Mai Tai One On

by Jill Marie Landis

  Louie waved and said aloha to Roland. His tongue was purple. He wandered over to the bar mumbling to himself. Kiki noticed Roland staring at Sophie. The girl looked pale and shaken.

  “What’s up?” Roland snagged an empty chair, flipped it around and straddled it.

  “Do you practice that move at home?” Kiki asked.

  He ignored her. “I hate to say it but I actually hope you women have come up with something.” He looked at the group gathered around the table.

  “Tell him,” Kiki urged Sophie.

  Roland looked over at Sophie. It took her a second to make eye contact.

  “You saw Em’s black eyes?” She took a deep breath, waited until he nodded. “She didn’t fall. Someone knocked her out.”

  “When?”

  “Last week when she was out trimming the hedge she got a phone call. I went out to get her and found her lying passed out cold, face down in the parking lot. She said someone snuck up on her and knocked her out.”

  “Why didn’t she report the assault?”

  “She said she didn’t want to.” Sophie’s gaze slid over to the bar and back to Roland.

  Louie whistled as he carried a stack of plates into the kitchen.

  “You think she was protecting him?” Roland nodded in Louie’s direction.

  Kiki looked at Roland, then Sophie, then toward the kitchen door.

  “Louie? No way,” Suzie whispered. “No way would Louie hurt Em. Or anyone else.”

  The women all nodded in agreement.

  “I wouldn’t put it past his darling Marlene, though,” Kiki mumbled.

  A call came in over Roland’s radio. He listened for a second and then turned the volume down.

  “Is that about Em? Did they find her?” Kiki voiced what they all wanted to know. There wasn’t a sound in the room.

  “No,” he said. “Some pig hunter hung a boar’s head and hide on a fence post along Kaumu’ali’i highway. It’s freaking out the tourists.”

  “Again?” Suzi laughed but quickly sobered.

  “Why would anyone kidnap Em?” Lil wondered aloud.

  “Maybe she discovered something about Harold’s murderer. Or Fernando’s.” Trish gathered the photographs back into a pile.

  “So what about it?” Kiki stared at Roland. “Do you have anything yet?”

  “We’re looking into Fernando’s partner. He inherited everything. And, as it turns out, there are plenty of fans who used to Tweet with Fernando and post on his facebook page. They thought they were chatting with Fernando anyway, but he hired someone to write his blogs, and do his Tweeting. He’s got more than a few psycho-cyber stalkers and the location of his “hidden” Hawaiian estate was easy enough to track down. He could have been killed by some nut case.”

  “But what does that have to do with Harold?” Lil wanted to know.

  “Or Em?” Trish added.

  “Her husband has been hassling her,” Sophie said.

  Kiki fiddled with a loose fingernail. “First you tell me the news about the black eyes. Now the husband’s calls. Why didn’t I hear any of this before?”

  “Or me?” Roland asked. “You should have called me.”

  Sophie shrugged with a look that said as if. “Em said not to tell anyone.”

  Roland slipped his notebook out of his back pocket. “Anybody know her husband’s name and whereabouts?”

  “Ex-husband,” Kiki clarified.

  Kiki watched Roland underline ex twice.

  “Newport Beach.” Louie was behind the bar but obviously had been listening closely. “Phillip Johnson. He’s a C.P.A. in Newport Beach.”

  “Anyone know if he’s on island?” Roland reached for his cell.

  “I never thought of that,” Kiki said. “He could be.”

  The Maidens were talking among themselves. None of them knew anything much about Phillip but they were all convinced he was a bastard, a schmuck, a creep, and definitely an idiot.

  “Maybe he sent a hit man after her,” Lil said. “That could happen, couldn’t it Bob?”

  MyBob wiped sweat off his bald head with a napkin and nodded. “Sure. Hit man.”

  “Sounds possible.” Kiki said. “She never talked about it, but I think it was pretty messy divorce. Maybe Phillip came after her. Or maybe Bob’s right. Maybe he hired someone to do his dirty work.”

  Roland called mainland information.

  “What about Harold? And Fernando?” Lil wondered aloud. “Em’s husband might be after her, but we still don’t know who killed those two. Or why.”

  Big Estelle was no longer crying. “Maybe the killer was here to get rid of Em and Harold interfered. Maybe the same thing happened at Fernando’s. Someone might have been stalking Em, but then Fernando got in the way and got killed instead.”

  Little Estelle downed a shot of tequila and slammed the glass on the table. “Maybe the other two murders were just to point everyone in the wrong direction.”

  Lil piped up, “Maybe they were decoy murders!”

  Roland said mahalo into his phone and then hung up. “Her husband is sitting in his Newport Beach office,” he told them.

  “That doesn’t mean he didn’t hire someone,” Kiki reminded him.

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  Kiki deflated like an old party balloon. “I hate to think we missed finding her at Fernando’s. I hate to think the worst.”

  “We went over every inch of the place. It rained pretty hard the night of the party. Washed off any scent the dogs would have picked up the next day.”

  “What about the house next door? Hale Pua. The empty house that’s for sale. Did you get inside?” Trish asked.

  Roland sat down again and nodded. “That’s Leilani’s listing. She left a banquet to bring the keys all the way back out to us late that night.”

  Suzi shook her head. “Boy, that’s another overpriced piece of property, but I heard she managed to unload it on some of Fernando’s friends.”

  At the end of the banquette, Flora Carillo made a choking sound and woke up with a start. “Wha’did I miss?” She blinked, looked around. “Where’s my Gatorade bottle?”

  “Maybe if we danced we’d feel a little better,” Lil suggested.

  “Maybe you’re right,” Kiki said. “How about we do Papalina?”

  The song about a woman with rosy “cheeks” whose flower had been picked a long time ago was one of Kiki’s favorites. She called it her theme song.

  “I’ll put on the music,” Louie volunteered.

  The women all scrambled to their feet. Those seated along the banquette slid toward either end. Flora planted her hands on the table and hoisted herself up. There was a stampede for the stage. Chair legs scraped the floor.

  Big Estelle tripped on her cast and would have fallen on her face if Roland hadn’t been there. As it was she fell across his lap.

  “I forgot about my cast,” she wailed. As Roland propped her back up she explained, “Mother ran over my foot. Maybe I should press charges.”

  “How about a Kauai Kooler?” Louie was at Roland’s shoulder offering a martini glass full of purple liquid.

  “Do not drink that,” Kiki warned. “It should have a label with a skull on it.”

  She was about to have the women line up when a tall thin man in cargo shorts and shirt and a hat worthy of Indiana Jones stood framed in the open doorway.

  “Have you found her yet? I might be able to help.” He announced his offer to the room at large.

  MyBob turned down the CD player. The Maidens began to climb off the stage. Roland crossed the room to greet the newcomer before Kiki could get there.

  “I’m Detective Roland Sharpe of the KPD. Are you referring to Ms. Johnson?”

  The man nodded. “I’m Professor Nelg Nelson, Professor of Anthropology at the University of North Carolina.” The men shook hands. “I’ve been camping over at Polihale and was on my way back to the North Shore when I stopped for breakfast at the Tip Top and saw the newspaper headlines. I immedi
ately called the police. They said you were here.”

  “You have pertinent information?” Roland’s notebook was at the ready. The Maidens gathered around the men like flies on a pupu platter.

  “Where’s the orange girl?” Sophie Chin asked.

  The professor shrugged. “I got hungry. There’s only so much a man can sacrifice for sex.”

  “The orange girl?” Roland frowned at Sophie who quickly explained while Louie got the professor settled at the table and headed into the kitchen to make him a half-pound burger and fries.

  Kiki waved Roland into a seat beside the professor. The Maidens hovered in a tight semi-circle.

  Roland looked at the women.

  “I suppose telling you all to disperse would be a waste of breath without a tactical team to back me up, wouldn’t it?”

  “Right,” Kiki nodded. “No time for back up.”

  “Tell me what you know,” Roland urged the professor.

  Nelson explained his private conversation with Em and described how she’d locked the office doors before she pulled a femur out of the file cabinet.

  “Femur?” Roland stared. “A femur?”

  “Yes. It was obviously old. She wouldn’t tell me where she’d found it. I figure it came from somewhere here on the property. I told her that she had to alert the Burial Council and that would lead to trouble.”

  “We have a Burial Council?” Kiki asked.

  “Where is it? Can I drop Mother off?” Big Estelle looked happier than she had since she hobbled through the door.

  “Maybe Kimo and the men found the bone while digging the new imu,” MyBob suggested. “Maybe they asked Em to hide it.”

  Kiki shook her head. “No way. I would have heard about it. Kimo can’t keep a secret.”

  “Enough.” Roland held up his hand. “Sit. Everybody. If you are going to stay here, then shut up. Please.” He turned back to the professor. “Do you know where she put it?”

  The man shook his head. “Maybe it’s still in the office.”

  Roland turned to Louie. “Do you mind if I search your office?”

  “’Course not. I’ll help,” Louie volunteered.

  Everyone else jumped to their feet.

  Roland sighed and turned to Louie. “Can you keep them out here? That’ll be help enough.”

  “Not a good idea,” Sophie said. “How do we know you won’t plant evidence?”

  Roland spread his arms. “Do I look like I’m packing an extra femur?”

  Sophie shrugged. “You think I’m guilty. You think Em and Louie are guilty. Do really want us to let you search their office alone? Without a warrant?”

  “Is that what you think?” Little Estelle rolled over and parked beside Roland. “That everyone here is guilty? Police brutality!” She shifted the Gad-About into park and started singing at the top of her lungs.

  “We shall not be moved. We shall not be mo—oo—ooved! Come one everyone! Join in! We shall not be—”

  “Quiet! Don’t make me fire a round into the ceiling,” Roland yelled.

  Kiki slapped her hand across Little Estelle’s mouth.

  Roland said, “I’ll leave the door open. Louie. You and Kiki can observe.”

  As Roland followed Louie to the office, Kiki heard him mumble, “Bunch of wackos.”

  After Kiki and Louie wedged themselves in the open doorway, the other Maidens, along with MyBob, Sophie, and a couple of tourists who had ignored the CLOSED sign had gathered behind them.

  The female tourist whispered, “What are they doing in there?”

  “Looking for an old bone,” Kiki explained.

  The husband, a farmer in a hefty weight Beefy T shirt, suspenders and jeans, chuckled and grabbed his crotch. “Hell,” he said. “If it’s an old bone they’re looking for, I got one.”

  His wife hit him on the shoulder. “Shut your pie hole, Orville.”

  Inside the office Roland headed straight to the lateral files. Two of the four were so rusty the handles were hanging off. He found the burlap sack in the bottom drawer behind piles of yellowed receipts brittle with age. As they watched, he lifted it out carefully with both hands and set it in the center of the big wooden desk.

  “Is that it?” Louie called out.

  “Send the professor in,” Roland said.

  Dr. Nelson was there in a second. “Looks like the burlap.”

  Roland opened the coffee sack to reveal the bone.

  “You’re going to have to call in the experts,” the professor said.

  Kiki figured that it was all right to barge in now that Roland had the evidence in hand. The others followed close behind. They crowded around the desk, staring down at the femur.

  “Looks like Em was up to something.” Louie sounded forlorn.

  “Yeah. Or on to something,” Kiki whispered. “I just hope it hasn’t gotten her killed.”

  31

  Dumped Again

  Gatorade and water was all her captor had given her. Em was so sick of Gatorade she swore that if she lived through this that she’d never even look at another bottle.

  She hadn’t eaten in what seemed like forever. She’d lost all concept of time lying in the dark, unable to move. She’d given up trying to hold her bladder and now the stench of her own urine added to her misery.

  After she mentally recalled Louie’s entire drink menu, she tried to remember the names of all her teachers from elementary to high school and beyond. She was up to her freshman year at UCLA when she heard the slap of her captors’ flip flops against the concrete floor.

  Maybe this is it, she thought. Maybe now she’ll put me out of my misery.

  Long nails and small hands had definitely convinced her that her captor was female. She still had no idea if it was the same person who’d killed Harold and Fernando, but she figured there couldn’t be that many killers running around the North Shore.

  The footsteps stopped behind her. Her ponytail had doubled as a leverage device already so Em steadied herself for the painful grip on her hair. This time her captor’s moves were determined. There was no hesitation as her abductor sawed through the duct tape at her ankles.

  Em’s first instinct was to kick out, but then what? She didn’t want to risk being sliced to ribbons. Even if she did unbalance her captor, she’d still be bound, gagged and blindfolded. And her captor would really be pissed.

  Em held still, waiting for the right moment, determined to go down fighting. After much tugging, the blade finally sliced through the tape. Then came a vicious tug on her ponytail. Sure her hair was going to come out by the roots, Em struggled to her feet and swayed, barely able to stand.

  She was forced to walk but hardly managed a shuffle. Thankfully, she didn’t have to go very far before she was dragged down two low steps. She felt herself propped against the side of a car, yet she could tell they weren’t outside yet and suspected they were in a garage.

  There was not a hint of breeze. The sound of the ocean was still muffled. She heard a passing car not far away and then the jingle of keys beside her.

  A hinge in need of oil whined. Her captor grasped her bound wrists and pulled her around. Her head was forced down. A hard shove between her shoulder blades nearly doubled her over. Her thighs hit something cold and metallic. She fought back, straightened, and hit her head on the lid of a car trunk.

  This is it, Em thought. The big finale.

  She wasn’t going into the trunk without a fight, not after watching every episode of the Sopranos. All five seasons. Nothing good ever happened to anyone who landed in the trunk of a car.

  Her captor grabbed her hair again. Jerked her head back. She felt the blade against her throat. Em held her breath and waited with her heart pounding in her ears.

  The threat was very, very clear. Another hard shove between her shoulders and Em got the message. She leaned forward and was pushed headfirst into the trunk. Her shoulder smashed against the floor before she was roughly tucked into a fetal position. She held her breath, certain
this was the end.

  The trunk slammed shut. There was a jingle of keys and then the sound of a garage door grinding open before the door locked into position. The carpet beneath her cheek was mildewed. She tried to stretch her legs but it was impossible. It wasn’t a new car, or a roomy one, she decided. Then she heard the driver’s side door slam shut.

  The engine didn’t start on the first try. The starter whined and stopped then whined and stopped again before the engine caught hold with a clunk and a rattle. Then the car slowly moved in reverse. Gravel ground beneath the tires. When Em recognized the familiar sputter of the engine, she was too stunned to cry.

  She was in Sophie’s car.

  I trusted you, Sophie.

  She’d trusted Phillip, too. She was 0 for 2.

  Why? She wondered. Had Sophie seen her hide the femur under the hedge? Had Sophie hit her on the head that day in the parking lot? Had she been in on something with Harold? Or with Louie? Or both?

  Not Louie. Please God, not Louie, too.

  The car made a right turn and Em figured they were on the highway. She knew this far north, the road was only two winding narrow lanes divided by a sold white line. There was barely any shoulder on the mauka side and on the makai side there were sections without guardrails where the drop was a hundred feet straight down into the ocean.

  Em tried to stop shaking and took deep breaths through her nose. It was impossible to calm down with her heart racing. Another turn. This one to the right. Now they were on a bumpy, unpaved road and must have hit every pothole before the car suddenly stopped.

  Not now. Please. Not now.

  The driver’s side door opened. Then the trunk lid went up. The warmth of sunlight touched her skin for the first time in days. Em went perfectly still. This was it. This was the day she was going to die. She could imagine the story in the Garden Island;

  “Thirty-four year old Tiki Goddess bartender and former wife of Phillip Johnson III, of Newport Beach, met with an untimely death on an unpaved back road on Kauai.”

  The worst part of it all was that she would never know why.