by Tyler Colins
“I must say, I love those earrings. Subtle yet stylish,” I commented with a blithe smile as I tucked hair behind my ears. “Rose gold, aren't they?”
She nodded.
“I have a penchant for both rose gold and black gold.”
She eyed my earrings. “So I see. They're pretty. I like hearts.”
“You must have many in what I'd bet is an awesome jewelry collection.”
“I have a few, yes.”
I chuckled. “I'm forever loosing earrings or pendants. Fortunately, they're not terribly expensive.”
“We buy what we can afford.”
She wasn't biting. Not that I'd have expected her to admit losing the heart charm at the gallery or having fatally beaned Lolita, but it would have been nice. Maybe I needed to ask. I smiled prettily. “By any chance, it wasn't you who killed Lolita or Carlos, was it?”
The orchestral bells chimed again. “If I were the killer, would you truly expect me to confess?”
“No, but it would be great if you did.”
“I like you, JJ. You have balls. If you don't have plans for the evening, why don't you join me for a sunset sail? We could head over to the yacht club after these drinks.”
A sail? Why the sudden congeniality?
“You're surprised?”
“I am,” I confessed.
“As I said, I like you. You intrigue me. I hope you like me … ?”
“You, Cholla, are an intriguing woman,” I responded. No lie there.
“Then let's intrigue each other more.” She held up her glass. For once, the smile seemed sincere.
That was worrisome. So was the fact I'd be out on the ocean—alone—with Ms. Poniard. I sucked as a swimmer. Still, I couldn't abandon an opportunity to get to know her better.
* * *
At 5:10 we were on a sleek Catalina sailboat named La Nuit Noire. (What—no cœur or heart?) The handsome mid-size vessel promised a fun ride … for those who didn't get seasick.
Cholla brought a bottle of Domaine Antonin Guyon Corton-Charlemagne Grand Cru 2012, tucked in a silver ice bucket, from the galley.
“Should we be drinking and sailing?” I asked wryly, slipping on a lightweight sweater. The winds had picked up and the temperature had dropped a few degrees.
“Of course not, my dear, but we're not the captain.” She motioned to the right. “My friend is.”
Turning, I sighted a familiar gent: Bayat Alexandre. Slung from a strapping shoulder was a mid-size black leather knapsack. He was dressed for the occasion: white cotton pants, a black-and-white striped polo shirt, Sperry Top-siders, and the requisite captain's yacht hat. Waving as he approached, his grin revealed amazingly white teeth (who'd have expected such large ones to fit behind such small lips). He wasn't good-looking by today's standards, but debonair like William Powell of B&W film days, sans mustache.
I'd texted Rey to advise of the evening plan, not only to provide her and Linda with more search time, but to ensure they knew where I was and who I was with—just in case.
“Ah, you're enjoying one of the finer bottles, I see.” He hopped onto the deck and lay the knapsack by the stern rail seats. “Ms. Fonne.” He bowed regally.
Cholla chuckled and poured. “Bayat, JJ believes I murdered Lolita and Carlos.”
“I merely asked if you had,” I corrected with an amiable smile.
Bayat wagged an index finger and winked. It was surprising he didn't utter, “Naughty, naughty.”
“Shall we cast off, ma biche?”
“Bien sûr, mon loup. Let's show my new friend how beautiful the ocean is at this time of day.”
* * *
Several minutes later we were a few hundred yards out, with Diamond Head abaft and a stunning impending sunset astern. Clipping along at a decent speed, Bayat seemed quite relaxed at the wheel.
With hints of apple and pear, the wine was lovely, but so was the price tag (this I knew because Linda was a regular wine blogger). As Cholla and I enjoyed it, and admired the backdrop, we chatted over inconsequential things. You could almost believe she was an average, easy-going soul. Almost.
At one point, she motioned me atop to point out nearby Hawaiian Green Sea Turtles. I could see why people were tempted to swim or play with the magnificent creatures, or in some cases, pursue. Fortunately, the endangered species were protected by State and Federal law: no touching, capturing, or harassing allowed.
Given the choppy water and speed, I shouldn't have been able to stand for long. But holding on for dear life worked—until the boom swung towards me. Instantly, reflexes kicked in and I dropped to the deck, striking my forehead. Crap that smarted.
Bayat sprang into action and gripped the jibe-guard as if it were a plastic javelin.
“Mon dieu!” Wide-eyed, appearing genuinely alarmed, Cholla grasped an arm and hand. “Are you all right?”
Too stunned to reply, I took an unsteady breath and closed my eyes, and allowed Cholla to guide me to the aft cabin where we sat on a bench.
“Is everything okay?” Bayat asked worriedly when he arrived several seconds later. “Let's get you to a doctor.”
I waved a hand in dismissal.
“How frightening. You could have been seriously injured.” He poured two fingers of cognac into a rocks glass and pressed it into my unsteady hands.
Cholla peered closely. “That's going to be a big ugly bruise, but make-up will cover it.”
I chugged. The smooth brandy warmed as it slid down to my belly and the pounding in my heart was starting to subside. Yes, the winds were pretty intense and the waters rough, but it was doubtful that what had just occurred had been an accident. Mustering a casual smile, I assured them all would be fine.
“You'll have to let us buy you dinner to make up for this upsetting little incident,” Bayat declared, exchanging an unreadable glance with Cholla.
Little incident? “Thank you, but that's not necessary.”
“We insist,” he said. “Don't we, Cholla? Tomorrow night? Please bring your two colleagues.”
“Yes, please do,” she purred, resting a strong hand on mine.
I looked from Cholla to Bayat and back again. What would be on the agenda besides dinner? Triple “little incidents”? “It's a date.”
Mental note to self: find out more about Bayat Alexandre. And fast.
Chapter Thirty
“You were lucky you only have an ugly dent on your forehead and didn't end up sucking back the Pacific Ocean,” Linda declared as we took seats in my lanai.
I'd told them about the “little incident” when I'd called to ask about getting Thai take-out a couple of hours ago. They, on the other hand, gave a you-should-have-known-better lecture and said they'd provide their news during dinner.
“Very lucky.” Passing plastic plates, I motioned Rey to serve food as I continued Googling Bayat. “Let's be super vigilant when we dine with them tomorrow evening.”
Rey frowned as she piled pad thai on three plates. “You really think the Loathsome Twosome will try something?”
“They may.”
Linda distributed spring rolls and sauce. “You think they view us as a viable threat?”
I smiled dryly. “That swinging boom was no accident.”
“Coincidences do happen.”
“We don't believe in coincidences.” Rey passed a heaping plate. “Find anything?”
“He's taught photography classes in California, France, and South Africa. There's one starting next month on Oahu. There are also a few mentions of him at exhibitions, only two of which were his. That 'nudie art', as you called it, didn't receive many accolades.”
“Maybe they need to see the shots he took of Cholla and himself,” Linda suggested with a droll smile.
My stunned expression asked what my mouth didn't (it was perched on the rug with my jaw).
“They're very revealing.” She motioned the laptop.
I returned it. “There's not much else save for a few French articles, but I suspect they
're about his art days in France. I'll take a poke at them tomorrow.” Famished, I chomped on a spring roll.
Linda kicked Rey with a bare foot when she dug in with a fork.
She gestured our chopsticks. “I don't have a knack with those.”
“Learn,” Linda ordered, pointing hers.
Sticking out her tongue, my cousin grudgingly grabbed a set. “Where and when is dinner?”
“We'll know tomorow.” I gazed from her to Linda. “So?”
They smiled blithely.
“As you often say, Rey: spill it.”
“We focused on closets,” Linda said through a mouthful of noodles. “There's a second-floor walk-in closet that could sleep a family of eight.”
Rey sniffed. “That woman has dozens of hats and shoes, never mind the dress and blouse count.”
“Did you locate anything of interest?” I asked, hopeful.
“You bet your sweet ass we did.” Rey offered a Minion grin. “A fedora-styled hat and two pairs of army boots, plus three 'boxy' jackets. We took photos.”
“I wonder how useful that will prove in the long run.” I felt a pout pull at my lips. “We've got similar items in our closets.”
“We can show the photos to Doris,” Rey stated.
“Even if she confirms the clothes look like those that person was wearing the night of the fire, it's not going to help convict Cholla.”
“Maybe yes, maybe no.” Rey sighed. “Let's take her out for lunch, anyway.”
Linda concurred, then nudged her BFF with her foot.
“On a possibly more helpful note, we also have these photos of photos.” Rey fiddled with her cell and held it up. “We found this one on a high-boy in the master bedroom.”
It showed Cholla and Bayat—all smiles and cuddles—standing before a black SUV on a deserted beach at sunset. “Cozy.”
“Not as cozy as this one found in a bedroom drawer.” She held the cell closer.
Linda snickered.
My eyes bulged so much, I must have resembled a Looney Tunes cartoon character. “That's x-rated!”
“Triple, I'd say,” Rey said smugly, putting the cell back on the oval glass table.
“Why would she do something like that? That's perfect blackmail material for Bayat,” I stated, dumbfounded.
Rey winked. “Did we mention that we discovered Bayat is married to a socialite fifteen years older than him?”
My mouth, like my tongue, was immobilized.
“It's quite possible Cholla didn't agree to the photo shoot to keep him on a tight leash, but to demonstrate how much she 'loves' him,” Linda put forth. “So much so, he'd never want to refuse her a thing.”
“Like a bargaining chip,” Rey added.
“Were there more?” I finally asked.
“A half-dozen.”
I frowned. “It seems odd she'd be so careless as to leave them lying around.”
“She didn't.”
Oh-oh. “Did you break into something you shouldn't have?”
“There was a safe hidden at the rear of that walk-in closet,” Linda replied, exchanging a nonchalant glance with Rey.
My cousin smirked. “We thought we'd try our hand at safe-cracking.”
“And you succeeded?” I asked, surprised.
“Pretty much.”
“Pretty much?”
“We got a hold of Gail and she advised us on how to open it.”
“She knew?”
Linda nodded. “That woman has some interesting skills.”
“You did leave everything as found?”
“Pretty much.” Rey had an evil Chucky smile going.
“Pretty much?”
“We took one little itty-bitty thing.”
I stared at my cousin in disbelief. “I'd ask if you're insane, but I know the answer.”
She offered an odd, contemptuous sound. “Lindy-Loo, would you mind?”
Linda trotted into the living room and returned with an arm behind her back. “Hold out your hand.”
I exhaled slowly and did as requested.
Onto my palm fell a small plastic bag. In it was a bracelet with five rose- and black-gold hearts. One charm was missing.
“Did we do good or what?” Rey asked wryly.
* * *
“But why won't you give the bracelet to Ald?” Gail demanded over the phone.
“Besides it having been appropriated through less than legal means, it's not proof,” I stated, patting Button.
Rey and Linda had left half an hour ago. Dressed in an oversize tank top bearing a Superman logo, I lounged in bed with a cup on chamomile tea on one side and my faithful companion on the other.
“She hung out at the galleries,” I continued. “She could claim she lost the charm at any time. It doesn't prove she's a murderer or arsonist, or anything.”
“I hear you.” Gail exhaled loudly. “What's on the agenda for tomorrow?”
I told her about the mishap on the sailing trip with Cholla and Bayat, and the resulting dinner invitation.
“What about during the day?”
“The four of us could do brunch after church.”
“You're on. I'll tell you what I found on the laptop.”
“Why not tell me what you found now?” I watched Button bound off the bed and out the door. Evidently, she'd endured enough chatter for one evening.
“Because I want to see your pretty faces?”
“You'll see them anyway. Tell all, Gail.”
“Party-pooper.”
“I've been called worse.”
“I don't doubt that.”
“Gail, dah-ling, tell me now.”
She chuckled “As an FYI, I'm having my IT guy, Butler, comb the 'borrowed' laptop on the off-chance there's still something implicating to be found. As for me, I located a wayward folder labeled BA.”
“For Bayat Alexandre?” I asked excitedly. “Anything in it?”
“A couple of detailed financial statements.”
“Given that woman's penchant for keeping her laptop orderly, I'm surprised they were there.”
“They're fairly recent, so she may not have had a chance to delete them or thought there was no reason to do so as yet.”
I murmured agreement.
“Anyway, there are various amounts listed simply as 'sales', but always at regular intervals. Guess the amounts.”
“I would guess $3,500 … oui?”
“Very oui.”
“Okay, so we have Bayat's initials and a list of Lolita's bank deposit amounts, but this doesn't really confirm blackmail, does it?”
“Let's not get discouraged,” she chided. “We're collecting little tidbits of info that will eventually develop into a bonne bouche, known in the English world as a tasty morsel.”
* * *
I was about to lay the phone on the nightstand when Bobby Darren announced a call.
Assuming it was Gail again, I joked, “Hey you. Can't wait until we meet tomorrow?”
“It might be a bit longer than that,” Cash replied matter-of-factly.
Surprised, I didn't respond.
“Howzit?”
“… Fine. You?”
“I'm not happy with the way we left it, Fonne.”
“You left it, Jones.”
“Whatever. Look, I'm not crazy about you wanting to give a potential killer walking papers—”
“Alleged killer,” I said crisply.
“He was a cohort of Colt and he was on the boat that night. The guy wasn't there to admire a starry sky or catch fish.”
“He did nothing,” I reminded Cash. “In fact, he was long gone before Colt pulled the gun… Could we please drop this going-nowhere conversation before I hang up?”
“… For now. How's the case going?”
“It's going,” I replied flatly, imaging him sitting in Richie J's fancy Miami condo. He'd be wearing designer duds, looking very cool and very smart… Get a grip, JJ. The guy's an arrogant ass.
“Think you mig
ht visit Miami sometime soon?”
“Is that an invite, Mr. Jones?”
“You been eating razor blades for dinner?”
“… Why are you calling?”
“To invite you to Miami,” he snapped. “Didn't I just ask that?”
“You are kidding, right?”
“Do I sound like it?”
“… No, you don't. Would I play one of Richie J's Barbie-doll bimbos if I came?”
“Richie J's new lady—a private eye he met in Hawaii.”
I could envision the haughty smile that most surely accompanied that haughty tone. “Really? You'd allow me into that dark, dangerous world?”
“Only when we're out and about. It'd be unavoidable.”
“I'm sure it would be,” I said dully.
“Why don't you fly out for a week or so?”
“I'm on a case.”
“When you finish.”
“I'll think about it.” I should have said “in your dreams” or “not in this lifetime”. Dang, I could be as spineless as a jellyfish.
“I'll send a ticket when you've captured your perps.” He disconnected before I could respond.
With a growl, I tossed a pillow across the room.
Chapter Thirty-One
Cholla had called as I was Googling and drinking my first morning coffee. An 8:00 dinner reservation at L’Étape, a highbrow restaurant near Kūpikipiki'ō Point, was under her name.
Dressed in sleeveless sheath dresses with different floral patterns, Rey, Linda and I sat at a large round table by the patio. The three of us purposely arrived a half hour earlier to chill over wine; not that we were nervous, but Cholla and Bayat weren't exactly Hansel and Gretel sweet.
One more intriguing if not alarming “tidbit” had been gleaned about Bayat: the man had won bronze in the French Firearms Championship three years ago, Rifle Division. Given this new info, the Triple Threat Investigation team was pretty damn sure he'd been the one responsible for turning most of Timmy-Tom's head into oatmeal.
Rey glanced at a bracelet watch. “If they're on time, we have another fifteen minutes.”
Swirling Chardonnay in her glass, Linda smiled wryly. “They must be curious to know what we know.”
“As if we'd give them any information,” Rey scoffed.
“There's no reason we can't tell them what we've learned,” I stated with a devilish gleam. “It might prompt them to do something foolish and incriminating.”
