CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Leilani Mahaulu walked into my office clutching my business card in her hand as if it was more precious than gold. It was early Friday morning and the coffeemaker was still dripping.
"Hey," I said from my desk chair, masking my surprise, and hoping to make her feel comfortable at the same time.
"Aloha," she said in a shaky voice. "I kept your card and—"
"Please, have a seat..." I told her, offering a welcome smile.
Unlike the performer I last saw, this Leilani was much more down to earth in appearance. Her long hair was in a ponytail and she wore no makeup. Casual attire replaced the hula dancer outfit.
"I was just about to have some coffee," I said. "Want some?"
She nodded. "Sure."
I filled two mugs, adding two packets of sugar to hers.
"Mahalo," Leilani said and put the cup to her mouth.
I sat back down and did the same. Neither of us said anything for a moment or two as I waited for Leilani to say what I suspected weighed heavily on her mind.
Finally, she asked unevenly: "I was wondering how the investigation into Carter's murder was coming along?"
"Not very well, I'm afraid," I answered honestly, insofar as my own investigation. "Few people seem willing to talk, if they know something..."
I had a feeling that was about to change.
Leilani put down her mug and admitted: "I was romantically involved with Carter at the time of his death—"
Chalk up one for Darlene, I thought. We both did more sipping of coffee while I wondered just how many other Leilanis might be out there waiting to surface.
"It wasn't serious," she claimed. "He didn't want it to be. Neither did I. Serious relationships usually end in disaster, especially when one party is married." Leilani's face suggested there were more serious feelings than she was willing to admit. "With us it was great sex, laughs, and comfort when one of us needed it. When I heard Carter was dead, all I wanted to do was distance myself from him."
"Why?" I asked, even though the answer was crystal clear.
"Why do you think? I'm a hula dancer," she said, as if they were dirty words. "He was a powerful, married businessman who seemed to have everything going for him—well, almost. I didn't want or need any tabloid type publicity or trouble—"
"What type of trouble?" I asked, favoring her with wide eyes.
Leilani put the cup to her mouth. "When I first met Carter at a club, he was with a man he introduced as Nellie. Later, he told me the guy was his bookie. Carter loved to gamble..."
She wrinkled her nose as if this should come as no surprise to someone who had been married to him. The Carter I knew played the horses on occasion, but never bet anything more than a few bucks here and there.
"Go on..." I prodded with interest.
"He owed a lot of money on lost bets and was afraid he might not be able to come up with it and what might happen if he didn't." She rolled her eyes. "Then Carter winds up dead. What was I supposed to think?"
"Probably just what you've been thinking," I admitted, though shocked at the notion. I was aware that people had been known to lose their lives when they were unable to cover gambling debts in a timely manner. But Carter was supposed to be worth a bundle, or so I'd read from time to time. Unfortunately, I had divorced him before he really hit his stride as a millionaire. Could he have been in such hock that he couldn't raise the money to pay his debts? I was equally disturbed by the idea that Carter had been addicted to gambling.
Leilani interrupted my thoughts when she said: "I'm only telling you this, because it seemed like something I should do. But no police! I don't want to spend the rest of my life having to look over my shoulder—"
I couldn't make her talk to the police. For that matter, why would I want to? She didn't have to come to me with what she had. From where I sat, if the police wanted her statement, they would have to get it on their own.
"No police," I promised, and hoped it was a promise I didn't have to break anytime soon.
Carter's dirty laundry seemed to be getting dirtier with each passing day. My only interest was to find out who killed him and why. It was best left to a higher authority than me to pass judgment on him or anybody else.
I gazed at Leilani. "Do you happen to know what Nellie's last name is?"
She shrugged. "Nellie was all he called him—"
So much for being able to zero in on the man, I thought, while believing it shouldn't be that hard with a little help from a friend. Finding Nellie had suddenly become a priority.
* * *
"I'm looking for a bookie by the name of Nellie," I told Kurt at the Coconut Club on Kona Street, where drinks were on me.
He scratched his pate. "Nellie, huh?"
"You know him?'" I asked over the rim of my beer mug. "This could be important—"
"Yeah, I know him." Kurt downed a swig of beer and licked his lips. "His name is Nelson Lewinski. He's got a place on Auahi Street. Smalltime bookie with big connections."
I took the information down. "Thanks," I said.
"You lookin' to bet or borrow some money?" Kurt asked.
"No," I assured him. "I only gamble on sure things with my own money. I need to see Lewinski for a case." I left it at that and he didn't ask for more. I saw no need to make Carter's gambling issues public knowledge, while assuming they already were to some extent. My mouth dove into more suds, then I asked: "Did you come up with anything on who may have had it in for Carter?"
Kurt's brows united. "There's all kinds of rumors goin' around, but nobody to point a finger at and still have it attached to your hand."
I barely suppressed a giggle, but got the drift. "You mean the finger is pointed at someone in particular, like Kazuo Pelekai?" I asked.
Kurt hedged and looked around the bar cautiously. "Now don't go puttin' words in my mouth," he said, gulping beer. "Let's just say not everybody is as torn up over your ex's death as you. Having him out of the way is good for business for some people, if not bad news for Carter Delaney. But being the one to put him out of commission is something else..." Kurt's eyes fixed me carefully. "I'll be sure to let you know if I hear 'bout anything that ain't gonna get either of us killed—"
"And I thought tough ex-boxers weren't afraid of anything," I said.
"Who said anything 'bout being afraid?" he scoffed. "It's a matter of survival, girl. I wanna be around to see my nephews and nieces graduate from high school. College, too."
I could relate, even though I didn't have any nephews or nieces. Finishing off the beer, I told Kurt: "You know where to find me when and if you need to."
He nodded and said: "Yeah, I do."
I thought about the potentially perilous road that may lie ahead for both of us.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
I found Nelson Lewinski just where Kurt said I would. He practiced his trade on the second floor of a building that also housed a loan shark and massage parlor. I definitely found some symmetry there for people who made their living in the underbelly of society. The sign on the door said simply Business Services. I opened it and entered the cramped office. Sitting at an L-shaped wooden desk was a fifty-something man of medium build with a receding reddish hairline. He had a cell phone to his ear and was shouting profanities to some poor sucker on the other end of the line.
I glanced at an overflowing wastebasket and a ceiling fan that was struggling to operate in the stuffy office. I looked again at the man. He was staring at me while telling someone to call him before nine if he valued his life, and then he ended the conversation.
He looked at me lasciviously and said: "What can I do for you, sweet lady?"
"Are you Nelson Lewinski?" I asked, to be sure, adding: "Nellie?"
"Yeah, that's me. Who are you?"
"Skye Delaney," I said. "I'm a private investigator—"
A thoughtful expression formed on his face. "Delaney, huh? You wouldn't happen to be related to the late Carter Delaney, would you?"
"Not that it matters, but we were married once," I replied.
He sighed. "Believe me you're better off without him!"
I had to agree, but said somewhat resentfully: "I'm not here to talk about my private life."
"Too bad," he moaned and gave me the once-over. "Exactly what are you here to talk about?"
"You—" I said and stepped toward the desk.
He lifted a thick brow. "What about me?"
"I want to know about the gambling debts Carter Delaney amassed and how far you were willing to go to collect them."
Lewinski flinched. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he claimed.
I planted my hands solidly on the desk and leaned at him with a scowl. "You and I both know you were his bookie, so let's cut the crap—"
He grinned, showing me his yellow teeth. "Okay, so I took bets for Delaney. Big deal! He liked to bet on college and pro football, boxing matches, and more. If wasn't me, it would've been someone else to take his money."
"But it was you who Carter placed the bets with—and now he's dead," I pointed out. "I'm sure the police would be very interested in talking to you about it."
This seemed to unnerve Lewinski. "Now don't get your feathers all ruffled, sweet lady," he said. "If you're suggesting I had something to do with Delaney's death—"
"I am unless you can convince me otherwise—" I told him, wanting to keep the pressure on just in case it was warranted. "I know Carter was in over his head. Even slime like you can resort to murder, if the shoe fits."
His nostrils expanded. "It doesn't."
When he reached for a top drawer, I clutched the gun in my purse and said: "I wouldn't, if I were you. I'm not about to take a bullet—at least not before giving up one or two myself."
Lewinski raised his hands, as if in surrender. "Hey, take it easy. I was just going to get my ledger out." His hands lowered slowly. "Delaney's debts were paid in full while he was still alive to place bets—"
He went again for the drawer.
"Careful..." I said, watching him like a hawk as he removed a red ledger.
"Delaney was into me for one mil, until just recently..." Lewinski said, flipping through the pages. "Lucky for me and his widow, the account was paid up before he met his maker." He stopped flipping. "Here, see with your own eyes—"
He handed me the ledger and I honed in on some scribbling on several pages that included Carter's name, various wagers, and a debt totaling one million dollars. Stamped across the last page were the words PAID IN FULL.
Needless to say, I was floored that Carter had gambled and lost so much money. Of course gambling of any kind, including bingo, was illegal in Hawaii, but that didn't prevent people from doing it. I wondered if Darlene was aware of his betting excesses. How could she not be? But then I considered that Carter had fooled me for years into thinking he was someone that he wasn't. Why should Darlene be any smarter?
Lewinski was saying: "I'm old-fashioned when it comes to record keeping."
Not to mention a ledger is easier to get rid of if the authorities come calling versus having the info on a computer, I thought, glancing again at what certainly appeared to be proof that Carter was in way over his head as a gambler.
"So you see, I had no reason to want Carter Delaney dead," Lewinski contended. "Just the opposite. I was sorry to see him go. He was the type of person any bookie could learn to love: a big time gambling addict who always found a way to pay up at the end of the day."
I studied the last page of Carter's entry in the ledger. The debt paid was dated two days before he was murdered. Did Carter have a premonition of his death? I wondered. And what had he had to do to come up with the money, since apparently his business income still left him strapped for hard cash.
I looked down at Lewinski and asked: "How did Carter pay you?" I closed the ledger and gave it back to him.
"He didn't pay me," Lewinski said, running a hand across his mouth. "His wife Darlene Delaney did. Paid off the balance due with a cashier's check—"
The plot thickens, I thought in surprise. Why would Darlene pay off the debt—and why two days before Carter was murdered? She'd clearly been holding out on me, and likely the police as well. But did that make her an accomplice in Carter's death?
In my preoccupation, I was caught off guard when I suddenly realized that Lewinski was now on his feet and scant inches away from me. Instinctively, I reached inside my purse, but Lewinski was faster, grabbing my wrist in a viselike grip and pulling the purse away with his other hand.
He tossed it on the desk and said leeringly: "Now that we've finished our business, let's get to know each other better on an intimate level..."
He was several inches taller and pressed his body against me, still holding one wrist. Unfortunately for him, he left my other arm free. I was still fresh off my one-on-one with Kurt and was only too happy to put practice into real time use.
When Lewinski overconfidently moved in for a kiss while slowly inching his hand up my thigh, what he got instead was a hard fist slammed against his nose. While yelling and trying to recover, he released my arm and I went to work, pounding his face with rapid lefts and rights till my fists were sore. Then I planted a knee squarely between his legs, figuring that since he was looking for some action there, I'd be happy to oblige.
Nelson Lewinski fell to the floor writhing and moaning in pain, his face a bloody mess.
I looked down at the man who made a living off other people's misery and had overstepped his bounds with me, and said with satisfaction: "Hope it hurts like hell! If I were you, I wouldn't press my luck much further. Sooner or later the debt collector will come looking for you and you may not be able to pay the price—"
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Elberta led me to Darlene, who was swimming in an Olympic-sized pool in the backyard. The pool area had a spa, lagoon, waterfall, and accent rocks, and was surrounded by lush Hawaiian landscaping. Not to mention the mesmerizing ocean as a backdrop. She completed a lap expertly while I waited for her to arrive at my feet. It was obvious she was not expecting company, or should I say my company.
"Ms. Delaney insisted on seeing you," Elberta said apologetically.
"It's okay," Darlene said with a pasted on smile. "Nice to see you again, Skye. I think..."
"I need to talk to you—" I told her, skipping the pleasantries.
"No problem," she said, leisurely floating on her back. "How about joining me in the pool? I'm sure Elberta can find you a swimsuit that fits."
I kept my cool under the hot sun. "No, thanks," I said. "I prefer wearing my own suit." I gave her a dirty look. "Anyway, I didn't come here to swim—"
Or, for that matter, I thought, to watch you show off how you're living the good life while your husband lays six feet under, though apparently now debt free.
She finally climbed out of the water, her tanned body barely covered in a skimpy leopard print bikini. Elberta handed Darlene a long mint green towel and received an eye-to-eye cue that her outdoor services were no longer needed.
Darlene studied me while drying her face. "Have you learned something more about Carter's death?"
I sighed before responding with a catch to my voice: "I was hoping you could tell me."
Our eyes locked. She fluttered her lashes and said: "I don't understand."
"Neither do I," I said, and probably confused her even more. Squinting and sweating, I asked: "Can we get out of the sun?"
I followed her to an acrylic table under a market-style umbrella. A pitcher of iced lemonade and tall glasses waited invitingly. We both sat in pine Adirondack fan back chairs.
Drying her hair with the towel, Darlene inquired curiously: "So what is it you were hoping I could tell you?"
"How long have you known about Carter's gambling habit?" I asked bluntly.
Her eyes grew. "How long have you?"
"Since Leilani Mahaulu told me—"
Darlene's reaction was a mixture of anger and affirmation. "I sho
uld've known," she grumbled. "That bitch! She had Carter wrapped around her finger and he loved every moment of it."
You've got some nerve, lady, I thought. Talk about the kettle calling the pot black. "That's between you and her," I stressed. "I'd rather talk about the million dollars you paid to cover Carter's debt—"
Darlene shot me an annoyed look. "Is that what that little bitch told you?"
"No, Nelson Lewinski happily volunteered the information..." I announced and watched her shrink back into the chair, while I thought about the way I left him in a heap on the floor. "I find it just a tiny bit suspicious that the wife of a man who was up to his eyeballs in heavy gambling debts managed to cover those debts just days before he turns up dead—"
She tensed. "Yes, I paid off his bookie, but only because I wanted to protect myself and my daughter from something that could have destroyed Carter, and ultimately us." Darlene met my eyes. "I had no idea Carter would be killed!"
I held her gaze. "Are you telling me that Carter was being blackmailed?"
"No... Um... I was," Darlene stammered, catching me by surprise. She sipped some lemonade and continued. "Lewinski approached me and said that Carter owed him a million dollars. He told me if he didn't get his money, he'd see to it that the tabloids and anyone else who'd listen would find out that the former prosecutor and businessman had illegally gambled away damned near everything he had and could get his hands on—" She sucked in a deep breath. "I scraped up the money by dipping into Ivy's trust fund, selling some stocks and mutual funds in my name, and anything else I could turn into cash. Carter was so wrapped up in his own little world and big problems, he never even knew—"
And never would, I lamented. Carter's gambling addiction had nearly ruined him and had taken away from his daughter's financial future, while tainting all of the positive things he stood for in life. Was his death somehow related to the gambling, I wondered, not really sure about anything anymore where it concerned my ex-husband and what was going on inside his head.
Murder in Honolulu: A Skye Delaney Mystery Page 15
