Maya gave me a sheepish grin. “I can pour a beer from the tap, but that’s it. Luckily, Landon stepped in to help.”
I looked over at Kimo, who was wiping down the counter from an accidental spill. Next to him, Landon was juggling a bottle of vodka and a cocktail shaker, pouring drinks with ease.
My mouth dropped open.
Kimo clapped him on the back when Landon finished his show. “You’ve got to teach me that.”
“This can’t be your first time behind the bar,” I said in awe.
“I bartended for a while in college,” he said simply. “I learned that showing off a few tricks made up for my awkward small talk. The tricks opened the conversation into something interesting, and then it was just a sales game to get them what they wanted.”
“That’s it,” I said, snapping my fingers. “I’m not turning down your offer to help again.”
The small smile on Landon’s lips as he performed another trick stuck with me for the rest of the night. He refused to step down after that, instead displaying every trick in his repertoire. The pirates ate it up.
I had a sneaking suspicion that he wasn’t doing it for them, even though the pirates loved it. Every so often, I’d catch him looking at me while he tossed a bottle in the air, catching it under his leg or behind his back. I met his warm gaze a couple times and, each time, it was like we were the only two people in the bar.
That night, I fell asleep with a fuzzy feeling in my stomach and pleasant thoughts in my head.
Even stumbling across a dead body wouldn’t be able to bring me nightmares.
Not after a night like tonight.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
After pulling myself out of bed the next morning, I grabbed two cups of coffee and got into my truck. The slow traffic was predictable to everyone on the island, except for me. Working nights meant that I usually skipped the morning commute.
I rolled up to Sandy Turtle’s entrance later than I had planned, where Maya was impatiently waiting for me.
“I got eleven hours of sleep last night and I’m ready for anything,” she stated, climbing into the stained front seat.
I paused while handing her a coffee. “So, you don’t need this? I’ll happily drink it for you.”
Maya snatched the cup from me. “There’s nothing wrong with making sure that I’m awake.” Taking a sip, she asked, “Especially when your truck will inevitably break down and leave us stranded.”
“That’s never happened,” I said over the dash rattle. Other than a bit of rust, my truck ran smoothly enough.
“Not yet,” Maya muttered as she inspected her hair in the sun visor’s mirror. Maya had curled her hair today, as I could tell from the scent of hairspray and—obviously—just by looking at her. She played with one curl, trying to get it to behave. “How did I miss this?” she murmured to herself.
Maya pulled a miniature curling iron out of her purse and plugged it into the auxiliary power outlet in my truck.
“We’re going to a suspect’s house, not a grand ball,” I said, amused.
“That’s no reason to not look your best,” she retorted, fixing the stray curl.
We arrived at Micah Robinson’s a short while later. Micah lived in a modest, single-story house. The front window was cracked open and the welcome mat under the front door was well-worn. A couple pairs of shoes sat neatly next to the mat.
I pushed my sunglasses on top of my head as I got out of my truck. A neighbor was unloading groceries next door and a couple kids were playing tag in the yard across the street.
It was the most normal home ever.
The thought that a murderer could live there was chilling.
There was no car in Micah’s driveway and, as far as I could tell in the daylight, the lights were off in the house. I casually strode up to the house and—when no one was looking—sidled around the side.
“What are you doing?” Maya whispered frantically.
She was right behind me, though, so she couldn’t have been too concerned.
The back window had no covering, so I pressed my nose to it. “If we can’t learn anything about Micah from his own mouth, then we might as well poke around his place.”
My view was that of the kitchen, which appeared normal enough. There was a refrigerator with fingerprints on the handles, a bag of bread on the counter, and dirty dishes in the sink.
“Look!” Maya pointed to a block of knives sitting on the counter. “There’s a knife missing.”
“Coincidence,” I suggested. “That doesn’t mean it’s the knife you were drawing.”
“It doesn’t mean that it’s not,” Maya said. “This could be the evidence that proves Micah’s the killer. We just have to make sure the missing knife is the same one that was found near the crime scene.”
I wiped my nose print off the window with the back of my sleeve. “If only there was an easy way of finding that out.”
As we headed back to the front yard, I paused at a small bed of flowers. Medium-sized rocks surrounded the bed in a circular fashion and one of them wasn’t where it should be. The rock was lying inches away from the others, like someone had recently added the rocks and this one had escaped Micah’s attention.
I inspected closer and found a long wire carefully tucked under the rocks.
I glanced at Maya. “Why would someone go through all this trouble to hide this wire?”
“That doesn’t prove anything,” said Maya. “Bentley was found with a rope noose, not a wire one.”
“Still,” I said, replacing everything how I had found it. “It’s strange, don’t you think?”
We went back to the front, where the next-door neighbor was finishing unloading her groceries. I went up to her, Maya reluctantly following me. The neighbor wasn’t pleased to see us.
“Excuse me,” I said politely.
“What do you want?” she asked coarsely.
“I borrowed a knife from your neighbor and I was wondering if you knew when he’d be home,” I said.
I figured that a version of the truth would make her more willing to talk than accusing her of knowing the intricate details of Micah’s life.
Okay, it was a completely made-up story. Whatever.
Unfortunately, my strategy didn’t work.
“How am I supposed to know?” she asked defensively.
Maya attempted a new approach. “Did you hear about the body that was found on the beach?”
Maya asked it in a light, gossipy way. It was so different from her normal, practical demeanor that I almost laughed. I kept a straight face, though—and so did the grumpy neighbor.
“I did. It’s a shame, but it’s not my problem.” She slammed her car door shut and, with a huff, stomped into her house.
Across the street, the kids’ dad came out of the house with a couple popsicles. I snapped my fingers. “I bet he’ll be more helpful.”
He was. Timothy Washington, as he introduced himself, was exactly that.
As the kids licked their frozen treats, Timothy launched into a long-winded story of how his one kid had just made honor roll after working incredibly hard for it, and how his other kid wasn’t close to straight-A’s—but his interest in guitar showed off his creativity and dedication.
I segued the conversation into Micah as soon as I could. Information about his sons wasn’t going to help me in this case.
“Has Micah ever given you any trouble as a neighbor? Has there ever been anything strange about his behavior?” I asked.
Timothy’s bushy eyebrows shot up. “No, never. Micah’s a good neighbor. We get along great. He even is a fan of my kid’s band. Brayden plays with his friends in my garage every week and Micah always tells him how much he enjoys their music.”
Timothy leaned in, so he would be out of earshot of his kids. “The band is a bunch of middle-schoolers. They’re loud, energetic, and I don’t really see them becoming professional musicians. But they’ve got a lot of heart and Micah appreciates that.”
&
nbsp; Timothy’s view of Micah was completely different from the angry Micah I saw on the phone. If I was being completely honest, I could see Timothy’s version of Micah. It matched up with the middle-aged man who frequented my bar until Bentley was murdered.
It was only after Bentley’s death that I saw Micah’s angry side. He was normally mild-mannered. Short-tempered and exhausted at the end of the day—but I wouldn’t have pegged him for a killer.
It seemed Micah had two sides to him—but which one was a more accurate depiction?
“Do you know what is strange, though?” asked Timothy. “Seth, who lives at that house at the end of the street, never gets along with Micah. I would have thought they’d be great friends, but there’s something between them that gets in the way. I think they knew each other a long time ago. They must have had a big blowup that neither of them got over.”
After wrapping up our conversation, Maya and I went across the street. I knocked on Seth’s door, who promptly answered with a congenial smile. “What can I do for you?”
I was slightly taken aback. I was assuming that he’d be like the other grumpy neighbor. Apparently his dissatisfaction with Micah was only with him, and not with other people.
Maya got straight to the point. “We’d like to ask you about Micah Robinson.”
Seth’s face soured. “What trouble did he get himself in this time?”
I folded my arms. “We’re more interested in the trouble he used to get in. How do you know Micah?”
“We used to work together. I retired here a few years ago and thought I’d never have to see Micah again. Imagine my shock when I saw who came out of the moving van at a house on my street a little while later. I thought he’d followed me.” Seth shook his head in disappointment. He was about twenty years older than Micah, with salt-and-pepper hair and a goatee.
“But it ended up being a pure coincidence?” I asked.
“There’s nothing pure about Micah Robinson. I know he’s gone through anger counseling and whatever, but you can’t change a man with some words and promises. He’ll always be the guy with a short temper and a shorter fuse.”
“What sets him off?” Maya wondered.
“Nowadays? I’ve no idea. Before, when he was a shortstop, it would be lateness, rudeness, any insinuation against his character. Normal enough stuff. Micah took it too far, though. I don’t have any respect for someone who gets upset at every little thing. It’s too much. It’s not professional, to say the least.”
“In your opinion, do you think it’s possible that he could get angry enough to kill a person? Especially if he had a grudge against them?” I asked.
Seth stroked his goatee. “Murder’s a harsh thing. I’d like to think that Micah really did turn over a new leaf and has his issues under control. I just don’t know.”
“Was he capable of it when he was playing baseball?” Maya asked.
“He liked threatening people more than throwing punches. He didn’t need to use actual force with his size. One look at him and you knew you’d better back off. But, if it came down to it, Micah wasn’t afraid to get physical. I’d say that if he killed someone, then it was because he had no other choice. Or things just went too far.”
That was a different answer than I had been expecting. Seth painted Micah as hot-headed, not with out-of-control rage issues. There was a fine line, but if Seth thought there was chance that Micah didn’t kill Bentley, then I needed to rethink my assessment of him.
That didn’t, of course, mean that Micah didn’t kill Bentley Barber. I needed concrete proof either way.
I shook Seth’s hand. “You’ve given us a lot to think about.”
Seth nodded. Before leaving, he left us with some final words of warning.
“I hope I’m surprised to find out that Micah didn’t kill somebody—but I’m expecting to hear that he did.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
The sun was fully shining by the time Maya and I arrived at our next destination. The blue sky was limitless and mesmerizing through the windshield of my truck, but the sun was blinding my eyes. I’d forgotten where I’d put my sunglasses and was annoyed by that fact.
“I want to check Evan’s alibi,” I said.
“Henry isn’t looking into Evan,” said Maya. “I don’t think he’s a suspect. At least, not a strong one.”
“His story doesn’t sit right with me. I have to see for myself,” I said.
“So, that’s why we’re on a dock?” asked Maya.
“Exactly why,” I confirmed.
The boat dock was filled with boats. The sun warmed my shoulders as we strolled past a few of them. The reflection of the sun on the water was strong and the scent of the sea hung heavy in the air.
I stopped at the first boat with someone on board. A woman was fiddling with a small piece of rope, not seeing us as she concentrated on her work. Her sleeves were rolled up and a stray white streak was on her neck, from not effectively rubbing in all her sunscreen.
“Aloha! Do you know where I can find Kai Williams?” I asked.
Looking up, the woman put down her rope. “Are you looking to buy his boat?”
“Not exactly,” I said.
A wry grin spread across her face. “Kai’s boat is the last one over there. If you don’t want to hear a long spiel on his beauty, then I’d be upfront about that. Otherwise he’ll talk your ear off about Lady Moana.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said.
“While you’re there, tell him that Nalani says the sky was red this morning.”
Maya and I found Kai Williams with no trouble, thanks to Nalani’s directions.
The grizzled, white-haired man with sunspots was polishing a small telescope when we reached him.
“Hi, there!” I called out.
He paused, shielding his eyes from the sun. “Aloha,” he replied.
“Nalani says to tell you the sky was red this morning,” Maya said.
“Red sky in morning, sailor’s warning,” said Kai in a gravelly voice.
A shiver ran down my spine. “What does that mean?” I asked.
“It could mean nothing. It could mean everything.” Kai dramatically gazed at the sky for a full minute without speaking.
I didn’t see any warning signs or red skies, so I broke the silence. “Would you mind if I asked you a few questions?”
He gestured to the boat. “Welcome aboard.”
“We were wondering if you could tell us about a man interested in buying Lady Moana,” I said, climbing aboard. There was a bucket in the corner and random rocks spread about.
“Evan Clay,” Maya said. “Early forties, serious expression, has a more relaxed dressing style.”
“He’s a slob,” I said. “And if you want to call looking grumpy all the time, serious, then I need to revisit my definition of the word.”
Maya poked me. “Just not the most put-together guy.”
“Oh, yes.” Kai nodded serenely. “Yeah, he was looking at my beauty. Lady Moana, the best boat there ever was.”
“If Lady Moana’s the best boat, then why sell her?”
Kai sighed. “There comes a time in every man’s life where you’ve got to choose between land and the sea. I’ve spent many a night afloat in this beauty. Let me tell you this—you haven’t lived until you’ve watched shooting stars with the smell of the sea in your nostrils and the damp air in your lungs. That’s living.”
“Did you take her out to sea often?” I asked.
Kai chuckled. “No, it wasn’t like that. I used to live here until I found the human love of my life. Now I wake up to an alarm clock instead of the sunrise, but my wife makes it all worth it.”
My eyes narrowed. “You’ve never actually used your boat as a boat.”
“No, we’ve never journeyed the great open ocean together. There’s more than one way to be a man of the sea.”
Maya wasn’t concerned with Kai’s odd way of using his boat. She was still stuck on something she said earlier. “Whe
n I said, ‘not the most most-together guy,’ what did you mean when you agreed with that statement?”
Kai chuckled again. “I had a bucket of sand that I was planning on taking to my niece. She loves sandcastles, so I figured I’d let her make one in her backyard for her upcoming birthday. Evan tripped over the bucket when he came aboard.
“The sand went everywhere and Evan stumbled back where, unfortunately for him, I had a few rocks that I kept meaning to get rid of. I think he scraped his arm on one of them. I offered him access to my first-aid kit, but he already had a bandage at the ready. He must be used to that sort of thing.”
Maya folded her arms. “And what were the rocks for?”
“I don’t know, really. If I see a pretty rock, I’ll pick it up. I guess you could say I’m a collector, but I always end up dumping them somewhere and then starting the cycle all over again,” said Kai.
“Why?” asked Maya.
“It’s more exciting than collecting stamps,” said Kai nonchalantly.
Evan’s story checked out. He really did trip on sand and fall on a rock.
Then why wasn’t I satisfied?
“I thought there was something more to his story,” I insisted. “I still think he’s hiding something.”
“Because he did exactly what he said he did?”
“It’s too easy,” I said. “There’s something Evan’s not telling us. You saw how jumpy he was. He was nervous about being seen. Why would he immediately tell us everything he knows when he was super anxious minutes before?”
“Because we weren’t there to collect money from him,” said Maya dryly. “Evan was relieved we weren’t after him and, since he obviously had nothing to hide, proceeded to spill his guts. So to speak.”
We passed by a woman skinning a fish on her boat. Maya wrinkled her nose, even though we couldn’t smell the fish’s scent from where we were.
Maya wasn’t a big fish fan—but she did love shrimp.
“Did you find Kai all right?” Nalani called out when we came to her boat.
“We did,” Maya called out.
Nalani was still twisting a small piece of rope.
Murder and a Blue Hawaii (A Blue Hawaii Mystery Book 1) Page 7
