Kauai Temptations

by Terry Ambrose

  When I finally got to a page with a search field, I entered Morah’s name. The system returned one match: the State of Hawaii vs. Morah Wilkerson. Immediately before the case title, there was a link for a sequence number. I assumed this would become important if you had a name like John Smith with a million results. I clicked the sequence number and got another page with the case information.

  In addition to the case title, the Criminal Case Information Screen gave the date of initiation as May 24, 2005. It included codes for Initiation Type and Court, but there was nothing about who her attorney had been.

  The Criminal Party Detail page listed Morah’s attorney as Antoine Figland. Antoine? Good grief, talk about having to fight your way out of fifth grade. The kid should have divorced his parents first, then changed his name. The page also gave me Antoine’s identification number and the prosecutor’s name. I made a note of both.

  My next step was to learn more about Antoine. I already had an internet connection and this, unlike driving Buster around in circles, wasn’t costing me a cent and was far more comfortable. I might as well also check the phone book. My friend, the web, came through for me once again. Antoine had a website, which I found with a quick search and a few clicks. He handled civil and criminal cases and had an office in Lihue. His picture was prominently displayed in the left-hand corner on his home page. I thought about Kari’s description: tall, lanky, and kind of nerdy. Antoine certainly fit the nerdy description. The guy reminded me of a young Bill Gates. Not that this guy had money; he was only a local attorney, not a software guru. The question was, had there been more than the typical attorney-client relationship between him and Morah? Any lawyer worth his salt would deny the allegation, so I’d need to know the answer before making an office visit. I sent a copy of the page to the library printer, and asked for directions to the Marriott Resort while paying for my copy.

  I had two things going for me in finding the Marriott. It hadn’t moved since CJ pointed it out, and the librarian’s directions were clear. On the other hand, finding where I should park was a head scratcher. On my second pass through the lot, I gave up and asked Buster. “Okay, big fella, you’re the local. Where’s a good spot to park without getting a ticket?”

  Buster kept his trap shut, but the motor running.

  “C’mon, man. These are huge lots. All the spots are numbered. You don’t want to commit a parking sin, do you?”

  This was insane. I’d resorted to asking a recalcitrant car for parking help? “Fine. Kiss my wallet, big shot. I don’t do valet unless it’s required.” I pulled Buster into the nearest unnumbered empty spot, then began the long trek to the front entrance.

  At some resorts, you can walk in and ask anyone a question. The Kauai Marriott Resort and Beach Club didn’t strike me as that kind of place. Imposing columns in the entry, flanked by bellhops and valets, all decked out in crisp Hawaiian shirts and dark shorts, created a friendly welcome for guests, but an uncertain atmosphere for a snooper like me. What I needed were the workers inside the nest, those who wouldn’t expect an interloper.

  The guys at the valet desk smiled and waved their greetings; I flashed them the shaka sign. Most reciprocated and one even nodded and said, “Hey, brah.”

  The escalator was a straight shot in from the open-air entrance. I rode down, gawking in every direction. This place was first class all the way. Original art; high-end stores; on-site, as well as nearby restaurants like Duke’s, rounded out the money-exchange atmosphere. I could almost feel the dollars in my wallet trying to escape to a better home.

  I wandered the grounds in search of the pool area. If Morah had stayed here with a guest, they must have spent part of their time at the pool. I was just beginning to feel lost when an aloha shirt and name tag came into view at two o’clock.

  Aloha Shirt smiled cordially. Crap, he was probably on patrol, looking for intruders who’d made it past the front line. Time for evasive maneuvers. He asked, “May I help you find something, sir?”

  For a moment, I was stunned. He actually thought I belonged here. “Yes, I got lost and was looking for the pool.” Talk about a bad judge of character. Send this one back to training.

  Aloha Shirt smiled and pointed behind me. “Just follow the path, it will be on your left.”

  I nodded my thanks while making a hasty escape. Hopefully, I didn’t owe him a tip.

  The walkway wound between the island staples of palms, ginger and hibiscus. Hotel guests and sightseers wandered the grounds. Everyone looked so happy. I’m sure Morah had been happy while she was here. Even I was starting to get the bug.

  The “pool” was right where Aloha Shirt had said it would be. This, however, was no regular pool. No, this was a water experience complete with gazebos; bubbling, squirting, and peeing statues; at least one restaurant—depending, of course, on time of day and weather—and a small island surrounded by a fifty-foot wide moat. Polite little signs everywhere reminded those brazen enough to attempt unauthorized use of the facilities that the pool was for guests of the hotel. For the ultra-paranoid, like me, they needn’t have bothered with the signs. I’d driven around the lot how many times while I swam in a pool of my own sweat to find a legitimate parking space?

  To one side, attendants at a pool shack dispensed hotel towels for one’s pool experience. The grounds made this a sedate island theme park. The little shack, which was swankier than most of the restaurants I went to, served as one more reminder that this cheapskate was way out of his element. Fortunately, there were only two aloha shirts working the area.

  My plan was to find a shady spot, soak up the ambiance a bit, and let my two information targets see my smiling, I’m-a-guest-here-too face. What I hadn’t counted on were the stealth employees—you know, the waiters and waitresses. No sooner had I found a table where I could watch my two information targets chat than a waitress approached.

  “Can I get you something from the bar, sir?”

  She was short with dark hair that hung down her back and wore the same aloha-print shirt as the two pool-shack employees. White shorts and white tennis shoes finished off the uniform. How come I hadn’t seen her?

  “That would be nice. How about a Coke? Regular.” I’d staked out enough places while skip tracing to know that waving her off would tag me as an interloper. The best solution was something cheap, nonalcoholic, and cold.

  “I’ll be right back.” She winked, then swayed off to the next table.

  So, for a couple of bucks, I had the perfect alibi, and maybe a source who thought I belonged here. If she knew nothing, I’d have a prop for the pool-shack couple.

  I watched my targets. They were both young and obviously attracted to each other. He leaned into her and gave her a wink. The Flirtress touched his arm for an instant, which caused his face to light up. Next, she laughed at whatever he’d said. The employee foreplay continued between guest visits. The Flirtress laughed again, this time longer. She was good at this game and he seemed to relish the attention. What a putz. Nobody was that funny. Not even me.

  The waitress reappeared and began delivering drinks to tables. While she made her deliveries, I pulled the photos from my pocket, set them on the table in front of me, and placed my wallet on top. By the time she got to me, there was little left on her tray except my plastic glass, which was sweating almost as much as I had while cruising the parking lot. She lifted the glass and cold condensation rained onto her tray. I handed her a five.

  While she made change, I made my move. “I was supposed to meet some friends here, maybe you could tell me if you’ve seen this woman?”

  I held up Morah’s photo. Her jaw fell and she nearly dropped her tray. A little river of collected condensation dribbled off one corner of the tray and onto the table. The little waterfall splashed everywhere, catching me in the process and making my pants look like refugees from a Sea World water ride.

  She grabbed a towel and reached as though she were going to pat me down. I stopped her and took the towel from her
hands. “I’ll get it. Thanks.”

  She flushed, probably getting her first mental image of other guests watching the scene. As she wiped up the table, she stared at the picture, then at me, then back at Morah’s photo.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  So, me and my oh-so-cool waitress were equally surprised. She by the photo in my hand, me by the ice water in my lap. At least we had something in common.

  She gawked, then finally said, “That the woman who died?”

  Ugh. So that’s why she was surprised? She read the obituaries? Just my luck. I glanced over at the pool-shack couple. He sauntered around retrieving abandoned towels, she was headed toward the main building. Could things get any worse? I said, “You’ve read about her?”

  “No. Yes. I kinda read the opinion page—and once in a while, the obits. Is that sick?”

  “Not sick.” My shoulders shook with laughter. “A little warped maybe. You’re too young to worry about who’s dying. Me, I’ve gotta check for my name each day.”

  “I have lots of aunties and uncles. I worry about them. Several of them are getting up there, yah?”

  The genuine concern on her face touched me. “I think that’s sweet. It’s nice of you to care.” I felt a momentary stab of pain as I realized how few people might care when I was gone. “So other than in the newspaper, you’ve never seen this woman?”

  She shook her head. “Why you need look for a dead woman, yah?”

  “I, um, can’t really, um, say. It’s—confidential.”

  Her lips formed the letter O and she gave me a knowing nod. She leaned forward close enough for me to get a whiff of her delicate perfume—something like kiwi and honeysuckle. Her name tag identified her as Nancy from Hanapepe.

  “You’re a local,” I said. “A true local, not a transplant from some other part of the world.”

  Her brow furrowed.

  “Your name tag. It says you’re from Hanapepe.”

  “Yah, it’s a funny little town. We used to call it the biggest little town on Kauai.”

  “Used to?”

  “My grandpa say they had opium dens in olden days, but they were gone by the 30s. Opium was big business. The town mo’ bettah then, yah? Healthier economy.”

  “Is it still struggling?”

  She grimaced. “Things not so good. So much competition. We have local artists. Everyone trying new things. They gotta find something make it stand out.”

  “If you’re not unique, you’re on the way out.” I glanced down at the photo.

  Nancy from Hanapepe’s voice was low. “Is this, like, an investigation? Police type stuff, yah?”

  I put my finger over my lips and said, “Shhh.”

  Nancy from Hanapepe glanced toward the main building. She winked, then said, “Be right back.”

  She grabbed her tray and walked toward The Flirtress, catching up to her on the walkway just outside the pool area. Nancy from Hanapepe began making little pointing gestures in my direction. The two reminded me of high-school girls going gaga over the school football star. If I were thirty years younger, I’d probably be the next moron ready to fall for The Flirtress and her charms. The problem was, without a time machine or anything other than football-spectator experience in my background, I suspected their giggling might involve them making fun of me.

  The two approached, Nancy with The Flirtress in her wake. “This is Shar. She works plenty kine jobs, maybe she’s seen her, yah. I gotta go.” Nancy from the little town of Hanapepe darted away.

  I took a sip of my Coke. Condensation from the cup dripped onto my lap. Another good start. Smooth, McKenna. I glanced down at the wet spot on my pants. Really smooth.

  “It’ll dry soon.” Shar winked at me.

  I shook my head. “Like after the fifth person I see gets the idea I lost control. So you work different jobs here?”

  Shar laughed. I could see why the pool guy was so enamored. She made it easy to flirt. She reached over to the table and studied the photo. “Only three. Nance make it sound like I’m big shot. Why you looking for this wahine?”

  The tone of her voice sounded like there was recognition. “Have you seen her? She might have been with a man.”

  Her brow furrowed and she shook her head. “She looks familiar, but . . .” Her voice trailed off as she gaped at the photo.

  “Where do you work around here?”

  “Kukui’s—that’s our restaurant—and the spa.” She rubbed her forehead, as if the massage would loosen up the brain cells, then glanced at the pool shack, “Yah, that’s it, she was at the spa. I remember her.”

  “Really?”

  She nodded enthusiastically. “I think she was with a guy, but I don’t remember him much.”

  “How come you remember her?”

  “You kidding me, brah? The way she tipped? Believe me, we remember the good ones.” She paused to roll her eyes. “And the cheap ones.” Then, Shar placed her hand at her neck and did a little bounce. She must have been a cheerleader at one time. “She was one of the good ones. All cash.”

  Where had Morah gotten cash? Another check? One I hadn’t heard of? She was spending more money she didn’t have, which put us in the same boat because I didn’t really have anything either. She’d been here, so what? I needed to find out who she’d been with.

  “She had the works, spent the whole entire day getting a makeover.” Her voice trailed off and she got that faraway look in her eyes, like she was trying to remember something else. “Wait.” She waved at someone.

  I looked in the direction of her wave. Oh, great, Lover Boy.

  Shar motioned for him to approach. “Gary, come here.” She motioned again. “Come on, I got a question for you.”

  As Gary moved nearer, I noticed he had a light sprinkling of chin hair. It reminded me of a burned out forest where only the stubs remained in the aftermath of a firestorm. Unlike those poor little chin whiskers, his thin mustache was at least noticeable from a distance. He assumed the ready position when he was about three feet away. Obviously, my wish was his command. How cool.

  Shar said, “This man is undercover with Kauai PD.”

  I shushed her with a finger to my lips. “Shar, I’m sure your bosses wouldn’t want your guests hearing that there was a—well, you’ve got it, right?

  She nodded like a scolded child, but then, in true cheerleader form, bounced right back. Her nose wrinkled. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” I glanced both ways for effect, then added, “Our little secret?”

  “10-4.” She leaned closer to Gary, whose eyes looked like a pair of coconuts when Shar whispered, “He’s investigating that lady I told you about. The big tipper, you remember her, yah? You said you saw her at the pool.”

  Gary nodded. He shifted his weight, apparently a bit uncomfortable in his new role as a police snitch. Don’t feel bad, Gare, I’m uncomfortable being an undercover cop.

  She jabbed his arm. “So did you see her?”

  Gary sidled up next to the table and repositioned the photo so it faced him. He scrunched up his face, then stroked his firestorm stubble. Maybe they were magic memory hairs—when stroked they’d trigger his photographic memory. Did he need a chant? Something like, “Oh, Magic Hair, put my memory there.”

  “Yeah, they was here.”

  I blinked. “They was? I mean, were? They?” Oh no, I’d been right. “When? What did the man look like?”

  “Maybe last weekend.” He glanced at Shar. “She’s the one you was telling me about?”

  “So you saw her—with a man? Here? At the pool?”

  Gary’s magic whiskers must have worked because for the first time he seemed interested in something other than Shar. He nodded subconsciously. “Oh, yeah, it was her. She wore this string bikini. Not much left to the imagination.”

  “Hey.” Shar punched him in the arm again.

  He winced, but his coconuts were now focused on Shar’s—the ones under her T-shirt, if you know what I mean. “You’d look awesome in that
suit. I mean, like, really awesome.”

  The cheerleader in Shar blushed. There was a twinkle in her eye. Gary ogled her. Oh, God, not more of this. How long could this go on? I blurted, “Get a room.”

  Shar’s jaw dropped. Gary’s eyebrows went up. And I must have turned about fifteen shades of red. I couldn’t believe I’d said that out loud. Shar raised her fist and I held up both hands. “You don’t want to hit me. Police brutality.”

  “That supposed to work the other way around, yah?” She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at me.

  “Uh, right,” I said. “Sorry.” Now, Gary glared at me, too. I threw up my hands. “I’m sorry. You two just seem like such a nice, uh, couple.”

  Shar stole a quick sideways glance at Gary. I doubted that she was really angry, but I had to get this “investigation” back on track. “So, Gary, what did the guy look like? Clean cut? Ready for a magazine cover?”

  “No way,” said Gary. “This guy was like—who’s that big computer dude? C’mon, dude, glasses and all that. You know.”

  “Bill Gates?”

  Gary stroked his magic whiskers and nodded. Apparently, they’d come through for him again. “That’s it,” he said.

  “Like this?” I pulled the copy of Antoine’s photo from my pocket.

  He pointed. “That’s him, brah. That’s the dude.” He beamed with satisfaction.

  Shar gazed at him with adoring eyes, her mock anger gone. She jumped in. “So what else do you remember?”

  “Not much.” Gary again tried to conjure up some magic—this time the results were unimpressive. “Other than, oh, yeah, he left. I ain’t sure they was together, you know? I mean, he was there with her for a few, but he might have just been another guy tryin’ to hit on her.”