Beachboy Murder Page 9

  He kind of saluted and went out.

  The video was in color and considerably better than ninety-nine percent of the black-and-white jerky, grainy footage I'd seen on TV that had been taken from convenience store, bank, and Starbucks robberies. People who've never had to sit and watch security video for any length of time might think it would be an interesting thing to do. But once they've had the "pleasure"—full irony in play here—they'd realize it's a total snooze.

  Dead boring? Yes, it was, but a waste of time it definitely wasn't.

  Barely today, at twelve forty-seven a.m.—according to the time display on the screen—Chelsea Westport came strolling casually through the front entrance. She was carrying two bags, the ugly plastic eco-disasters you get from the grocery when you've forgotten to take your own. She was wearing what appeared to be some sort of lounging pajamas, a three-piece coral set of top, bottoms, and short silky robe—they were flowy and slinky and gorgeous. Her hair had been pulled back and gathered into a scrunchie and lay flat against her back in an unattractive horsetail.

  I was once again taken by her elegant fashion sense yet lack of attention to hairstyle and makeup. I knew all about Chelsea's personal shopper; she'd told me. I knew she seemed to be a strong-willed independent woman with apparently little need for a man to escort her around—she'd told me that too. I also knew Chelsea Westport was a liar.

  If she hadn't lied, she'd at least omitted something of importance about her activities from last night—mainly, that after she ordered room service, answered her emails, and watched Anderson Cooper, she hadn't gone to bed early—or if she had, that wasn't where she'd stayed the rest of the night. Chelsea Westport had gone out somewhere and hadn't returned until late, late enough that she could have followed Val and Janet to my house then confronted him and killed him before returning to the resort.

  And she wasn't the only one who'd lied.

  The Goldbergs, who'd both implied they'd been feeling romantic and had stayed in on their first night on the island, had also gone out. And from appearances, they hadn't even been together. I leaned in close to see Sarah Goldberg standing in the shadows at the front entrance a little after one a.m. She kept checking her cell phone. Watching the time? Reading texts? Because of the angle and the lighting, I couldn't tell. But she stood there, shifting and shuffling for over forty minutes until who rushes up, grabs her by the arm, and leads her through the entry into the lobby but her other—not necessarily better—half, good old Hershel.

  So they hadn't stayed in making love and dozing off in each other's arms. They'd both been up and about, and from all appearances, on their own until the wee hours of the morning. That didn't look good for either of them because they both seemed to have a complicated history with the dead man—and for whatever reasons had felt compelled to concoct a mutual alibi.

  Aided by the fast forward feature of the playback, I'd gone through an entire night of security footage in about half an hour. Not bad. I leaned back and stretched, stiff from sitting in Long-Tall-Jimmy's chair with my feet dangling.

  I crossed the room and let myself out.

  My cell phone went off—the ringtone, Sinatra, "Fly Me to the Moon." I reached into the pocket of my pants. It was Rick.

  "Hey." I answered the call, rounding the reception desk and heading across the open-air lobby out onto the Makai Terrace. Happy hour was long since over, and the few people enjoying the terrace strolled along the lush pathways.

  "Hey, girl." Rick's voice was so husky, so sexy, he could make reading a nutrition label sound like pure seduction. A girl could get high on just his voice.

  The heady perfumes of the island were also intoxicating. The warm island breeze carried a tantalizing mixture of floral scents, a range of kitchen aromas from the resort restaurants, the faint but distinct clean wafts of chlorinated water from the pool, and underlying it all the complex funk of briny, fishy, kelpie ocean. It was an orchestration of aromas that played songs on my heart as little else did these days, in a calming way that was new and surprising to me. I'd begun to think of those as the smells of home.

  "Whatcha doin', Princess?"

  Mmm. And I'd begun to think of Rick Dawson as home too. I suddenly wanted to be with him, to forget about murder, about the pressure of whether or not to sell to the consortium, to forget about everything except the way it felt to be held in Rick's strong arms with his warm, long-fingered hands caressing my skin.

  "What am I doing, Flyboy? It's half-past nine, and I haven't had dinner yet. What I'm doing is wondering how long it would take you to stop at Shitoku, pick up some take out, and get over to my place," I said.

  "You still at the resort?"

  "Yep, still at Aloha Lagoon."

  "I'm just leaving the airfield. Got my ladies all ready for work tomorrow." Rick always referred to his helos, Stella and Bessie, as "my ladies." He went on. "I've been thinking about nothing but you all day, and I want to see you so bad I've got the pedal to the metal. You better hotfoot it home if you want to beat me and the spider rolls, bean sprouts, and sunomono there."

  "Oh. Okay." What more could I say? Just like that old Jerry Lee Lewis song Rick played when he flew tourists over the canyons—the man left me breathless-ah.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  As it turned out, Rick was almost right. He nearly beat me home.

  I'd slipped off my shoes, and put food down for Hercules, and I was standing on the third step and unbuttoning my blouse to head upstairs and throw on something sexier than my Aloha Lagoon approved work wear. That was when the kitchen door crashed inward and Rick moved through it at warp speed. Without missing a step, he crossed the kitchen to the dining area in the main room, set the take-out bag on the table, and continued on to where I stood with my mouth hanging open. He threw one arm around my waist, lifted me a few inches off the ground, backed me up against the wall, and pressed his mouth against mine. My arms went around his neck, and it was like we'd been superglued together.

  It seemed like a long while, hours, that we clung together, but also like too short a time, just nano-seconds. I didn't want to let him go, especially since my legs had gone all rubbery and I wasn't sure I could stand up on my own.

  He slowly pulled away in tiny movements until he was leaning down, his free arm bracing him against the wall, and his forehead pressed against mine.

  "Hi." His voice was so low I could barely hear him; his breath was warm on my face.

  "Hi."

  He dropped another quick kiss on my lips and stood up straight. "Thanks. I needed that." He broke into that boyish grin that told me all was right in the world. "And now, Princess, what I need is to plop down at the table with you sitting across from me where I can see that gorgeous kisser, while we dig into Shitoku's finest."

  "Oh, baby." My stomach rumbled at the thought. "I can hardly wait. Let's eat."

  Shitoku was a Japanese restaurant in the little town of Wailua not far from where I lived. Their sushi was legendary on the island.

  Yes, the food and company were to die for. After we ate and put the leftovers in the fridge, we settled on the couch and watched a DVR'd episode of Magnum, P.I. Magnum was in trouble with Higgins for a bent fender on the Ferrari, and he was trying to earn a little extra pocket change to pay back the estate by acting as bodyguard for a self-centered movie star. About halfway through the episode, Rick scooted around on the sofa until he could stretch out, his head resting on my lap.

  Cliché as could be, I ran my fingers through his soft hair.

  He was lying on his back looking up at me, seeming somewhat younger than his thirty-six years and more vulnerable than usual. "Gabrielle." I loved hearing my name on his lips. "You gotta know I'm crazy about you."

  "Me too," I said and meant it. I was crazy about him. I mean, who wouldn't be? He was nearly perfect. Good-looking, well-built, strong, smart, kind, funny, honest, supportive, and a great kisser. I'd definitely fallen for him and could honestly say that, yes, I was crazy about him too. So far neither of
us had said that other three-word commitment, that really serious one, but I could feel it out there, waiting in the wings for just the right moment. I might say it first, or he might—but the way we felt when we were together and the way we felt when we were apart? The I-love-you's were definitely coming.

  But that wasn't tonight, and what he did have to say probably put that endearment a little farther out in the future.

  "Have you made up your mind about selling the travel agency?"

  I kept finger-combing his hair. "No."

  His gaze never left my face. "Which way are you leaning?"

  "I'm not leaning either way. I don't know what I'm going to do. But I do know pressuring me about it isn't all that helpful."

  He sat up abruptly. "Helpful? Maybe it would be helpful if we knew where this is going."

  Something in his tone flipped my stomach. He was verging on being angry. "This? This what?" I asked.

  He touched his chest then opened his hand toward me. "This us. Where's our relationship heading, Gabby?"

  I swallowed. This wasn't good. He hardly ever called me Gabby—always Gabrielle or princess or girl or babe. "Well I thought we were heading toward something wonderful."

  He sort of laughed. Harsh, not joyous or amused. "And here I thought what we have was wonderful already. Silly me."

  "That's not what I meant."

  The anger left him. It was in the relaxing of his shoulders and torso, in the unclenching of his jaw. The blue flame in his eyes died back.

  We spoke at the same time, "I—" and both smiled.

  He reached across the sofa and pulled me to him. My stomach unclenched. "Let's not talk about it right now. I guess I'm a little insecure about the possibility my girl might be flying away."

  "I'm not going anywhere tonight, Flyboy. So why don't you stay with me?"

  He stood and pulled me up with him, nodding. "Let's go upstairs."

  We walked silently up to my bedroom together, stripped down to our underwear and climbed into bed. He held me, his warm, lean body curled against mine, his arms tender around me. We didn't make love. Emotions were too raw, anxieties too prevalent. We'd nearly had a real argument. I didn't like the way it had felt. After a while I fell asleep.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  I arrived at Aloha Lagoon Resort a little before nine o'clock the next morning. Koma was there already waiting on me, so he could take the shuttle for a run through the carwash and a fill-up. He was scheduled to take twenty school teachers from Seattle for a three-hour partial hike of the Kalalau Trail before happy hour and an early dinner at Sam's Ocean View in Kapaa before returning to the resort.

  I turned the shuttle over to him in the employee lot at the rear of the resort and headed across the pavement. Once I hit the lush grounds, it wasn't very far across the property to the main building and the side entrance. That entrance led down a wide hallway past several of the meeting rooms, the business and hospitality center, and, at the end where the hallway opened onto the main lobby, the gift shop. And whom should I see working her regular shift as if nothing were out of the ordinary? Mele Hale.

  I couldn't help it. I had to know. My purpose gave me motion, and I marched right in.

  "Mele!"

  She turned around from where she'd been refolding Aloha Lagoon T-shirts. Her eyes found mine then were cast downward in her typically shy way. "Hi, Gabby."

  "Mele, we were all so…what were you…where were you?"

  She looked back, her face full of question. "Sorry. I don't…"

  "You disappeared yesterday. No one knew where you were. You had a lot of people worried. Rick and I even went out to Hector's place." I let it hang there.

  She finally sighed and said, "I was so very sad about Val. No matter what he did, we were close all our lives until he left and…so I drove out to Lovers' Leap where Val and I used to go in his car and sit and make plans, map out our entire lives. It was also where he said goodbye to me before he left the island. I shut off my phone and just thought about everything. After a while I fell asleep and wound up staying there almost all night. When I finally woke up, I barely had time to go home, shower, and get to work on time. That was all. Mama Ona told me everyone was worried I'd gone off crazy somewhere, but I just wanted to remember Val. I wasn't running away."

  I nodded slowly. "You should at least have called Auntie Ona. She's a good woman and doesn't deserve that kind of scare."

  She looked back down at her feet.

  Feeling as if the conversation might be over, I turned to head toward my office but stopped when, voice cracking, she said, "You went to Hector's?"

  "Yes. Rick's a good friend of his."

  "No one except Hector and I know we've been seeing each other. I promised him I wouldn't tell. He thinks if word gets out the NSA or some black ops team might kidnap me to get to him."

  I didn't turn back around but couldn't help asking. "What is it with Hector that he believes he's under worldwide surveillance?"

  Her voice was small. "It's because of his brain, you know. He's so smart, like super-human smart. X-Men smart. The good guys and the bad guys, they all need his brain on their side."

  That did turn me around. "He told you that?"

  She chewed her lip. "It makes sense. That's why he stays quiet, you know, incognito."

  "Okay." I said. "Good to know."

  I walked out into the lobby and over to Gabby's Island Adventures. A young couple sat at Lana's desk. She was on the phone and from the conversation, I gathered they were booking a scuba diving adventure to the sea caves on the northwest side of the island.

  I spent a few minutes checking my work calendar and emails before signaling Lana I'd be back later and heading out into the lobby once again.

  Just like in one of those old Looney Toons, aromatic tentacles of exquisite Kona brew hooked me by the nostrils and dragged me across the lobby to the coffee kiosk where I took a mug and filled it from the big urn.

  Encasing the mug with both hands, I lifted it, inhaled the rich fragrance, and rolled my eyes. Ah, so good. They should sign me up to do their commercials. But before I could take a sip, I had to stop and stare at the spectacle of Mele Hale running full out across the lobby toward the area where Ona would be right in the middle of Keiki's Talk Story Hour, the time the resort set aside strictly for children, which was what keiki meant in the Hawaiian language.

  Not far behind Mele Detective Ray Kahoalani followed at a quick trot. I'd never seen the detective move any faster than a brisk walk.

  I stood there a moment contemplating the remarkable scene when I heard a shriek, followed by the sound of children's laughter, and there was nothing I could do except follow to see what was going on at Keiki's Talk Story Hour.

  From what I could surmise, Mele had run pell-mell into the middle of story hour and probably tripped on some of the big pillows strewn about and tumbled down onto them.

  Detective Ray, now also lying on the pillows, must have been going too fast to stop and fallen as well. They lay side-by-side with about a dozen children of varying ages standing around them, pointing and laughing.

  "Now, now, keike, that's Detective Ray." Ona addressed the children, looking distressed. "It isn't polite to laugh at a policeman."

  I, for one, wasn't convinced.

  Detective Ray wrestled the pillows as he rolled around but finally managed to get to his feet. Once upright, he offered a hand to Mele who went straight into her mother's arms and began crying. That girl sure had cornered the market on tears.

  Ona held Mele, patting her back. Over Mele's shoulder, she motioned to the other Talk Story Lady who substituted on Ona's days off. She took over, her voice rising above all the noise as she began to sing "Pearly Shells" a favorite song of Hawaiian children. The noise level dropped as one by one, the kids' attention was drawn to her.

  Mele, Ona, and Detective Ray moved away from the group closer to where I was standing. None of them acknowledged my presence.

  "Mama Ona," Mele began. "D
etective Ray wants to take me in for questioning."

  Ona's eyes went wide. Mine probably did too. Both our heads swiveled toward Detective Ray.

  He shrugged. "We found a rental car about a half mile from the scene of the crime pulled back behind some bushes—keys in the seat. It took a while, but after checking with all the island rental agencies, we finally learned it was Markson's. The forensics team is going over it as we speak. But that's not all we found." He lasered in on Mele. "Mele's resort ID badge was found in the tall grass not far from where we discovered the body."

  Ona caught her breath. "Mele?"

  Mele looked nervously at her mother, but it was plain she was speaking to Detective Ray. "I was there, but I didn't kill him. I swear. I came back to the resort to talk to him, but he was leaving with Gabby's friend. I followed them. He parked his car on the street not in the bushes, and I waited there for him to come back to it. He never did." She shrugged as if she didn't know what else to say. "My badge must have come unclipped and fallen off."

  Detective Ray nodded. His expression was grim—about as serious as a tax audit. "Like I told you before, Mele, I'm going to need you to come to the precinct for questioning. If you won't cooperate…" He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a pair of handcuffs.

  "That won't be necessary." Ona straightened her shoulders. Her voice shook. "Mele didn't kill the jerk. I did."

  I think I might have croaked like a frog. "What?"

  Mele said, "Mama, no."

  Detective Ray didn't say a word. He just waited for an explanation.

  Ona gave him one. "Yes. I was in the lobby. I saw Mele return to the resort that night and went out to talk to her. But she left, following the beachboy and Gabby's friend. I was worried, so I tailed her."

  My chest felt like a boa constrictor had wrapped itself around me. I could barely breathe, and I suspected Detective Ray and Mele were in the same shape.

  Ona went on. "That man was no good. He dropped the woman off but didn't go in the house. Instead, he walked out to the creek and stood there a while like he was thinking. I went up to him. Told him what I thought of him. Told him he was lower than dirt. Told him what he did to my Mele was a shame he'd have to live with the rest of his life." She drew in a huge breath and let it out. "Do you know what he had the nerve to tell me?"