Dying for a Daiquiri (16 page)

Exhaustion kept us from finishing our discussion. The next morning I did discover how early Mother could wake up to devise a plan to spring her son out of jail.

Said plan included waking me as well. I personally didn’t think a sleepy Laurel would be much help, but the clackety-clack of the room service cart, along with the smell of hot coffee, eggs and bacon, was enough to induce me to assist her efforts. My mother must really want my help if she’d ordered this mouth-watering cholesterol-heavy breakfast.

Mother moved the silver-domed plates of food to the small glass-topped table on our lanai. The full circular moon shone bright against the pink streaks beginning to light the morning sky. I poured coffee for both of us and carried the mugs outside, along with cream, sugar and our utensils.

I sipped my coffee and stared at the tips of the distant waves shining iridescent against the black water. The pounding surf reminded me that something hauntingly beautiful could be equally dangerous. The dead dancer was not unlike those waves.

In life and in death, Keiki had impacted the people whose paths had crossed hers. The central question we needed answered was whose path crossed hers last?

Mother put down her cup and picked up her ever-present legal pad and pen.

“I called Robert while you were sleeping, and he offered some excellent suggestions.”

I nodded while I crunched on a piece of bacon. A former homicide detective could definitely provide a few helpful tips.

Mother ticked items off as she read them from her list.

“We need to make sure Regan has contacted their attorney, whether Dave wants one or not. If he thinks he’s innocent, he might waive his rights which Robert said would be a mistake. I’m sure Regan is as anxious to have Dave released from jail as you and I are.” Mother picked up her coffee and eyed me over her cup. “At least, I hope she is. That girl has exhibited some strange behavior.”

I crunched and nodded once more. Regan seemed more tightly wrapped than my Saran Wrap. Was there more to their marital issues than she’d already told me?

“Did Robert have any suggestions for our investigation?” I asked.

Her eyebrows drew together as she tapped her pen on the glass-topped table.

“He certainly did,” she said in a frosty tone. “He suggested we leave the detecting to the Hawaii police whom he was certain were capable of arresting the guilty party without any help from us. Men!”

“You’re never going to convince a homicide detective we’re better suited to discover the killer. I don’t know if the police are biased against both Dave and Regan or if they think they have sufficient evidence. But we know they’re not guilty.”

“Exactly.” Mother rubbed her pen against her lower lip. “Are you completely positive Regan is innocent?”

“Honestly, I’m not certain of anything except Dave isn’t a murderer. I’m also convinced he knows something he isn’t sharing. Now that his situation has changed for the worse, maybe he’ll come clean with us.”

“Do you believe he was having an affair with Keiki?” she asked.

I shrugged. “At this point, I could care less whether Dave had an affair or not. That’s for him and Regan to work out. But we need to find out where he went the night Keiki died. Did he have a rendezvous with her or not?”

“If Dave wasn’t with his wife at the condo,” Mother remarked, “then Regan doesn’t have an alibi either.”

“What about that mystery man Keiki was dating? It might be Dave but it might not.”

“That’s true. But how can we find out who she was seeing?”

“We could question Keiki’s mother. Girls tell their mothers everything.”

She peered at me over her rose-colored reading glasses. “Just like you share everything with me?”

“Point taken.” I grinned. “But it’s worth a try. Keiki’s new older boyfriend could definitely be her killer. And if she didn’t confide in her mother or stepsister, maybe one of the other dancers would know his name.”

“If it has anything to do with hula, Stan would enjoy investigating,” Mother added.

“Yep, the next thing you know he’ll be sporting a trench coat and fedora over his coconut shells and grass skirt.”

Four hours later, we met up with the gang. By then, I was ready for a nap, and hoped a second breakfast might energize me. I turned the menu over looking for side items and was shocked at the cost.

The hotel’s regular blend of coffee was three dollars per cup with refills, but one-hundred-percent Kona coffee was five dollars. The stuff really was liquid gold. When Jay, our waiter, arrived to take our order, I asked if he could distinguish between the two.

“Easily,” Jay said, “but I’ve lived on the island all my life. Of course that doesn’t mean I can afford the premium stuff. Not on my wages.”

Nice, not too subtle ploy to get a bigger tip.

“But there are plenty of folks who can’t tell the difference between Folgers’ instant and pure Kona coffee.”

“That’s Brian.” Liz gently punched her husband’s arm. “As long as it’s hot, he doesn’t care if it’s fresh ground beans or two-year-old powder.”

Brian threw her the look that sent defense lawyers quivering, but Liz just responded by placing a raspberry lip print on his cheek.

“Bring Laurel and me a cup of each, please,” Mother asked Jay. “We’ll see how refined our coffee palates are.”

Jay returned a few minutes later with two large carafes and several empty mugs, which he set in the center of our table. “I thought it would be more fun if you all joined in.”

Jay poured each of us a small serving from the pots, labeled numbers one and two. We doctored them with cream and sugar to suit our taste. Neither Brian nor Stan could tell one from the other. Mother, Liz and I thought the second, more flavorful pot must be the pure Kona coffee.

“The women won this round.” Jay nodded his head in our direction. “It gets harder with the various blends because some coffee makers are more skilled than others.”

“Regan told us over three million pounds of green beans are produced annually,” Brian said. “If someone could pass off Columbian as pure Kona coffee, they’d have quite the profitable scam.”

Leave it to Brian to steer the discussion in a nefarious direction. “The coffee business is truly fascinating.” I drained the last drop of my luxury coffee. “I’d love to learn more about it from Regan.”

“Has she called?” Brian asked.

I shook my head. “Not yet. I left her a message around seven this morning, but it went directly to voicemail. I assumed she was still asleep. I don’t know if she’s contacted the attorney or not. For all I know, she’s forgotten about Dave, and she’s back at Koffee Land lost in the world of debits and credits.”

“You can tell she was born to be a CPA for a coffee farm,” Stan remarked. When I looked confused, he smirked. “She’s a true bean counter!”

I rolled my eyes at Stan’s pitiful joke, but it made me wonder if there were other reasons why Regan spent so much time at Koffee Land. She knew her workload frustrated Dave.

Did she have other ulterior reasons for spending her days and occasional nights at Koffee Land? The handsome owner seemed congenial and Regan indicated she liked him. Or did she “like” him? My hormones must be rebelling at my lack of erogenous activity because now I suspected my sister-in-law of having an affair with
her
boss.

Welcome to
As the World Turns – the Hawaii Five-O
version.

Was it possible Regan murdered Keiki so her husband would be jailed, leaving her free to pursue her adulterous ways?

Or did I drink way too much coffee this morning?

“We only have forty-eight hours to find the killer,” Mother announced. “We need to split up so we can question everyone on my list. Then we’ll––”

Brian interrupted her, using his trial attorney voice to get his point across to us. “Listen, I know you guys think you’re Sherlock Holmes, Colombo, and Jessica Fletcher combined, but you need to leave the detecting to the real detectives this time. Lee seems fairly sharp. He also doesn’t look like he’d brook the kind of nonsense Hunter lets you get away with, Laurel.”

I opened my mouth to protest then decided to stuff it full of scone. Liz could handle Brian.

“Sweetie, we can’t just wing our way home without helping Laurel and Barbara.” Liz reached out to stroke Brian’s back.

“I know this hasn’t been an ideal honeymoon,” Mother said.

Brian cocked an eyebrow at her.

“The three of us are perfectly capable of handling the detecting without you. Liz, why don’t you and Brian go off on one of those expeditions you’ve booked?”

Liz looked at her watch. “Oh, bollocks, I bloody well forgot about the ATV outing. I wonder if they can reschedule for tomorrow.”

I sighed. “I don’t think we have time for any more tourist attractions.”

“Don’t you remember, this was the tour in Waipi’o Valley.”

“Oh, yeah,” I said. “I was really looking forward to that. The reviews made it sound amazing. A once-in-a-lifetime experience.”

“I’ll call and see what they can do,” Liz said. “What’s your first priority on the investigation?”

“My first priority is to get Dave a get-out-of-jail-free card. But I don’t even know the name of Regan and Dave’s criminal attorney.”

Brian waggled his finger in front of my face. “Even if you knew his name, it wouldn’t do you any good. An attorney is only going to discuss the case with his client and whoever the client designated as a contact outside the jail.”

I swallowed my last bite of scone. “Fine. If we can’t get Regan to call us back, and we can’t glean any info from Dave’s attorney, we’ll just have to pay a condolence call to Keiki’s family.

“Who knows? Maybe her mother holds the key to solving this murder.”

Shortly after breakfast ended, Regan returned my call. She told me that the attorney would meet Dave at the detention center this afternoon. Just as I’d suspected, Regan was back at Koffee Land. Since she produced the staff W-2’s, which included employee addresses, she agreed to give me Keiki’s parents’ address.

“Don’t do anything to embarrass me,” she added.

As if being arrested for the murder of an employee, followed by your husband also being held for the same murder wasn’t embarrassing.

Regan and I sure had a difference of opinion on many things.

Someday when this whole ordeal was over, I hoped my sister-in-law and I could establish some kind of friendship. Although by then, Regan and Dave might not be married.

Or they might be cohabiting in jail.

Mother and I urged Liz and Brian to enjoy their remaining time on the island alone. We talked them into driving us to the Grand Hotel so we could pick up Dave’s car. We didn’t think Dave would mind our borrowing it since he wasn’t going anywhere in the near future. His red Mustang convertible was a tight fit, but once I put the top down, Stan had more headroom in the rear seat. With my hands on the leather-covered steering wheel, and the wind blowing through my hair, I felt like we were flying.

Oops. I yanked my lead foot off the accelerator. Given their finances, I wondered what Regan thought of Dave’s new fire-engine-red sports car. Was my brother suffering such a huge mid-life crisis that the sports car splurge hadn’t been enough to make him happy?

Did Keiki pursue him or vice versa?

According to my earlier conversation with Regan, Victor should be at home today helping his wife prepare for Keiki’s service. I was concerned about intruding on their privacy but at this point, I didn’t feel we had a choice. Especially since two of the suspects were relatives of mine. I rationalized our visit by thinking if I were Keiki’s mother, my foremost desire would be to see my daughter’s killer locked up. And to be one hundred percent certain it was the right person behind bars.

Having resolved my inner turmoil, I mentally rehearsed a few questions for the couple. Once they answered them, we could get out of their hair.

Keiki’s mother and stepfather lived a few miles north of Koffee Land. We turned onto their drive, lined with coffee trees. I wondered if Victor ran a small coffee business on the side or if he only sold the coffee cherries to other farms. Several vehicles were parked in a graveled area to the side of the house. They could belong to relatives or friends.

Or even the killer.

Hmmm. What were the odds someone would arrive on their doorstep, casserole dish in hand and admit to the murder?

We walked single file up the wooden stairs to the front deck. I rang the doorbell, which chimed a cheerful melody.

A beautiful woman answered the door. With flowing dark hair and smooth unlined skin the color of café au lait, she looked too young to be Keiki’s mother. Victor peered over her shoulder. He looked puzzled then recognition dawned.

I offered my hand and introduced myself. “Hello, Mr. Yakamura. My name is Laurel McKay. Regan is my sister-in law. She introduced us the other day at Koffee Land.”

Victor nodded. “Can I assist you with something? Does Regan need anything from me?”

“Oh no, she’s fine.” Well, as fine as someone whose husband was reclining in a jail cell, for supposedly murdering the stepdaughter of the man I was addressing. “We all feel so bad about Keiki and…”

My voice petered out, and Mother stepped forward. The shiny green foliage of the oversized plant we’d purchased at the supermarket almost hid her face.

“We brought this in memory of Keiki.” Mother listed to the left and Victor grabbed the red-flowered anthurium before she or the plant could topple over the deck railing.

“
Mahalo,
for your kindness.” He stepped back looking unsure whether to invite us inside or not.

“Hey, there’s Walea,” Stan piped up. “Yoo hoo, sweetie.”

Walea moved forward and whispered in Victor’s ear. He hesitated then ushered us into the house.

The Yakamuras’ house was decorated in tropical fashion, with dark woods, a flowered sofa and matching chairs grouped around a square mahogany coffee table. An open bar divided the living room from the kitchen, whose countertops overflowed with wall-to-wall casseroles and plates of baked goods. Two women sat at each end of the sofa. Both wore their long dark hair loose and flowing down their backs. I recognized them as dancers from Daiquiri Dave’s.