Forever Poi

by Tyler Colins

  “No more insane than having gone to the boat,” Linda murmured as we stopped before contemporary, window-style garage doors.

  Flashlights had inadvertently been left in the rear of the car, but as long as something didn't require close or careful scrutiny, we'd be okay. What did we hope to find? No f'g idea. But there was a pressing (feverish) need to do something, anything, to bring this case to a close.

  Rey nudged us aside and studied the door. “Hmmm”, “crap”, “hmmm-mmm”, and a couple of curses slipped from lipstick-stained lips. With a peeved expression, she peered from Linda to me, squared her shoulders, and stamped around to the side.

  Linda's brow creased. “What's she up to?”

  “Finding a way in,” I replied flatly.

  “She's persistent.”

  “Obstinate might be more accurate.”

  Linda and I high-fived and several seconds later the garage door opened.

  “Enter at your own risk,” my cousin joked.

  Linda smacked her playfully on the shoulder and stepped into a dimly lit, neatly arranged, and commendably clean garage. I followed with a not-so-playful slap.

  Cholla had taken the Jag, but a new shiny-clean red Cadillac ATS sedan was parked by the north wall.

  “She's got good taste,” Linda murmured.

  “She's got money,” I said dryly. “But so does he, and this is probably his car.”

  “Why park it here? Wouldn't Agatha wonder where hubby's car is—”

  “Listen ladies, we don't have much time.” Rey took charge. “Let's do a quick inventory of these plastic boxes, shelves and cupboards.”

  “You honestly don't believe she'd leave something incriminating in here?” Linda asked cynically.

  “That's the way she might think we'd think.”

  “Forget it,” I declared. “She's too smart and crazy.”

  “We got nothin' better to do,” my cousin snapped.

  “Like you suggested, let's make it quick.” Linda moved to one of two tall heavy-duty steel garage cabinets. “Real quick.”

  To my surprise, the Caddy's driver door was unlocked. Carefully opening the glove compartment so as not to disturb anything, I removed the registration. Next, I pulled out a wallet and sealed envelope bearing the name of a legal firm. “This is definitely Bayat's car.”

  Rey appeared bemused. “The guy took a cab to the boat?”

  “This car's pretty flashy. He probably didn't want to be noticed, given he was planning to terminate us.”

  My cousin gestured. “What's in the envelope?”

  I debated opening it for one second. “It's a demand letter from Bayat's wife. She wants to end the marriage.”

  “Oooh, he's so-o not gonna be happy losing all that money.”

  “He's kind of dead.”

  “Ah. So he is.”

  “Ladies?”

  Rey and I turned upon hearing Linda's urgent tone.

  She held up an embossed card with gilt edging.

  Even from where we were standing in the dimness, we could read the large gold Ariel font: “Smile dear ladies, you're on Candid Camera”.

  “I wonder if Allen Funt ever used a written joke like this on the show,” Rey mused.

  “Allen who?”

  “The guy who—ah, never mind. For a former screenwriting assistant, it's shocking how little you know about TV history,” my cousin groused.

  “I'll put it on the bucket list: discover retro TV days.” She then did something very un-Linda and blew a strident raspberry. Returning to the message, she frowned and peered up at the southwest corner and gave the finger.

  Rey and I exchanged perplexed glances and looked up. Lo and behold, there was a small security camera. Crap. We'd been caught dead to rights.

  Exchanging glances again, we mimicked Linda's response—with Rey adding a colorful phrase that would have made even sour-faced Great-Aunt Gertrude blush.

  * * *

  Half past four found the three of us back in my condo with large take-out coffees. Unable to decide between chocolate-glazed donuts and almond croissants, we'd gotten a box containing six each. Piggaletto and Button were eager to be walked, so Linda happily accommodated.

  Legs outstretched, Rey and I lounged on the two-seater rattan sofa, sipping and noshing while Bonzo rested on an armchair, carrot under paw, whiskers twitching.

  “When do you think we'll get the call?” she asked with a mouthful of donut. Chocolate flecked her lips.

  “Before six.”

  My cousin looked equally glum and elated. “Cholla's not going to sleep any more than us.”

  “She got us good.”

  “Funny that she doesn't have cameras in the house.”

  “Maybe she does.”

  Slim eyebrows arched like a squinch. “You think she saw Linda and me the other time?”

  “Times,” I corrected. “No. If she'd had cameras, she wouldn't have kept silent about seeing you. As for the security camera in the garage, I'm guessing it was a recent addition.”

  “Because she suspected we'd pay an unannounced visit?”

  “Possibly.” I took a gulp of tepid coffee and grimaced. Time for a fresh, hot one. Hopping to bare feet, I ambled into the kitchen to prepare a pot.

  “Wanna bet she'll blackmail us?”

  “No.” Getting milk from the fridge, I smirked. “Because she will.”

  “She won't get much money. We don't have it.”

  “She wouldn't request money, but demand that we back off.” I leaned into the counter and watched the coffeemaker. “Who can blame her? If I were Cholla 'Crazy as a Fox' Poniard, I'd do the same.”

  “We're going to have to be doubly careful.”

  “Triply.”

  Rey chuckled and jerked a thumb. “Mack the Knife's back.”

  I hastened to my bag and yanked out the cell. “I'm betting this shark's pearly whites are about to take a major chomp.”

  * * *

  “Whatever mademoiselle wishes,” I said unctuously. “Uh-huh, of course… Oui. Bien sûr. One, it is.”

  I disconnected and found Rey eyeing me expectantly. Before I could open my mouth, Linda entered. Her charges bounded across the room to collect their bunny buddy and all three raced into the kitchen, where breakfast awaited.

  “What's up besides you two?” Linda grabbed a croissant from the box and sauntered into the living room, where she dropped alongside her best friend.

  “Cholla requested we cease entering her premises without an invitation.” I grabbed three clean mugs from a cupboard. “She understands we're trying to solve a case, but believes it might be more prudent if we did so through legal means.”

  Linda's eyes rounded like bagels.

  Rey asked sarcastically, “She didn't say she'd go to the police with footage of us snooping through the garage if we didn't back off?”

  “Au contraire.” I filled mugs. “Ms. Poniard advised that—although she was upset to hear of Bayat's death—she'd always suspected he might have been feigning interest in her.”

  My cousin said snidely, “She's shifting all that happened on him, right? She's gonna set him up to take a fall or two.”

  “Of course she is.” I smiled dryly. “Our cunning art consultant is très ecstatic that we caught the man before he did anything drastic, like kill her.”

  “You're joking, right?” Linda asked, astounded. “We know that's a crock of doggy-doo. Did she tell you why?”

  Placing the mugs on a tray, I returned to the living room. “She didn't get into details, but has invited us for lunch at her place.”

  “What?” they asked in unison.

  “Today, at one.” I handed out coffee and sat across from them. “She's up to something—”

  “I'll say.” Rey sneered. “To bamboozle us.”

  “Are we going?” Linda appeared eager yet tentative.

  I affirmed that we were.

  “You damn-well bet we are,” my cousin asserted. “And we're going locked and loaded.”


  * * *

  Locked and loaded meant Tasers tucked into pretty floral bags.

  Cholla's lovely lanai had large pocket doors that created “walls”, which could be added and removed as desired. We were seated on wide-weave wicker chairs at a high-gloss glass oval table: chic (and expensive) described the set perfectly.

  When we'd met in the lobby to jump into a cab, we found we'd been on the same fashion wavelength with similar sleeveless flower-patterned sheaths and open-toe slides. After eyeing one another critically, we burst into laughter, and Rey jokingly called us “The Triple Threat Triplets”.

  “More champagne?” our hostess asked melodiously. Sauntering to a marble-shelf moveable bar cart, she pulled a pricey bottle from a silver ice bucket. Once again, she was wearing the Borgia poison ring and I wondered if it served as some sort of amulet or talisman. The heavy piece certainly looked ominous and it was easy to visualize her sliding open a secret compartment to slip poison into drinks.

  Our hostess found me eyeing it and extended her hand so I might admire more closely. “It's a family heirloom.”

  Doubtful, but I'd bite. “It's quite unique. And very lovely.”

  “You have exquisite taste,” she purred.

  “Not nearly as exquisite as yours,” I purred in return.

  Rey stuck out her tongue as Cholla turned.

  We dug into the first course: a light, red-quinoa soup. The lunch had actually been prepared by Rags, a vivacious pink-haired caterer who'd quadrupled his clientele in less than a year after moving to Oahu from Seattle. To assist with serving, he'd sent over two servers: Jenelle, a calm and confident woman of thirty, and Ewel, an anxious beanpole of a man who might have been forty as easily as sixty.

  “Tasty,” Rey said breezily after several mouthfuls.

  “Rags is an amazing chef.”

  In the fifty minutes we'd been here, little of significance had been discussed—merely weather, sporting events, and critically-acclaimed films. Smalltalk continued during avocado salad with fashion being the topic of choice this time, and one which Rey and Cholla found quite stimulating from the sounds of it. Despite the casual air, the lunch had a bit of a Mad-Hatter tea party feel to it. It wasn't hard to envision Cholla as the Queen of Hearts (how apropos), shouting about sentence first and verdict afterwards, and then meting out sentences with utmost delight.

  After Jenelle and Ewel set the entrée on the table—ginger-glazed Mahi Mahi with rice—it was time to discuss the reason for the lunch invite.

  “What shall we discuss: Bayat or the garage?” Linda asked.

  “Bayat, of course.” She gazed fervently from face to face. “I genuinely believed the man loved me … but now, I'm quite sure he didn't. He used me, just as he used his poor drab old wife.”

  Linda graciously said, “I'm sure he was quite smitten by you, given how lovely and intriguing you are.”

  She seemed both surprised and pleased by the compliment, and smiled gleefully. “Perhaps. But he did have a valid reason for 'romancing' me.”

  “And that was?” I prodded.

  “To stay close in order to hear what was happening with the galleries.”

  I glanced from her to Rey and Linda, and back again. “Why would he care … unless he set the fires?”

  Another fervent gaze. “I believe he did. That's why he needed to know how the investigation was transpiring. Because of my relationship with James-Henri, he knew I'd be party to updates.”

  Rey's forehead crinkled and she stared at the ring as the woman held a costly crystal glass to her lips.

  “He romanced you to stay informed?” Linda's expression suggested she wasn't buying it.

  I wasn't either, but I was willing to go along for the ride. “If he did torch the galleries, he had to know he was in the clear, considering there's no evidence as to who the culprit is.”

  “Why would he torch them?” Linda asked. “There's nothing in it for him.”

  Cholla filliped for Jenelle, standing to the rear, and requested another bottle of champagne. Appearing smug, she leaned forward. “I understand he and that woman, Leticia—”

  “Lolita,” Rey corrected.

  “Bayat and Lolita had had some misunderstandings in past. I think he really hated her, maybe even feared her.”

  “Why?” Linda.

  “I believe she had information he would have preferred remain … let's say … undisclosed.”

  “So he killed her?” I asked.

  “Bien sûr.”

  “And he killed Carlos because he was what—collateral damage?”

  She looked steadily from me to Rey to Linda. “Carlos inadvertently saw what had happened at the rear of the gallery. Bayat had to make certain there was no witness.”

  “If you knew this—”

  “But I didn't know, my dear Rey, I merely surmised, given what the police told me last night … that he'd tried to kill you. I'd also had time to do a lot of thinking since the police station.”

  “If you suspected this, why not tell the police?” I asked.

  “Don't the police normally want proof and facts?” She smiled good-naturedly, but her gaze held a hint of irritation or anger.

  After bringing a new bottle in the fancy champagne bucket, Jenelle uncorked it, bowed, and returned to the kitchen. Nothing like getting snookered. Ah well, it was good bubbly. No point wasting it.

  “What about the fact that someone killed Bayat?” Linda asked.

  She appeared suitably surprised. “I thought his gun backfired?”

  B-actress mode kicked in and Rey looked furtively around. “It was rigged to explode, as in b-o-m-b.”

  “Really?”

  “The police didn't say anything?” I asked.

  Appearing forlorn, she shook her head once.

  “They probably didn't want to say anything until they were absolutely certain.” Rey smiled easily. “Now, what about the camera in the garage? How were you so sure we'd enter through there or that we'd even find that card?”

  “You three are very determined. I thought about what I'd do in your shoes. You believe James-Henri is involved; therefore, perhaps his half-sister is, as well?” She winked and spoke in a conspiratorial tone. “I'd have checked out her house thoroughly, with or without her knowledge. Entry through the garage or kitchen would have been easiest. Fortunately, or not, she has great intuition—a gift for sensing—if someone has been snooping through her items. As such, she determined that cameras would be positioned in two key locations.” Familiar orchestral-bell laughter rang forth. “She placed several cards around to ensure the 'snoopers' found one.”

  Rey smirked and sucked back half her champagne.

  Linda smacked her friend's forearm, prompting Cholla to laugh again.

  “Enjoy and cut loose, as they say. It's a beautiful day. Life is grand. We have nowhere to rush off to, do we?”

  “The agency,” Linda stated.

  She waved a hand dismissively. “It can wait.”

  Jenelle and Ewel came to clear the table and we sipped silently.

  “I trust you like Gâteau Breton aux Pommes?”

  We assured her that we did even though we'd never had it. As it turned out, the dessert was apple cake with salted caramel sauce.

  “So, what's next?” Rey asked, eying the plate like a kid in a candy store. “Are you going to the police about our little visit?”

  “Of course not.”

  “But you must want something in return?” She met Cholla's steely gaze with a resolute one.

  “Now that you know to focus your investigation on Bayat—and anyone he may have had in his life outside of me—I'll simply request you not enter my home again.”

  “That seems fair,” I stated amiably, taking a spoonful of the decadently delightful cake and trying not to drool or swoon.

  “And for the records, ladies, I assure you that I am completely innocent.”

  As Cholla picked up a fallen napkin, Rey, Linda and I exchanged glances that sai
d “in a pig's eye” and smiled cheerily when she sat upright.

  She raised her glass. “Here's to the successful closing of your case.”

  “Hear, hear.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Late afternoon found us sitting on the grass under a lush breadfruit tree in Ala Moana Park. We'd walked over after changing into shorts and Ts, the odd afternoon/lunch still on minds and tongues.

  We watched sunbathers and swimmers while drinking icy water from large bottles and discussed what our stumped selves should do.

  Rey eyed a tall good-looking guy as he strolled past. He smiled and winked.

  “A bit young for you, isn't he?” Linda jested.

  “A bit too everything,” she simpered. “Guys that gorgeous are way too into themselves.”

  Her best friend snickered and leaned against the tree. “We should have asked about the shell companies.”

  I concurred. “We should have asked about a lot of things—like how well she knows explosives. But that would have had her wondering just how much we actually know.”

  My cousin sighed loudly. “Knowing is one thing, proving another.”

  Rolling onto my stomach, I perched my chin on clasped hands. “Let's recap the visit to the garage. We know Bayat's wife was looking to divorce him—”

  “A solid reason to kill a spouse,” Linda broke in. “If Bayat was planning to contest the divorce and Agatha really wanted to be rid of him, she could have taken drastic measures—”

  “Like blowing up hubby?” Rey frowned. “I don't see Agatha constructing a bomb.”

  “I'm inclined to agree. As a woman of considerable financial means, Agatha would find a legit way to remove him from her life.” Closing my eyes, I envisioned the garage. “I didn't see anything that could be used for bomb-making. In fact, I didn't see anything even remotely out of the norm, save for the card.”

  Rey murmured agreement. “If Cholla made the bomb, she did it somewhere else.”

  “Or got rid of everything as soon as she finished,” Linda threw in. “Hey, someone left his heart in San Fran.”

  “Poor Mr. Bennett.” I pulled my cell from a Hawaii Spirit knapsack and found Xavier on the other end. “How goes, Mr. Adjuster?”

  “Badly.”

  “Oh-oh.”