Forever Poi

by Tyler Colins

  He glared. “Are you?”

  We glared in return.

  “What's happening with Angus? Xavier told Rey that no one seemed to think of the possibility that maybe, just maybe, Loretta-Lee's assailant was already in the house. This is why the ever-vigilant—nosy—Mrs. Browne swears she didn't see anything or anyone other than Angus. What are your thoughts?”

  He inhaled slowly. “It's possible, but the evidence points to him.”

  “You can't really believe he's responsible?” Linda demanded.

  “I repeat: the evidence points to him.”

  I gazed at my colleagues. “Let's pursue the angle that someone was already in the house.”

  “Don't get into trouble doing so,” the detective warned.

  “While we're at it, let's review notes again. I'm betting we've missed something,” Linda said.

  “We've probably missed a few things,” Rey declared, standing. “Let's have at it, ladies, and leave the detective here to … keep progressing.”

  “If you luck in, Fonne-Werde, feel free to share. I can't get enough of you.”

  She offered a raspberry and marched purposely from the room. Linda bid Ald farewell and followed.

  I nodded and was about to step into the hallway when he requested I stop. I turned, anticipating another reprimand.

  “Make sure you stay on the straight and narrow. No more illegal entries or taking things without a warrant. And keep me informed.” A smile bordered on the insolent. “With a little endeavor, we can work together, maybe even amiably.”

  My instinctive reaction/response: a Reynalda Fonne-Werde thrust of the tongue and bang of the door.

  * * *

  We'd left a few messages and texts for Xavier throughout the day, but he was MIA, so the three of drove to Loretta-Lee's place and talked to a few neighbors to see if they could recall anything that Xavier hadn't heard or that Mrs. Browne hadn't blathered about. One snippet of info gleaned: there'd been a dog-grooming van parked on the street for a couple of hours that afternoon.

  Jake Starsound recalled this after we'd prodded intensely, trying to get him to visualize all that had been seen that day. The dog-grooming van came to mind, because there were no dog owners on the street. As such, Fuzzy-Wuzzy Washers had no reason to be there, unless they were simply paying promotional visits. We asked around and no one had had a Fuzzy-Wuzzy caller. While it could prove absolutely useless, we decided to investigate the groomers; maybe they were legit, maybe not.

  A two-minute call answered the question. The van had had a mechanical malfunction driving to a house two streets over. Then the groomer had had a malfunction—not only had he dropped and broken a cell phone when he'd tripped on the sidewalk, he'd injured a knee. Off to a walk-in clinic he'd hobbled.

  Disappointedly, we were no farther ahead.

  * * *

  Ald called as we were leaving the neighborhood to advise that an M855 had been found in the vicinity of the de-limbed tree. Impressive projectile. Someone was making a serious statement. And using the same weapon that had almost certainly felled Timmy-Tom: an AR-15.

  “Think it was Bayat?” Rey asked as we took seats at the beachside Barefoot Bar.

  We'd ditched the Jeep back at the condo, changed into shorts and T-shirts, and strolled over. Kicking back and hashing it out—at least for a couple hours—was the intent.

  “Who else could it have been?” Linda scoffed, stretching legs onto a free chair.

  “Cholla?” I asked with a sugary smile.

  Rey snorted and beckoned a passing server for three icy Longboards.

  “Where do you suppose we might find the AR-15?” Linda asked.

  “In too many possible places.” My cousin grunted and glanced at her watch. “Given it's half past three, I'm guessing we're not heading back to the office today.”

  “Hadn't we decided not to do that?” Linda grinned. “Anyone for a round of fries and pizza?”

  I smirked. “What happened to that annoying bad habit of healthy eating?”

  “My new motto as of today: life's short, so cut loose and enjoy every moment.”

  Rey gave a thumb's up and hopped to her feet. “Back in a few.”

  “We need to find that deadly weapon.” Linda lifted the brim of a new baseball cap advertising the Aloha State and peered intently.

  “We could check the boat later,” I suggested. “I doubt Bayat would keep it at his house and Cholla wouldn't want to chance it being found at hers.”

  “Let's do it.”

  “Easier said than done, but let's have at it.” I smiled solemnly. “On another note, as I was doing a mental rewind earlier, something popped to mind that I'm surprised we'd let slip: Yvon Malheur, the artist that Jenny Lindstrom had mentioned.”

  “Right, the one who'd fallen into the river after sucking back too much booze. His work then sold at hefty prices. Let me follow up on that one.” She eyed my Michael Kors backpack when Bobby Darin sang, “Oh, the shark, babe, has such teeth, dear”.

  I laughed and answered, and was greeted by our adjuster. “About time. We thought you might have run off to Fiji or somewhere exotic to get away from it all.”

  “If only.” He chuckled then inhaled softly. “I got some news about Angus.”

  “So do we, but none of it useful.” Quickly, I told him what had transpired earlier. “What's your news?”

  “Loretta-Lee's boyfriend's hasn't been around. You'd think he'd be worried about his girlfriend.”

  “Maybe he can't deal with it,” I suggested. “My aunt was hospitalized after a nasty car accident and my uncle thought by not visiting her—and thereby not viewing her injuries or pain—it wasn't real.”

  “From what I know about Bob, he's not an ostrich head-in-the-ground kind of guy. He faces things dead-on.”

  “I take it you're looking for him.”

  “I've got Ekeka doing that.” He drew a deep breath. “I heard Loretta-Lee opened her eyes about an hour ago. The first word that came out of her mouth was—”

  “Angus' name?”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  “She may have said his name because the last thing she saw,” I continued softly, “was Angus swinging a bat at her.”

  “Maybe, but I don't believe that. Unfortunately, she slipped into unconsciousness again,” Xavier said dully. “Another call's coming in. I'll get back.”

  “So?” Linda asked anxiously.

  Seeing Rey a few yards away, the server with frosty bottles of beer not far behind, I waited until we were settled and related the conversation with Xavier.

  “That so sucks,” Rey murmured, biting into pizza, then staring at the cell when Bobby did an encore.

  Morty's hee-haw laughter greeted me in response. “Betcha didn't expect to hear from me so soon.”

  “Howzit?” I asked and held up crossed fingers.

  Rey and Linda mirrored me.

  “I found something of note in my private-eyeing adventures,” he announced cheerfully. “There's a BVI shell company, CK Enterprises, and it controls an anonymous trust in Bermuda. Hiding identities for shells is super easy, so it took some manipulating and finagling to get somewhere. Anyway, while the name Carlos Kawena's associated with it, he never had any actual dealings. There's a couple million stashed there and in an associated shell. I'm guessing tax evasion is the purpose.”

  “Quite likely,” I agreed. “And to conceal true assets from curious folks like me.”

  He chuckled. “You going to ask if I finally got the name?”

  My pulse quickened. “Did you?”

  “Monique-Marie Tramposo.”

  “”Cholla Poniard's mother had the same first name.”

  “Tramposo was her mom's surname at birth,” he announced elatedly. “Wanna bet dollars to donuts Mama's not the one who set it all up?”

  “You have proof?”

  “A little birdie told me,” he snickered. “Mama herself.”

  * * *

  Eleven found the three of us un
der a bright sky filled with countless stars that sparkled on a calm ocean like a sequined sheath. Stealthily and soggily we snuck onto La Nuit Noire. Being seen walking around the marina would not have been in our best interests so we'd come up behind, through the water, as it had seemed the most logical [unobserved] way of boarding.

  “We made it.” Linda gave her best friend a high-five.

  I murmured accord and slipped off an inflatable wrap-around goose float Rey and I had named Gertie, because she had the same sour face as Great-Aunt Gertrude (the sausage gal mentioned in passing).

  Being an excellent swimmer, Linda required no assistance, but Rey sported a black-and-white polka-dot life vest and I the puffed-up waterfowl. Not that I couldn't swim these days, but much like my cousin, I just [still] couldn't do it well.

  “You did good,” she grinned.

  “We both did,” my cousin corrected with a sniff.

  “I'll do a quick check around here.” Linda shrugged off a plastic-encased bag that contained just-in-case waterproof flashlights, a Taser, and three small towels.

  “You two go below and I'll join you shortly.”

  Rey and I hastened into the cabin.

  “Dare we turn on lights?” my cousin asked.

  “Let's use a flashlight. It's unlikely Bayat or Cholla would come here at this time of night, but we don't want to alert anyone.”

  “Particularly marina security,” she said somberly.

  I motioned the head. “I'll start there.”

  “I'll do the kitchen.”

  “Galley.”

  “Whatever.”

  Linda joined us five minutes later. There'd been nothing of note on deck and it didn't appear there was much below, either … until Rey all but shrieked. We shushed her, but she merely gave one of those withering Reynalda Fonne-Werde looks.

  With exaggerated wide-eyed surprise, Linda asked, “Pray tell, what did you find?”

  Rey blew a raspberry and stepped from the berth with an AR-15 supported by a towel.

  “Dang. I really didn't think they'd be stupid enough to store it here,” Linda declared.

  “I didn't either, but I'd hoped,” I responded chirpily.

  “Let's take it to Hives.”

  “It's inadmissible,” I reminded her.

  Linda looked glum. “We can't even suggest he get a warrant—there's no probable cause.”

  Rey pouted. “So why'd we bother in the first place?”

  I slapped her back playfully. “To satisfy our curiosities.”

  “Let's take it anyway.” Linda.

  “It might rattle them if they thought somebody was on to them,” Rey added.

  “They'd assume it was us,” I pointed out with a dry smile. “And then they'd come after us.”

  “It could encourage them to do something that wouldn't be in their favor. Like give away their dark—fatal—secrets,” Linda suggested.

  “Let's do it.” I gestured forward. “And let's go.”

  Rey tucked it securely under one arm. “We need to get the weapon back to the Jeep dry. Considering we traveled the way of fish, has anyone thought about how we're going return?”

  The three of us stared at the weapon as if expecting it to provide an answer.

  “To hell with it,” Linda finally grunted. “Let's just walk back.”

  “With an AR-15?” I asked drolly, following behind as she strolled forward.

  While I grabbed sour-faced Gertie, Linda tucked flashlights back into the dry bag. “Maybe we could hide it somewhere until morning.”

  “That's a smart idea.” Rey.

  “A very smart one indeed, Lady Detectives.”

  The three of us looked at one another and then turned to Bayat, crouched at the end of the dock, a 9-mm Swiss & Wesson in hand.

  “I'm glad I decided to follow after seeing you three at the beach bar tonight.”

  “Gut feeling?” Rey asked haughtily.

  “Something like that.” He looked at the AR-15. “I should have thrown it into the ocean.”

  “It's polluted enough,” Rey spat.

  “It will be even more polluted with you three in there.” The smile waffled between remorse and relief.

  “You going to shoot us here and now? That'll attract a few people.”

  “I have a silencer.” He eyed my cousin for several seconds. “No, not here. Let's take a trip.” He waved the gun.

  “In your dreams, bozo.”

  The man had underestimated us. While he laughed, Linda yanked out the Taser and I tossed forth the goose. “Get him, Gertie!”

  Linda aimed the same second Bayat did.

  He sprawled onto the deck.

  And Linda picked up her jaw. “Dang.”

  I pushed my eyeballs back in their sockets. “Crap.”

  “Kinda looks like raw hamburger, doesn't he?” Rey shook her head and peered closely. “Gamechanger.”

  * * *

  It didn't take long for law enforcement personnel to arrive, with lights flashing and sirens blaring—and it took even less time for media members and curious onlookers to assemble like eager game-show contestants vying for the grand prize.

  After surveying Bayat's bloodied body on a gurney and conversing with officers gathered at the end of the dock, Ald strode determinedly toward the sailboat. He stopped three feet before us, looking angry and tired, and maybe even a little amused.

  Gertie was draped around my waist, a towel hung haphazardly from Rey's, and Linda was poised like a mermaid on the stern in a long-sleeved one-piece.

  His jaw shifted—once, twice, thrice. Narrowing his gaze, he barked, “What do you three not understand about abiding by the rules? Have none of my lectures registered? Do you never sleep? And what the hell is that, Fonne?” He pinched Gertie's beak. “Don't tell me. You ladies were out for a midnight swim and happened upon Cholla Poniard's boat and a hapless murder victim?”

  “Something like that.” I scanned the crowd. “Where's Ms. Poniard? You'd think she'd have rushed over, given her lover just bought the farm.”

  “They couldn't get a hold of her right away—her cell phone had died—but she's on her way now.” He scanned our attire. “Do you have a change of clothes handy?”

  “We going somewhere?” Rey asked snidely.

  Ald stepped so close, they were but an inch apart. “Where else? My office. Now. If I'm not getting any sleep, either are you.”

  “Our stuff's in JJ's Jeep.” Linda stood slowly, as if it were an effort or she didn't appreciate having to move.

  “And where's that?” he asked with a saccharine-sweet smile.

  We pointed mauka (north).

  “Vasilj!”

  A lanky uniformed officer jogged over.

  “Escort these ladies to their vehicle and then accompany them to the station.” Ald turned on velour high-top sneakers that cost more than two months' condo maintenance fees and marched back to his colleagues.

  “I can hardly wait for another lecture,” Rey grumbled.

  Linda concurred and sighed loudly.

  I merely hoisted Gertie higher and waddled down the dock.

  * * *

  Sporting jeans and T-shirts that had been stashed in the back of the Jeep, station coffees in hand, the three of us seated ourselves on that all-too-familiar worn sofa in that all-too-familiar small office.

  At his desk, Ald was idly dunking a fat chocolate-chip cookie into a mug. If a photo of his face were beside the phrase “pissed off”, you wouldn't need to read the definition. “I'm still waiting for a detailed rundown on what happened.”

  Much to his annoyance and my amusement, Rey and Linda turned to each other and played rock-paper-scissors. Linda won.

  With a roll of the eyes, Rey relayed all that had transpired. “When that gun exploded, bits of the guy's face and hands ended up around the marina. He was probably dead before he canoodled the dock. It looked like the thing backfired. Did it?”

  Crossing his arms, he leaned back. “The autopsy's pending, but
it looks like there may have been an explosive device in the barrel of the gun, which detonated the same moment he fired … or tried to.”

  “His pulling the trigger set off a bomb. What an un-pleasant surprise for him.” Linda shook her head.

  “It may have actually been triggered by someone nearby. We'll know soon enough.”

  “That proves he wasn't working alone,” Rey stated.

  “Working at what?” he glowered.

  “Illegal things,” she snapped. “Like trying to off us.”

  “It doesn't prove who his partner was. And he didn't actually mention anyone.” I shrugged. “Cholla pulled up as we were leaving, playing the role of devastated lover.”

  Rey snorted. “She deserves an Emmy for that performance.”

  “He's out of the picture and she has one less loose end to worry about,” Linda said.

  “His fingerprints will be on the AR-15,” I stated dourly. “And it will be the one that killed Tommy-Tim.”

  “It's all too perfect,” Rey scowled. “We need to catch that woman in the act.”

  “In the act of what?” her BFF asked dully. “Plotting murders? Assembling an explosive device? That's not going to happen. Bet on it.”

  I agreed and drained tepid coffee that tasted like battery acid (I was pretty sure).

  Ald looked at an Omega watch and frowned. “To think I could still have been in bed, wrapped in soft sheets, and having erotic dreams instead of being here with you.”

  Rey's smile bordered on the caustic. “What's wrong with shooting the breeze with three gorgeous women?”

  Ald glanced heavenward. “Stay out of trouble, ladies.”

  “That means we're free to leave.” She hopped to her feet. “Ya-f'g-hoo.”

  “I repeat: stay out of trouble.” He stood and glared. “And stay out of my hair.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  My colleagues and I picked our cautious ways under a bright, starry night—er, morning—through Cholla's immaculate yard. Destination: garage (the one place Rey and Linda hadn't yet snooped through). The three of us were fairly certain Cholla would be at the police station for a while, providing background on Bayat and whatnot. Still, I couldn't help but whisper, “This is insane.”