Maui Widow Waltz (Islands of Aloha Mystery Series) (16 page)

“The Ming Dynasty began in the
fourteenth century, in China.”

“Well, good for you. Anyway, it’s a
very old chair. And these carvings here…” He pointed to the tusk-like statues
of the Asian couple in the glass display case. “What do you think those are?”

I shook my head. No doubt he’d
blasted some defenseless animal on a hunting trip and had taken its tusks as souvenirs.

“They’re human femur bones. Dug up
from the killing fields of Cambodia and then carved. Rather lovely, wouldn’t
you say?”

My breath stalled in my lungs. I’d
experienced intimidation before; I’d even practiced it a few times at
tournaments. I willed my expression to remain neutral. The bad feng shui
brought to this house by displaying desecrated human remains didn’t require
comment.

“Why are the police here?” I
finally said.

“Unlike yourself, Ms. Moon, I don’t
stick my nose in other people’s business.”

“They’ve been here a while.”

He shot me a cranky look and
thrummed his fingers on the desk.

“I assume they want to discuss Lisa
Marie’s acquaintance with Kevin McGillvary. I don’t know why it’s going on so
long, though. It’s damn obvious she’s in no condition to be much help to them
.” He clenched and unclenched his fists.

“I heard you were an investor in
Brad Sander’s company,” I said. “What kind of work does DigiSystems do?” I
wasn’t really interested in corporate chit chat, but I thought it might calm
him down and put me in a better position to make my case.

“Who said I’d invested in that
company?” He fumbled in a desk drawer and brought out a soapstone coaster for
his drink. He didn’t offer me one.

“Lisa Marie told me. She said you were
an angel investor when Brad and Kevin first started the company.”

“That’s somewhat correct. I
underwrite start-ups every now and then, but I don’t get involved. My role is
to provide seed capital to companies I like; to get them off the ground, so to speak.”
He shot me a snake oil smile that didn’t extend to his eyes. “But I’m not one
to pour over business plans. I’m sure even a person of your meager resources
can appreciate that a person such as myself wouldn’t have the time—or the
interest—in meddling in the day-to-day affairs of a little outfit like
DigiSystems.”

“I’m glad you brought up my
financial situation, Marv. As you said, I’m not well-off. And, since we’re just
sitting here waiting, I’d really appreciate it if you’d take a minute to write
me that check I need to pay my vendors.”

 “Ms. Moon, as I told you
earlier, I didn’t become wealthy bailing out every sad sack who came to me with
a tale of poor cash management skills. This is the last time I’ll say it:
You’ll get paid
after
my daughter’s wedding. Not before.”

“Marv, let’s cut the crap. You and
I both know there’s not going to be a wedding. With both Brad and Kevin dead,
even a proxy wedding is out of the question. I say we cancel everything right
now and cut our losses.”

“That might be what’s best for you,
but it’s hardly what’s best for my daughter. I’m willing to forego today’s
rehearsal—after all, what is there to practice? Five minutes of bullshit
followed by choking down a hunk of stale cake. But tomorrow’s wedding is on. My
daughter’s sanity is at stake. Until she gets jilted at the altar she’ll never
believe that Sanders isn’t coming back.”

“Seems a rather ‘tough love’ way to
handle it.”

“You got a better idea? If we
cancel now, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

I cringed at the image—Lisa Marie
in her fitted silk gown, the hired bridesmaids lined up and smiling, and the
groom’s side glaringly empty. “But promise me you’ll have the check ready
tomorrow. I’ve held up my side, but it’s not part of the service to stick
around for the tantrum.”

“Fine,” said Marv. “Now, if you’ll
excuse me, I’ve got to tell ‘Maui’s finest’ they need to get the hell out of my
house. You’re free to observe, since you seem to enjoy that kind of thing.”

Marv burst through the sunroom
doors like he was conducting a raid. “Time to clear out, Mr. Wong.” As Marv
strode forward, Lisa Marie’s hands flew to her throat. She ducked her
head. 

The two police detectives remained
seated on the yellow sofa for a few beats while Marv stomped toward them. Then
one of the cops stood and calmly put up his hand in a halt gesture.  

“It’s
Detective
Wong, sir.
And we can question your daughter here, or we can take her down to the station.
Your call.”

“Daddy…” whined Lisa Marie. She’d
gotten dressed since I last saw her, but not by much. Merely a thin
thigh-length tee-shirt dress and brown espadrilles. With her twig-thin body and
stark bald head she looked like Yoda’s granddaughter.

Marv backed out of the room at such
a quick clip he nearly bowled me over. He slammed the French doors and stomped
back down the hall.  

“You ever hear of a country-western
song called,
The Gambler
, Ms. Moon?”

“I’m not much of a country-western
fan.”

“Too bad; you can learn a lot from
the lyrics.
The Gambler
talks about knowing when to hold ‘em and when to
fold ‘em. The song’s talking about a card game, but it’s the same with
everything. What I just did was let the cops think they won. I didn’t order
them off my property or demand to have my lawyer present—even though I know my
rights. Nope, I let those bastards think it’s just fine and dandy with me that
they hassle my baby girl right under my nose in my own home.”

I waited.

“But you know what, Ms. Moon? Marv
Prescott didn’t get to where he is by being a frickin’ pussy. You’re not
offended by me saying ‘pussy’ are you, Ms. Moon? Where I come from, it’s
another word for ‘loser’.”

Again, I didn’t respond.

He looked down the hall toward the
sunroom. “You know, those cops in there should have done their homework. They
should have asked around. I’m sure there are more than a few local theories
about what happened to the sorry son-of-a-bitch who tried to stop me from
building this house.”

I couldn’t help it—my eyes widened.

“Think about it, sweetheart. I got
garbage scows leaving these islands every week of the year. Nobody knows what’s
on ‘em and nobody much cares where it all ends up.”

I told him I needed to get going
and turned to leave. He stopped me with a hand on my shoulder. “One thing
before you go, Ms. Moon. My sources tell me you’re quite popular around here.
I’d like you to do your friends a favor and give them a message: Nobody who
plans to see their next birthday screws with Marv Prescott—nobody.”

CHAPTER 20

I
hopped in the Geo and bolted for the highway. It was almost three-thirty. The caterers
were probably hard at work prepping for the seven o’clock rehearsal dinner.

Every day I’d sunk deeper in debt.
Even after cashing the check from Todd Barker—which had come two days earlier—I
still owed more than the entire five grand Tank Sherman would be paying me on
Friday. Once my business and house were gone, all I’d have left would be my
friends and colleagues. Marv had agreed to cancelling the rehearsal, but
without also calling off the wedding, the bills would keep mounting. I made a
decision. 

My first call was to Catering by
Frank—aka Paleke’s Good Grinds.

“I’m afraid tonight’s rehearsal
dinner at Olu’olu has been called off,” I said. “And the wedding dinner
tomorrow, too. I’m really sorry to call on such short notice.”

“No dinners?” Frank’s calm response
was a welcome departure from the freaking out I’d expected.

“No,
e kala mai
, Frank—I’m
so, so sorry. Did you hear about that body washing up at Little Beach this
morning? Well, that man was supposed to be the groom. The family’s in mourning.”
I opted for the TV Guide version—short and sweet.

“Oh my, that’s real
kaumaha
for that poor girl and her people. But they’ll still need food, right? Gotta
have something folks who come by the house.  Do you want I should bring
down some food for them?”

“
Mahalo
, but they’re from
the mainland—no family or friends here. And they’re in total shock. I’m afraid
your beautiful food would go to waste.”  

“No worries. I’ll just invite our
neighbors instead. My turn to have everybody to dinner. People up this way will
go
pupule
when they see I’m laying out lobster and filet mignon.”

“
Mahalo
for being so
understanding. And do you mind sending me your bill? I’d pick it up but I have
lots of people to get in touch with in the next few hours.”

“Don’t worry about no bill,
Pali.  You’re a good customer. Me and my wife can handle the food costs.
Ho’omana’o
you call us to cater for you next time, okay?” He’d asked me to remember him
next time—how could I forget?

I gushed my thanks and went down my
list, cancelling everything and everyone associated with the rehearsal. Then I
started pulling the plug on the fancy wedding. I scuttled everything except the
guy I’d hired to take Farrah’s place as the minister and the two bridesmaids,
who’d also agreed to function as witnesses. No need to have flowers, photos and
cake at a jilting. And if by some miracle Brad Sanders made an appearance, I
was counting on Lisa Marie’s I-told-you-so smugness to eclipse the simplicity
of the event.

 With each call, my suppliers
offered to either forgo billing me altogether or they requested only a fraction
of the agreed-upon cost. By the time I hit the bottom of the list, I was so
choked up my voice had collapsed to a croaky whisper.

I locked up and drove home.

I found Farrah upstairs, sprawled
across the open sleeper sofa with Lipton huddled tight alongside. The puppy box
graced the foot of the bed. I had to step over two Snapple bottles and a
crushed Doritos bag to get inside. The room smelled like corn chips and dog
musk, a bad combination for even the calmest of stomachs—and pure hell on my
stressed one.

“Do you want to talk?” I asked.

“I guess. I’m trying to pretend
it’s all a bad dream, but it isn’t working.”

“Yeah, I’m afraid it’s real.”

“On Monday night Kevin told me
something.”

“What’d he say?”

“He said Marv had threatened him
and he couldn’t wait to be done with DigiSystems so he wouldn’t have to kowtow
to Marv anymore.”

“What was Marv’s threat?”

“I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to
seem snoopy, and besides, what did I care? You said yourself Marv’s a total
bull shitter. I figured he was just throwing around more
kukae
.”

“Well, it looks like maybe this
time it was more than
kukae
.” I regretted it as soon as I’d said it.

“But it makes no sense for Marv to hurt
Kevin. Especially before the wedding. They needed him.” Farrah began to sob. “
I
needed him.”

I sat down on the creaking sofa bed
and took her hands in mine. A half-dozen trite expressions of sympathy came to
mind, but thankfully I stifled the urge to utter any of them.

“I’ve been thinking about something
else, too” she said. “It’s been bothering me all day.”

 “What?”

 “I’m worried it may be my
fault Kevin got killed.” Rough hiccups now punctuated the sobbing.

“That’s ridiculous. Why would you
say that?”

 “Because I blabbed to Noni
about Kevin buying the building.” Farrah swiped tears from her cheeks. “She
called to remind me about Tank coming in on Friday and I said ‘don’t bother.’ I
told her someone else was offering more money for the building and she could
tell Tank to shove it.”

“Did you tell her Kevin’s name?”

“No, I just said it was some rich
guy from Seattle.”

We stared at each other in silence.
Tank could’ve found out who’d put in another offer on the building by making
three phone calls, tops.

“I don’t know. Tank’s a fat jerk,
but he’s no killer.” I said.

“Seems maybe he is.” She rubbed her
eyes and dragged Lipton into her lap.

I wondered if I should call the
police, but then thought better of it. Going to the police with anything on
Marv or Tank would not only be a waste of time, but risky. Neither of those two
would kill someone, they’d hire it done. And if the police contacted them, both
Marv and Tank would quickly figure out who’d ratted them out. I needed more
information before going all Citizen Tipster and throwing myself and my best
friend under the bus.

“You know the worst part?” she
continued. “I have a really bad feeling the police won’t be able to figure it
out. They’ll just give up, like they did with Brad.” 

***

Steve didn’t come home for dinner,
but he called and invited Hatch to go bar-hopping with him later. He even
offered to take him to a couple of straight bars after hitting his favorite
haunts. With the two of them gone, it fell to me to keep an eye on Farrah and
make sure she didn’t start eyeing the kitchen knives. She’d holed up with
Lipton and the pups upstairs, so my plan was to stay downstairs until sleep was
my only option. Not only was it tight quarters up there, but the dog odor was
suffocating. I fixed myself some popcorn and settled into Hatch’s old spot on
the sofa, a book propped in my lap. A few hours of peace and quiet seemed like
a great idea, but within ten minutes I found myself pacing the carpet. I
flipped through the channels, but there was nothing on TV. Never before had I
been so bored on the night before a wedding—no bridal attendant gifts to wrap,
no champagne glasses to inspect, no seating chart to fuss over. By ten o’clock
the popcorn was down to the hulls, I’d read the last chapter of my book, and I’d
put a serious dent in the battery life of the remote.

I called Steve. I rarely went out
at night with him, since we both needed our personal space after living and
working together day-in and day-out. But with Hatch added to the mix I was
willing to give it a shot.

“You at the B and C?” I said. The
Ball and Chain was mostly a gay bar, but since it was in Kihei—budget traveler
central—it welcomed lots of straight singles and honeymooning couples as well.

“Shh. Can’t talk now. I’ll call you
back in a few minutes.” The line went dead before I could ask what was going
on.

I put the phone down feeling more
than a little put out. It wasn’t like I was going to horn in and wreck his
evening. I’m considerate. I know when a trip to the ladies’ room is in order. Besides,
he had Hatch with him. Were they so determined to keep it a ‘guys only’ night
that Steve thought it was okay to hang up on me?

By the time the phone rang, I’d
worked myself into a royal snit.

“Hey,” I said, not even waiting for
his ‘
hello
.’“If I’m cramping your style, just say so. It’s not like I
couldn’t find somebody else to hang out with.”

“No, listen,” he said.” We’re not
at the B & C. Some of Hatch’s buddies asked him to come by Cisco’s.”
Cisco’s is a celebrated Pa’ia watering hole made famous when a Maui tourist
book mentioned Bruce Springsteen sometimes drops by when he’s in town. 

 “Hatch’s inside, but I saw
Glen with a guy in the parking lot so I stayed out here to see what was going
on.”

“Are you talking about Glen Wong?
The police detective?”  I looked up the staircase, aware Farrah might have
overheard me. The house was so quiet I could hear the trade wind rustling the
palms in the yard.

“Yeah. He met up with some
scrungy-looking dude. They got in Glen’s car.”

“Are they still there?”

“Yeah.”

 “You think it’s official
business or has he lowered his dating standards?”

“He’s driving a plain vanilla so
it’s probably police business. I can’t imagine him risking a cheap trick in a
cop car.” His voice brightened, “How’s Farrah doing?”

“Not a peep.” 

“Why don’t you come on down? I’ll
stick around until you get here. Everybody’s talking about the murder. I’ll bet
someone would buy you a beer to hear you dish on Lisa Marie.”

I felt a twinge of guilt for even
considering such a proposition, but had to admit I wouldn’t mind fifteen
minutes of fame at Cisco’s. And, after the day I’d had, I deserved a free beer.

Driving to the bar my adrenaline
kicked in. It reminded me of my air marshal days when I’d snap my gun in the
holster and wonder if this was going to be the flight where I’d get to use it.
Never happened. My usual route was eleven and a half hours Honolulu to Taipei,
then another three hours to Tokyo. The next morning I’d be back onboard headed
for Honolulu. After ten months I never encountered anything more criminal than
an airline meal. When I left the job I willingly gave up the gun and turned my
focus to earning my black belt. I’d pit physical and mental skills over
nickel-plated hardware any day.

I got to Cisco’s by ten-thirty and
couldn’t find a place to park. It was a weekday night, but with the weather
improving and the tourists returning, our little island was beginning to feel
crowded again. I parked a block away.

I zigzagged through the back lot,
slipping between tightly parked cars and dodging clusters of noisy
party-hardies until I spotted a white four-door Ford—the kind the police refer
to as “unmarked.” Even with the armada of stripped-down rental cars cruising
Maui, nothing shouts
cop
louder than a white bare bones Crown Vic with
ugly black rims. I saw two men inside, but in the dark it was impossible to
make out faces.

I punched the speed dial for
Steve’s cell number. It started to ring when I saw him trotting my way. I
clicked off.

“Something’s going down,” he hissed
as he came up beside me. He tipped his head in the direction of the cop car. He
looked about as excited as a kid about to hop up on Santa’s knee. “A guy I met
inside said he thinks Glen’s talking to a snitch.”

“A
snitch
? Isn’t that a
Three Stooges word?”

He ignored my sarcasm. “The guy
said it’s a dude from Ma’alaea Harbor who called in on the crime hotline.”

“How would a guy at Cisco’s know
who Wong was talking to?”

“How does anyone know stuff? 
People talk.”

 “You think this snitch knows
something about what happened to Kevin?”

“Could be. I’m hoping Glen will
fill me in later.”

“Why would he do that, Steve? He’s
a cop. He’s not some
brudda
who owes you a plate lunch.” 

“You forget—we are
bruddas
.
And he knows I’m good with secrets.”

Steve good with secrets? I was glad
it was dark so he couldn’t see the look on my face.

“Is Hatch still inside?” I said.

“Last I looked,” he said. “A bunch
of his fire station guys are here. They’re fawning over him like he’s the great
American hero for getting run over.”

“Yeah, what’s with that? The guy’s
always got to be the center of attention.”

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far. He’s
making the most of a bad situation, that’s all. And what’s the deal with you
two? I was hoping you might hit it off, but you take shots at him every chance
you get.”

“I’m not taking shots. I’m just not
lining up to join the fan club.”

“You might have to re-think that.
He’s in the fireman calendar for next year—August, I think. When that thing
comes out, there’ll be women making fake 9-1-1 calls just to see him up close
and personal.”

Two car doors slammed and we both
looked over at the cop car. Wong was talking to a guy who’d climbed out of the
passenger side. The guy was meth-addict skinny, with shaggy hair. When he moved
off into the dark I detected a slight limp.

Wong started toward us. When he got
within twenty feet, he stopped and motioned Steve over. For a second, I
considered acting dumb and going with Steve, but I let it go. Wong didn’t know
me and—secret keeper or not—I knew I’d get the whole story from Steve later
anyway.

I walked to the front door of
Cisco’s and flashed a smile at the bouncer collecting the cover charge.

“Hey, Pako, remember me? Pali
Moon?” I’d met the guy at one of Sifu Doug’s infamous blow-out luaus. I’d made
a point of remembering Pako’s name when I heard he worked the door at Cisco’s.
No use paying good money if you can play the
brudda
card.

“Oh, yeah,” he yelled over the din
of the over-amped band, rowdy crowd, and waitresses screaming drink orders at the
bar. “You’re that kick-ass lady from down at Doug’s. You still doing the
hook-up thing?”