Prospect for Murder (Natalie Seachrist Hawaiian Cozy Mystery 1)

by Burrows-Johnson, Jeanne; June, Yasamine;

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you behind me,” I said apologetically.

  “Oh, it’s not your fault; I was wrestling with Cory here. He’s always wanting to run around freely, but I don’t want to take a chance on his running into traffic.”

  The young boy being discussed had turned his head into his mother’s shoulder.

  I laughed. “Well, I think the matter is solved. He looks content in your arms.”

  “Quite the brave boy when there’s only me to tussle with,” she said, ruffling his hair.

  “Is that a slight Southern accent I hear in your voice?”

  “Yep. The hills of North Carolina. Pardon me for not introducing myself. I’m Ashley Lowell. My husband is on a destroyer stationed at Pearl Harbor. While he’s gone on a cruise, I thought Cory and I would hang around and enjoy Hawai`i’s sun and beaches.”

  “Good choice. I did the same when my husband was a Navy lieutenant a few decades ago.”

  “My, that’s been a long stay. Or did ya’all come back to the Islands to retire?”

  “Not exactly. Bill died on that Westpac, and I’ve lived in Hawai`i off and on since then.” I reached out my hand. “I’m Natalie Seachrist. I’m the new tenant of B406.”

  “I’m so sorry about your husband.”

  Clearly, she did not know what to say. With her being the wife of a man embarking on a cruise that could last for months, I wanted to avoid building on any fears she might have.

  “It was a fluke, the authorities said. He may’ve reacted to an inoculation or it simply may not have worked.” Moving the conversation in another direction, I asked, “So what apartment are you two in?”

  “Oh, I was lucky. The manager, Pearl Wong, has a nephew, Richard Bishop. He’s the son of Pearl’s sister Jade. He’d just finished painting A104, so I got the ground floor unit I wanted for Cory to be able play outside. I was thrilled it was all updated. I guess Richard wasn’t too happy about being put out of his home, but that’s how it works around here—he just moves from apartment to apartment, whenever one needs sprucing up.”

  I congratulated Ashley on her good fortune in housing and before saying goodbye, we laughingly anticipated meeting in the laundry room—if not over the volleyball net.

  After the excitement of the move, I enjoyed some quiet time arranging the closet and making my bed. Before beginning to organize the kitchen, I savored a bit of the leftover salad and curry Keoni had given me. With a glass of Sterling Pinot Grigio in hand, I placed my nightly call to Nathan. I was glad I had managed to bite my lip before telling him where I was and, more importantly, what I was planning to do.

  For a while Miss Una continued to prowl through the apartment, sniffing each of her belongings to feel assured that the basics for her survival were in place. Once we settled down, I quickly fell asleep and experienced no memorable dreams or visions. I actually slept until the early morning call of resident doves alerted me that Friday had arrived. Taking my first cup of coffee out to the lānai, I attempted to quell the discomfort the view stirred within me. Especially unsettling was the thought of ever sitting on the balcony.

  Glancing over the rail produced a catch in my breathing and rising nausea in my throat. It brought me close to feeling like I did on my first ocean voyage, when I had been hired to write promo copy for a cruise line. After a few trials and errors with over-the-counter meds, and stern pep talks to convince myself of the benefits of experiencing this aspect of the tourist industry, I had been okay. But since then, I have never willingly boarded a boat of any kind.

  Despite my feelings about where I was standing, I enjoyed having the early morning light shine on my face and hearing the coo of doves. I tried not to think about what such a morning would have meant to Ariel. Would she have maintained her morning routine of a long run or tennis match prior to attending classes at the University? Or, would she have slipped into a ritual like mine—allowing a sip of fragrant tea or coffee to beckon her forth to the day at hand? Sadly, I would never know.

  Turning to practical matters, I spent that day and the weekend settling in. After Richard Bishop’s thorough cleaning and painting, I knew there could not be much evidence left from Ariel’s brief interaction with the property. In fact, everything was so pristine that I barely wiped anything off before installing my belongings. Despite his dour countenance and numerous mumbled complaints, the pudgy man must be very dedicated to his occasional work.

  Interspersed with organizing my temporary home, were tours of the amenities of the complex. I also conducted online research from my laptop, since the building was wired for Wi-Fi plus satellite television reception. I was grateful that Keoni’s project provided breaks from the quasi-reality of living in the apartment that should have been Ariel’s. Between my real-time research for him and exaggerated schedule of volunteer work, I would have plenty of excuses for coming and going at various times. And that would allow me to learn the rhythms of activity at the apartments.

  I might never feel at peace in unit B406, but I had given myself an assignment, and I would be damned before I would fail in it. Once the apartment was ship-shape, I began my private investigation of the complex by playing the role of a new tenant surveying the prospects of her abode. With regard to the premises themselves, except for the normal wear one would expect on older buildings, I did not see or hear anything that seemed out of place.

  As I explored the property and its resident personalities, I mentally noted the flow of activity throughout each day. In those first appraisals of life at the Makiki Sunset Apartments, I learned that I am not the only occupant with an erratic schedule. But like me, everyone I have encountered seems to have logical-sounding reasons for their exits and entrances.

  First on my list of occupants was Al Cooper, whom I had met twice. He seemed efficient, if not friendly. As the part-time handyman, he is found at various places at all times of day and night. Since his vintage Mustang was the site of my grandniece’s unplanned landing, Al was forced to obtain a rent-a-wreck vehicle until he can rebuild his favorite toy. Most of the time, I encounter him near his rental car, or Miss Wong’s truck, when he needs pick up a large quantity of building materials or supplies.

  My next person of interest is Pearl Wong. But until I got a chance to know her better, there was little for me to record in the file I have opened regarding her. Being the owner of one building (and the manager of the one owned by her sister Jade Bishop), Miss Wong has a multitude of reasons to pop up whenever and wherever she wants. Surprisingly, she does not seem to go out a lot—at least not on her own. Occasionally, I see her sitting regally in the passenger’s seat of Al’s car. More often her nephew Richard Bishop is playing chauffer in either her truck or a classic black Mercedes Benz I have seen on the property.

  Although nothing has been said, I am guessing the car belongs to Jade. Other than her possible link to the car, I know very little about her. I have never seen Jade and, unless I ask, no one mentions her. She is an invalid who seems to depend on close interaction with Pearl and Richard…at least when her caregivers are unavailable. But since she has not been at the apartments for several months, I do not see how she could have been involved with Ariel’s death.

  The second person who remains a mystery is Jade’s son Richard. So far I have not been able to determine where he fits into the operational hierarchy. I have been told that the only activity he performs with regularity is taking his mother to medical appointments and Miss Wong to legal and financial meetings. From what I have observed, he is as happy in his role of chauffer as he is about shifting apartments constantly. Glaring at anyone who looks his way and muttering to himself most of the time, he is a man who is ill at ease with his world.

  As to the overall vibe, the only note of discord I have found at the complex is the toxic relationship between Richard and Al. One day I saw the two men tussling in a closet in Building B’s laundry room. It sounded as though th
ey were arguing over some old tool box. With Al being the resident handyman, I would have thought anything having to do with tools or equipment would be his concern. However, I regularly see Richard coming and going from the many nooks and crannies of the aging complex with a jangling tool kit in his hand. Whatever the source of Al’s displeasure with Richard, I doubt that it has anything to do with tools.

  Another point of contention is Pearl Wong’s classic, but not valuable green Chevy Silverado pickup. On more than one occasion I have seen the two men jockeying for right of usage. One night, I stepped out onto the lānai to investigate a noise coming from behind the apartment and overheard Al scolding Richard. Unseen, I watched as Al pulled a ring of keys from Richard’s hand. Nearly screaming, he said, “You have no business going out on the road. You may be fooling your aunt and mother, but you can’t put one over on me. You’re not getting these keys back until I’m sure you’re straight and sober.”

  I had no idea what Al was talking about, but the relationship between these men-who-would-be-boys was not healthy. One thing was certainly clear: Richard can never satisfy Al, who calls him “kid,” even though they are both beyond forty-five. Most of their disagreements remind me of children arguing over a toy they are supposed to share—especially when I have watched them shouting about who is in charge of an errand on behalf of Pearl.

  Another question I have concerns Richard’s origins. He does not look Chinese, so I have wondered whether he is related to Jade biologically. Perhaps he was adopted or is the product of a previous marriage of Jade’s deceased husband. As to the focus of his life, it does not seem related to the apartments. Although he is past the usual age of schooling, the only time I have heard him speak about his life, he was rambling on about the culinary classes that he is taking at Kapi`olani Community College.

  It was nearly noon on Monday when I finished my musings and note-making. After heating a saucer of milk for Miss Una, I sat down at the table in front of the slider to savor a final cup of coffee. As I rinsed our dishes, the phone rang. It was Miss Wong checking to see that her newest tenant was satisfied and settling in.

  “Perhaps you would like to come for tea some afternoon?” she queried.

  “That would be lovely. As I told you, I lived in this area when I was a young child, and I’d love to visit with you about its history,” I responded, trying to open our dialogue wider than she might have intended.

  “I would be delighted to tell you all about our family’s life here.”

  How grand! I had picked the right entrée for learning what I could about the apartments and their inhabitants. “Let me know when you’d like me to come.”

  “Well, I know you are busy with your research and volunteering, but late afternoons are usually good for me. By three-thirty, my sister Jade is resting and my work for the apartments is generally finished.”

  I pretended to check my calendar. “Mmhm. Well, I’m free tomorrow afternoon and Wednesday,” I said, letting my voice trail off.

  “Since I must attend the wedding of a friend’s daughter on Wednesday, may I ask if tomorrow is too soon for you,” Miss Wong politely inquired.

  “Not at all. I’m looking forward to getting to know you and your lovely apartments much better.”

  “Very well, shall we say four o’clock?”

  I agreed and hung up the phone with a near pirouette. I could not have asked for a better opening to my study of the apartment complex. I only had a day until our “tea party,” so I decided to do a bit of research on both of my projects at the Hawai`i State Public Library next to the archives. With the library being the main repository of daily newspapers in the twentieth century, I figured I could squeeze in review of articles about the Makiki and Kaimukī neighborhoods—after checking on some unusual topographic maps Henry had told me would be available for viewing at the archives.

  Once I had more information on the current owners of the apartments, I could check the tax rolls for information on the history of the property. With correct name spellings and, if I am lucky, a few dates, running checks on the Wong and Bishop families should be fairly easy. I was curious to find out if this Bishop family was related to the illustrious Bishops who sprinkle the history of the Kingdom of Hawai`i.

  After a brief bus ride, I entered the archives and looked at maps Henry had pulled for me showing Honolulu as it changed through the twentieth century. I then went next door to the main branch of the Hawai`i State Library and spent several hours scanning reels of microfilm of the Star Bulletin and Honolulu Advertiser. With textual descriptions of both Makiki and Kaimukī fortified by the maps I had seen, I considered the buildings that had been erected, modified and demolished to accommodate the outward migration of Honolulu’s populace. I was disappointed that I did not learn anything new or surprising about lower Makiki: Wilder Avenue had been widened; water, gas and sewer lines had been augmented; and thousands of individuals and families had moved in and out of the area.

  Between admitted escapism and serious research, I passed the afternoon without any emotional stress. For the first time, I returned to my temporary home feeling almost like this was my normal life—without concerns for the present, or fears for the future. Miss Una and I finished one of the last frozen dinners I had brought from the condo, and I actually went out on the lānai without too much discomfort for my second glass of wine. Our early supper was followed by an immediate turn-down of the bed.

  CHAPTER 7

  If you tell the truth you don’t have to remember anything.

  Mark Twain [Samuel L. Clemens, 1835-1910]

  Tuesday morning, I decided to stay home and do a little more reconnoitering. After breakfast and a perusal of hardcopy and online newspapers, I put Miss Una’s harness on her and attached her lead.

  “All right, Sweetheart. Be a good girl. We’re going for a stroll across the top deck of our palace, but that’s all.”

  Since day one, Miss Una has sat in front of the long louvered windows to the right of the front door every morning. Unfortunately, the view is not that great and I thought she might like to see what lay beyond her senses. She seemed to be the only animal companion on the fourth floor, so I doubted there would be any intoxicating scents to tempt her into mutiny during our short sojourn.

  After locking the door and pocketing the key, I gestured toward the right. “Lead on McGruff, but don’t get too close to the railing.”

  We walked down the row of apartments toward the back of the property. Although I saw no one, I felt as if someone was watching the progress of our little walk. Unlike most of Honolulu’s low-rise apartment houses, the stairs were located in the center of the building, rather than at the end. Approaching the staircase, Miss Una decided she had had enough regimental marching and sat down to peer at the tangled grass and weeds below us.

  “Uh, that might seem inviting, but we’re not going down there.” She stared at me like I had taken a mouse from her. I joined her on the top step and we sat looking out across the property. I did not know what was on the cat’s mind, but I wondered about what would have attracted Ariel’s attention. The vibe of the tenants at this apartment complex is young and lively. I could see that Ariel would have enjoyed the overall atmosphere. Maybe she would have ended up dating one of the other students—or one of the young servicemen I have watched playing volleyball. I sighed. There was no point in continuing that line of speculation.

  After a few minutes of musing about what would never come to pass, the dampness of the morning’s dew crept up from the concrete to give my hips a reminder that swimming or vigorous walking needed to be resumed in my daily routine. Miss Una seemed to agree it was time for action. Without the flutter of bird wings, or even a creeping gecko to greet, she stood up and yowled to announce it was time to get the show back on the road.

  Turning around, we bypassed Number B406 and continued on to the small cubicle with its decorative arched cutout at the end
of the open space. Like guests in a low-end hotel, tenants were tempted with an ice dispenser (empty) and an old 7Up slider soda machine that stood ready to serve one’s beverage needs. Although there were a couple of benches, we had already had our breather, and I thought we should get home so I could prepare for tea time with Miss Wong.

  “Well, that’s all there is to this storey,” I joked to my faithful feline, who seemed inordinately interested in the cutout in the back wall. Pulling gently on her lead, I encouraged Miss Una to leave the empty space and we returned to the apartment. After setting her free, I settled down on the sofa to review my notes on the Makiki neighborhood. The next couple of hours passed without any highlights. Hearing my stomach growl, I realized it was time for lunch. I pulled out the final bowl of my catch-all soup and the last of Keoni’s curry. After carefully rinsing the curry sauce from some chicken pieces, I sprinkled them on a plate for Miss Una. Nathan might have grimaced, but I then poured the soup into the curry and heated it in the microwave. I looked over at my darling kitty who seemed quite satisfied with her fare. As I savored the results of my new dish, I determined that curry would become my secret ingredient for brightening any soup I might concoct in the future.

  Feeling fortified nutritionally, but uncertain about my meeting with Miss Wong, I decided a short rest was required. Although I usually nap on my sofa, I felt Miss Una and I would rest better in the bedroom of this strange environment. Pulling her catsack next to me, I invited her to curl up for a short summer’s nap and we both fell asleep quickly.

  I awoke refreshed but alone, as my animal companion had moved elsewhere. Although I had showered in the morning, I washed my face before applying makeup and stood at the closet debating what to wear. Being a mature woman, I felt I should choose something reflective of the rich experiences I have enjoyed as a travel and leisure journalist. One of my better dresses, new patent leather sandals and the Egyptian gold cartouche pendant I had already set on top of the dresser should fit the bill for my slightly exaggerated cover story.