by Tyler Colins
“Yeah, and get us hurt or killed.”
“Let's tell them we're following up on leads—like a charm found at the scene of the fire and that there's a witness who saw someone of note that evening,” Linda suggested.
“That would be dangerous, because they might think that witness is Doris and she knows more than she revealed to the police,” I responded. “But I like the idea of mentioning the charm.”
“Let's just play it by ear. They'll be gauging us, so we'll do the same,” Rey put in. Taking a sip of wine, she looked across the floor and nodded. “Speak of the devils. Literally.”
Linda and I chuckled and waited for the attractive couple to arrive.
Both wore flashy smiles and were fetchingly dressed: Cholla in a black floral-lace mini cocktail dress and Bayat in a navy micro-stripe two-piece suit. She sported her signature lipstick and her eye make-up was very intense, even striking—in a vampire sort of way.
As she glided to our table like a sleek sloop across a waveless sea, he spoke with a server.
“Darlings, you look absolutely charmant.”
“As do you.” I smiled blithely.
She waited until her paramour arrived and pulled out her chair. With an amiable smile, he announced a bottle of Veuve Clicquot was on its way.
Dinner had officially started.
* * *
“She didn't bat an eye when you mentioned the charm,” Rey said as she removed ankle-strap sandals. She ambled into the living room and flopped onto the sofa.
“Did we expect her to?” Linda asked, doing the same.
Rey snorted and extended both arms along the headrest.
“Bayat was pretty cool, too, given you mentioned you'd read about his winning that shooting competition,” Linda continued, rubbing her feet. “I am so not wearing four-inch heels again, no matter how good they look.”
“Did we expect him to?” I dropped alongside her.
Cynical laughter erupted.
“Do you think they think we think it's them?” my cousin smirked.
“I think it's a pretty safe assumption,” I grinned.
“Long as we're thinking, what do you think they'll do?”
“They'll lie low and keep watch, or they'll kill us,” Linda replied nonchalantly. “Given they don't take chances, they'll opt for the latter.”
“Cholla's dangerous and probably crazy, but I'm more inclined to believe they'll wait it out, at least for a while,” I stated.
Rey concurred. “Do you still want to talk to Bayat's wife?”
“I'd be curious to meet her. And your monk-seal cause is a perfect pretext for doing so.”
“I'll set something up for tomorrow aft, if possible.”
“What else do we know about her, besides the fact she's older than him and they've been married—what—three years?”
“Three,” Rey confirmed. “She's not much to look at from the photos we've seen, but she does have one thing that's very attractive to Mr. Alexandre.”
“Money,” we said simultaneously and high-fived.
“Do we want to check out his place?” Linda asked.
“I doubt we'd see anything from outside, and waiting for him to leave and then following wouldn't serve much purpose,” I replied. “And for the record, Cousin Nimble Fingers, we're not about to sneak onto the premises with a spouse, maid and butler around.”
“That's his legit living-with-helpmate address, so he wouldn't keep anything incriminating there,” Rey pointed out, watching Button flop onto her bare feet. “But he might at a little love shack shared with Cholla.”
I shook my head. “More likely he spends a lot of time at her Maunalani Heights place.”
Rey tilted her head one way and then the other. “Do you suppose Wifey knows about her?”
“She has to suspect something if he's out all the time,” Linda replied.
“Or he provides great, believable excuses,” I said.
“Yeah. The jerk.” She scowled. “Men.”
“Where do we take it from here, ladies?” Rey frowned. “We need solid evidence—like an AR-15, fingerprints, signed confessions. Right now, we pretty much got zilch.”
“Let's develop a plan of attack for finding it.”
“First on the plan, the visit with Wifey. Her name's Agatha Winterbottom Alexandre, by the way. Let's get a feel for the relationship. Maybe she's not so hot on the guy,” Rey said, looking optimistic.
“Second, let's see if we're any closer to finding names for bracelet buyers and the BVI holding—or shell—company. You were supposed to call some places on the Mainland and check, Linda.”
“Sorry. I'll do it tomorrow, first thing,” she promised and leaned forward. “Third, why don't we go back over Carlos' guest list? When we spoke with them previously, we didn't ask about Lolita.”
Rey gave a thumb's up. “Good one, Lindy-Loo.”
“I'm not all pretty looks, you know.”
Rey kicked her calf playfully. “We should also follow up with Xavier and see what's happening with Angus.”
“And while we're following up, let's check in with Ald.”
My cousin snorted. “I feel another pricey dinner coming on.”
* * *
The next morning found Linda and me at the agency for nine. Linda was following up on the heart charm and re-contacting guests about Lolita while I was revamping the agency website and waiting for a call-back from Ald. Rey was at a coffee shop with Xavier, getting updates.
Around ten-thirty, Linda got up and sauntered over. Devoid of facial emotion, she did something out of character by shimmying and twerking.
“Too much Red Bull this morning?” I asked with a droll smile.
“Too much success.” With an exaggerated wink, she perched sat on the corner of the desk. “I located a store in West Hollywood that sold the bracelet. It took some dishonesty, lots of complimenting, and the purchase of a pair of earrings from a new designer—quite lovely ones, I might add—but we now know that a muscular gent with an 'odd' accent bought the bracelet last spring and paid cash. He provided a fake email address—store promo emails bounced back. Jean-Marc Amoureux was fake, too, of course.”
I had to laugh. “Great last name. I guess he views himself as an amazing lover.”
“Apparently, he laid it on really thick with Nikita, the salesperson.”
“Good work, Linda.”
With an inscrutable smile, she leaned forward. “I'm not finished.”
I grinned. “I'm all ears.”
“Only three people recall seeing Lolita: Shepell Barntree, Meyer Sach, and Doman Piner. Evidently, she didn't show herself much, except to get a couple of drinks: 'champers', as it were. It was Sach who had some interesting info to share.” She crossed her arms and looked smug. “He'd stopped at a window to see if Waldo, the chauffeur, had arrived. What he saw was Lolita at the side having a 'very animated conversation' with James-Henri.”
“If the conversation was outside, how did he know it was 'animated'?”
“He saw them gesticulating a lot. In fact, it looked like she'd slapped his chest and he, in turn, shoved her against a wall.”
“Sach's sure it was James-Henri and Lolita?”
“He's certain,” she affirmed, hopping to her feet. “Coffee?”
“Mm-hmm.” I drummed fingers on the desk, wondering how we could use the information.
“You're thinking the bracelet won't help any because it was 'borrowed' from Cholla's vault.” She placed a steaming mug before me.
“Even if it was secured legally, it's of little merit. Bayat Alexandre purchased it for his mistress, but it doesn't prove she was the killer or that it was lost when she whacked Lolita and set the fire.”
“We've said as much before.” She nodded once. “But it proves it's hers, because those bracelets were numbered, and the number on the one in our possession is the bracelet he purchased. This could prove useful later.”
“That James-Henri and Lolita had an argument—a physica
l one—is something we should share with Ald.”
She agreed. “At the same time, why don't we ask James-Henri about it? I'd be curious to hear the response.”
“I'm up for a drive to lovely Portlock this beautiful Monday morning. You?”
“So up.” She laughed and we grabbed our bags.
* * *
Eleven a.m. found us in the Jeep, parked three large properties down from James-Henri's and sipping sugar-laden iced lattes.
“Is there any particular reason we're sitting here?” Linda asked as she chewed on a straw under an increasingly cloudy and gray sky. A promise of rain hung in the air.
“We're enjoying our drinks,” I replied flatly, keeping my gaze on the handsome Mediterranean-style house.
“We're not having second thoughts, are we?”
“Nope. But Rey's going to kill us for not having waited.”
“She didn't return our texts. Whose fault is that?”
I chuckled and noisily, happily, drained the last of the latte. “Got your Taser handy?”
“I don't fool around with suspects.” She drained her drink in one big gulp.
Tucking bags under our arms, we stepped from the vehicle and ambled along a winding walkway, keeping wary eyes on the surroundings. There was nothing to be seen save for a couple of landscapers, a dog-walker, and a 1952 Bentley MK being driven at tortoise speed by an elderly, spectacled gent.
Linda and I looked at each other wide-eyed when a pearl-bloom doorbell played trumpet fanfare like that which might proceed a royal entrance in days of old.
“That's plain weird.”
“Kooky.”
We turned to the front capped-arch door. Thirty seconds later, James-Henri appeared, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt bearing an image of deceased French singer, Serge Gainsbourg.
If he was surprised to see us, he gave no indication. Merely ushered us into the marble-floored foyer. “I only have an hour. I'm helping with Carlos' memorial service this afternoon. Coffee? I just poured a cup for myself.”
We accepted and followed him into a trendy black-and-white single-walled kitchen. Taking seats at an extendable table constructed of wooden shipping pallets, we waited until he'd returned.
“No help today?”
“No help most days. I prefer privacy, so a cleaning woman only comes Tuesdays.” He shrugged and sat across from Linda. “What brings you here today?”
“You weren't supposed to be at Carlos' 6-tu-8, but you were seen there.” I scanned a donut-round face that revealed no emotion.
Another shrug. “Carlos and I had had a fight. I had no intention of being there, but at the last moment I decided to go. I wanted to wish him well and chat with some guests.”
“Including Lolita?” Linda asked over the brim of the cup.
A humored smile pulled at full lips. “Yes. In fact, she saw me approaching and stepped outside to talk to me—or warn me, as it were. Carlos was in a flap and she thought it best I not show my face. She was rather rude about it.” He waved a hand dismissively. “The woman thoroughly annoyed me and I must confess, I reciprocated by giving her a little push.”
Linda and I exchanged glances, attempting not to appear deflated. He'd anticipated the question [and intent] and had responded with a viable explanation, one that could never be refuted by the deceased former queenpin.
Two, or three, could play the game. I poured milk in a blue-banded porcelain cup and nonchalantly asked if he had known her well.
“Well enough. She'd become a regular fixture at exhibitions and showings.”
“I hear she was fairly successful as a manager.”
“She was building a reputation.” His tone was as even as his gaze.
“Word on the street has it she was blackmailing someone in the business,” Linda stated matter-of-factly.
“Anything is possible,” he said smoothly.
“Did you know Bizz Waxx well?” I asked, switching gears.
“His art was not my cup of tea, but the man had promise … in certain circles. How unfortunate that he suffered the same fate as his manager.” He leaned back and gazed from me to Linda. “Are you close to finding the arsonist and killer?”
“Very close,” I smiled amiably, meeting his keen gaze.
“Merveilleux,” he murmured, lifting his cup in toast. “We shall have to have a victory party when all is said and done.”
“There'll be one,” Linda affirmed, rising. “Guaranteed.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Around one, Linda and I caught up with Rey for snacks and sodas under a shady breadfruit tree by the Nuuanu Stream. The rain that had been promised earlier had fallen with meteorite shower intensity for an entire hour. At the moment, however, it was dry and moderately sunny.
“Agatha Winterbottom Alexandre was a little snooty maybe, thanks to a well-heeled upbringing, but pretty nice.” Rey sucked back icy diet Coke. “I really wanted to go to James-Henri's with you, but Agatha insisted we meet at 10:30 today or we'd have to hold off until next week.” She smiled ruefully. “Sorry I didn't let you know—in a rush to cab it to her place, I forgot my cell in the Prada bag I'd been debating using this morning.”
“Faux Prada.” Linda clinked her BFF's can.
Rey sniffed and regarded a foot bridge leading over the polluted stream. “Not only did she give a really decent donation to the monk-seal cause, she promised to attend the next meeting.”
“Here's to Agatha.” Linda toasted the sky. “What did you learn?”
“As little as you two.” She bit into a taro chip. “I got the impression she's not keen on Bayat, at least these days. It was the way she looked and responded when I talked about him.”
“Hopefully, you didn't mention he might be a philanderer, murderer and/or ruffian,” I joked.
Impishly, she tapped the tip of my nose with a chip. “I mentioned we'd met him one afternoon while working on a case with an insurance adjuster. I didn't want to set off any bells, so I kept it super casual. I doubt she'll mention our conversation to hubby.”
“You did good,” Linda stated.
“I'm not all great looks.” She stuck out her tongue.
I chuckled.
“There was only one photo of the two of them in that huge living room. I pointed out what a happy and handsome couple they made.”
“Did they?”
“The poor thing really lost out in the looks department,” Rey answered ruefully. “The photo was taken just before they were married. She had this pie-eyed thing going while he seemed, well, tolerant.” She munched a couple of chips and idly watched passersby. “I asked if she thought he might be interested in joining our cause. She looked sad and said he couldn't commit to anything, because he had a lot of artistic obligations. When I said that was a good thing, being involved and busy and all that, she just nodded and focused on her tea.”
“She probably knows—or suspects—that Bayat has a mistress,” Linda put forth.
My cousin smiled sadly. “What's next? Dropping by the police station to chit-chat with our not-so-favorite detective like you mentioned earlier?”
“He didn't want to talk over the phone, so that's the plan.” I finished my soda and stood.
“Good times.” She grunted and hopped to her feet. “Hey, did you feel something whizz by?”
“Probably a dragon bee, or whatever they're called.” Linda grabbed Rey's empty can and chip bag. Noticing my expression, she asked, “What's wrong?”
“It was more like a bullet bee.” Grimly, I pointed at a nearby tree limb that hung like a downed parasail.
* * *
“I can honestly say I've never had anyone bring me a broken bough before.” Ald wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. He'd been ha-ha'ing for a good fifteen seconds since we'd entered his office. “Is this like the proverbial olive branch?”
“Don't be a wise guy,” Rey snapped and stood akimbo before his desk. “Someone shot at us and that's proof.”
Smirking, he eyed the wo
ody stem closely. “You have the bullet?”
“Of course we don't, bozo.”
Squaring his shoulders, he scowled. “Watch the sass, sister.”
“We took a cursory look, but didn't find anything,” I said quickly.
“You should have called 911,” he growled.
“We wanted to get away, pronto,” Linda stated. “The shooter missed the first time, but might not have the second.”
Ald motioned the worn leather sofa. “I'm inclined to think the shot was a warning. If the intention was to kill or injure, they'd have fired more than once.”
I frowned as we took seats. “You're probably right.”
“I'm always right.”
“Not always, Hives.”
“Good Lord.” He rolled his eyes. “Not you, too, Fonne.”
I crossed my arms and watched him expectantly.
He sighed. “I'll send Hunt over to check it out. Where precisely did this happen?”
Linda gave coordinates and he called his colleague.
“He's heading over with Northmann. Hopefully, there'll be something to report… So where were we?”
“Following up with you regarding the incident outside the gallery we told you about,” Rey replied crisply, crossing long lean legs and extending an arm along the headrest behind my shoulders.
“I spoke with Meyer Sach and then James-Henri, who admitted it had happened—”
“As he did to us,” Linda declared with a glower.
“We can't arrest the guy for having a squabble with Renoir.”
Rey, Linda and I remained mute.
“Anything else of note you'd like to share?”
“We told you about the charm.”
“Yeah. And I didn't hear how you discovered it in a safe you shouldn't have been cracking and a house you shouldn't have been in.” He scowled. “In fact, I don't recall one damn detail.”
“Speaking of hearing,” I said, “We didn't hear about what you'd uncovered in the safety-deposit box. Or about Timmy-Tom's killer. How are you progressing?”
“We're progressing.”
“Are you?” Linda asked brusquely.
