Death in Paradise (41 page)

Jolene was good and solid, but when last seen, she'd been happily drinking. And in my new risk-averse avatar, I wasn't inviting anyone into my room who had bandages on their wrists. Not no one. Shannon was too loud and boisterous, when I was feeling fragile. Zannah was too upbeat and optimistic, when I was feeling neither. And Rob Greene was a man, as I presumed my attacker to be. That left Jonetta.

Of course, in my darkest moments, my most paranoid Agatha Christie moments, I could imagine a conspiracy they were all in together, even Jonetta—they had all hated Martina and they all seemed unwilling to get involved in finding out who had killed her—but I couldn't think of Jonetta as a killer. She was too committed to life, too dedicated to doing good to risk the fate of all her girls. I picked up the phone and called her room. I expected they would all still be in the bar and I'd have to leave a message, but I got lucky. She was in. The instant I heard her resonant voice, I started to feel better.

"Netta? It's Thea. I need someone to talk to. Can you come up?"

"How are you doin', child?" she asked. "You've had yourself one tough day. I got your message about going home. I think you're doing the right thing, you know. This place is just too dangerous for you. Who ever would have thought that Maui, vacation paradise, would turn out like this?"

"Not me, that's for sure. I brought bikinis and sun screen, not splints and bandages. Look, I know it's late but can you come up?"

"Happy to," she said.

"I've moved. I'm up on seventeen now." I gave her the room number.

"Just let me get out of these damned uncomfortable shoes and I'll mosey on up."

I put down the phone, relieved. Normally I would have said two heads were better than one, but tonight I wasn't sure mine counted for anything, so it was more like one head was better than none. While I waited, I paced. While I paced, I fretted. Bobby hadn't called back yet. Neither had Bernstein. In a few more hours, I'd be gone. There were two ways I could look at it—it could mean that I only had a few more hours to solve the case or it could mean that if I put off figuring things out just a little longer, I'd be out of here and it would be someone else's problem. I leaned toward the latter. Other times, other places, I'd flung myself into the fray, but not this time. This time, whatever it might say in the paper, Detective Kozak wasn't on the case. I wanted the killer found because I didn't believe in killing, but I wanted someone else to do it. Andre would be proud of me.

I wanted to be gone, to be back home with Andre, leaving the detecting to the people who got paid for that sort of thing. But there was one small problem—I didn't much like the idea of going off without knowing who had tried to kill
me.
What if they followed me home and tried again there? At least here I was on my guard. I wasn't going to let anyone but the good guys into my room. At least, that's what I thought. The trouble with not having any idea who the bad guys are is that it makes you pretty paranoid. What if it was Jonetta? What if I was such a bad judge of character that I'd just invited my killer to tea?

I marched into the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. "Kozak, you are a good judge of character, remember?" I told the reflection in the mirror. Besides, I knew the person who'd grabbed me at Molokini Crater hadn't been Jonetta. No one could have missed a three-hundred-pound woman in a wet suit. Even to the most oblivious, some things in life are unmistakable. Jonetta was an unlikely suspect because she was too big to hide. Besides, she hadn't been around on Friday night, when Martina was killed. She hadn't flown in until Saturday. I was only bothered by paranoia and irrational suppositions because of the day I'd had. Pain and fear and serious physical abuse can affect anyone's judgment. That's why I had called Jonetta for help.

Still, as they say, discretion is the better part of valor. I could be wrong. I have been wrong about people before. I would take out a little insurance just in case I'd made a serious misjudgment this time. Feeling a bit like a fool, I called Ed and Marie, apologizing for disturbing them again. "I feel like a ninny," I said, "but I'm trying to be careful. I need to talk with Jonetta... so I'm letting her into my room...." I trailed off, feeling awkward and incoherent.

"What do you want us to do?" Ed asked. "I could come up."

"Oh, I don't know. I guess I just wanted you to know she's here... in case... in case I don't know what. Call me in half an hour, okay? If I don't answer, send in the troops."

"A lot can happen in half an hour."

"A lot can happen in a minute. But I'm not expecting anything to happen at all."

"I don't like it," he said.

"But you'll do it?"

"But I'll do it."

I hung up feeling foolish. Feeling like I'd blown it. That my people skills were as smooth as crunchy peanut butter today. The phone rang. "Eenie, meenie, miney, mo," I said as I crossed the room and picked up the receiver. "Is it friend or is it foe? Hello?"

It was Bobby. "Hi," he said. He sounded excited. "We've been having some fun with this. Luke is still working on it but I thought you might want what we have so far."

"You bet." I grabbed pen and paper. "Shoot."

"Bilbo was easy. Your guy's name is William Berryman. You want an address?"

"Got one, thanks." So the graphic admirer of Rory's body had been our own Billy Berryman. Poor guy. I wondered if they were still an item. I wondered if he knew what had happened. I wondered that he'd been able to sit by so coolly when we discussed firing Rory. I wondered if he'd been the mystery presence in Rory's bathroom. That was before our Billy was supposed to have arrived on the scene, but perhaps they'd had a secret rendezvous. The cologne matched. And it would explain the source of Billy's information—a babbling Rory.

It made me feel a little better about Billy until two other things occurred to me. Billy was brilliant at presenting a synthetic public persona. Maybe I didn't really know him at all. What if Billy and Rory had plotted this together? Billy had admitted that he hated Martina. Billy was in love with Rory. But someone had killed Rory. It was too much for my befuddled brain.

"What about Fox?"

"The account is for an Alan Grinnell who works for Alt Corp., which has a Washington, D.C., address. But there is no Washington, D.C., corporation called Alt Corp. The address which the imaginary corporation uses is the residence of an Aurora Altschuler. However, the credit card to which the account is charged doesn't appear to belong to Alt Corp. or Aurora Altschuler. Luke is trying to figure out who it does belong to. You want him to keep digging?"

"You bet. While he's at it, see if he can find airline records showing Alan Grinnell flying in to Maui on Thursday or Friday, and flying out again on Saturday? From D.C., I imagine, although I don't know about that."

"We're on the case," Bobby said cheerfully. He was so dear. How many people would be cheerful if you got them up in the middle of the night and asked them to rouse their computer hacker friends? Not too many. But then, though the movies and TV are full of them, not many of us real people actually have friends who can hack their way across America. "What's this about, anyway?"

"Catching bad guys."

"Suzanne's not going to like that. Neither, need I add, is Andre."

"I'm being very, very careful this time, Bobby. I'm doing only this from behind closed, locked doors, and only by phone. The cops are doing the chasing."

"Yeah, right. And if I believe that, you've got a bridge you want to sell me, right?"

"Sure, Bobby. Out in the middle of the Arizona desert. You interested?"

"I'll pass," he said. "Gotta get back to the keyboard. I'll keep you posted." He didn't hang up. I heard him take a deep breath, gearing up, all those thousands of miles away, to say something he was nervous about. "Thea, you don't need me to tell you this... but please be careful. We need you around here. We all..." This time the silence was even longer. "We all love you." Embarrassed by this confession, he hung up before I could say anything.

My last response to Bobby, "I'll be here," was delivered to an empty line. Someone knocked on the door.

I crossed the room and peeked through the spy hole. Jonetta, a vision tonight in purple and scarlet. I undid the many locks and let her in. She swept past me, settled herself on the couch, and touched the scarlet turban she wore. "The great Carnac says 'To get to the other side.' "

"I hope Carnac has more insightful things than that to say."

"You should have been at dinner tonight," she said, leaning forward, her big hoop earrings jingling. "The troops were very restless and giddy and talking out of school."

"At dinnertime, I still felt like a puddle of melted ice cream. I don't feel much better now. What do you mean, talking out of school?"

Jonetta had a satisfied smile. "Girlfriend, if you're anything like me, you've been wondering what their stories are... what Martina did to everyone that made them so determined to get her off the board. You heard my story, yesterday, when we were on our way upstairs to... when we found Rory. And we all know Shannon's story. And Jolene's. But I've been dying to know what happened to Zannah. And to Rob Greene. And I heard how Martina stole Jeff away from his wife."

"I still don't believe grown men can be stolen, Netta. They have to want to be taken before it can work."

Jonetta shrugged. "Maybe so, honey. Maybe so. So why'd you bring me up here this late at night when my bones were aching to go to bed?"

"Wait a minute. Aren't you going to tell me the stories?" I skipped the reference to aching bones. I had a lot more than bones that ached.

She feigned surprise. "I thought you wanted to get right down to business?"

"Maybe the stories are business."

"Maybe. Maybe not." She touched the turban again. "Carnac sees no connections. But perhaps you will. You're our detective, after all."

I winced. "Don't remind me, Jonetta. That article has caused me nothing but trouble. Actually, that whole business at the Bucksport School has caused me nothing but trouble."

"But you did a good job," she said with a firm nod of her head. "A job that needed to be done." She settled herself on the couch and folded her arms. "Rob's story won't surprise you much. It's a lot like Lewis Broder's story, except that Rob wasn't interested in playing. No. I take that back. It's a lot different from Broder's on Rob's side. And sadder, too. Hotel conference. Martina has too much to drink and asks Rob if they can go back to his room where they can talk privately, you get the picture. Rob calls his wife, who isn't in but expected shortly, asks that the wife call him back. Martina makes her moves, gets graciously rebuffed, and when the phone rings with Rob's wife calling back, Martina answers and does a surprised sex-kitten thing before she hands over the phone. You can imagine the rest. He got things straightened out but he was furious. That was the day Martina lost his vote. Sometimes she had a lot of trouble seeing the forest for the trees."

She looked around the room. "You got anything to eat?"

"Fruit," I said, waving at the cellophaned tower. "And the mini-bar is full of overpriced goodies. How about a jar of macadamia nuts?"

"Sold." She nodded affirmatively. "So that's Rob's story. You want to hear Zannah's?"

"Sure." I didn't think this was going to get me any answers but it was a brief diversion and I was curious. And still wondering why she found Rob's story so sad. Maybe there was more.

"Zannah introduced Martina to Jeff Pullman."

"Ugh! She must feel guilty, having put him in the path of a black widow like that."

"What makes her feel guilty is that Linda Janovich was... and is... Zannah's friend. She thought she was being kind to Linda's husband, who was at loose ends because Linda had gone back to school and was up to her ears in work for a master's degree, and Jeff was feeling lonely and neglected. It was just a casual dinner... you know the type. Zannah was in Washington, she made some phone calls to put Linda and Martina together. She thought she was going to help Linda get a job when she finished her degree. Instead, she delivered her friend's husband into Martina's clutches. And he stayed there."

"I still say you can't—"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." The earrings jingled. "And never in your perfect life have you been tempted to sleep... or get close to... or confide in or whatever... any man other than the one you were involved with? Never in a fit of pique or loneliness or need? Come on, honey. Everybody's human. Even Jeff Pullman."

"That prick is all too human. Or at least, all too physical."

"So I heard. It was a surprise, though, wasn't it? Out of character. But we both know how a major shock like that can change a person completely. I've always liked the guy," Jonetta said. "Even if he did leave a nice wife for the Black Widow...."

"Was she nice? Linda Janovich, I mean?"

"I didn't know her then, but the way I hear it, she was awfully nice. Subdued and sweet natured and generous. She's changed a lot since the divorce. It can't be easy, having your husband dump you like that, especially after almost twenty years. Especially when you worked to put him where he is." She sighed. "It's an old story, isn't it? But you didn't bring me up here to be filled in on the evening's gossip, did you?"

"No. I'm still trying to figure things out. I needed another head, hopefully one clearer than mine."

"That ain't me, babe."

I rolled my eyes. "Jonetta, you are always a cool head."

She touched the purple turban. "Not when I got this thing on. But all right, honey, I'll give it a try. What exactly is it that I'm supposed to be doing with this-here cool head, anyway?"

"Help me figure out why someone is trying to kill me. Why they've already killed Martina and Rory and now they're—"

"What did you just say? That silly little girl is dead? Why'd we waste our time tryin' to save her, getting ourselves all covered with blood like that, when she goes and does it again anyway? We could have been out in the sun."

I knew she didn't mean it. Jonetta was an instinctive saver of lives. She didn't debate the worth of the effort. I also realized she hadn't heard what I said. "She didn't kill herself, Netta."