Vacations Can Be Murder: The Second Charlie Parker Mystery Page 14

  I decided on the mahi mahi. Drake ordered scotch, and I settled for a daiquiri. I was really in the mood for a margarita on the rocks, but the waitress looked at me funny when I asked about it. Apparently, they made everything here in the frozen slushie machine.

  Oh well, nobody can make a margarita like my old buddy, Pedro, anyway. I'd just have to wait until I got home.

  "So. Anything new on the case today?" Drake asked, once we had the preliminaries out of the way.

  "I tracked down the name of the guard who was working the gate that night. Willie Duran. I'm planning on talking to him tomorrow."

  "Willie's a local boy, young," he told me. "No more ambitious than any of them, but he's got a little more on the ball than old Stanley."

  "I read back through my notes this afternoon," I said. "When I came across the threatening letter we found on my windshield yesterday, it made me think of an angle I'd not considered before. Those words, 'let him fry'. That's pretty vindictive talk.

  “What if Gil Page was killed specifically to implicate Mack? Is there anyone you can think of who hates Mack enough to do something like that?"

  He stared out into the darkness for a couple of minutes. "I don't know, Charlie."

  The fact that he didn't jump to an immediate denial made me wonder what was going on.

  "Tell me what you're thinking, Drake."

  "Oh, I don't know. It might not be anything."

  He downed the last of his scotch, and signaled the waitress to bring us both new ones. "There are lots of people who dislike Mack. It's the nature of the business here. These tour operators are so competitive that they're always at each other's throats. It's one of the main reasons I've never started my own operation here."

  "Competitive enough to involve murder?" I asked.

  He waited a minute until the waitress had set our drinks down and left.

  "I honestly don't know. I know they have a constant series of court battles going on. They fight over the rights to landing pads, the locations of their landing pads, the flight routes, whether anyone is flying outside the voluntary noise abatement path... I could go on and on. They fight with each other, they fight with the state, they fight with the FAA."

  I thought of the thick file marked Legal I'd found in Mack's office.

  "Most of that sounds like it's verbal, though," I suggested.

  "Mostly, it is. But, there have been a couple of cases where it got physical. Mack himself is one of the worst when it comes to stirring up the shit. He gets right in there and scraps with the best of 'em."

  "Have there been any cases of serious revenge? Sabotage? Anything like that?"

  "I don't think so. There seems to be some gentlemen's code, and I say that sarcastically because some of these guys are no gentlemen. I think if one of them were to sabotage another's equipment, it could start an all-out war. One thing would lead to another. Innocent lives would be lost. The lawsuits to follow would put everyone out of business overnight. No, even among the worst of them, I don't think anyone is quite willing to step over that line."

  The two daiquiris had begun to go to my head, and I was glad to see the food arrive. As Drake had promised, everything was delicious. Conversation lagged for a few minutes as we both concentrated on matters of the stomach. The waitress checked on us once, then faded into the background.

  "Drake, do you know anything about a legal battle between Mack and Bill Steiner?"

  "Only that there is one. Mack bitches about it all the time. Something about Steiner trying to overturn the airport management's decision to give Mack his landing pad. Steiner claims his name was on the list first, and he should have gotten the pad when it came available."

  "Do you think it's a legitimate claim?"

  "It really doesn't matter whether Steiner is legit or not," he said. "It will end up being an arbitrary decision made in court. Whoever loses will appeal, and the fight will still be going strong until one of them runs out of money."

  I didn't tell him it looked like Mack was quickly nearing that point.

  "The only real winners will be the attorneys."

  I chewed slowly on the last of my sourdough bread. So, what else was new?

  The waitress came back then, and although I swore I couldn't hold another bite, Drake suggested that we split a dessert. It sounded tempting, hula pie.

  When it arrived, I found out why it takes at least two people to eat it. In fact, one serving might have been suitable for a small dinner party. One "slice" of this pie was about the size of a small cantaloupe. Chocolate cookie crust, heaped high with macadamia nut ice cream, coated with thick fudge topping, trimmed out with whipped cream. We finished every bite.

  I could see I was going to have to go against my instinctual dislike for exercise once I got home. I was getting a bad case of the five-pounds-heavier, vacation blues.

  We lugged ourselves out of our chairs, and retired to the patio area for an after-dinner Kahlua and coffee. The moon was high in the sky now, as shiny silver as a brand-new dime. It cast a streamer of white across the harbor, where we watched some late returning fishermen come in.

  Drake held my fingers up to his lips, and planted a slow sexy kiss on them that made my insides feel mushy. It made me realize that the week was almost over.

  I stared out across the water, and wondered what it would be like to have a full-time man in my life. I think I'm too independent for most of them. In fact, one or two have admitted to being intimidated by me. But, this one was different. I sensed that he was secure enough that my self-sufficiency wouldn't bother him.

  But, what would everyday life be like? I pictured his dirty socks abandoned on the floor, his shaving stuff in my medicine cabinet. He would probably come in and steal away Rusty's affections.

  Maybe things were better this way. A few days of hot romance before getting back to real life.

  The kisses were working their way across my forearm, past the bend in my elbow, headed toward my neck.

  "Let's go back to your room," he whispered.

  I was ready.

  The slow boat ride back, and the trip through the lobby and up the elevator, did nothing to cool us off. I thought he would have my left earring chewed off by the time I located my room key.

  I knew something was wrong the instant I unlocked the door.

  The feeling came at me like a subtle change in the air, the way you know a few seconds in advance when it's going to rain.

  Drake straightened abruptly, sensing my unease. I slowly pushed the door inward a couple of inches. I had left a light on, but now the room was pitch black. I reached for the switches with my left hand, my right arm giving the door a hard shove.

  The door banged back against the wall, as the room sprang into bright light.

  Chapter 14

  We were alone.

  It took a moment for my system to register what I saw. Nothing was as I had left it.

  The mattress on the bed was askew, the covers pulled loose and left rumpled. My clothes in the closet had been roughly searched. Several items had fallen off their hangers, and were left in small colorful heaps on the floor. The pocket of my linen jacket had one corner ripped loose. The drawers gaped in various stages of open, like uneven stairsteps. I felt violated seeing my underwear strewn across the floor.

  In the bathroom, my zippered makeup bag had been dumped. Jars and brushes were scattered across the vanity and into the sink. A lipstick and a mascara tube had rolled off and hit the floor.

  Even the towels had been shaken out and thrown in piles in the tub and on the floor.

  My sense of tidiness was outraged. For a person who is borderline fanatic about everything in its place, I saw this as the ultimate desecration. I wanted to cry, but my insides were shaking too hard.

  Drake had followed me into the room. He stood now, as I did, obviously shaken by the chaos before us.

  "We better call hotel security," he suggested in a quiet voice.

  He stepped to the phone, and punched some
buttons. I stood in the middle of the room, spotting some new travesty each place I looked. I had seen this happen to other people before. A former client's home had been robbed while I was working on her case, but this was the first time I'd experienced it myself. It's a whole different feeling when it's your own stuff.

  "They'll be right here," Drake said, turning to me. "We shouldn't touch anything until they come."

  It was all I could do to hold back. My fingers itched to begin refolding and putting away— to make order of the chaos an outsider had left. I didn't want a strange security man to see my bras hanging out of the drawers.

  Drake put his arms around me. I allowed myself to press my cheek against his shoulder. His steadiness made me aware of my own trembling.

  I still couldn't cry—I was too furious.

  The knock on the door a few minutes later startled us both. Drake opened it to admit a man dressed in hotel uniform. His gold name tag said "M. Kanakoa, Security."

  He stood somewhat over six feet, and weighed a little less than a Volkswagen. He had the solid neck and shoulders of a football player, but I could tell it had been a few years. The once-firm muscles had settled into softness, leaving him with more bulk than power.

  His eyes scanned the room dispassionately. I might have imagined it, but I'd swear he checked first to see if the TV set was still there.

  "What time did you folks go out tonight?" he asked.

  "We left the room at seven," I said. My voice came out steadier than I thought it would. My insides were still tangled, while my head felt curiously light.

  "And you just now got back?"

  I nodded, wondering where he was leading. Did he honestly believe we'd sit here in this mess an hour or so before we decided to call and report it? I felt myself begin to get irritated.

  He was examining the door, the lock, and the jamb. "Looks like they used a key."

  "What time did the maids do turn-down service tonight?" I asked.

  "I checked that. They were on this floor between eight and nine o'clock."

  "So it had to have happened after that, or they would have reported it," I said.

  "Not necessarily, ma'am," he said. He had a look on his face that basically said Get Real. "Some people's rooms always look like this."

  Feeling properly put in my place, I turned to look around the room once again.

  "Can you tell me if anything is missing?" he asked.

  "I haven't touched a thing, yet," I told him. "We wanted you to see it just as we found it."

  "I'll get someone up here to dust for fingerprints. In the meantime, you might as well be checking to see what they took. We can move you to a new room. Let me check with the front desk to see what's available."

  "That's not necessary," I assured him.

  The intruder probably hadn't been out to harm me, or they would have waited for our return. They had either found whatever they had searched the room for, or I didn't have it in the first place.

  He punched buttons on the phone, ordering the fingerprint kit brought up, and asked that a maid bring us fresh sheets and towels.

  I started straightening the bathroom, replacing the spilled contents of my makeup bag one piece at a time. I couldn't see that anything was missing. The small hinged box containing a few pieces of costume jewelry appeared to be intact. I'd brought only three pair of earrings, and one bracelet, none of them valuable. They were all there.

  Drake gathered the disheveled towels, and tossed them in a stack near the door. I worked quickly through the closet, hanging and straightening. Everything seemed to be there. Same with the dresser drawers. My tote bag was on the floor near the dresser, and I could tell it had been rummaged through. Fortunately, my little spiral with all my notes about the case had been with me in my purse, along with the threat note I'd found on my windshield. Nothing was missing.

  In the meantime, a maid arrived.

  Within five minutes, she had fresh towels hanging in the bathroom, and the bed was stripped and remade. As she gathered the old sheets, a tiny orchid fell on the carpet. So, the night maid had been here before the intruder. I wasn't sure what significance that might have, but I tucked the fact into my mental file.

  The fingerprint man came, dusted, and went. He exchanged a few words with Mr. Kanakoa, but none with me. I had the room in reasonable shape by then, and, while I hadn't counted every pair of panties, I was pretty sure nothing was missing.

  What had they been after?

  Granted, it could have been a hotel thief, after cash or valuables. If so, they obviously discovered that I travel light. But, something told me that wasn't what we had here.

  A nagging sensation told me this had something to do with the murder of Gil Page.

  I just wished I knew what.

  Chapter 15

  Drake insisted on staying with me, although he said he would have to get up early since he was flying the next day. Truthfully, it didn't take a lot of argument on his part. Even with my little world back in order, something inside me didn't care for the idea of being alone just yet.

  He held me close in the semi-dark room, and didn't push for sex. It took my mind awhile to settle down enough to sleep.

  When he left about five-thirty, I thought I'd go right back to sleep, but it didn't work. I turned on the TV for the first time in a week, and caught up on the world with CNN. Somewhere around the third time through Dollars & Sense, I drifted back off to sleep, waking again about nine.

  I huddled beneath the warmth of the covers for a few minutes while my thoughts flicked in reverse sequence over the events of the last twenty-four hours. I felt a twinge of guilt that I was lying here doing nothing while Drake, who'd had even less sleep than I, was out there flying the circle, giving the tour.

  I was twitchy to do something.

  I picked up the phone, and called Pamela at the phone company. Remembering to identify myself as Catherine Page, I got the information I was after. Yes, there had been a call to Hawaii from the Page's home phone on Friday night.

  Getting information on Catherine's airline schedule proved more difficult. Without official credentials, they weren't going to tell me anything. I decided I'd give it some thought. I might be able to figure out a way to bluff my way through.

  If worse came to worse, I could tell Akito my suspicions, and he could check it out.

  I headed toward the shower, wondering again about the break-in. Who was I getting close to?

  The faces flashed through my mind, one at a time, but nothing made any sense.

  I couldn't think of one shred of tangible evidence the intruder might think I had. My notes were possibly the only thing of value, and even then, why try to take them and leave me unharmed?

  Or, maybe that was the next move.

  Maybe I was close to something, and the killer intended to get rid of me next. I checked the deadbolt locks before I stepped into the tub.

  The hot shower didn't help reconcile my mood.

  I lathered my hair with shampoo, then stood under the spray, letting it course down my body. Fifteen minutes later, I was rubbing myself down with a fresh towel, feeling no better. I chose white cotton slacks and shirt from the closet, and opened the drapes to let in the day.

  Low clouds in clusters hung around the mountain tops. The water was slate blue, and the palm trees below whipped in the wind with a sound like plastic pick-up sticks being shaken in a can. Although it was weak, enough sun hit the beach to bring out a good crowd. I opened the sliding glass door to let in the ocean breeze.

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, willing my mind to clear.

  I couldn't do it.

  A low-grade anxiety ran through me like electromagnetic waves. I know the feeling. I had a mild case of it when I felt near the answer on my last case. This time I guess it was hitting me harder because my own turf had been invaded.

  Maybe breakfast would help. I headed back to the bathroom to do something about my face and hair. I found my hairbrush and blowdryer, an
d began work on getting my thick mop dry. Bending over at the waist, I aimed the dryer at the thickest hair, running the brush through it as I went. It's mindless work, and I let my thoughts drift.

  That's when I spotted something a little out of place.

  It was a flash of silver, just under the edge of the drape next to the sliding glass door frame. The frame itself was dark metal, so what was the silver? I switched off the dryer, and went to investigate.

  There, in a spot we would have never seen last night, was a small object lying on the floor. I picked it up.

  It was a fuse, the glass kind with silver at both ends. My mind flicked past a dozen little scenes.

  The last time I'd seen any fuses was the day I talked to Joe Esposito in the hangar. He'd been cleaning up his workbench, and had put several of them away in a small parts cabinet.

  What had Joe Esposito been doing in my room, unless I was getting too close to something that involved him? And, how did he know I was getting close?

  I tried to remember the conversations I'd had since I talked to Joe. Had I voiced my suspicions to anyone other than Drake? Maybe I'd said something to Mack—or to Catherine? Even in my innocent inquiries with the old security guard, word might have got back to Joe that I was snooping around. I tucked the fuse into my pocket. Perhaps he had messed up my room to frighten me off. Maybe robbery hadn't been the motive at all.

  The discovery gave me renewed vigor. I wasn't about to cower in the corner, worrying over this. I went back into the bathroom, where I did a quick once-over with some blusher and lipstick. Grabbing my tote bag and purse, I headed downstairs.

  "Ms. Parker!" My little buddy, Morton, beckoned me from the concierge desk. His voice dropped discreetly as I approached.

  "I'm so glad I caught you. I was just trying to phone your room. Mrs. Catherine Page asked me to contact you."

  His freckled hands fluttered nervously as he spoke, and I could have sworn his pink scalp was even pinker.

  I had thought both Catherine and Susan were leaving today. Perhaps Catherine had thought of some new information for me.