Kauai Temptations

by Terry Ambrose

  “I figured if she wanted me to know the details, she’d say something. All she said was that she’d ended it with Kong and needed to get away. So, as far as I knew, he was out of the picture. Morah had always been commitment-phobic. I figured the poor guy fell hard and proposed. It was supposed to be a romantic weekend away from the job, the wife, the kids. I needed a break.”

  “Your wife doesn’t know about these breaks of yours?”

  He crossed his arms and glowered at me.

  “I’ll take that as a no. Did you ever go to Morah’s apartment?”

  His eyes bored into mine. I was pretty sure he was now trying to judge how much I really knew. Where the boundaries for lying might be. He must have decided this one was too obvious, or that there was little risk involved with telling the truth. “I picked her up for the weekend. Otherwise, I haven’t been to her place since we dated.”

  “Can you prove it?”

  His eyebrows squished together as he craned his neck forward. “Can I prove what? That I didn’t go to her place?”

  “Right. Can you prove you didn’t go there and kill Morah Wilkerson to shut her up?”

  “Of course not. You’d have to take my word for it.”

  I snickered. “And I’d do that because—of what?”

  “Why would I lie? If I went to her place, big deal. So what?”

  Right. Unless, of course, we were talking about the night Morah got killed. I wasn’t about to mention that charge; let the cops handle it. “All right, let’s assume, for a moment you’re telling the truth, that you didn’t know about the fraud she committed. You realize you’re an accessory?”

  He seemed to regain his composure. “I didn’t know what she was doing. If I had known, I’d never have gone with her. A scandal would ruin me. I’ll call the Marriott and pay for all of the charges. I need to make this go away. You can understand my position, can’t you Mr. McKenna?” Oh, now he was Mr. Innocent.

  I’d lost the edge. For a few moments, he’d been caught off guard and had been stupid enough to let me stay. Now, it was time to leave even though I still had questions about Antoine and Morah—and Stan Jones. “Sure. You didn’t know. You were the innocent victim—other than the adultery, of course. But you’re a respectable attorney. I trust you’ll clear this up.” I hoped my last line would appease him enough to make him keep this conversation quiet.

  “So there’s no story, right?”

  “Once upon a time, adultery was a big deal. These days, my editor wouldn’t even consider it. Unless, of course, you were the President.”

  We both faked a nervous chuckle. I left him thinking he’d gotten off with a few uncomfortable questions and a big bill to the resort. But the lying bastard had killed Morah Wilkerson. I was going to prove it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  My exit from Antoine’s office had been hasty, but we’d both remained cordial. We had, in a sense, buried the hatchet—in each other’s backs. I was sure he had killed Morah, but what to do next? There was also the matter of the identity theft gang. That’s where this whole thing had started, but were my checks the tip of the iceberg or another issue altogether? I drove back to CJ’s, determined to turn over a few more stones before I got thrown off the island by Detective Najar.

  Halfway across the parking lot from the car to the apartment, a gusty breeze swept through. I glanced at the sky, expecting to see blue with scattered clouds. Instead, the atmosphere reminded me of a California fog. A gray haze had been moving in during the day. I recognized it as vog, an ugly acidic combination of volcanic gasses resembling smog. This stuff was carried in from the southern end of the Big Island, where Kilauea was spewing a toxic cocktail into the air. I hadn’t noticed, but the trades must have shifted direction, so instead of the gasses blowing off to the east as they normally did, they were heading west, making the equivalent of a u-turn, and blanketing the other islands.

  Inside, CJ was on the phone. She’d told me earlier she had a date with Frankie, so I’d expected her to be getting ready. When she saw me, she said, “He just walked in. Hang on.” She extended the phone in my direction and whispered, “Alexander.”

  My sounding board was exactly what I needed. He might be able to help me figure out what to do next. “Hey, buddy. Howzit?”

  “CJ tell me you stirring things up there, brah.”

  “Not so much. But I do have a question for you.”

  “Maybe you should consider coming back home. Your tenants miss you.”

  I groaned. I wished he hadn’t reminded me about the apartment. “Well,” I said, pausing to consider my options. Go home. Stay. I had a decent chance of figuring this whole mess out in the next few days. “I’m not quite ready.”

  “The Internet, it’s a great thing, yah? You could do all your research from here. Hey, you could even make a few phone calls. Maybe.”

  Smartass. He knew I really didn’t like the phone. I’d rather watch people’s faces as I hit them with questions, like I had with Antoine. “Maybe not so good. I think I need to do more here. This could be my big story, again.”

  “From what CJ tells me, this could be your big ending.”

  “This is nothing like last time.” I couldn’t imagine getting myself forced into a face-to-face with Antoine Figland at gunpoint. This time, there was no gorgeous con artist setting me up. I clearly knew my boundaries.

  CJ started blabbering in my other ear. “Killers are killers, uh huh. You shouldn’t be mixed up with these guys. I never expected this to go this far.”

  Alexander started in also. “What’s that, is that CJ? She’s right, you know, brah.”

  “Wait. My brain can’t process everyone talking at once.”

  “Put him on speaker,” CJ said.

  Not only did I not know how to find the speaker button on her phone, I didn’t want to. Right now, it was one at a time. Two on one was an advantage in any game.

  “Push the speaker button, dummy. Ain’t you never seen a speaker button before?”

  I glanced at the phone, but the buttons were a bit blurry. I moved the handset in and out as though it were a trombone slide, still pretending to not know which button was for speaker. CJ glared at me like I was a total idiot.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Looking for your mute switch.”

  “Moron.” She sneered at me as she grabbed the phone. “Gimme that.” She hit a button, then said, “Alexander, you still there?”

  The phone squawked, “You two gotta play nice.”

  I stuck my tongue out at CJ, she raised her fist at me and I backed away. “We’re fine,” I said as CJ threatened me with her best playground-bully imitation.

  Alexander turned serious. “McKenna, you found the woman who impersonated you, yah?”

  “And she’s dead.”

  “So why not let the police handle it? You got a contact there. Why not come home and write the story?”

  CJ’s chair shook as she plopped down opposite me. “I like you being around and all, but I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

  “Look, you two, I appreciate the love fest, but I think the girl was killed by a local attorney. He’s the brother-in-law of the cop who’s investigating the identity theft ring.”

  CJ shifted in her chair. I wasn’t sure if it was gas or if she thought better on her left cheek.

  “Why do you think that, McKenna?” Even through the squawky speaker, I could hear concern in Alexander’s voice.

  “Because he was at the hotel with the girl,” I said. “He’s one of the last people to see her alive. Besides, he had a good motive. He was cheating on his wife. And, he’s an asshole.”

  “Not all assholes are killers. Look at my ex, he ain’t no killer, but he’s a definite asshole.” CJ nodded with conviction.

  The phone made a funny noise, maybe it was a snort, maybe a blip in the connection.

  “She’s right, brah. You can’t classify people that way.”

  “Sure I can, I just did. Besides, thi
s is my case. I found him. I talked to him. He’s an asshole.”

  “You’re a good judge of character, so I’ll take your word on it. But, how do you know he killed the girl? Why are you so convinced he did it?”

  The question stumped me. Antoine’s infidelity had irritated me enough to automatically consider him as Morah’s killer. “I saw it in his eyes.”

  “Oh, please. That’s crap and you know it.”

  “Ditto.” CJ crossed her arms over her chest and scowled.

  Damn, I hated two on one, especially this early in the day. Alexander had known me long enough to realize I was following a hunch. When I was hot, I batted about a thousand on my hunches. Of course, when I was cold, I batted near zero. Unfortunately, I could never tell whether I was hot or cold until the end of the game. I’d never kept a running tally either. My lifetime average could be crap. I wouldn’t know. What I did know was that when Alexander wanted to get me grounded, he’d scold me about tilting at windmills.

  “Don’t get carried away with your success, you ain’t had much since then.”

  “But that’s why I’m so sure. It’s my time, I can feel it.”

  CJ snickered. “Maybe that’s your lunch. You guys with celiac, you know.”

  It was my turn to make faces, but I did stop short of sticking my tongue out at her.

  She shrugged. “I’m just sayin’.”

  Alexander interrupted our tender moment. “McKenna, stop chasing around the countryside . . .”

  His voice faded out into dead air. “Alexander?”

  “. . . you don’t want to look foolish . . .”

  “It’s to early for the windmill speech. Besides, you’re cutting out. I can’t hear you.”

  “McKenna? Come back . . .”

  There were three short beeps and he was gone. I’d gotten the windmill speech. Was I really so bad off? Was I working on a good case of dementia or was this good detective work? Maybe my friends were right. I should talk to Najar, then head home. If they ever brought Antoine to trial, I could always return.

  CJ interrupted my thoughts. “He wants you to be safe.”

  “I’m sure of it. But, here’s the thing, I’m too close. I can’t go back now.”

  “Sure you could. Especially if you’re right. Besides, maybe you need some objectivity. You know, distance. Like you got when you moved to Hawaii.”

  It had taken me five years to get objectivity about my life. I was still reeling from things I’d learned in the process, like how becoming a better person could really suck at times. “Ouch. Strike two. You know how to hit hard.”

  “I got briefed. Alexander told me you went to L.A. to clean up old personal issues.”

  I drummed the table with my fingers. This was worse than grade school. Detective Najar was now looking closely at Antoine. Najar would be pissed because Antoine was two-timing his sister, which would make things worse for the brother-in-law. Those stones I wanted to overturn would surely get turned, just not by me if I left. If I told Najar about Antoine, then got out of the way, trouble would flow downhill like hot lava. Sticking around for the kill wasn’t necessary. I’d always have the satisfaction of knowing who had broken the case. “Um, if I did go back to Honolulu, could I come back here later?”

  “You’re kinda like family—but older. And you’re a better cook than me.”

  “So I’m welcome?”

  “Long as you don’t make fun of Frankie.”

  The sounds of the grunts and groans from CJ’s room during Frankie’s last visit rang in my ears. The big guy had been exhausted by the time he finally headed out into the night. Oh well, I could always bring earplugs. “Sure.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  As soon as we’d finished our phone call with Alexander, CJ began running around like a madwoman. She ranted about not having enough time, people interrupting her routine, the height of the tide and the phase of the moon. Me, I sat back and watched while sipping on a glass of wine. Early in the day, yes, but it was time for me to take the advice of the laid-back musician at the airport and chillax. Why not just call it a late lunch?

  Alexander was right. It was time for me to leave Kauai. I was almost done with my wine when CJ left with Frankie. He and I now had an understanding. No insults, no making fun of him. I’d miss the sport, actually, but with a glass of wine under my belt, my teensy slip up should be forgiven. It was childish and I felt like kicking myself afterwards, but the words slipped out accidentally. I mean, just because the guy wore an orange shirt didn’t automatically qualify him as a pumpkin lookalike. Thank goodness CJ didn’t hear me. Despite my bromance faux paux, everything was cool with Frankie.

  Before they left, I told CJ I’d be leaving in the morning and would spend the night packing so I could catch an early flight. Buster was not invited on the date, so I also volunteered to bring something back from the market for, um, breakfast. They both declined. I took a short walk around the condo complex to help clear my head. No matter how I looked at it, I couldn’t sell myself on the idea that I’d accomplished my goal here on Kauai. I hadn’t brought the identity theft gang to justice, though I had found the woman who’d impersonated me. Maybe I’d even identified her killer. That should be enough.

  I had my key in the lock when my cell phone rang. It was probably Alexander calling back to finish our earlier conversation, so I left the key in the door to answer the phone. “Hello?”

  A cheerful woman’s voice said, “Hi, is this Mr. McKenna?”

  “Yah, that’s me.” Please, God, tell me it’s not a telemarketer. If they start calling on my cell, I’ll probably throw it in the ocean.

  “Mr. McKenna, my name is Amanda Hennings. I’m a reporter for The Garden Island. You know, the local newspaper.”

  I cradled the phone on my shoulder as I pulled the key from the door, then closed it behind me. “Why are you calling me?”

  “Detective Najar told me about your identity theft story. I was thinking that maybe we could collaborate. My boss is very interested in following this up. I may have contacts that could fill in some of the gaps—if there are any left in your investigation.

  Najar? Called the press? “Ms. Hennings . . .”

  “Call me Amanda.”

  “Fine, call me McKenna. Why did Najar call you?”

  “Just between us reporters?”

  Wow. Professional courtesy. “Sure.”

  “Detective Najar would like to, um, break things open, should we say? The politics here—are you familiar with our local politics?”

  “Not really.”

  “Well, let’s say they can be almost, should we say, incestuous.” She laughed. It was a buoyant sound that brought a smile to my lips.

  “So people who know people might make Najar’s life difficult.”

  “You are quick.” She laughed again, it was melodic and inviting. “So, what do you think, McKenna, could we compare notes?”

  I already had a mental image of Amanda Hennings. She was five-two, blonde, blue eyes, liked to wear her hair in a shaggy cut that gave her an impish image. “Well, I don’t know.”

  “How about if we get together? I’ll buy you dinner later.”

  My alternatives were to go to the market, fight the crowd, get food, then cook. Or, meet a pretty reporter and later have a relaxing meal. “How about Keoki’s? I have some dietary issues. I heard they could accommodate me.” And, I’d get to see the musician from the airport.

  “That sounds good.”

  “Where should we meet? All I know is it’s near Poipu.”

  “No problem, what are you familiar with?”

  “Not much, I’ve been through Kapa'a. I know where Kukui Grove Mall is.”

  “Did you see Home Depot?”

  “Sure, right near the mall.”

  “Let’s keep this just between the two of us and meet in the parking lot in, say, an hour? Three-ish. Island time, you know.”

  That was odd. But maybe she also had home maintenance skills and went there f
requently. Why not? It sounded good to me. “Sure.”

  I described Buster, then she told me where to park. With the introductions over, it was time for me to get busy. I wanted a shower and a chance to shake off the slowness being induced by the wine. I only had forty-five minutes, but before anything else, I wanted to research my new reporter friend. I did a search, which netted me a few of her stories from the local paper. The stories were good, but I couldn’t find a picture in the short amount of time I had. Woohoo! I had a chance to work with a professional. It was a move that could enhance my writing career. I’d only done the one series so I was sure Amanda could teach me a few tricks. Reporter-type tricks, of course.

  I was ready to go on time. I wore a green, black and violet flowered shirt with a pair of khaki chinos. The shirt’s colors were muted, so I didn’t throw off more light than a neon sign. I guessed it would take me no more than ten minutes to drive to Home Depot and I had just over that. Never one to pay close attention to instructions, I dialed Najar’s number to thank him for the referral, despite Amanda’s request to not do so. Unfortunately, I went to his voicemail.

  After the beep, I left my message. “Detective, thanks for putting me in touch with Amanda Hennings. This is exactly what I needed. I’m having dinner with her tonight at Keoki’s, so maybe I’ll touch base with you tomorrow. Anyway, I can stay in touch and still get back to the job that pays my bills. I really appreciate it. Thanks again.”

  I grabbed the keys to Buster, finally ready to head off to my meeting. It only took a few minutes to make the drive, so I parked in front of the garden center entrance to wait for Amanda as she had instructed. Fifteen minutes later, a blue Toyota Corolla parked next to me. A stunning brunette with her hair tied back in a ponytail rolled down her window. I reciprocated.

  She said, “Are you McKenna?”

  I nodded. “You must be Amanda.”

  She motioned toward the passenger’s seat. “Get in, I’ll drive.”

  Her offer was fine by me, one less thing to worry about. I locked Buster, gave him a pat on the hood and told him to be good. Papa had a date with a hot brunette. Amanda Hennings was about the opposite of every image I’d formed in my mind. Brunette, not blonde. Dark, coal-colored eyes, not blue. Wild vixen, not an ounce of imp. The phrase that came to mind was “barracuda.” Oh, baby.