Forever Poi Page 8

  “Like someone was following someone else?” Rey asked eagerly.

  Doris nodded. “The lights in Mr. Ossature's gallery went out shortly after that.”

  “Did you hear any strange noises?” Xavier asked.

  “Just usual city night sounds: cats and dogs, music, folks shouting and laughing, and a siren. Both galleries, however, were quiet.”

  “Ald had mentioned that Carlos had had to leave no later than 8:15,” Xavier reminded us. “His guests had probably cleared out around the time you'd gotten off the stoop.”

  Doris nodded. “A number of folks had exited before I got up.”

  “How many minutes after the shadows passed, did you notice the fire?” Rey asked, leaning forward.

  “Five or six, I suppose. That would have made it, ummmmm, around 8:20 or 8:25 or so. I saw smoke coming from the back. I got curious, of course, and hurried over. Orangey light was in one of the back windows and not a minute later, serious flames started shooting forth. I knew Kurt's was open, so I hurried over.”

  A whip snapped, announcing a call and Xavier pulled his cell phone from a jean-shirt pocket.

  Rey and I chatted with Doris about life on the streets while he took the call in a far corner. Glancing over, I noticed a tense expression evolve into a stunned one. The square jaw tightened as he turned his back and spoke to a wall.

  A few minutes later he returned, grim. “Angus was called to Ald's office. All he knows is that Loretta-Lee's in the hospital and that they think he might be the reason why.”

  Chapter Ten

  After promising to have lunch with Doris again soon, the four of us grabbed a cab to the police station. Because Angus Kale Kapua'ula's lawyer was in Carmel and wouldn't be returning until first thing in the morning, he'd called Xavier from Detective Gerald Ives' car. And given that Angus and Xavier were friends of Ald's, the detective had agreed to have the senior adjuster present for questioning.

  While Rey and I settled into a worn leather sofa in the corner of a tiny office I'd always thought perfect for accommodating two Abyssinian guinea pigs, Xavier parked himself on the uncomfortable chrome chair. The office smelled of nervous sweat and stale, no-name coffee. Angus, his craggy face drawn, was perched on a windowsill while Ald sat in a high-back, black-ribbed swivel chair, looking as grave as a murder trial judge about to deliver sentencing.

  “What's the deal?” Xavier demanded after terse greetings had been exchanged.

  Before Ald could answer, a uniformed officer marched in with a file in a beefy hand, slamming shut the door behind. He passed it to Ald and stood to the side.

  “Let me introduce Ron Claresun's son, Jerry.”

  We looked at the tall, fit man reminiscent of actor Bradley Cooper. He nodded once.

  “Your father's an ace cop. I met him a couple of times before the holidays,” Xavier said cordially and turned back to Ald with a scowl. “I repeat, what's the deal?”

  “Drop the dirty looks, A. I'm doing you and your boss a huge favor by having you and your pretty P.I. pals here. I'm sure I'll be hearing about lack of protocol.” The smile was grim. “And I'll say this: better you have me working this than Fuentes.”

  “Mateo Armando Fuentes?” Angus glowered and crossed thick, flabby arms. “The couple times we 'worked' together, we mixed like oil and vinegar. He'd be happy to make my life as difficult—and miserable—as possible. If he could lock me in the slammer for ten years, for no reason but that he didn't like my ugly mug, he'd do it.”

  Xavier regarded the detective guardedly. “Is Angus under arrest?”

  “That question marks the 'official' start.” Ald leaned back and turned to Angus. “Where were you this afternoon?”

  “Are we doing a scene from 5-O or NCIS?”

  Ald exhaled slowly. “Humor me.”

  Angus scanned his rigid expression and glancing at the young officer, swallowed heavily. He closed his eyes, as if envisioning all that had transpired. “I was in the office until noon approx—I had something that couldn't wait until Monday. I grabbed a coffee in the shop downstairs and made a couple of calls from there. Then, I met a client at a bar around one, give or take, to pick up documents related to a credit-card scam. The client's name's Jake Totmann.” He rose and stepped toward the sofa, gesturing a small spot between Rey and me.

  We made room.

  “Let's start with the calls,” Ald said.

  “They were both to a fire investigator about the gallery fires. I spoke with her for ten minutes the first time and three the second. Later, I dropped by Loretta-Lee's, my soon-to-be ex.”

  Ald stared hard. “You're left-handed, aren't you?”

  The senior manager glanced anxiously from Ald to Angus. “So?”

  “When and why did you drop by your soon-to-be ex's?”

  Glowering, Angus leaned back and hooked both hands behind his neck. “Why don't we get down to brass tacks and you explain what this is about? Loretta-Lee's in the hospital and you think I put her there, right?”

  “When were you at her place and why?”

  “I suppose it was around 1:45 or 2:00 maybe. She'd decided she needed more money—a lot more. I wanted to talk to her about it.”

  “And?” Ald prompted when he stopped. “She didn't want to talk, did she?”

  “Her stupid boy-toy boyfriend is a manipulator. He's behind this—”

  “Then why take it out on her?”

  “Because she lets that prick stage-manage her. I lost my temper, which happens a lot when it comes to Boy-Toy Bob and that bitch—uh, explain what you mean by 'take it out on her'.”

  “You lost it to the point you beat her senseless with your kid's baseball bat and put her in a coma.”

  Angus' toad-brown eyes widened with disbelief and fear. “I … I'd never do that.”

  “Never? Didn't she charge you with assault a few months ago?

  He shook his head like a dog shaking off water. “What 'assault'? She and Boy-Toy Bob got drunk at the neighbor's barbecue. I'd brought the kids home after a day at the Aquarium and the Zoo, and a late lunch at Zippy's. There they were, sloshed on Lava Flows, heavy on the coconut rum. I drove the kids over to her cousin's place ten blocks over, went back, and we had words.”

  “I'm listening.”

  Angus drew a long, deep breath. “Boy-Toy Bob pushed me and I pushed back. He fell into Loretta-Lee and she tripped into me, and I slipped. He wobbled and grabbed for her legs, and she crashed into the kitchen counter. Those four stitches weren't my fault. And she did drop the charges … when she sobered up three days later.”

  Ald rose and perched himself on a corner of the desk. “Your neighbor Mrs. Browne saw you jump into your car around 2:05 and drive off at a frantic speed. She said your tires, and I quote, 'burned rubber'.”

  “Mrs. Browne is what they once called a nosy parker.” Rolling his eyes, Angus straightened. “She should be watching more of those old gangster flicks and less the neighbors. But sure, I did race off. I was pissed!”

  “You worked your ex over pretty good.”

  “I did not work her over!”

  Jerry finally spoke, the high-pitched bird-like voice a contrast to the athletic frame. “That temper of yours isn't going to make this any easier, sir. If you continue yelling like that when they book you—”

  “I'm not being booked because I didn't do anything!” He sprang to his feet.

  Ald did the same. “To quote a bad but popular TV cop show line: that's what they all say.”

  * * *

  After leaving Xavier with Angus and Ald to rehash actions and events, Rey and I took the Kalanianaole Highway in the direction of Kailua. Yes, it was just after 8:00 p.m. and chances of locating Cam were next to none, but we decided to chance it.

  “I love Oahu at night,” my cousin said appreciatively.

  Beyond jagged rocks and cliffs, lay the vast Pacific. It sparkled prettily under countless twinkling stars and a nearly full moon, or waxing gibbous phase (there was still some meteorologist l
eft in me). It looked like another universe, glossy and unreachable.

  “It's pretty any time of day,” I said gaily.

  “How do you suppose it's going back there? You think the bulldog's guilty?”

  I shook my head. “The bulldog's rough and tough, and ornery, but he's all vocals and no violence.”

  Rey concurred. “Xavier's not buying it, either.”

  “He knows Angus better than anyone.”

  Taiko drums reverberated through the Jeep.

  “Hey Cous! Have you gone deaf?”

  “Sorry. It was a loud crowd at the tea shop this morning. I forgot to lower the volume again.”

  As Rey took the call, I focused on the BMW a few yards ahead; it was in no hurry to get anywhere. Come to that, either were we. I smiled blithely.

  “That was Mrs. Askey-Prescott. Cam's back.”

  I pulled into the Lanai Lookout, which we were just about to pass. It was a popular spot next to Hanauma Bay, where waves dashed the rocks that formed the Bay on the other side. Even at this hour, there were eight cars. Lovers, no doubt. I smiled again, recalling that thing called “romance”.

  “He's fine she said, just like he always is when he returns.”

  “We'd better provide a refund.”

  She pulled up both legs and, crooking an arm around them, stared across the water. “Mrs. Askey-Prescott said we should keep the money … for the next time.”

  I, too, stared across the waves and wondered how best to assist both parents and son. “Why don't we call her and see if we can have Cam for a day? Let's take him to Honey's to meet Xav. The birthday party on the seventeenth would be good.”

  “Awesome!” She slapped my arm. “Maybe Xav can talk some sense into him.”

  “And maybe we can talk some sense into the parents.”

  “Don't you think it's their business how they raise him?”

  “It is, but they may want to loosen the screws a bit. Remember Cousin Vaz?”

  She gazed back to the water and frowned. “I haven't thought about him in a long time. He ran away from home at seventeen, just before he was supposed to start college. Uncle Jules and Aunt Marcey wouldn't allow him to pursue his musical dreams.”

  “He was a damn talented guitarist.”

  “Very damn talented,” she agreed with a slow, low whistle. “Poor kid.”

  “Ye-eah.”

  To loosen his screws, Vaz had left home, ended up on the streets, and gotten into crack. Unlike Xav, he'd never gotten clean. At seventeen, he had the world ahead of him. At nineteen, he left the world behind.

  Chapter Eleven

  Seated in the Sheraton Waikiki's RumFire, Rey and I people-watched over frosty Mai-Tais. The tart-sweet cocktails were something she and I, and Linda, liked to indulge in now and again, particularly when we were on a case and wanted to shoot the breeze (or bull, as it were). As always, we'd left the car back at the condo building, because one rule wholeheartedly adhered to: no drinking and driving.

  “I wonder how Lindy-Loo's doing at Crabby Crabs,” she said, eyeing a group of wedding-party naval officers in dress uniform. A wedding party, no doubt.

  “With any luck, better than us. I hope she finds out what's going on soon, so we can focus solely on this case.”

  Rey exchanged a smile with a handsome Lieutenant Commander sipping Scotch and soda. “I don't generally go for older men, but he's hunky.”

  I chuckled. “I was growing worried about you, Cousin Reynalda. You haven't been your usual self when it comes to the male persuasion.”

  “To be honest,” she said with a dramatic flip of lemon-streaked shoulder-length hair, “I haven't been much interested in the 'male persuasion'. Dating and relationships are just too …”

  “Complicated?”

  “Taxing, I think you'd call it.”

  I chuckled again.

  She smiled at the officer once more and settled back, her attention now fully on me. “What was that second call about, the one you had Gail follow up on?”

  I told her about Cash's VM.

  She smiled dryly. “He's still into you.”

  “Cash aka Richie J is into himself.” I smiled in return.

  She laughed. “You mentioned something about Colt, but I was too tired to catch it… They never caught Colt's boat companion, did they?”

  The night Colt had “ambushed” Cash and me, he'd mentioned that he had had someone check out the Alerion 41 a couple of hours beforehand—“an associate with clodhopper feet”. Neither Cash nor Ald had ever revealed if they'd learned the name of the individual, or that he'd been caught.

  “Are you thinking of finding him?” Rey asked, eyeing me closely.

  “I wouldn't know where to start,” I confessed.

  “Maybe we start with that lounge?”

  “We?” I clinked her glass. “What about our current case?”

  “What about it?”

  “I feel like we're on the Muzik Express … going around in circles, kind of fast, but not getting anywhere at all.” I shrugged. “It's Xavier's case and he should be calling all shots—”

  “But you want us to take the controls?” she smirked.

  “Totally. If we found Carlos' killer, then we'd have the arsonist.”

  “We're on the official payroll, even if it's only to find that background info, but let's start doing some serious digging, beginning with James-Henri and Cholla.”

  I nodded. “Let's discover how good a partner James-Henri is. And let's interview Bizz Waxx, that sole artist at the do that Ald mentioned. Maybe he knows something.”

  “The cops must have talked to him already.”

  “And?” I challenged.

  She laughed and slapped my hand. Leaning back, she absently eyed people lounging around the bar. “Do we plan to find out how good a partner James-Henri was to Carlos?”

  “To him, Clifton Myers Wood, and all other partners.”

  “Maybe this Wood guy has family we can talk to.”

  “Gail could find out,” I stated. “She could also get a number and address for Mr. Waxx. And since we struck out finding an address for Mademoiselle Cholla, maybe she could do that, too.”

  “What are we waiting for?” Rey motioned the server for another round and whipped out a cell phone.

  * * *

  Sunday saw a late breakfast of scrambled eggs and bacon in my sun-filled lanai.

  “You two still look like hell,” Linda commented.

  Dousing her breakfast with catsup so there was a red sea on the plate, Rey grumbled, “You're not looking like Miss Perky yourself.”

  “Yeah, but I didn't indulge in four rounds of Mai-Tais, and I solved a case,” she laughed. “Who'd have thought Flaco and company would be dense enough to want to cut me in on the deal so soon?”

  “You're a pretty lady with lots of charm,” I winked.

  “You did mention the bartenders and head server liked you, obviously enough to take you under their wings,” Rey stated with a wry smile.

  “Another case solved,” I said, offering Linda a lame high-five.

  The ever-vigilant Linda had spotted checks being recycled from table to table. More keen observation showed they weren't being closed out as soon as patrons finished meals or drinks and left the establishment. Chats with Flaco and certain bartenders gained our fellow P.I. enough insight—and evidence—to report back to the owner, Quentin Forrester.

  “Randy should be arriving soon,” Rey said, nodding to a surfboard shaped clock over a freestanding Kenmore range that read 11:15.

  Gail had lucked in after Rey's call last night. After locating two members of Clifton Myers Wood's family, she'd hopped in a cab and joined us for the third and fourth rounds.

  Raj Emm was a cousin and Tisser Wood an uncle. Wanting to be proactive, she'd called both. Emm wasn't available, but Wood had provided the names of two close friends: Randy Nagaraj and Jusst Champagne, a stage name for a local crooner.

  The crooner hadn't picked up, but Nagaraj had on th
e first ring, having just finished the night shift at a high-end clothing store in the Ala Moana Center. As he was covering the afternoon shift for an ill co-worker today, he promised to drop by on the way to work.

  A call from Donnie Mitchson, our favorite security guard, advised that Randy had arrived and was on his way up—a half hour early.

  Rey hastened to the door.

  A tall slender man in his late thirties, dressed smartly in ivory slim-fit pants, eggplant dress shirt with button-down collar and wingtip shoes, greeted us with a gummy smile. Horse teeth aside, he was a nice-looking fellow with high cheekbones and an even higher forehead.

  He declined an offer of breakfast, but accepted black coffee. Refilling cups, we returned to the lanai.

  Small eyes the color of Niçoise olives gazed inquisitively from one face to the next. “You said last night you thought it might be possible that Cliff was murdered.”

  I glanced from Rey to Linda before providing a casual answer. “The Kahala gallery fire was similar to a couple we're investigating. We thought it prudent to follow up on a few facts.”

  He leaned forward eagerly. “You're talking about the Chinatown fires, right? Are you thinking arson?”

  Rey offered an easy smile. “Do you mind telling us about the Kahala gallery and fire?”

  According to Randy, the small gallery had been fairly popular, featuring local and Mainland artists, and had been in existence for nearly two years before it burned down one hot, blustery evening. The two-alarm fire had been attributed to careless smoking while Cliff's death was blamed on a fatal blow to the head when he'd slipped while rushing to exit the burning building.

  “Did you ever think it might not have been an accident?” Rey asked over the brim of her cup, her gaze firmly fixed on our guest.

  He tilted his head one way and then the other. “I had questions … and concerns.”

  “What can you tell us about Cliff's partner?”

  “I never liked him.” His gaze darkened as he sipped and stared reflectively across the room. “He was smarmy and seemed really into himself … and into his step-sister, or half-sister as he called her, in an eerie, kind of creepy way. I can still hear that weird laugh of his.”