I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer, and I stumbled back to the house. Instead of going inside, though, I plopped down on one of the reclining beach chairs and fell asleep by the swimming pool. A couple of hours later, I woke up with the sun high in the sky. I’m sure I looked like I had been worked over by the Mafia. I knew I felt that way. I stripped down to my underwear and dove into the pool. The cool water felt good.
Today was going to be an interesting day.
CHAPTER 6
The Producers
Foxx remembered the video producers had stayed at the Maui Banyan Resort in Kihea last year during the documentary shoot. He remembered this because he had given Nakia driving instructions to his house for the interview with Lauren. With any luck, they would have returned to the Maui Banyan for this trip.
It took me close to forty-five minutes to drive from Foxx’s house to Kihea which is on the southern part of Maui. Traffic didn’t improve much on South Kihea road. It’s a two lane road with frequent back-ups when someone decides they want to turn left.
South Kihea Road is so close to the ocean that you can easily check out the bikini-clad women walking up and down the beaches. Since I was at a complete stop I had no problem gazing at some of the more attractive women. I must admit that I did little to mask the fact that I was checking these women out.
Then I spied a rather large woman checking me out. She was wearing one of those oversized T-shirts that women often wear to the beach. Except this T-shirt had a slim woman’s torso stamped on the front - tiny waist at the hemline - leading up to delicate breasts and shoulders which then gave way to the rather chunky neck of the actual woman underneath the shirt. She winked at me, I winked back, traffic finally started up again, and I waved as I continued south.
I pulled into the parking lot of the Maui Banyan and made my way over to the small lobby.
I asked the front desk receptionist if she would connect me with Nakia’s room. She didn’t say anything back. So much for customer service. She simply referred briefly to her computer screen, picked up the phone, punched in a few numbers, and handed the phone to me.
A sleepy voice answered, “Hello.”
“Is this Nakia?”
“Yes.”
“Hi, I’m Poe. I met you at the party last night.”
I should have immediately told her why I was here. Now she probably thought I was a stalker.
“I’m sorry to drop in unannounced like this, but I was wondering if we could meet so I could speak to you about your show, mainly your experience with Lauren.”
“Okay, where are you staying?”
“Actually, I’m in the lobby of your hotel now. I could come back later if you like.”
“No, that’s all right. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”
I sat down and picked up a copy of USA Today. Five minutes later Nakia entered with a tall male. He seemed to be in a bad mood.
“This is Wayne, my producing partner. Wayne, this is Poe.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I said.
He gave me an extremely firm handshake. I guess they did think I was a stalker. We all sat down.
“What did you want to know about Lauren?” Nakia asked.
“Last night Lauren was killed.”
Nakia gasped. Wayne raised one eyebrow. Then he looked out the window. Strange reaction, I thought.
“How did she die?” Nakia asked.
She looked like she was about to break down and cry.
“She was murdered,” I said.
“Oh my God.”
Then she did start to cry. Wayne looked very uncomfortable at Nakia’s reaction. I was beginning to dislike this guy.
“They think her boyfriend did it,” I said.
“Isn’t that your friend?”
“Yes, it is. I don’t believe for a second he’s capable of such a thing, and I was hoping you could help me prove that.”
“How can we help?” she asked, understandably confused at my request.
“Nakia, last night you commented on the competition and jealousy between some of the artists. Did any of the artists have anything negative to say about Lauren?”
Wayne snickered. Nakia shot him a look.
“You could say that,” he remarked.
“Who?”
“Everyone. No one seemed to like the woman, including us,” Wayne said.
“Wayne, that’s not true,” Nakia said. “And don’t talk bad about the deceased.”
“Look, I certainly didn’t wish the woman any harm,” Wayne remarked. “But the truth is she wasn’t a very nice person.”
“What did she do to you?” I asked.
“Two years ago Wayne and I had our idea for the series. A show that would combine travel with art, mainly the work of the local artists.”
“How did you come to pick Maui?”
“We had a friend who knew a sculptor here. We called him and he was kind enough to introduce us to several other artists.”
“Did he introduce you to Lauren?” I asked.
“No, we did some research and discovered she was one of the topselling artists on the island. We weren’t sure she’d be willing to do the show. But she jumped at the chance,” Nakia said.
“That’s because she thought she was going to be the star of the show,” Wayne sneered. “When she found out we were interviewing several other artists, she went nuts.”
“How so?” I asked.
So far their story was the same as Foxx’s.
“She accused us of intentionally misleading her, saying we were trying to get rich off her name,” Nakia said.
“She also said she wouldn’t do the interview anymore unless we paid her fifty thousand dollars,” Wayne said.
“Had you offered to pay her anything before?”
“It was a documentary. We didn’t have the money to pay anyone anything. Lauren was the only one who asked,” Wayne answered.
“Poe, Wayne and I aren’t big-time producers by any means. We financed this documentary on our own. And the truth is we haven’t been able to sell it. No one’s even remotely interested. All people want to watch these days are shows where people make giant fools of themselves.”
It sounds like both Wayne and Nakia had good reason to be angry with Lauren. Nakia seemed to have gotten past it. It was obvious Wayne hadn’t. But as big of a jerk as I thought he was, I didn’t think he had much of a motive to murder Lauren.
“What did the other artists have to say about her?” I asked.
“During the interview we would ask the artists about each other so that we could get some good sound bites to interweave. Most of them had great things to say about each other. But whenever we brought up Lauren’s name, one of two things would happen. They’d either refuse to talk about her, or they’d really lay into her,” Nakia said.
“Who seemed to be the most upset?”
“Definitely Nick James,” Wayne said without hesitation.
“Which artist is he?”
“He does undersea art, like Lauren. Nick said he was in the process of suing Lauren for copyright infringement. Nick said he’d release a new painting, and a few months later Lauren would come out with something that was almost identical.”
“But why would people buy her work if they were just rip-offs of someone else’s?” I asked.
“Maui attracts a lot of wealthy people who head for the art galleries instead of the souvenir shops. They like to think they know a lot about art, but the truth is they don’t. People buy what they like, and many people are drawn to Lauren’s work over Nick’s. Her paintings have a certain vibrancy that Nick’s don’t,” Nakia said.
“So she takes Nick’s ideas and makes them better?”
“Some would say so,” Wayne said.
“Do you think Nick James was angry enough to kill?”
“I certainly don’t feel capable of answering that question,” Nakia said.
She was clearly uncomfortable with my questions. I didn’t bl
ame her. I was just as uncomfortable asking them.
“Let’s just put it this way,” Wayne said. “Lauren is personally responsible for Nick James losing thousands of dollars, maybe even millions.”
Nakia looked at her watch.
“I hate to cut the conversation short. But we’ve got a flight to Honolulu to catch, and we haven’t even started to pack.”
“Thank you for all of your help,” I said. “I was wondering if you could provide me with a list of the artists you interviewed.”
“I could do that right now. Let me just get a pen and paper from the lobby desk.”
Nakia stood up and trotted off towards the desk. I caught myself involuntarily checking out her cute, little butt, and I braced myself for the punch I knew Mad Wayne would undoubtedly send my way. But when I glanced back at Wayne, he was busy fishing through his wallet. He pulled out a business card and handed it to me.
“Give me a call if you find out who killed Lauren. Hopefully it will be one of the artists we interviewed. It sure would give our documentary a new perspective. Maybe then we could finally sell the damn thing.”
Wayne must have seen the look of disgust on my face because he shrugged his shoulders and remarked indifferently, “You know what they say in the news, ‘If it bleeds, it leads.’”
Nakia returned with the list of artists.
“Here you go,” she said. “I hope this helps. But they’re all such nice people. I can’t imagine any of them doing such a horrible thing.”
“Thank you for all of your help.” I handed Nakia my business card. “That’s got my cell phone number on it. If you two think of anything else, please give me a call.”
CHAPTER 7
Nick James
Wayne and Nakia told me I could probably find Nick James in his art gallery in Lahaina, so I retraced my footsteps and headed back east. South Kihea Road was even more congested than before, but my new girlfriend (the woman in the extra large beach shirt) was nowhere to be seen.
My investigation was moving right along, despite the fact that I had no idea what I was doing . At least now I had a solid suspect in Nick James. What’s that old adage about the simplest explanation probably being the correct one? Nick lost a ton of money to Lauren, and I’m sure she wasn’t the least bit apologetic. Seeing proof of the theft at the art show last night must have enraged him.
I didn’t have as much trouble finding a parking space in Lahaina as I did last night. Nick James’s gallery was fairly easy to spot. There was a large sign on the front of his shop that proclaimed “Nick James, the Father of Marine Art.”
I entered the gallery and was immediately approached by a very short, very thin, and extremely enthusiastic salesman. He had a pencilthin mustache that curved upwards at the tips. He must have been using a fair amount of mustache wax to achieve the look. Do people still use mustache wax? Apparently. But where would you buy some if you were so inclined?
“Good morning, sir. May I help you?” he asked in what was obviously a fake English accent. Was this guy a salesman or a butler?
“Yes, I was wondering if Mr. James was here,” I remarked, probably too casually.
“Do you have an appointment with him?”
I paused, wondering if he’d send me away if I didn’t have an appointment. Still, I decided that a lie was probably not the best way to start a conversation.
“No, I don’t. But this is about Lauren Rogers.”
His bright smile immediately vanished. He started gently pulling on one end of his mustache.
“I see,” he remarked, still tugging on the mustache. “Let me see if Mr. James is available to speak with you.”
The salesman walked away, a bit too fast I thought, and I began to browse through the store. Nick’s work was indeed impressive. But I had to agree with Nakia and Wayne. I didn’t like it as much as Lauren’s work. Again, I’m no art critic, but there was just something about Lauren’s paintings that I found more pleasing to the eye.
As I walked around the store I began to see more examples of Nick’s work that had obviously been plagiarized by Lauren. Her work was so clearly copying his that I was sure she would have lost the lawsuit to him had she not died.
“Are you a police officer?”
I turned around and saw who I assumed to be Nick James. The salesman, who still tugging at his mustache, was standing behind him. Nick was a tall man, average build, with long, dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. Let me comment further on the hair. He was bald on top, but he had grown the sides and back long enough to wear the pony tail. At least he hadn’t done the dreaded comb-over. They ought to have a law against those. Nick had a huge smile on his face, almost like he just found out he had won the lottery.
“Mr. James?” I asked.
“That’s right. I was wondering when a detective would make his way to my gallery. I’m just surprised it happened so quickly.”
What was that all about? Was he admitting his guilt to me?
“Actually, I’m not a detective, Mr. James. I’m an acquaintance of Lauren’s. I was wondering if I could have a few minutes of your time to discuss her.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand.” His huge smile disappeared.
“May I assume by your earlier statement that you know Lauren is dead?”
“Of course. I heard about Lauren’s murder this morning on the news.”
“What was your reaction?” I asked.
“I sang ‘ding-dong, the wicked witch is dead’ and then I danced around my house in my underwear for a good thirty minutes.”
He didn’t even hesitate to admit his glee, nor did he seem worried I would be offended by his cruel statement. His thin little salesman behind him was smiling now, and damn it why was he still twisting the end of that mustache? I was surprised the damn thing didn’t rip right off his pale face.
Nick continued joyfully. “Lauren and I were bitter enemies. I couldn’t stand the bitch, and she certainly had no love for me.”
“Did you have a chance to speak to Lauren last night at the art show?” I asked.
“Actually, I didn’t even see her at the show. I took one look at the paintings she had displayed and left in disgust.”
“You mean because they were inspired by works of your own?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“Inspired?” he almost spat. “You must have meant to say blatant ripoffs. I was in the process of suing the bitch. I imagine her death will be a lousy excuse to get out of reimbursing me for all the money I’ve lost to her.”
I was reminded of Nakia’s statement about not speaking ill of the deceased. Apparently Nick James had never heard of that gesture, or if he did, he certainly didn’t have any intention of following it.
“So you left the show in disgust. Where did you go after that?” I asked.
“You mean did I sneak behind the gallery and wait for her to walk back there so I could kill her? That is why you’re here, isn’t it? To find out if I killed Lauren?”
“All right. I can see there’s no reason for me to hold back. Where were you last night at the time of her death?”
Nick laughed as if I had told him the funniest joke in the world. The salesman laughed as well. I thought about laughing just to make it unanimous. I wondered if Nick realized how unnatural and uncomfortable I was feeling. This was not going well at all. My intentions were as transparent as a wall of glass. If Nick was indeed the killer, he would probably have already tried to form an alibi. Instead of trying a direct approach, I should have been trying to trick him into revealing pieces of information that I could then exploit down the road. So much for the great Poe’s murder investigation skills.
“I didn’t kill Lauren,” Nick said, almost sounding like he truly regretted not having been the one to stab her to death, “although I’ve certainly fantasized about it enough times. Not that I have to tell you this, seeing as you’re not with law enforcement, but after I left the show last night I went to see my partner.”
“Whe
re does your partner live?”
“Good day, sir. Please do not return to my gallery unless you intend to purchase something.”
With that dismissal, he turned on his heel and marched away. The butler wannabe folded his arms, puffed out his chest, and glared at me. He seemed to be doing his best impression of a beefy nightclub bouncer, but his small stature prevented him from being even mildly intimidating. I thought about pushing him over, just for the fun of it, and to regain some stature after what had just transpired. Nevertheless, I saw no true victory in beating up on a guy with a greasy mustache and a fake English accent.
Instead, I exited the gallery with my head hung low. My first interrogation was a complete and utter disaster. Not only did I fail to ascertain whether or not Nick James was the killer, I also failed to uncover any new information. Well, I shouldn’t say no new information. At least now I knew that Nick had his partner for an alibi. Come to think of it, Wayne the video producer had also mentioned something about talking to Nick’s partner. But what kind of partner was he talking about? A business partner? An artist partner? Maybe a gay lover? And what was his partner’s name?
CHAPTER 8
Cheeseburger in Paradise
When I walked out of Nick’s art gallery I was almost run over by a chubby kid attacking a double dip chocolate ice cream cone. The boy was shirtless with pasty white skin made even more pale by the flaming red hair a top his Charlie Brown-shaped head. Man this kid was going to be sunburned by tomorrow morning.
The ice cream cone made me realize I hadn’t eaten anything since the breath mint at the airport. I guess I was too upset about Foxx to think about food. But now fierce hunger pains attacked my stomach.
I remembered passing several restaurants on Front Street last night when Foxx and I were looking for a place to sit and watch the Halloween parade. I decided to hit the first one I came to, Cheeseburger in Paradise. The restaurant was packed, which I took to be a good sign, and Kristy MacColl’s song, “In These Shoes” was playing so loudly that you could hear it half way down the street. I don’t know if you’ve ever heard that song, but it probably ranks on my all-time top-ten list.
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