. Five-gallon cans, three of them, were lined up
against the far wall. There were a few odd scraps of lumber strewn
around the floor, certainly not enough to finish the job.

I stared, trying to assimilate what I was
seeing. No wonder Page kept everyone in the dark about his business
activities. The whole thing was a fake.

Just then, I heard a toilet flush.

My heart immediately switched to staccato. I
had begun to believe I was alone. I peered back into the fake hall.
I could hear water running behind the doors to the girl's room. I
ran for the double doors, jerking the left one open as quickly as
the pneumatic closer would allow.

Had the water stopped? I couldn't tell.

I practically leaped around the corner of the
reception desk, and crossed the room in about three bounds. I was
seated on the sofa, legs crossed, magazine in hand, when the door
opened. I looked down at my shirt to see if my heart was thudding
visibly. It certainly was making a terrible racket.

Gil's receptionist was in her mid-thirties, a
petite five-two. Her frosted blond hair cut chin length, and
carefully arranged to suggest that she had just stepped in out of
the wind.

The few extra pounds she carried around the
middle were expertly concealed beneath her tailored blue suit.
Nude, she would probably be soft as a tub of whipped butter, but
the strong lines of the suit trimmed her right down.

She wore a matching blue blouse with a bow at
the neck, and blue-dyed snakeskin pumps. I wondered whether she had
carried a swatch of the office carpet with her when she shopped for
the outfit. It was a perfect match. A hint of lemon air freshener
wafted through the doorway with her.

I checked out her jewelry. Her watch was
either a Rolex or a damn good copy. No wedding band. That explained
how she found the money for her clothing budget.

"Has anyone helped you yet?" she
inquired.

Fat chance. I guess I was supposed to believe
that a cast of hundreds awaited their cues behind the closed doors.
Okay, I could play her silly game.

"Actually, I came to see Mr. Page. Is he
in?"

"No, I'm afraid he's out of town at the
moment."

Well, that was sure the truth.

She had taken her seat behind the desk, and
began to straighten the already neat folders. Her movements were
quick and efficient, designed to accomplish maximum effect with
minimum effort. She was not good at making busywork.

"May I inquire about the nature of your
business? Perhaps someone else might help you."

I could practically see them lining up in the
hall.

"Well, maybe. I'm looking for office space in
this area, and heard he might have something for lease."

"Office space? Where would you have heard
that?"

I fumbled for an answer. I don't mind lying,
but I really hate to get caught at it.

"Mr. Page is in the equipment leasing
business. We don't have any real estate dealings at all."

"Oh,
equipment
leasing," I said,
pulling myself out of the soft sofa cushions with difficulty. "I
must have got my wires crossed. I could have sworn someone told me
he had offices for lease. What sort of equipment do you lease?"

She held me with a level gaze that said she
knew my story was pure bullshit. At least she had the good grace
not to say so.

"Computers, office machines, that sort of
thing," she said flatly.

"Oh, good," I plowed ahead. "Maybe I'll
contact you again once I get my office space. I'll probably need
some equipment." I tried to come up with a sincere smile, but it
felt weak. I edged my way to the door.

She smiled fixedly. I wondered what she
thought I was up to. Probably a bill collector or process server
trying to get at Page. She could have got rid of me much more
efficiently by just saying that he was dead.

I didn't breathe normally again until I was
back on the street. The two block walk to my car proved beneficial
in getting my tangled thoughts in some kind of order. I remembered
reading something about an equipment leasing scam a couple of years
ago. What had it been about?

It was a limited partnership, I remembered,
set up to provide tax shelters to people who made so much money
they couldn't figure out what do to with it all. Turned out the IRS
disallowed the shelter, so the investors lost the deductions they
thought they were getting.

To top it off, the partnership declared one
small dividend, then filed Chapter 7. Three hundred investors lost
fifty thou each. I never heard any satisfactory explanation of
where the fifteen million ended up.

My former fiancé, Brad North, was the only
person I knew dumb enough to get into it. And, he's a lawyer. Kinda
makes you think.

Had Gilbert Page set up a similar scam? Where
they just about to enter the bankruptcy phase of the game?

It could explain the operating losses that
showed on the books. It could also give several hundred more people
a reason to kill him.

I unlocked the car door, and stepped in, glad
to be out of the persistent wind. I was a little at a loss for what
to do next. My watch told me it was three o'clock, but I honestly
couldn't remember whether I'd changed it. I could still be on
Hawaiian time. The sun was hazy behind the high cloud layer,
though, and it felt like mid-afternoon.

I suddenly realized I was starving. The
thought of driving up to North Beach, and finding a pizzeria was
tempting, but I figured I better head the other way. By the time I
turned in the rental car, and checked in at the airport, I'd just
about have time for something to eat there before my flight.
Airport food couldn't compare remotely with anything I'd find in
North Beach, but, oh well. Another time.

I found myself thinking of Drake as I
anticipated my flight. I turned in the rental car, shouldered my
small carry-on bag, and thought of Drake. I presented my ticket,
stood in line, and inched my way toward my seat.

A handsome male flight attendant offered
drinks. For an instant, some trick of light made me think he was
Drake. My heart surprised me by doing a momentary little dance.

I'm a pretty independent person, and not
unaccustomed to traveling alone. But, I found it comforting to
think that he'd be there to meet me this time. I drifted into a
pleasant sleep thinking about him, and awoke from a series of weird
dreams about an Oriental police officer driving a race car with a
blond exercise instructor at his side.

It was pitch dark outside.

Chapter 9

Sex with Drake made me euphoric—mellow inside
yet almost super-charged at the same time. His mouth caused me to
melt. His hands knew all the right places to touch. I found it easy
to give myself over to him in a way I had never done with anyone
before.

It had been too long since my last
relationship. Two years since the six month stint with Edward, the
dreamy eyed man with wispy blond hair who fancied himself a poet.
His lines of verse had enchanted me in the beginning, but I came to
see them as meaningless bunches of words he had dredged up from
somewhere in the bottom of a bottle of Stoli. That's probably where
his sex drive came from, too, because it was the only time he was
ever in the mood.

It ended with Edward slowly yet abruptly, as
I suppose many relationships do. I had long since lost my fervor
over his poetry. I had quit spending the night, because waking up
next to his vodka-laden breath turned my stomach. I was looking for
a way to end it gently.

The night he confided to me that he was
bi-sexual seemed like the perfect time.

I incinerated the toothbrush and spare
changes of clothing he used to leave at my house. I had myself
tested for HIV, although he swore he had not been with a man in
three years. Perhaps my behavior was a bit unfeeling, but
truthfully, I felt stupid for not having found this out ahead of
time.

Thankfully, I tested okay, but it put the
fear of God in me. I was only now starting to get in the mood
again.

Drake Langston came along at just the right
time. He'd been married for fifteen years, up until a year ago. His
emotions, like mine, were just beginning to heal.

The fact that I was here on vacation kept us
from getting too serious. The seriousness of the situation kept us
from taking each other too lightly. I wasn't interested in one
night stands, but I wasn't ready for a full-fledged commitment,
either. I sensed the same feelings in Drake.

We'd take it easy and see what happened.

The hotel room lay in gray shadow, the
furnishings colorless in the dim light filtering around the edge of
the drape. I stretched sensuously, my body remembering last night’s
emotions.

Drake lay asleep on his side, his face free
of the past few days’ stresses. I reached toward him and, sensing
my nearness, he rolled to his back and pulled me close. I nestled
into his shoulder. I loved his scent, warm with sleep.

“Awake already?” he mumbled. He stroked my
hair and I nodded.

I wanted to stay exactly like this for the
rest of my vacation. Unfortunately, nature called.

When I returned from the bathroom, Drake was
opening the curtain allowing daylight to filter into the room.

“What time is it?” I asked.

“Nine.”

“Too early.” I hopped back into the
still-warm bed, sat with my knees up to my chest, and pulled the
covers up to my neck.

Drake walked naked across the room, plumped
the pillows against the headboard and joined me.

I filled him in on my California
inquiries.

"I flew into the Hanakapiai Valley again
yesterday," he told me. "It was high tide, and I noticed that the
spot where our dead guy ended up was quite a bit closer to the
water's edge."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that, if the tide was high the time
of night he was killed, someone could have brought him around there
by boat."

"How can we find out?"

"I already have. I checked the tide calendar.
High tide last Friday night was eleven forty-two. And, there was an
almost-full moon."

I pondered that. It still didn't seem very
likely.

Page had been a good hundred yards from the
water's edge. Even at high tide, someone would have had to lug his
body sixty yards or more, up sloping terrain strewn with boulders.
He hadn't been a large man by any means, but even at one-sixty,
one-seventy, he would have been a burden to carry that far.

Besides, if they had a boat, why didn't they
just dump him into the sea? Why go to all that extra trouble?

Unless they
wanted
it to look like a
helicopter was involved.

I became distracted by Drake, who was
planting a line of kisses across my ribcage, heading for my
belly.

"I'm hungry," he murmured. "It's either
macadamia nut pancakes or this."

It was a tough decision—I wanted both.

An hour later, we strolled though the lobby
hand in hand.

"Let me stop off at the desk, and see if
there are any messages," I told Drake.

There was one, from Officer Akito. He wanted
to see me today. Now that was a switch. I supposed I should comply,
but first I wanted to talk to Mack again.

"Is Mack flying today?" I asked Drake, as we
walked the perimeter of the curving hotel driveway, heading for the
parking lot.

He glanced at his watch. "Yeah, but he should
have a lunch break about twelve. It's ten-thirty now. Let's get
some breakfast, then catch him at the office."

My rental car hadn't been driven in two days,
and I noticed a film of dried rain spots on it. There was also
something white flapping under the left wiper blade. I grabbed at
it without much interest, thinking it was probably a handbill of
some kind. I slid into the driver's seat, and reached across to
unlock Drake's door. I pressed the switch to lower the top, and
stuck the key into the ignition before giving the white paper
another glance.

Only then did I notice that it was an
envelope, plain generic white, with cut-out magazine letters
spelling CHARLIE pasted across the front. A funny prickling
sensation formed at the base of my neck, and waves of goose bumps
ran up both my arms. My lungs seemed unable to expel the air in
them, while my heart pounded in slow heavy thuds.

"Charlie?" Drake stared at me, two ridges of
concern pulling his brows together.

I held the front of the envelope up for him
to see. He got very still, waiting for me to open it.

I noticed that the paper was fresh and
unwrinkled no sign of water spotting, like on the car. It had to
have been left on the windshield this morning.

The flap ripped as my trembling fingers
worked at it. Inside was a single sheet of paper, with more cut-out
words and letters. GARVEY DID IT. BUTT OUT AND LET HIM FRY. I
handed it over to Drake, while I took a deep breath and started the
car.

My mind raced through my list of suspects. No
one seemed to particularly have it in for Mack, except Akito.
Surely, the police wouldn't resort to this kind of tactic, even if
the officer had a personal grievance with the suspect.

Among the others, I wasn't sure who would
even know that Mack was the prime suspect at this point.

I drove mechanically, following the
remembered back streets to the Tip Top Café. Neither of us spoke as
I parked the car and we made our way to the same back-corner booth
we’d taken before.

Drake and I were both quiet as we ordered
pancakes, and watched the waitress walk away. I felt unsettled.

Maybe it was just the effect of coming
abruptly off a sexual high. Maybe it was the whole case, in
general. I was antsy to talk to Mack again. There were things he
hadn't told me, and now I wondered how much more I didn't know. I
hated doubting him.