Dying for a Daiquiri (9 page)

“She’s…” I spun around in a circle trying to locate my sister-in-law among the crowd of aloha-shirted tourists.

Lee joined us, looking puzzled. “Do you know where your sister-in-law is?”

I shrugged. Lee motioned O’Grady to his side. O’Grady rushed out the door and Lee began circling the room.

My eyes scanned the center for Regan but no luck. Stan went outside to look for Regan and Tiffany while I entered the ladies’ room. After peering at the shoes lined up in each stall, I decided none of the pairs was related to me, although I spied a cute set of floral wedges in the handicapped stall. I would try to make their owner’s acquaintance later on.

As I headed back into the main room, Regan and my mother appeared in the rear doorway. Each carried two large carafes of coffee, one per hand. I eased my way around two senior citizens, who debated whether their dentures could handle the jawbreaker-sized chocolate- covered macadamia nuts. As I approached my mother, I reached out to grab one of the containers from her.

“Thanks, honey. Those pots are heavy when they’re full.”

Lee appeared by my side and offered to carry one of Regan’s containers. It was reassuring to see the police in Hawaii were as kind and helpful as everyone else I’d encountered on the island. Whether it was due to the tranquil atmosphere, or lack of crime, it was a refreshing change from the overly suspicious cops I was more accustomed to in California.

We set our carafes on the coffee counter. Regan lined them up in the proper order to match the beans on display. “I better get to the register and attend to all of these customers.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible.” Detective Lee’s face remained impassive as he reached under the back of his aloha shirt and pulled out something round and silver.

“Regan Bingham, you’re under arrest for the murder of Keiki––”

Just when you think you can trust a cop, they go and arrest one of your relatives.

The next few minutes were more chaotic than Times Square on New Year’s Eve. One would think the presence of a police officer reading Miranda rights to a Koffee Land employee would send the tourists streaking back to their bus, but a pressing need for a Donkey Ball snack seemed to outweigh good manners. A few of the senior citizens refused to leave until someone rang up their orders.

I was ready to grab their walkers and thump them on their fluffy white heads, but help finally arrived. Yaku discovered Tiffany hiding behind a large burlap sack of coffee beans in the back room. She’d worried the police had come to grill her about one of her brothers, known for his expert
pakalolo
farming skills. When she discovered the authorities were more concerned with murder than
marijuana, she ventured out to assist the customers.

Detective Lee led Regan out the door and down the sidewalk. I followed them, still in disbelief.

“Let me get Regan’s boss,” I said. “Maybe he can intervene.”

Lee held up his palm, the tips of his fingers almost touching my nose. “Please, let us do our job.”

“But––” The roar of a car engine caught my attention. I watched a white Mercedes convertible peel away.

Regan grew even paler. She attempted to lift her arm, but the handcuffs restricted any movement.

“Do you know who was in that car?” I asked her.

Regan’s reply was barely audible. “Ritz.”

Hmm. You’d think the owner would be concerned about the arrest of an employee. Didn’t he see his controller being led away in handcuffs?

Brian grumbled and attempted to throw his legal weight around, but an El Dorado County Assistant District Attorney was weightless in this state. Lee said Regan could contact her husband once they’d completed her processing at the Kona station.

The officers were gentle, but firm, as they led Regan to their car. Tears poured down her cheeks as she bent over and eased into the backseat of the SUV. Liz and I waved at her, sympathetic tears streaming down our faces. My mother was as white as the pearl earrings dangling from her ear lobes, and I worried she might collapse from the strain.

I put my arm around her waist. “Are you okay?”

She nodded. “I’m fine. But that poor child. Why would they take Regan away?”

I turned to Brian. “Did Lee say anything about their reason for arresting her?”

“He said they had new evidence, but they weren’t willing to share it with me. Have you talked to your brother? He needs to hire a criminal defense attorney for her.”

I dug into my purse, grabbed my phone and speed-dialed Dave. He picked it up on the second ring. “Laurel, finally. Did you get my message?”

“Sorry, I saw you called, but––” I stopped as Dave interrupted me.

“I have good news,” he said, “well, news that made me feel better.”

Huh? What was Dave talking about? I was beginning to think that after so many years of living on the island, the
Vog
, Hawaii’s volcanic version of smog, had destroyed some of his brain cells.

“Remember I was supposed to meet with the insurance inspector today? One of the detectives came by around eleven to remove the crime scene tape so the place would be accessible. I’ve been tearing myself up thinking it was my fault Keiki fell over the wall. The detective said the autopsy report showed it definitely wasn’t an accident.”

“Yeah, about that––” I tried to interrupt Dave, but he kept talking, his voice sounding happier than I’d heard in a long time.

“I know it’s horrible that Keiki was murdered, but you can’t imagine my relief that negligence wasn’t the cause of her death. I called Regan with the good news, but she didn’t pick up. Maybe we can make a fresh start now that…” His voice trailed off for a minute. “Anyway, with the crime scene tape down, the place is ours again. How about we have a celebration tonight? I’ll cook a special Hawaiian dinner for just our family and your friends. What do you say?”

There was really only one thing I could say.

“You may want to put that celebration on hold. Regan was just arrested for Keiki’s murder.”

A loud thud echoed over the phone line. Either the phone dropped out of my brother’s hand, or he was knocking it against his hard head.

“I must have misunderstood you,” Dave replied. “I thought you said Regan was arrested.”

“That’s exactly what I said. Three police officers just took her away. One of them was the detective we met the day they found Keiki.”

“Why would they arrest Regan? What did they say?”

“Not much. Brian attempted to question them, but they didn’t share anything. The officers are bringing her to the Kona station, and she can call you once she’s been processed. Do you know a good criminal attorney?”

“Of course not. What kind of question is that?”

“A practical one. Regan will need a defense lawyer to represent her.”

“Damn it. There are probably plenty of people who wanted to kill Keiki.”

My blood started to boil hotter than the coffee I’d drunk earlier. “Why did you withhold that kind of information from us?”

The phone went silent. Then Dave said, “Keiki was a complicated person. That’s all I’m going to say. Please come to the restaurant, and we’ll talk when you all get here. In the meantime, I need to take care of my wife.”

The line went dead.

“What can we do to help, luv?” Liz’s lower lip trembled, a sure sign she was upset, but trying to keep it together.

My mother slid her arm around my best friend’s waist. “Liz, our family has created more grief for you than any bride should have to contend with. Maybe you and Brian should take off on your own and spend some well-deserved time alone. You don’t need to be involved in any more of our family crises.”

“Thanks, but this is a group honeymoon, and Brian and I are here for you. Right, honey?”

Brian smiled and clasped her hand. “Of course, we are. Now let’s drive back to Kona and come up with a plan.”

We spent the drive debating the best way to proceed. Mother wanted to stop at the police station to see how Regan was doing, but Brian doubted we’d be allowed to see her. Stan insisted he should infiltrate the dance troupe to snoop and find out who might have wanted Keiki dead.

“I doubt if Walea will let you dance with them again,” I said to Stan. “I’m sure she hates Dave, Regan, and anyone affiliated with our family.”

He stroked his chin. “Yeah, but we had such a good time practicing that routine together. What if I called her and asked for a private lesson or two?”

“Her family is busy preparing for Keiki’s funeral,” I said. “Now that the autopsy has been completed, won’t they release the body fairly soon?”

“I would imagine within a day or two,” Brian responded from the driver’s seat. “That’s standard procedure in California and it’s probably the same over here.”

By the time we reached town, the sun had gone to sleep. The parking lot in front of the restaurant remained empty, but the crime scene tape was gone. A sign at the entrance informed potential customers that Daiquiri Dave’s Lounge was temporarily closed due to renovation. The only remodeling I could think of was fortifying the lava rock wall Keiki had tumbled over.

Now that they’d arrested Regan, the police must be certain she pushed Keiki over the wall. Even though my sister-in-law disliked the dancer, she wouldn’t have resorted to killing her. Would she? That unsettling thought sent shivers from my neck to my tailbone, but I immediately shoved it aside.

The restaurant appeared closed, but the door opened when Brian turned the knob. Inside, the sound of men’s voices drew us toward the bar area where Dave perched on one of the bamboo bar stools. A bottle of vodka and a glass filled to the brim sat in front of him. Steve, who occupied the adjacent stool, sipped his own glass of colorless liquid.

I didn’t want to seem like a control freak, but surely the two guys had a better plan than getting drunk tonight. Someone needed to spring Regan from the joint.

Dave gulped his drink in two seconds then reached for the half-empty bottle of vodka. I grabbed it first and raised it over my head.

“What is the matter with the two of you?” I glared at both men, equally annoyed with my brother and his best friend. “Drowning your sorrows isn’t going to solve anything.”

Steve slid off the bar stool with athletic grace and gestured for me to take his place. “Your brother is having a tough time dealing with this situation. You’ll be happy to know I’m only drinking Sprite.”

My brother spun around on his stool. “Laurel, stop being such a pill. Steve and me––” Dave burped. “We have a plan.”

I narrowed my eyes. “What kind of plan? I hope it doesn’t involve breaking Regan out of jail.”

He shook his head from side to side and frowned. “You are always so negative. Steve and I have it covered. All we gotta do is find the killer ourselves.”

He snatched the bottle out of my grasp. “Now how hard can that be?”

We spent the next half hour trying to sober up my brother who continued to insist the local police were only interested in getting the murder off their books.

Brian responded to Dave’s assertions. “I don’t think you realize the importance of working within the system.”

“Based on the stories my sister has shared,” Dave said, “that method hasn’t worked so well for her in the past.”

Brian’s face colored as Liz and I traded glances. I had no reason to doubt the competency of the Hawaii Police. Except for the fact that they’d arrested my sister-in-law, which led me to sincerely doubt their investigative prowess.

I also doubted that given my brother’s current condition, that he should be cooking in a kitchen full of sharp pointed objects. We locked up the lounge and trooped down the street to the Kona Inn Restaurant, a terrific dining spot located at the Kona Inn Shopping Center. The young hostess showed the six of us to a corner table overlooking a velvety green lawn that marched up to the ocean.

We decided brainstorming would be better without booze so we skipped the tropical drinks and ordered dinner. My nostrils flared as the scent of batter-fried Maui onion rings wafted over from the table next to us. Three succulent orders of onion rings later, we were deep into discussing what we knew so far.

“Someone needs to ask the obvious question,” said Brian. “What kind of evidence do the police have implicating Regan?”

Dave drooped in his chair. His initial alcohol-enhanced excitement about helping his wife seemed to have dissipated. “Yesterday, when I was waiting for Regan to finish with the cops, I overhead two officers discuss a bandage Regan wore above her wrist.”

My mother looked puzzled. “Since when is a bandage proof someone is a murderer?”

“A scratch or other injury could indicate the suspect fought with the victim,” Brian replied. “Regan mentioned they tested her DNA yesterday so they must have noticed something suspicious.”

Brian twisted in his seat to address Dave. “Did you see or hear Regan go out that evening?”

Dave’s right eye twitched as he replied. “Nope, didn’t hear a thing.”

Aha! I knew that twitch. My poker-playing teenage daughter had taught me how to read facial expressions and body language. That twitch was a sure “tell” whenever my brother lied. I remembered many a Monopoly game when he claimed to have lost all of his money. Several twitches later, pastel-colored paper bills mysteriously appeared in his shoes and shorts.

So Dave was lying. But about what?

My mother had managed to live in a twitch-free zone for the last forty-two years so she rarely found fault with her eldest child. It was up to me to get to the bottom of this mess.

“Did Regan mention anything about meeting with Keiki after the reception?” I asked Dave.

He shook his head with nary a twitch. Therefore, as far as my brother knew, Regan had not met up with the dancer.

“Will you be able to get her released from jail?” Stan asked.

“According to the attorney Steve found for me, the police can keep Regan under arrest for forty-eight hours before they must decide if there’s sufficient evidence to have her arraigned. If the Prosecuting Attorney decides to proceed, the bail could be a million dollars or more. The restaurant and our condo unit are our only collateral. There’s no way we have a million dollars in equity.”