Forever Poi

by Tyler Colins

  “Surely I don't.”

  “Let me give a gander.” Gail, seated alongside Linda in the back, took the tablet and started keying.

  Rey sighed. “While you're checking, I'm taking one last look-see.”

  “What makes you think you'll look-see anything on the third round?” I asked with a wry smile.

  She flicked her tongue à la Gene Simmons and headed toward the narrow, rectangular office building, a new Michael Kors backpack suspended from a shoulder.

  Watching her disappear from view, I slipped from the Jeep and leaned into Gail's side of the car. “I hope she doesn't break in or do anything—”

  “Shit. Did I just hear what I think I heard?”

  I met Linda's anxious gaze. “I hope not.”

  She bounded from the Jeep.

  “That thump better not have been a door being kicked in,” I told Gail flatly as Linda slipped around a corner. “Keep searching. I'll catch up to Linda and we'll drag back Nosey-Nose Rey.”

  Gail didn't look up from the screen.

  I found Linda standing alongside my cousin, shiny lock pick in hand.

  “Oh no you don't!” I shouted.

  Rey smirked. “Oh yes I do. Let's see what's in here.”

  “Office stuff,” Linda stated with a glower. “Forget it, Rey. Saimin's not worth being arrested for.”

  “It won't take more than five minutes—”

  “To do what?” I asked flatly. “Look at desks and delivery schedules?”

  “In this business, we should not leave one stone unturned.” She looked from me to Linda. “Am I right … or am I right?”

  Linda arched a strong shoulder. “You're right.”

  “I do so hate that,” I murmured. “Have at it, but watch where you place those fingers. We don't have any gloves—hold on! Are there security cameras?”

  Rey shook her head. “He's got a system in the plant, but not here in the office. I checked when we were doing the first walkabout. Obviously he chose to save a few bucks wherever possible.”

  “Which may mean there's nothing of note to be found,” I pointed out.

  She cursed softly and worked the lock for several seconds before finally, carefully pushing it open. A bit of daylight streamed in via partially-open horizontal blinds into a small and narrow vestibule. Beyond the enclosed area was a hallway lined with six glass-encased posters of saimin. Three closed doors were on the right and two on the left. The nearest door was open and we peered inside to find a 12'X12' meeting room with a well-used whiteboard and a walnut-colored table that seated eight.

  Rey wrinkled her nose. “Pretty stuffy.”

  “They must keep the AC on low for the weekends,” Linda said, moving to the first closed door.

  “Careful,” I warned. “Fingerprints.”

  With a curt nod, she used her lightweight cotton cardigan to turn a medium-duty commercial knob. Flipping on a light switch, she strode purposefully inside.

  I entered the next room, a cluttered office. Several ledgers were piled high beside paper-laden trays on a walnut-finish desk, suggesting it belonged to an accountant or GM. Books and awards were stacked on a dozen shelves, as well as on the top of two six-drawer metal filing cabinets. They were locked and I wasn't about to break into them, so I stepped back into the hallway.

  “This is a waste of time,” I announced to my unseen colleagues.

  When neither responded, I went looking and found both in a small office standing by a faux-leather task chair at a U-shaped desk. Pieces of shrimp and pork flecked the top of an otherwise spotless desk like late autumn leaves on a still pond while several strands of soft wheat egg noodles lay like sleeping threadsnakes … in and around a sizeable puddle of blood.

  “I have a feeling saimin's not going to be on your favorite-foods list anymore, Cousin Jilly,” Rey said dryly.

  * * *

  Ald drew a deep breath as he gazed from one face to the other. The four of us were leaning against the rear wall, waiting for stern words to accompany stern looks, but none came.

  For nearly an hour, we'd answered questions from Devoy Hunt while law-enforcement personnel worked quietly and efficiently at standard tasks. In all likelihood the blood belonged to Franklen Haloa. According to Abena Fletchmeyer, the distribution manager, he'd been the last employee to remain that afternoon because urgent work needed completion before the weekend.

  “You might want to step up the search for Poniard,” Rey stated flatly. “Before she kills again.”

  “We don't know anyone's dead or that she's responsible if they are,” Ald said coldly.

  “That's not finger-cut blood,” Rey glowered. “Someone suffered a major injury, probably a gunshot wound.”

  “Firstly, there's no body. Secondly, there are no shell casings around,” Devoy pointed out, tucking his tablet under an arm.

  “It's odd there's no blood trail, just that wet patch,” Linda murmured, scanning the scratched laminate floor.

  “Unless it was wiped clean,” Gail offered.

  “Then why not wipe clean the desk, too?”

  She shrugged and returned to her cell phone.

  Ald eyed her suspiciously as her fingers flew across the small keyboard with the proficiency of a diehard gamer.

  “It's always possible that Haloa had an enemy or two, or pissed off a client,” Devoy continued.

  “By skimping on shrimp?” Linda asked wryly.

  His response was a lame shrug. “I'm going to see if Lowell's lucked in with something.”

  “You may want to search for the third company minivan,” I said as he started to leave.

  “So you advised earlier.”

  “So I'm advising again.”

  With another lame shrug, he stepped from the room.

  “If you don't need us anymore, we'll be going,” Rey announced crisply, stepping into the hallway.

  Linda and I followed, with Gail, nose in cell, ambling behind.

  “I suggest you ladies go home or to a bar or movie. Stay away from criminals and stop doing anything unlawful,” Ald all but yelled. “And keep those cell phones on. I'll be calling.”

  Rey turned and lowered. “We'll be waiting—with bells on.”

  Averting his face, the detective muttered something to an office wall.

  Rey smirked. “Why, Detective Hives, did you just tell me to do something rude?”

  “No. This would be rude.” He slipped alongside and whispered in her ear.

  Surprised, Rey's grass-green eyes grew cookie-round. For a beat, she seemed stymied, but then laughed and whispered in his.

  Detective Ald Ives' eyes nearly popped from his head.

  With that, the four of us retreated to the Jeep.

  “Are we going to follow his advice and go to a bar or movie?” Gail asked as I unlocked the vehicle.

  “We should check this area for that missing minivan is what we should do,” Rey declared.

  I scanned the vicinity that was growing shadowy with the encroaching sunset. “I'm up for that, but where would we start and how far would we go? There's a lot to cover.”

  Linda motioned the burned building. “How about we start there?”

  “Do we actually believe Cholla Poniard would park the van nearby, if she did indeed steal it?” Gail asked, swinging into the rear of the Jeep.

  “She probably drove it back here after mowing down James-Henri,” Rey replied with a snort. “And she and/or Haloa quickly got rid of it … and then she got rid of him.”

  “No loose ends,” Linda said simply, slipping into the passenger's seat.

  “Which means she's still around,” Rey affirmed, hopping in the rear.

  “Until she gets us,” Linda said. “Because that's exactly what she's going to do. Bet on it.”

  “I have no doubts.” Glancing toward Sammy Son's, Gail motioned. “Ald's still standing outside watching.”

  “Let's take the long route around and swing past that huge cluster of Mazapan.” With a salute to the grave-faced
detective, I slowly headed up the curving road.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  A wind-damaged sign at the beginning of the long private road reading “Wanda's Wigglers” had Rey and Linda placing $20 wagers that Wanda's was a worm farm. Given the dimensions of the property and warehouse, it was doubtful, but never say never. Tablet still in hand, Gail had done a quick search to find WW had been a manufacturer of animal-shaped, sugar-laden, wiggling and jiggling gelatin delights. Linda was $20 richer.

  “You can still kinda smell the smoke.” Wrinkling that pretty (perfect) Hollywood nose, Rey gazed at a heavily damaged L-shaped building flanked by a long row of Cook Pines.

  Although only in business a little over two years, the company had shown promise, garnering positive reviews about its marketing campaigns and employment opportunities. Sadly, two weeks ago, due to electrical distribution, the place pretty much became history. While the rear warehouse and side and center offices were done deals, significant portions of loading dock walls still stood tall.

  We were parked behind a cluster of a'ali'i shrubs, twenty yards from the presently defunct business. Anyone looking over from Sunny Son's wouldn't see the Jeep, but depending on where we stood or walked, they could conceivably catch sight of us.

  “Here are a couple of interesting tidbits regarding Haloa.” Gail's brow scrunched like an elastic headband as she read something on her cell. “He had his own sports shop for five years upon return from Iraq in 2005, where he was a demolitions expert—”

  “Whoa nelly!” Rey jumped to Gail's side and peered over her shoulder. “That would explain how Bayat ended up in pieces.”

  “We assumed wrong,” Linda stated. “It wasn't Cholla who constructed the bomb, but a new pal.”

  “If she makes a new 'pal' every time she wants to off the old one, there's going to be a long trail of bodies,” Gail declared with a shake of the head. “By the by, the other tidbit is that Haloa owns a turboprop, light-transport plane, specifically a Kodiak.”

  “A very interesting tidbit.” Rey appeared reflective. “Maybe he's flying Cholla to another island.”

  “If she hasn't yet killed him,” I said dryly and frowned. “Say, you don't suppose she can fly, do you?”

  “She seems to be adept at a number of things. Let's check on that later, maybe when we're sitting in a nice, warm bar.” Gail pulled down the sleeves of a light cotton sweater. “It's getting chilly.”

  “I'm up for that. Let's make it a quick tour,” Linda suggested merrily.

  “Given what's left of the place, it'll definitely be quick,” Rey replied. Slipping on a jean jacket, she marched ahead like a soldier on a mission and stopped to read a toppled sign where the pathway turned.

  She spun and pointed. “Says we should watch for feral pigs. What watch? If I see any wild swine, I'm running like a blowtorch's burning my butt!”

  Linda and I exchanged amused glances while Gail chuckled and started in the opposite direction. Eventually, the two would meet up. For a split second I wavered, recalling when Linda and I had very recently done the same—with negative consequences.

  “Let's pop into what's left of the interior,” my colleague suggested. “If Ald looks this way, he might see us.”

  I glanced over. “Maybe. But he's inside now, so we should be fine.”

  “Do we want to join Rey and Gail?”

  “Let them investigate. How long can it take?”

  “You really want me to answer that?”

  “No,” I grinned.

  “When they return, do we want to explore some more or find a bar or lounge?”

  “I suppose we could explore, but …”

  “You're thinking this is futile, like I am.”

  “Yup. Still, maybe it's worth a shot—”

  “As in long shot?”

  I hooked an arm through hers. “We may as well sit in the Jeep.”

  “I'm curious as to how Cholla hooked up with Haloa. He's not exactly her type, given his profession—in a saimin company, no less.”

  “She seems to like men who can prove of valuable service, so profession is irrelevant.”

  Stopping before the Jeep, Linda checked her cell. Within thirty seconds, she was showing a photo of a big, blubbery fellow. “Meet Mr. Haloa.”

  I did a double-take. “He's kind of cute, in a teddy-bear kind of way.”

  “Yeah—flabby and fuzzy cute… Their paths obviously crossed at some point. I'm guessing it had to be long before she 'borrowed' the minivan.”

  “Certainly before bits of Bayat peppered the dock, but how long before is anyone's guess.” I jumped into the driver's seat, Linda into the passenger's.

  “So is guessing what else he may have helped with.” She looked pensive. “That woman smiles and men melt, ready to do her bidding.”

  “I believe she pays them with more than a smile and a buck. But, maybe in Haloa's case, she simply made a fantastic financial offer he couldn't refuse.”

  “Do you think she killed him?”

  I shook my head. “I'm inclined to believe this is all a ruse.”

  “Ruse?”

  “A ploy to make it appear that something brutal happened to Sunny Son's production manager. Sure, there was a lot of blood on the desk, but it could have been put there for show.”

  “It will certainly keep everyone busy searching for the guy.”

  “I wonder what other breadcrumbs Gretel and Hansel have left for the police—and us—to follow.” I looked over at Sunny Sun's and saw a police cruiser drive away.

  “How would Cholla have known we'd come out here … that we'd have figured out who the minivan belonged to?”

  “If you're going to kill someone with a car, wouldn't it make more sense to steal a nondescript one to do the dastardly deed than use a company vehicle bearing a name and logo?”

  “I hear you. She was simply luring us.” Linda's sneered. “Like a spider might a fly to its web.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Let's put on our P.I. hats and head to a bar.”

  “Heavy on the Mai-Tais?”

  She winked. “We do our best P.I. hashing out over those.”

  I winked in return and turned to the warehouse. “What's keeping those two?”

  “Maybe they found the minivan?”

  I exhaled slowly, sensing Rey was engaging in something illegal. “Maybe we better find them.”

  * * *

  Rey and Gail were deep in the loading-dock area, the former taking photos of the hit-and-run vehicle with its dented fender and broken headlight, the latter finishing a call.

  “Ald?” I asked.

  Gail nodded and uh-huhed a couple of times.

  “This wasn't something I'd have expected from Cholla Poniard,” Linda mused aloud.

  I had to agree. “It does seem careless to leave it parked here.”

  “Maybe she was rushed,” Gail suggested.

  Linda smirked. “Or is much too cocky for her own good.”

  “What did Hives say?” Rey asked when Gail disconnected.

  “That he and Devoy Hunt would be here in ten or fifteen. They're just wrapping up.”

  Rey motioned. “The minivan's clean—no garbage, no notes or papers, no blood save for the flecks up front, no nothing.”

  “Hopefully, there'll be fingerprints.” Gail leaned into a dock leveler. “Or something incriminating that will tie Cholla to the crime.”

  “Don't place any bets,” Rey said cynically.

  Linda peered inside. “Yup, there's not much to be seen. I'm going to take a few pics, too.”

  Tick-tock-tick-tock.

  I turned to my cousin. “You really need to get that watch fixed. It's too damn loud.”

  “I'm not wearing a watch—just the bracelet you got me for my birthday.” She held up her hand.

  Our eyes widened and a telepathic message instantly resounded among the four of us. We raced from the loading dock area as if engaged in a turkey trot—not the footrace or charity-run kind, but rea
l turkeys fleeing the holiday chopping axe kind.

  * * *

  “Crap.” Rey drew a long, calming breath.

  “Double crap.” Prone beside her BFF, Linda slowly extended her arms and regarded her palms. “I'm missing skin.”

  Gail's round black-rimmed glasses hung awkwardly from one side of her face. Shakily, she sat upright and adjusted them. Looking down, she swore when she saw one elbow of her sweater was ripped and the front was flecked with blood courtesy of a long, slender slash on her upper arm. “This was my favorite.”

  Linda and I helped each other struggle up onto wobbly legs.

  Rey played pogo stick and hopped up. “You've reopened that scabby cut on your chin.”

  I didn't need to see it; I could feel the warm drip-drip-drip. “And you're going to have one helluva colorful cheek.”

  Tight-lipped, she passed a crumpled tissue and turned to the loading dock. Flames and smoke spiraled skyward, and the few walls that had survived the first fire were no more. “Here's to awesome hearing, Cousin Jilly.”

  “That could have proven exceptionally painful, if not fatal.” Linda shuddered. “Do we need to hang around?”

  “We should,” Gail replied.

  “We should not.” Rey.

  Linda gazed from her to me.

  “I say we head out fast.”

  With a thumb's up, Rey sprinted toward the Jeep, the three of us hot on her heels.

  * * *

  “He's not going to be happy,” Gail declared, gazing back. Sunny Son's was quickly disappearing in the distance.

  “We'll check in later.” I slipped into fifth.

  “Do you suppose she was nearby?” Linda asked, rubbing an antiseptic wipe on her scraped palms.

  Rey scowled. “She had to have been.”

  “She probably had a camera of some sort nearby,” I said. “I can't see her hanging around indefinitely, hoping we'd show.”

  “I have to agree.” My cousin sighed. “Well, at least we don't have to continue searching for the minivan.”

  “But we do have to locate a conniving, deadly lady,” Gail glowered.

  “Lady? Let's call a spade a spade, or in this case a bitch a bitch,” Linda said.

  “Why don't we find a nice indoor bar like we talked about and determine how to find the bitch,” Gail proposed.