by Tyler Colins
I asked Rey, “Do we remember when her art career began?”
She considered as she chewed. “Bizz Waxx said he'd had her as a manager for 'a year and a bit' … and she'd been into art for two, maybe three years.”
“So somewhere halfway through this new career, she started making regular deposits of the same amount.”
“Suggesting blackmail,” Gail added wryly. “Maybe the $25,000 was the first, big payoff. Maybe it was only intended as one, but Ms. Lolita began demanding more.”
“No one wants to be bled financially dry by having to make regular 'forever' payments. Monthly blackmail payments make a great reason for murder, wouldn't you say, Cousin Jilly?”
“I'd have to say you're spot on, Cousin Reynalda.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“Too bad Linda was too sick to come with.” I murmured, as Rey and I stepped onto the busy sidewalk. “She looked pretty knackered.”
“Food poisoning'll do that. It's amazing she made it home, sick as she was.”
I hooked an arm through my cousin's. The plan was to walk home along Kahlia Road and then Ala Moana Blvd this gorgeous, starry Friday night.
“She'll be fine in a day or two. Not so sure Hives will be,” she chuckled. “He wasn't expecting me to be part of the date.”
I gave a hip check. “It wasn't a date.”
“You sure? The look on his face when he saw me at your side was priceless. I thought he was going to choke on the wine he'd just swallowed.”
Recalling the incredulous expression—like a camper sighting a bear—I had to laugh. “Given you two don't much care for each other, he probably only expected the dinner financier—me—to be in attendance.”
“Whatever.” She sighed contentedly. “That fish was to die for and the dessert, wo-ow.”
“Roy's never disappoints.”
“We've only been there twice.”
“We'll have to make it more often.”
“I can't wait to hear if Gail has more to share. Too bad she's on a date with the lawn-bowls guy.”
I gave another hip check. “She's entitled to fun.”
Rey hip-checked back.
“It was nice of Ald to share some facts.”
“He knew we'd have nagged him if he didn't.”
“True.”
“So Lolita died before Carlos and they now know he didn't kill her,” Rey stated. “And that he, too, was a victim of murder and not a clumsy accident.”
“The two obviously knew each other—and quite well considering she had his policy in her safety-deposit box.”
“Timmy-Tom's seeing Lolita with her murderer guaranteed his death,” she said simply.
“An AR-15 is heavy-duty artillery compared to a blow to the head,” I pointed out. “Seems like overkill, pardon the pun.”
“The killer didn't want to leave anything to chance.”
“The killer has a partner, too, so we have to wonder if said partner helped with the gallery deaths and fire.”
Rey motioned the Hilton. “Wanna Mai-Tai? It's only a little after ten. Seeing as we had nappies this afternoon, there's no need to head home so soon. Besides, we should celebrate that we got the house.”
“If you can call attempting to catch shut-eye at an agency desk a nappy. Sure, why not? We only had a glass of wine each.” The news that we were new home owners hadn't initially settled well, but as I'd considered it during the course of the day, the notion grew on me. It might be fun decorating and gardening.
“We also know that a couple of high-end Oahu jewelry stores sell that particular heart.”
“But it may have been purchased on the Mainland, or even overseas.”
“Let's not wait for Hives' guys to check and get on it ourselves,” Rey said as we entered the crowded Tapa Bar.
“If Linda's up for it, let's have her try L.A. in the morning. Meanwhile, you and I should visit Cholla. Maybe she'll enlighten us about Lolita and Carlos.”
“Ya think?”
“I hope.” I smiled dryly and motioned a table in the far corner, perfect for chatting and people watching.
After ordering, we sat back and relaxed.
“Should we be worried for Doris?”
I shook my head. “I'm guessing the killer doesn't find her a threat. After all, she only saw his or her back from where she was. Nothing to identify him or her. The killer would have to have known she'd have told the police this. No, she's not a threat.”
Rey sighed with relief. “I wouldn't want anything to happen to her.”
I agreed.
“We need to find her a home.”
Once again, I agreed. “Let's put out feelers.”
“I suspect she won't accept 'charity'.”
“It won't be,” I affirmed. “We'll figure something out.”
She watched a starry-eyed elderly couple holding hands to the right and smiled. “Isn't that wonderful? Being that old and still in love?”
“Old is a state of mind, Cousin Reynalda.”
She smiled and then sighed softly. “This case is different from the others. It's like we're moving in slow motion.”
“But the bodies are still piling.”
* * *
Rey laughed as we entered the condo and were greeted by the four-legged trio. “This is kinda like déjà vu, me spending the night again.”
“Linda needs sleep and recuperation.”
“And we don't?”
“We're not sick.”
Turning on the kitchen light, I glanced at the surfboard clock over the stove and noticed it was just after midnight. “I'm all for a sleep-in, as soon as we walk the kids.”
“Walk, now?”
“Uh-huh.”
With a sigh of resignation, she stepped over to the seagrass stool and dug around a decorative bamboo basket. Out came two leashes. “Bonzo, you mind the place. If anyone breaks in, bite him or her in the big toe.”
I grabbed keys and was about to tuck my cell in a pants pocket when I decided to check for messages. There was one from Gail.
“Gail said we should get together for lunch tomorrow.”
“Did she find out something?” Rey asked, leaning across the counter.
“No idea. Maybe she just wants to fill us in on her hot date with Mr. Lawn-Bowls.”
Rey grinned and arranged the leashes, and out we went, greeting the newest security guard, Oli, who'd just stepped on shift. It was a beautiful night as we strolled with tail-wagging Button and bum-wiggling Piggaletto along Ala Moana in the direction of Piikoi. Ten minutes into the walk Engelbert Humperdinck crooned to be released.
“You'd think people would be in bed,” Rey commented. “Like we should be.”
“Hello?”
“Sum quick words of advice, Miss Private Eye. Step back or you three ladies vill end up like ze man in the bar—with missing head, ja?”
“Who was it?” Rey asked when I tucked the phone away.
“Someone with a really bad—and corny—Teutonic accent, who's getting worried and wants us to 'step back'.”
Rey blew a loud raspberry. “Did you recognize the voice?”
“A male's. Disguised by the accent and something like a scarf over the speaker.”
“Can we trace the call?”
“We can try, but I bet he called from a burner and as of this minute, it's probably keeping tires and carts company in the canal.”
“Are we worried?”
“Not in the least,” I stated with a slap to her back. “But we vill keep ze eyes open and not take chances, ja Liebling?”
* * *
The morning found Rey and I lounging in the lanai with bags under sleepy eyes the size of Smart cars. We were slurping coffees and sucking Oreos (Vanilla Thins, to be precise). Wearing Ts and bikini underwear, we were quite happy to play couch potatoes with walked and fed pets at our feet.
At nine, neither Gail nor Linda was answering. The former had likely gotten in late (if at all) and the latter was probably still sawing
logs.
“Two down. One to go. When are you calling Ms. Crimson Lips?”
I chuckled and grabbed the cell. She answered on the second ring.
“It's JJ Fonne… Yes. I was wondering if we could meet later today?” I put her on speaker.
“Of course,” she responded graciously. “Would you like to meet for drinks?”
“Name the time and place, and I'll be there.”
Rey kicked me in the thigh and mouthed several choice swear words.
“Let's meet at the Royal Hawaiian Mai-Tai Bar at four.”
“See you then.”
“Why the frig wasn't I invited?” She kicked again.
“If I'm entertaining, you can be snooping.”
Her freshly scrubbed face perked up. “As in B&Eing into Cholla's again?”
“Let's just refer to it as investigating potential clues,” I said gaily.
“Maybe Linda will be feeling up to helping—that's one big house.”
“Be extremely selective what you search. You can't spend hours there.”
She nodded. “I wish we had an idea what to search for. We didn't locate much of interest last time except for that nudie art.”
“I'm thinking documents and such won't be on the premises; she's too smart to keep anything incriminating around.”
She peered closely. “What else are you thinking?”
“A fedora-like hat, a black and boxy hip-length jacket and flat, high army-like shoes or boots.”
“Should we take them if we find them? Given there's no warrant, they'd be inadmissible in court and all that crap.”
“Take pics of them and anything else you believe might be of future use.”
Rey's smiled slyly. “Consider it done.”
I regarded her solemnly. “Be careful. If the police catch you, more than the book'll be thrown at you, to be sure. If one of the 'colleagues' catches you, it could prove painful, if not fatal.”
She looked equally serious. “Count on it, Cous.”
* * *
While Rey showered, I decided to make calls to Morty and Race. Colt's former colleague wasn't around, so I left a VM. I had better luck with Cholla's ex.
He seemed particularly good-natured. “You want to take me out for another fine dining experience? I'm all in.”
I laughed. “I would if I could, but I'm not in New York. Rain check?”
“You got it. What can I do you for?”
“I was wondering if you could provide more insight into your ex.”
“Anything in particular?”
I walked to the lanai window and peered across the boulevard. It was sunny, but stratus—dark, lower level—clouds were aplenty. “Besides partying and rubbing elbows with celebrities, did she work? What did she do while you were together?”
“Collie work? Surely you jest?” He chuckled. “When we were in Texas, she took up car racing for a while and proved really good at it. No surprise, though. Whenever that woman took up a project or hobby, or got involved with some committee, she'd do it with a vengeance. She always had to shine and excel.”
So she liked car racing. I thought of the other night at Eddie's and how swiftly, if not efficiently, the killer's car left the scene. “How about guns?”
He snuffled as if he had a cold or had noticed something displeasing. “She liked rifles, especially muzzleloaders, which she found fun.”
“I bet she proved a skilled shooter, right?”
“Was there anything she wasn't skilled at?” he asked dryly. “Yeah, she was as good at shooting as she was at karate. I heard she'd earned a brown belt not long after the divorce.”
“Impressive.”
“Typical.”
“What about theater or art?”
“Art shows eventually became her thing. She used to drag me to them whenever she could. We'd check out new and upcoming artists. Some were awesome. Some sucked.”
“Was she a patron or buyer?”
“Collie was never much into buying. Just hanging out, rubbing elbows … schmoozing, as it were.”
“Was James-Henri part of the circuit?”
“Who?”
“James-Henri Ossature, her half-brother. She never mentioned him … ?”
“Never.” There was a frown in the tone.
We chatted about Race's life and New York, and I reiterated the promise to buy dinner.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Not five minutes after Race and I bid farewell, Monty Smith returned my call.
“Hello, Ms. Persistence.”
“Hey Morty.” I was so ecstatic that he'd returned my message, I felt like doing a double cartwheel.
He laughed heartily. “I wish everyone sounded so joyful when I called.”
I swallowed a chuckle upon hearing that familiar hee-haw horse neigh. “Howzit?”
“Awesome. I just landed a new position. Pay's better. Job's safer. Hannah and I are getting married next week and all's good with the world.”
“I love a happy ending.”
“They have their merit,” he said cheerfully. “I got your message. What's up?”
“When we last met, you seemed to know a little about Cholla Poniard.”
“Uh-huh.”
I took a deep breath. “You have skills—and accesses—that we don't. I'd like to enlist your assistance.”
“I don't want to break or hack into anything,” he stated flatlynter.
“I need some info on Ms. Poniard—financial accounts, has she ever been investigated for illegal doings, that sort of thing.”
“She's a dangerous woman, this I know. I didn't come across anything illegal, but then I didn't dig deep or for long.” He inhaled slowly, then chuckled. “Anything in it for me?”
I wasn't sure Cash would respect the request to stay clear of Morton Smith, but I doubted he'd be able to find anything on the man either, given I'd revealed little. Still, I couldn't lie, so I told it like it was. “I put in an appeal to have you disassociated from Colt.”
“Really?”
“Really. I could also pay you for your time,” I added, feeling it unfair to have him work on the agency's behalf and not be reimbursed.
“Don't worry about the money.” He inhaled slowly, thoughtfully. “I'll see if I can find anything damning. If I do, you run with it. Fair enough?”
“More than.”
“I'll be in touch.”
* * *
A coffee-shop lunch with Gail had been quick, consisting of green salads, tuna sandwiches, and club soda (we'd been on the same “healthy” wavelength).
She'd discovered that the shell company belonged to CK Enterprises on BVI. CK for Carlos Kawena? In all likelihood, the company had no active business or ops. Was it being used to conceal the ownership of assets? Was anyone investigating to determine if it was being used for illegal purposes? Was I jumping to conclusions? We'd know soon enough; Gail planned to do more data mining.
While it seemed we were still only taking baby steps, there was some progress. Perhaps drinks with Cholla, and Rey and Linda's little B&E undertaking, would help move us along a bit farther.
* * *
Seated under a mackerel sky alongside a beach crowded with high-spirited tourists, Cholla and I sipped the hotel's signature cocktail. I was dressed in white cotton pants and a black lace blouson top while she sported a scalloped shirt and cotton wrap skirt that screamed Burberry. The enigmatic woman was style and elegance. And I'd not have expected anything less than a divine, costly perfume. The jasmine-and-rose scent, Joy, suited her to a T—as in T for treacherous.
After small talk about weather, casual likes and dislikes, and vacation plans over the upcoming months, those vibrant red lips pulled into an indulgent smile. “Did you want to meet to begin a friendship?”
I smiled genially in return. “To ask questions.”
Her harmonic, concordant laughter reminded me of orchestral bells, a contrast to the hard, duplicitous nature. “About what, mon amie?”
“Your life as an art consultant. How well you knew Carlos and Lolita… Why you're the beneficiary for various artists.”
She didn't blink or flinch, or show any emotion. Merely sipped the last of her cocktail and eyed a good-looking server ambling past. “In view of James-Henri's background, and my own knowledge and interest, art consultant seemed a viable career. It's one I've had for five successful years. I'm particular who I deal with, so I consult for a select few.”
“Tell me about Carlos. I assume you were relatively close, given his off-and-on relationship with James-Henri.”
The shrug was delicate; the sigh not so much.
“How did Lolita fit in?”
“Lolita?”
“The woman found dead at the rear of the gallery during the fire.”
Another indulgent smile. “Bien sûr. Our paths crossed now and again at different art exhibits. She was an unremarkable woman, I must say.”
“It appears she knew Carlos quite well.”
The expression was blank, unreadable. “Really?”
“Enough to give him papers to keep for her in a safety-deposit box.”
“How interesting,” was all she said. But the tone and look sent a chill down my spine.
I suspected little would be learned from Cholla, but decided to persist a little longer. “What about you serving as beneficiary?”
“I'm very fortunate that people like me enough to put me in their will,” was the bland response. Long manicured fingers began to pull and pluck her skirt. Hadn't Dan Spades said she'd pick fabric whenever she was gauging or scheming? Noticing my gaze, she ceased. “Is there anything else I can tell you?”
Time to switch gears. “How's James-Henri holding up?”
“He's doing well, under the circumstances.”
“Is he planning on staying here? Maybe open another gallery?”
“We'd talked about moving to Switzerland for a while.”
“Anytime soon?”
“In a month, perhaps less. We have loose ends to tie up.”
“Here's to fresh beginnings.” I clinked my glass against hers.
She toasted me, expression relaxed but gaze measuring.
