Dying for a Daiquiri

by CindySample

  She peered at me over her rose-colored reading glasses. “Just like you share everything with me?”

  “Point taken.” I grinned. “But it’s worth a try. Keiki’s new older boyfriend could definitely be her killer. And if she didn’t confide in her mother or stepsister, maybe one of the other dancers would know his name.”

  “If it has anything to do with hula, Stan would enjoy investigating,” Mother added.

  “Yep, the next thing you know he’ll be sporting a trench coat and fedora over his coconut shells and grass skirt.”

  Four hours later, we met up with the gang. By then, I was ready for a nap, and hoped a second breakfast might energize me. I turned the menu over looking for side items and was shocked at the cost.

  The hotel’s regular blend of coffee was three dollars per cup with refills, but one-hundred-percent Kona coffee was five dollars. The stuff really was liquid gold. When Jay, our waiter, arrived to take our order, I asked if he could distinguish between the two.

  “Easily,” Jay said, “but I’ve lived on the island all my life. Of course that doesn’t mean I can afford the premium stuff. Not on my wages.”

  Nice, not too subtle ploy to get a bigger tip.

  “But there are plenty of folks who can’t tell the difference between Folgers’ instant and pure Kona coffee.”

  “That’s Brian.” Liz gently punched her husband’s arm. “As long as it’s hot, he doesn’t care if it’s fresh ground beans or two-year-old powder.”

  Brian threw her the look that sent defense lawyers quivering, but Liz just responded by placing a raspberry lip print on his cheek.

  “Bring Laurel and me a cup of each, please,” Mother asked Jay. “We’ll see how refined our coffee palates are.”

  Jay returned a few minutes later with two large carafes and several empty mugs, which he set in the center of our table. “I thought it would be more fun if you all joined in.”

  Jay poured each of us a small serving from the pots, labeled numbers one and two. We doctored them with cream and sugar to suit our taste. Neither Brian nor Stan could tell one from the other. Mother, Liz and I thought the second, more flavorful pot must be the pure Kona coffee.

  “The women won this round.” Jay nodded his head in our direction. “It gets harder with the various blends because some coffee makers are more skilled than others.”

  “Regan told us over three million pounds of green beans are produced annually,” Brian said. “If someone could pass off Columbian as pure Kona coffee, they’d have quite the profitable scam.”

  Leave it to Brian to steer the discussion in a nefarious direction. “The coffee business is truly fascinating.” I drained the last drop of my luxury coffee. “I’d love to learn more about it from Regan.”

  “Has she called?” Brian asked.

  I shook my head. “Not yet. I left her a message around seven this morning, but it went directly to voicemail. I assumed she was still asleep. I don’t know if she’s contacted the attorney or not. For all I know, she’s forgotten about Dave, and she’s back at Koffee Land lost in the world of debits and credits.”

  “You can tell she was born to be a CPA for a coffee farm,” Stan remarked. When I looked confused, he smirked. “She’s a true bean counter!”

  I rolled my eyes at Stan’s pitiful joke, but it made me wonder if there were other reasons why Regan spent so much time at Koffee Land. She knew her workload frustrated Dave.

  Did she have other ulterior reasons for spending her days and occasional nights at Koffee Land? The handsome owner seemed congenial and Regan indicated she liked him. Or did she “like” him? My hormones must be rebelling at my lack of erogenous activity because now I suspected my sister-in-law of having an affair with her boss.

  Welcome to As the World Turns – the Hawaii Five-O version.

  Was it possible Regan murdered Keiki so her husband would be jailed, leaving her free to pursue her adulterous ways?

  Or did I drink way too much coffee this morning?

  “We only have forty-eight hours to find the killer,” Mother announced. “We need to split up so we can question everyone on my list. Then we’ll––”

  Brian interrupted her, using his trial attorney voice to get his point across to us. “Listen, I know you guys think you’re Sherlock Holmes, Colombo, and Jessica Fletcher combined, but you need to leave the detecting to the real detectives this time. Lee seems fairly sharp. He also doesn’t look like he’d brook the kind of nonsense Hunter lets you get away with, Laurel.”

  I opened my mouth to protest then decided to stuff it full of scone. Liz could handle Brian.

  “Sweetie, we can’t just wing our way home without helping Laurel and Barbara.” Liz reached out to stroke Brian’s back.

  “I know this hasn’t been an ideal honeymoon,” Mother said.

  Brian cocked an eyebrow at her.

  “The three of us are perfectly capable of handling the detecting without you. Liz, why don’t you and Brian go off on one of those expeditions you’ve booked?”

  Liz looked at her watch. “Oh, bollocks, I bloody well forgot about the ATV outing. I wonder if they can reschedule for tomorrow.”

  I sighed. “I don’t think we have time for any more tourist attractions.”

  “Don’t you remember, this was the tour in Waipi’o Valley.”

  “Oh, yeah,” I said. “I was really looking forward to that. The reviews made it sound amazing. A once-in-a-lifetime experience.”

  “I’ll call and see what they can do,” Liz said. “What’s your first priority on the investigation?”

  “My first priority is to get Dave a get-out-of-jail-free card. But I don’t even know the name of Regan and Dave’s criminal attorney.”

  Brian waggled his finger in front of my face. “Even if you knew his name, it wouldn’t do you any good. An attorney is only going to discuss the case with his client and whoever the client designated as a contact outside the jail.”

  I swallowed my last bite of scone. “Fine. If we can’t get Regan to call us back, and we can’t glean any info from Dave’s attorney, we’ll just have to pay a condolence call to Keiki’s family.

  “Who knows? Maybe her mother holds the key to solving this murder.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Shortly after breakfast ended, Regan returned my call. She told me that the attorney would meet Dave at the detention center this afternoon. Just as I’d suspected, Regan was back at Koffee Land. Since she produced the staff W-2’s, which included employee addresses, she agreed to give me Keiki’s parents’ address.

  “Don’t do anything to embarrass me,” she added.

  As if being arrested for the murder of an employee, followed by your husband also being held for the same murder wasn’t embarrassing.

  Regan and I sure had a difference of opinion on many things.

  Someday when this whole ordeal was over, I hoped my sister-in-law and I could establish some kind of friendship. Although by then, Regan and Dave might not be married.

  Or they might be cohabiting in jail.

  Mother and I urged Liz and Brian to enjoy their remaining time on the island alone. We talked them into driving us to the Grand Hotel so we could pick up Dave’s car. We didn’t think Dave would mind our borrowing it since he wasn’t going anywhere in the near future. His red Mustang convertible was a tight fit, but once I put the top down, Stan had more headroom in the rear seat. With my hands on the leather-covered steering wheel, and the wind blowing through my hair, I felt like we were flying.

  Oops. I yanked my lead foot off the accelerator. Given their finances, I wondered what Regan thought of Dave’s new fire-engine-red sports car. Was my brother suffering such a huge mid-life crisis that the sports car splurge hadn’t been enough to make him happy?

  Did Keiki pursue him or vice versa?

  According to my earlier conversation with Regan, Victor should be at home today helping his wife prepare for Keiki’s service. I was concerned about intruding on their priv
acy but at this point, I didn’t feel we had a choice. Especially since two of the suspects were relatives of mine. I rationalized our visit by thinking if I were Keiki’s mother, my foremost desire would be to see my daughter’s killer locked up. And to be one hundred percent certain it was the right person behind bars.

  Having resolved my inner turmoil, I mentally rehearsed a few questions for the couple. Once they answered them, we could get out of their hair.

  Keiki’s mother and stepfather lived a few miles north of Koffee Land. We turned onto their drive, lined with coffee trees. I wondered if Victor ran a small coffee business on the side or if he only sold the coffee cherries to other farms. Several vehicles were parked in a graveled area to the side of the house. They could belong to relatives or friends.

  Or even the killer.

  Hmmm. What were the odds someone would arrive on their doorstep, casserole dish in hand and admit to the murder?

  We walked single file up the wooden stairs to the front deck. I rang the doorbell, which chimed a cheerful melody.

  A beautiful woman answered the door. With flowing dark hair and smooth unlined skin the color of café au lait, she looked too young to be Keiki’s mother. Victor peered over her shoulder. He looked puzzled then recognition dawned.

  I offered my hand and introduced myself. “Hello, Mr. Yakamura. My name is Laurel McKay. Regan is my sister-in law. She introduced us the other day at Koffee Land.”

  Victor nodded. “Can I assist you with something? Does Regan need anything from me?”

  “Oh no, she’s fine.” Well, as fine as someone whose husband was reclining in a jail cell, for supposedly murdering the stepdaughter of the man I was addressing. “We all feel so bad about Keiki and…”

  My voice petered out, and Mother stepped forward. The shiny green foliage of the oversized plant we’d purchased at the supermarket almost hid her face.

  “We brought this in memory of Keiki.” Mother listed to the left and Victor grabbed the red-flowered anthurium before she or the plant could topple over the deck railing.

  “Mahalo, for your kindness.” He stepped back looking unsure whether to invite us inside or not.

  “Hey, there’s Walea,” Stan piped up. “Yoo hoo, sweetie.”

  Walea moved forward and whispered in Victor’s ear. He hesitated then ushered us into the house.

  The Yakamuras’ house was decorated in tropical fashion, with dark woods, a flowered sofa and matching chairs grouped around a square mahogany coffee table. An open bar divided the living room from the kitchen, whose countertops overflowed with wall-to-wall casseroles and plates of baked goods. Two women sat at each end of the sofa. Both wore their long dark hair loose and flowing down their backs. I recognized them as dancers from Daiquiri Dave’s.

  When we walked in, they stood to make room for us.

  “Please don’t leave on our account,” I said to the women.

  “No, it is time to go. Walea, we will see you at the restaurant at five.” As the dancers sashayed out the door, I marveled again at their sexy walk. It looked so natural that I cocked my hips to the left and right to replicate the swiveling movements they made.

  Ouch. I hoped I’d packed some extra Advil.

  “Are you performing tonight?” I asked Walea.

  She narrowed her eyes. “Yes, money doesn’t grow on coconut trees, you know. We are not all rich Californians here on this island.”

  We are not all rich back in California either, but that wasn’t a topic worth quibbling over.

  The older woman gracefully pointed to the sofa. We sat down, thigh to thigh, looking as guilty as kids whispering during a church service.

  The woman’s voice possessed a lilting quality that soothed as she welcomed us. “My name is Kiana. I am Keiki’s mother. It is kind of you to come here. You show the true aloha spirit.”

  I smiled. Demonstrating aloha spirit sounded far better than ferreting out who killed her daughter.

  My mother demonstrated her own aloha spirit. “We feel terrible about what happened to Keiki. I wanted to assure you that despite his arrest, my son had nothing to do with your daughter’s tragic death.”

  A flicker of something darkened Kiana’s face, but it disappeared, and her countenance regained its former placid demeanor. It made me wonder if she agreed with our assumption that Dave did not kill her daughter. Was there something Keiki’s mother was hiding?

  Kiana chose to discuss a less confrontational topic than her daughter’s murder. “Have you been able to enjoy our beautiful island?”

  “We haven’t had time for much sightseeing although we’re taking the ATV ride at Waipi’o Valley tomorrow,” I replied. “Unfortunately, we only have two more days to investigate the murder before we fly home.”

  “It won’t be easy finding Keiki’s killer in that amount of time,” Stan said.

  Kiana placed long elegant fingers against her slender throat. “You are detectives in California?”

  I exchanged looks with Mother and Stan.

  “We’ve assisted the El Dorado County Sheriff’s Department on several occasions,” I mumbled. Fortunately, no sheriff’s department representatives were present to debate that fact.

  “You are helping the detectives here?” Kiana appeared confused, which was not at all surprising since we were equally confused at this point.

  “Yes, we are.” The Hawaii police didn’t know we were assisting them, but that was a mere technicality. My brother’s freedom was at stake here. “We have some excellent leads so far, but we thought it would help to interview Keiki’s current boyfriend. Unfortunately we didn’t have a contact number for him.”

  We didn’t have a contact name either, but this was no time to split hairs.

  Kiana’s eyes clouded over. “My daughter used to date a fine young man named Joey. We hoped they would settle down and get married some day. Unfortunately, he died in an accident about a month ago. It was so sad for a young man to have his life cut short that way.”

  Kiana addressed her husband who’d returned to the living room. “Victor has dealt with so much tragedy lately––at work and at home.”

  Victor’s heavily lined face corroborated her statement. I tried to recall what work-related tragedy she referred to. “There was that horrible accident at Koffee Land when they were building the zip-line. Did you know the young man who died?”

  “That was Joey,” Walea chimed in, “my sister’s former boyfriend.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Aha! The plot thickens. In fact, this plot was becoming thicker than poi.

  “Oh, I missed the connection.” I looked at Victor. “So Keiki’s boyfriend worked for you?”

  “No, no.” He shook his gray head vehemently. “I have nothing to do with the zip-line construction. That is Ritz’s crazy––,” he paused then started again. “I manage the coffee processing only.”

  “Walea’s husband, Henry, is the contractor for the zip-line.” Kiana shifted her gaze to her stepdaughter. Her full lips tightened as she glanced at Walea.

  Walea fidgeted as she met Kiana’s accusing stare. “It’s not Henry’s fault that Joey died. I am sure he jumped from the tower because Keiki broke his heart.”

  “Are you saying your poor dead sister caused Joey’s death?” Kiana’s voice caught as she wrung her hands together.

  “Heh, some sister,” Walea muttered.

  Victor jumped up and stood in front of Walea. “You must not talk badly about your younger sister.”

  “Are you kidding?” Walea leapt out of her chair. “That slut of a sister humiliated our entire family.” She stormed out of the room and down a hallway that appeared to lead to the rear of the house. Seconds later Walea emerged, purse in hand. Without another word, she left the house, the screen door banging shut behind her.

  Victor’s hands and voice shook as he stared out the door. “I apologize for my daughter. Keiki’s death, following so quickly after Joey’s accident, has been a trying experience for our entire family. He
nry blames himself for Joey’s fall. He feels he should have made the boy wait until the morning to fix the cabling.”

  “Are you certain it was an accident?” I asked, “Is it possible Joey intentionally jumped?”

  The lines around Victor’s eyes etched deeper as he shrugged. “At this point does it really matter?”

  I thought it might but decided to let that line of questioning die for now. “Do you know who Keiki started dating after she broke up with Joey?”

  Kiana, eyes downcast, plucked at the fabric of her dark skirt. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper. I didn’t want to miss the name of the new boyfriend so I leaned forward.

  “My daughter had big dreams. But she didn’t always share everything with me.”

  “Unfortunately,” Victor muttered under his breath.

  Kiana patted his arm. “Keiki is, was an…an adventurous girl. Sometimes her dreams created trouble. Not too long ago, she mentioned there was a man interested in her. Someone she found intriguing.”

  “Was it someone she’d met recently?” Mother asked. If the answer was yes, that should eliminate Dave as Keiki’s potential lover.

  Kiana shook her head. “No, it was someone she had known awhile. Recently he’d taken an interest in her.”

  My mother’s perfect posture wilted and her shoulders slumped. “Someone who might be married?”

  Kiana’s eyes, darker than French-roasted coffee beans, gazed wistfully at us. “Possibly. I was afraid to ask. All she said was he had money and a nice car.”

  She lifted her arms in a supplicating manner. “Who he was, I do not know. I’m afraid Keiki has taken his name to the grave with her.”

  Sadly, whoever it was, may have been the person to send the beautiful dancer to her grave.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  After promising Kiana and Victor we would stop by their house for Keiki’s memorial reception on Sunday, we left their home, pondering the implications of Kiana’s revelations. The description of Keiki’s new boyfriend could fit many men. It also described my brother.