“Suicide?”
“Yeah,” said Wong. “Snorkelers found him out on the rocks this morning. Looks like he killed himself with a spear gun. You know, the kind snorkelers and divers use to catch fish. The spear went right through his heart. We found the gun next to him on the rocks, and a suicide note in the condo. Seems he didn’t want to leave a mess, so he came out here to do it.”
My hands got the eerie tingly sensation I feel when I get a scare—like a near-miss on the Pali Highway, or a letter with “Internal Revenue Service” as the return address.
I followed Wong as he went upstairs to the second floor. He walked over to unit 201, and rapped twice on the door.
“Open up, it’s me, Wong.”
A uniformed cop on the other side opened the door. Behind him stood Stacy, red-eyed and teary. She looked at Wong and then hung her head as if preparing herself for a body blow.
“I’m sorry,” Wong said. “They weren’t able to save him.”
“Stacy,” I said. “I’m so sorry. Is there anyone I can call for you?”
She shook her head and continued staring at the floor. After a few seconds she turned and walked into the living room.
I followed her, noticing the condo seemed tidy and clean. Nothing out of order, no blood stains—or any other stains, for that matter—on the carpet or tile.
“Can you tell me what happened last night?” I said.
Wong shot me a warning look. “We’ll be taking Ms. Wilmot’s statement later on. You’re just here to help if she needs anything.”
“Okay, got it. Stacy, what about your sister? Do you want me to call her?”
“She wasn’t able to come for the wedding, after all. She got tied up at work or something.”
“Sorry to hear that. How about Brandon, Justin’s best man? Do you know where he’s staying?”
“No, I only met him once. I don’t even really remember what he looks like.” She started crying. “This is so horrible; like a bad dream. Tell me your name again. I can’t seem to think straight.”
“I’m Pali Moon, your wedding planner.”
“Oh, of course. I’m so sorry. I just can’t believe this.” Stacy looked me in the eye. Her face was contorted into a mask of grief and confusion. Gone was the bubbly, blushing bride, replaced by a young woman who’d just tumbled into her worst nightmare. Her engagement ring winked in the morning light; a sad reminder of the happy event she and her now-dead fiancé had planned to take place the very next day.
Wong stepped over and removed a small note pad from his front pocket. “I’ll need to get those names and contact numbers from you, Ms. Wilmot.”
I spoke up. “What names are those?”
“The people who were scheduled to attend the wedding.”
“Why do you want them?”
“Look, Ms. Moon, we’re doing an investigation here. Unless you’ve managed to pass the bar exam since we last met up, you’re not entitled to speak on behalf of Ms. Wilmot. In fact, if there’s nothing she needs from you, I think this would be a good time for you to leave.”
I looked over at Stacy. “If you think of anything I can do to help, call me. Okay?”
She looked up at me with the perplexed expression of a person who’s come out of a coma and doesn’t recognize her surroundings.
“Here’s my card. I’m sure you’ve got another one around here somewhere, but I don’t want you to have to look for it. Call if I can help in any way.”
“Thank you.” She stared at the card. “Right now all I want is to go home.”
“Totally understandable.” I said. “I’ll make some calls and see about getting you on a flight today. I’ll let you know what I find out.”
I gave her a hug. She felt as though her body had already shrunk a size; as if by losing the love of her life she’d already been diminished.
I drove back to my shop in shock. I’d had weddings called off for all sorts of reasons: last minute cold feet, grooms going AWOL, a shrill mother-of-the-bride standing up at “speak now or forever hold your peace.” Once, I even had a bride run off with the best man ten minutes before the ceremony was supposed to start.
But a groom reporting his bride missing and then killing himself? It had a certain “Romeo and Juliet” quality which seemed almost romantic, albeit wretched. Why would Justin do it? I castigated myself for my laziness in not writing down the full address of where they were staying at the Hale Maui Kai before I drove over last night. Maybe if I’d taken Justin’s unresponsiveness more seriously…
But I couldn’t go there. The die was cast, the deed done. Best I could do now was make sure Stacy got back to the mainland quickly where friends and family would be there to help her get through the ordeal. I didn’t want her to travel by herself, though. The last thing the hard-working flight attendants at Hawaiian Airlines needed was a young woman snapping out of her detached state and freaking out three hours from touchdown.
I called Stacy’s sister’s cell phone number but it just rang and rang. I hung up as it flipped over to voicemail because I didn’t want to leave a message. I didn’t know if she’d received official word of Justin’s death, and I didn’t want to say something that might be construed as crass. Even though I’d been working on my personal communication skills, I hadn’t gotten to the big stuff like death notification or humanely counseling someone about their severe halitosis.
Then I called the best man, Brandon. Supposedly, he’d arrived on-island the night before since Justin had said he’d gone to pick him up at the airport when Stacy went missing. I wished I’d had the chance to ask Stacy where she’d been when Justin got back to the condo, but with Wong there and Stacy appearing nearly catatonic, it would have to wait.
Brandon answered on the second ring. I told him who I was and asked if he’d gotten word about Justin. Unfortunately, he hadn’t.
“What’s going on? Is he okay?”
“Would you mind coming to my shop in Pā‘ia? I’m afraid Justin has had a bit of an accident and I’d like to discuss it with you face-to-face.” See what I mean about my being a lousy liar? I hung up knowing I hadn’t handled the notification well at all, and thinking of ten ways I could’ve phrased it better.
Brandon came in the shop thirty minutes later. His face was drawn.
“I heard,” he said, dropping into a chair across from my desk. “I got a call from the cops.”
I chastised myself for the mental fist-pump I did in response to not having to give him the sad news.
“They asked me if I’d be willing to ID the body,” he went on.
“Not Stacy?”
“They said she’s mentally incapable, or something. Which is kind of funny, since that’s usually her sister’s MO.”
I must’ve looked confused, because he offered an explanation. “Yeah, Stacy’s sister is the nutcase. Stacy’s always been the steady one.”
“You’ve probably already heard by now the sister didn’t come over. Something about getting tied up at work,” I said. “That’s why I wanted to see you. I was hoping you could accompany Stacy back to the mainland today.”
“Sure, I’ll do whatever I can to help. Did the cops tell you how Justin died? They only told me that he’d died and they didn’t suspect foul play.”
“Well, it’s pretty sad, actually. It seems he shot himself.”
He slammed his hands flat down on my desk. “What? That’s insane. Where’d he get a gun?”
“It wasn’t a regular gun. He used a spear gun. I guess he must’ve rented one for spear-fishing, but then he turned it on himself after Stacy went missing.”
Brandon pulled back, squinting at me as if I’d insulted him.
“Total BS,” he said in a soft voice.
We locked eyes.
“Why do you say that?”
“How well did you know Justin?” he s
aid.
“Not well. I only met him once, when he and Stacy came in to finalize their wedding plans.”
“Justin was what we Oregonians call a ‘tree hugger.’ Totally vegan, a sit-in-the-tree-so-loggers-can’t-cut-it-down, kind of guy. No way he’d rent a spear gun. I’d be surprised if he’d even let someone show him one without him giving them a lecture about depleted fish stocks and respecting the ocean ecosystem.”
“So, you don’t think he rented a spear gun?”
“Nope, no way.”
“They found one when they fished him out of the breakwater,” I said. “Apparently, he’d used it to spear himself in the heart. They also found a suicide note in his condo. I wasn’t privy to what the note said, but the cops seem pretty sure it was a classic suicide.”
“Well, they’re wrong.”
“I’d like to go with you to ID the body,” I said.
“Okay, then let’s do it.”
The morgue at Maui Memorial Hospital is in the basement. Seems a logical place to put it, since it’s cool and dark, giving it the spooky vibe you’d expect from a place where they store the no-longer-living.
Brandon was the “person of record,” or POR, so he signed the paperwork, but I was allowed to accompany him under the pretext of being his “emotional support liaison,” or ESL. I can’t help but love how bureaucracies have an acronym for everything. I was actually the ASS, or “accompanying sneaky snoop,” but I didn’t let on.
They put us in a small room with a glass partition separating us from the dearly departed. When they brought Justin in, he was laid out under a clean white sheet. When they pulled it back it shocked me to see how close his skin-tone matched that of the sheet. His eyes were closed, and they’d placed a gauze pad over the entry wound, ostensibly to spare us the gory details.
Brandon cleared his throat. “That’s Justin.”
A voice came over a speaker in the corner of the room, and we both jumped. “Please state the deceased’s first and last name, and address, if known.”
“Uh, Justin DeWilde. From Bend, Oregon.”
“Mahalo. Please step outside to complete the paperwork.”
Brandon shot me a quizzical look.
“Mahalo means ‘thank you,’” I said.
“Oh. I guess I’m just kind of nervous.”
“Totally understandable.”
When we got back outside to fresh air and open sky, Brandon sucked in a deep breath. “I hope they pay those guys a lot to work in that morgue. No way I’d do a job like that.”
“Yeah. Speaking of jobs, what did Justin do?”
Brandon laughed. “You didn’t know?”
I shook my head.
“Total trust-fund baby. Justin’s family started one of the biggest breweries in Oregon. They ship beer to just about every state and even to some foreign countries. He’s been in college for at least ten years. I think he has degrees in, like, four different things. But the guy doesn’t have a single cent of student debt.”
I darted my eyes at Brandon, then looked away.
“I mean, he had degrees, and he had no debt. It’s hard for me to think of him as dead.”
“How about Stacy?”
“Her family doesn’t have money. She works as a dental assistant or something. It’s kind of funny how she and Justin got together. Her and her sister essentially share a job. Like one works on Mondays and Tuesdays and the other on Thursdays and Fridays, or something like that. Anyway, Justin met Tracy first, but when he had to go back to the dentist, Stacy was there. They only started going out a few weeks ago.”
“Stacy and Tracy? Are they twins?”
“Yeah, kind of funny. They’re nothing alike, though. I don’t even think they look that much alike, but it’s probably because their personalities are so different.”
I dropped Brandon off at my shop so he could pick up his car, then I got to work on the phone. I’d promised Stacy I’d check on flights and it was already four in the afternoon.
I knew I should call Wong and let him know what Brandon had told me about the likelihood of Justin renting a spear gun, but there were a couple of things I wanted to check out first.
Hawaiian Airlines had a nonstop flight to Portland a little after nine that night, but there was only one seat available. I explained about the emergency situation and they offered to wait-list Brandon, but made no promises.
I called Stacy and told her she might have to wait until the next day to fly home since they only had one seat.
“It’s okay, I’ll go tonight. I don’t want Brandon flying with me, anyway.”
“Why? Don’t you think you’d feel better having a friend along?”
“Not him. He never liked me. Besides, he probably blames me for what happened.”
“Stacy, I really think you should wait until someone else can go with you on the plane.”
“That’s okay, I’m good. I just need you to email me the airline confirmation number.”
I scrambled to come up with something. “Uh, I printed it out and then deleted the file. I’m kind of busy this afternoon. Would you mind coming up here to Pā‘ia to pick up the hard copy?” It certainly wasn’t a very plausible lie. I mentally crossed my fingers, hoping she’d buy it.
“All right, I’ll come now. I want to have everything ready so I can get out of here tonight.”
I made two more calls and then sat back and waited for Stacy to show up.
She arrived a half-hour later looking flushed and irritated. “Why in hell would you delete the file? That’s just stupid. And it’s a bitch trying to find parking around here, you know.”
“How are you doing?” I said.
“I’m doing good, all things considered. I don’t want to seem ungrateful, because I appreciate you getting me on the flight, but I’m kind of in a hurry. Can I have the airline ticket?”
I opened a drawer and fussed through a stack of papers as if I were looking for the print-out of the e-ticket.
Just then, Brandon walked through the shop door. He stopped and took a long look at Stacy. She froze.
“Hi Tracy,” he said.
“What are you talking about? I’m Stacy. Tracy couldn’t come. She had to work. You know, we can’t both take off at the same time.”
She turned to me. “Everybody always gets us mixed up.”
“Where did you and Justin shop for your ring?” Brandon said. I’d coached him, and he performed beautifully.
“What?” She looked down at the large diamond on her left hand. “Oh, I can’t remember exactly. I think it was Helzberg’s Jewelers. Either that or Jared. What does it matter? I’m not getting married now, anyway.”
I steepled my fingers. “Where did you hide Stacy’s body, Tracy?”
“What?” This time she shrieked. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“It almost worked,” I said. “You killed your sister and then you killed Justin and made it look like a suicide. You’ve been pretending to be Stacy, but the jig’s up. I assume your motive was jealousy. After all, you met him first. All that money; all those family connections. It wasn’t fair, was it?”
She pulled a knife from her purse with such speed it was as if she practiced every night, like a gun slinger whipping his gun in and out of the holster to get good at it.
“Give me that e-ticket right now.” She flashed the knife toward Brandon and me in a menacing way. “I’ve got to get to the airport.”
Wong stepped from behind the beaded curtain of my bridal dressing room, his badge held in one hand, his drawn weapon in the other. “Put the knife down, Ms. Wilmot. The only trip you’ll be taking tonight is to the station with me.”
JoAnn Bassett
JoAnn Bassett is the author of the “Islands of Aloha Mystery Series.” A collection of eight cozy mysteries featuring wedding planner, Pa
li Moon, and set on the six major islands of Hawai‘i: Maui, Lāna‘i, Kaua‘i, O‘ahu, Moloka‘i and Hawai‘i, the Big Island. She’s also the author of the “Escape to Maui” series: novels of mainland women who move to Maui for a fresh start.
Find me on the web at joannbassett.com and follow me on Facebook.
Crime of Dispassion
Gail M. Baugniet
Sirens made conversation almost impossible, even in Nani’s second floor studio apartment. She had lived here for the past three years, tucked in the far corner of the five-acre lot, her only window facing mauka. She set her soda glass on the end table and stood. “Come on, girlfriend, let’s check out what’s happening today in this poor excuse for a housing development.”
Mimicking Nani, I placed my glass next to hers before standing. As a freelance reporter, I set my own hours. But with such a hectic schedule, I liked to visit with friends for lunch a few times a week to stay in touch. No complaints about having this one cut short, though. As a stringer, I always kept an eye out for a good story. Especially one that might make the front-page. Mo’ betta yet if my name, Cacao Janus, appeared in the byline.
Grabbing my camera bag, more a third arm than a tool of the trade, I followed my slightly eccentric friend out her front door. The logic behind Nani living here escaped me, but she refused to move. Her goal was to see the entire complex refurbished. Though a noble ambition, renovation would be a slow process when everything was accomplished on Hawaiian time. She headed straight for the stairwell entrance, bypassing the elevator. A faded out-of-order sign gracing the wall confirmed my expectations of visiting her at A‘ala Tradewinds Development for years to come.
Nani gripped the handrails, taking the stairs two at a time with me close behind. She had been helping me dig up stories ever since I switched careers. And sirens meant a story, whether the call involved Emergency Medical Services, the fire department, or the police.
Once outside, I again noted the rundown condition of the property. Sun-bleached paint peeled off the sides of buildings. Windows were cracked or broken out, and overgrown weeds filled the front yards. No wonder the development drew trouble like flies.
Paradise, Passion, Murder Page 7
