Too Hot Four Hula: 4 (The Tiki Goddess Mystery Series)

by Jill Marie Landis

  A lowered white Honda Civic came barreling toward them. Everyone in the back started screaming. Pat pulled over in time. She turned to Kiki and grinned. “So far so good.”

  Pat backed down the block to the corner and headed off the right way. Within five more minutes they were on a street that was a far cry from Waikiki. Overflowing trash cans lined the curb. Faded stucco apartment buildings built from lot line to lot line stood next to weather-beaten wood frame houses constructed in the twenties. There were no landscaped yards or fountains here, no shiny cars, limos, or open air busses full of tourists snapping photos. Nor was there the laid-back country feel of Kauai.

  “We’re in the gritty city now,” Pat observed.

  In the far back seat, Trish snapped photos. Lillian’s face was no longer thick with makeup now that the Mindy’s ladies were gone. She fluffed her pink bouffant with a hair pick. Precious silently moved her arms, practicing her hula to a tune in her head. Flora snuck a sip out of her water bottle while Kiki pointed out an empty parking space. Pat whipped the van into it. They both looked at the address on the GPS tracker and checked it against the slip of paper Kiki was holding.

  “You have arrived at your destination,” the computerized GPS voice informed them.

  “We’re here,” Kiki said, staring across the street at a mint green building with the word Lokelani painted above the arched entry.

  Pat surveyed the street. An old Chinese man was sweeping the sidewalk in front of a wooden house next door to the Lokelani. There was no one else around. “What are we gonna do now?” she asked Kiki.

  Undaunted, Kiki had her hand on the door handle. “We’re going to stick to the plan. Let’s get out. We’ll start by questioning that old man sweeping. Mark my words, once anyone sees us, he won’t be the only one out here for long.” She tried the handle, but the door was locked. “Let me out, Pat.”

  Pat clicked off the safety lock. Kiki climbed out. Pat opened the sliding door for the others, and soon the Maidens were all standing on the sidewalk near Phillip Johnson’s last known address.

  Kiki walked up to the old man. He stopped sweeping but didn’t smile or say a word.

  “A-loha,” she said in a tone sweeter than coconut syrup. “Do you live here?”

  The man said nothing. He merely stared at her and the others.

  “We’re looking for Damian Bautista. Do you know him?” Kiki watched the old man’s eyes. There was a flicker of recognition there, but his expression remained passive.

  “Grandpa!” A woman’s voice called out from behind the screen door of the faded wood frame house. “What you doing out there, Grandpa?”

  The screen door banged open, and a young woman with a toddler on her hip stepped out onto the porch.

  “That’s my grandpa,” she called out to Kiki. “Is he bothering you?”

  “On the contrary,” Kiki said, relieved to see another sign of life on the otherwise deserted street. “I was asking if he knows where Damian Bautista lives. We have one of his cousins here, and she’d love to talk to him.”

  The young woman walked across the porch, down the two steps to the ground, and then came over to the low picket fence that surrounded a postage stamp yard.

  “Everyone’s been looking for that Bautista guy lately.” She looked Kiki over. “You don’t look much like a cousin.”

  “Not me.” Kiki pointed to Flora. “Her. She’s the cousin.”

  “You know the police are looking for him.” The young woman hefted the chubby toddler higher on her hip. “They been all over this place. We’re ready for them to leave.”

  “We heard about that. Flora wants to tell him that she’s here for him, if he needs any support.”

  “That’s nice.” The girl looked at Trish and Lillian, then Precious and Big Estelle. “Hey, I know where I seen you all. You’re those ladies who dance at that bar on Kauai.”

  “That’s us.” Kiki almost grabbed the girl and hugged her, but she was afraid she’d end up with toddler slobber on her muumuu. Further down the sidewalk behind the young woman, a couple had stepped out of the door of an apartment. They stared a minute and then started walking toward the knot of Maidens.

  “Hey, Terri,” the toddler’s mom shouted to the other woman. “You recognize these ladies? They’re on the television. That Kauai show at that bar.”

  “Yeah, I remembah.” The couple had reached them by now. The woman looked to be in her late forties. The man about the same age. “I remembah the pink hair lady. And the midget.”

  “Little person,” Precious said. “I’m an LP, not a midget.”

  “That one is that guy, Bautista, she’s his cousin.” The younger woman pointed at Flora. “They need to find him,” she said.

  “Nobody even knew him until that big argument with the haole guy who got shot,” the other woman said. Her husband nodded.

  Kiki was elated when she saw a few more people leave their homes and apartments and walk toward them. She stepped closer to Flora and patted her shoulder.

  “Poor Flora just wants to leave a message for Damian. Is there a manager at the Lokelani?” Kiki looked at the faces on the people surrounding them.

  “Sure. That would be Melvin,” one of the men said. “I’ll go get him.”

  “Oh, mahalo. Mahalo.” Kiki nodded. “You’re so kind, bra.”

  Then she caught Big Estelle’s eye and mouthed the word engage.

  “Would you like an autograph?” Big Estelle asked the mother with the toddler.

  The girl shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”

  Big Estelle whipped a stack of publicity photos and some Sharpies out of her purse and handed them out to the other Maidens. “Here you go, girls. Engage.”

  Kiki smiled when she saw three more people walking up the street to join them. The Maidens started milling around, laughing and chatting up the crowd and signing photographs. Pat gave Kiki the thumbs up. The door of the van was open, the CD cued up already.

  Within three minutes a short, pudgy haole man came hustling out of the Lokelani apartments. His navy blue trucker’s ball cap with the word MANAGER emblazoned across the front matched his navy blue polo shirt. His first name, Melvin, was embroidered in yellow on the left side of the shirt above his heart. An emblem on one sleeve said SECURITY. A heavy, official-looking ring full of keys dangled from a chain hooked through his belt loop.

  He drew in his belly and puffed up his chest as he approached Kiki. Then he stuck out his hand. Instead of shaking it, Kiki pressed it between both of hers.

  “You’re the manager of the Lokelani?”

  Melvin lifted his hat, ran his hand over his bald head and centered the hat again. “That I am. I’m Melvin Kline.”

  “I would imagine that’s a heavy responsibility,” she said. “Especially lately.”

  He hooked his thumbs into his waistband and rocked forward onto his toes and back onto his heels. “That’s for sure. How can I help you lovely ladies?”

  She introduced Flora as Bautista’s cousin. “She flew over here to help him, when we got the word and all. She says no way is he guilty.”

  “I been lookin’ all over for him,” Flora said. “Thought maybe I could leave him a note so he knows I’m on island.”

  “He hasn’t been around,” Melvin said. “The police told me to keep an eye out, but I haven’t seen him.”

  Kiki reached around Flora and gave Precious a thumbs up.

  Precious clapped her hands and called out to the crowd, “How about a dance?”

  The Maidens were encouraged with nods and scattered clapping.

  Pat hit the play button, and a favorite song sung in Hawaiian began to play. “Kokee” wasn’t something they danced for the tourists.

  Kiki nudged Flora. Flora leaned over and yelled to Melvin over the music. “I’d s
ure like to see my cuz’s place.” Then she sniffed and wiped an invisible tear from her eye.

  “He doesn’t really live here,” Melvin said.

  “I know. That’s okay. I just like to feel close to him.”

  “Seeing how it’s you famous ladies, sure. Why not?” He tapped the keychain.

  While the growing crowd watched the remaining Maidens hula, Kiki and Flora followed Melvin into the Lokelani. Crime scene tape was still draped across one of the doors on the balcony level.

  They walked up the stairs with the sounds of everyday life surrounding them. Pots and pans rattled on a stove; a baby cried. Music poured out of one apartment, and the sound of a television show boomed out of a place right below them. They were standing right in front of the taped-off door when what sounded like gunshots went off.

  Flora grabbed Melvin and held him in front of her like a shield. Kiki hit the ground.

  Nothing happened.

  “Don’t worry, ladies,” Melvin extricated himself from Flora’s grasp. “That’s just Mrs. Alexander’s television. She lives right below this apartment and she’s deaf as a post. The TV is always blaring.”

  “Help me up.” Kiki extended her hand. Melvin grunted as he pulled her up off the walkway.

  She stared at the taped-off door in front of them and turned up the drama. She pressed a hand to her heart.

  “Oh my gosh! Is this the apartment where that poor man was murdered?” She clasped her hands between her breasts and hoped she looked suitably horrified.

  “Sure is,” Melvin said. “It’s an official murder scene.”

  “Oh, Flora. It’s right next door to your cousin’s apartment.” Kiki stared at the front door to Em’s ex’s apartment.

  “You wanna see inside?” Melvin was already flipping through keys on the huge ring.

  “Oh, could we?” Kiki tried to sound breathless.

  “I don’t wanna look.” Flora was digging for her Gatorade bottle.

  Kiki poked her in the hip.

  “Oh, sure,” Flora said. “I’ll take a peek.”

  Melvin opened the door. Kiki ducked beneath the crime scene tape and stuck her head and shoulders inside. There was nothing in the room but a few pieces of beat up furniture, a stripped bed, and a bloodstain on the floor.

  “Yuk,” Kiki said.

  “No worries,” Melvin assured her. “I’ve got some stuff that takes blood out of a carpet in a snap.”

  Flora reneged on peeking. Kiki pulled her head out, and Melvin closed and locked the door.

  “Okay, now for Bautista’s place.” He took a few steps to the next door over. “The police have already been through the whole place. Well, as far as they could get, that is. Murder weapon was on the floor in the victim’s apartment. There were no prints on the gun. I don’t know what they were looking for in Bautista’s apartment. I think they’re just trying to pin the murder on somebody, and since Damian really got into it with the guy earlier, they’re trying to connect him.”

  Kiki motioned for Flora to put her “special water” bottle away.

  Melvin turned the key and opened the door as far as he could, which was only half way.

  “Holy Moly!” Kiki said when she saw inside.

  Flora leaned closer to look over her shoulder. “Holy Moly, for shua. I cannot fit in there.”

  “You want to go in and look around?” Melvin asked.

  Kiki had already kicked off her slaps and was wedging herself through the door. Once inside, she shoved a couple of boxes back and opened the door all the way. Boxes were piled up to the ceiling in some spots. The windows were shut tight, the air stifling.

  “You can get in now,” she told Flora after she pushed a couple more boxes out of the way. “Come on.”

  Flora stepped inside and hovered there. She and Kiki stared around without moving. Except for a narrow path between piles, the room was literally packed floor to ceiling with precariously leaning stacks of old newspapers, brochures, signs, maps, and magazines. Kiki picked up a few pieces and noticed none had been printed after the 1970s.

  Kiki walked down the narrow aisle between stacks. Flora didn’t move past the entrance.

  “You’re gonna die if that stuff falls over on you,” she warned.

  “I’m fine.” Kiki opened a box full of rubber hula dolls and parts of hula dolls. Next to it was a plastic bin containing old chalkware bobblehead dashboard dolls from the thirties and forties. She opened yet another box that contained carved coconuts and old Hawaiian postcards with edges trimmed like rickrack.

  She took another step, tripped over a bamboo wine rack, and landed on a stack of Dole pineapple labels. There were chipped State of Hawaii collector’s plates, monkey pod bowls of all shapes and sizes, and ceramic ash trays. Tiki masks made of wood and plastic were piled among the boxes. Tiki mugs were crammed into every nook and cranny in the efficiency kitchen. Boxes were piled high in the sink.

  “I get claustrophobia.” Flora fanned herself with a 1954 map of Honolulu. “This place is way more crowded than the storage shed where I keep my shop inventory.”

  Kiki stared at the hoard and knew the police couldn’t possibly have gone through everything in the place, let alone find a clue that would tie Bautista to the murder. The air was hot and close and tainted with the smell of mildew. She hated to admit defeat, but she had to get out.

  She thought she was being careful as she turned around to head for the door until her bare foot connected with something small and very hard. She shifted away from it, let out a squeal, lost her balance, and fell sideways into a box that crashed to the floor and flew open.

  Kiki rubbed her foot and bent over to pick up a three-inch plastic tiki with green rhinestone eyes dangling from a rawhide string. She tossed the tiki over her shoulder. The box had spilled its contents, and a host of paperback books was scatted in her path.

  The one on top had a colorful cover displaying people dressed in retro outfits from the sixties enjoying food and drinks. She picked it up.

  How to Have a Luau Indoors.

  She read the title to herself and flipped through the contents of standard luau recipes revamped for tourists to make when they went back to the mainland. She leaned over and tried to shove the other books into the box. They were all vintage cookbooks.

  She pawed through them, reading the titles and tossing them aside. Grabbing another handful, she noticed the copy on top was Favorite Tropical Drinks.

  Kiki dropped the books. “We gotta get out of here.”

  Flora yelled, “Did you see a rat?”

  “No, but we’ve got to go.”

  “You want to leave your cousin a note?” Melvin asked Flora.

  “Nah, he’ll never find it in this mess.”

  “Leave it with me,” he volunteered. “I’ll see he gets it if he ever comes back.”

  “Leave a note,” Kiki said as she scrambled off the pile of cookbooks. “Leave a note and let’s go.”

  Flora dug around in her purse until she found a wrinkled cocktail napkin. She smoothed it out and scribbled I was here cuz on it and handed it to Melvin.

  “I’ll give this to him the minute I see him,” he promised.

  “Thanks, bra,” she said.

  “No problem. I’ll escort you ladies back to your group.” He made quite a show of rattling his keys as he locked the door.

  Kiki slipped into her sandals and took a deep breath of fresh air. She wiped sweat off of her face with the hem of her muumuu.

  “Where does Damian work, Flora?”

  Flora wrinkled her forehead and said nothing.

  Kiki prodded, “Did you forget?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Flora turned to Melvin. “I forget. Where does my cuz work?”

  “La Mariana Sailing Club,” Melvin said.
“I make it a habit to know where all my long term renters work in case I have to track them down for payments.”

  Kiki could still hear hula music blaring out of the rental van. She’d seen all she needed to see here.

  “We’d better get going.” Kiki started for the stairway.

  “You ladies have a lot of personal appearances to do while you’re here?” Melvin asked.

  “We sure do.” Kiki was almost at the bottom of the stairs. “In fact, we’ve got a gig we should be getting to right now.”

  “No, we don’t. Do we?” Flora huffed down the stairs behind them.

  Kiki glared over her shoulder. “You are getting so forgetful, Flora. Hurry out to the car and get the girls loaded up.” Kiki stepped aside and motioned Melvin over. Flora had picked up speed lumbering down the stairs and charged toward the van.

  “I can’t thank you enough, Melvin. That meant so much to Flora. May I get a photo of you?” She pulled her phone out of her purse. Might as well leave the guy happy.

  Melvin shoved the bill of his hat back so it wouldn’t shade his face. “Sure!”

  His smile was wide as a rainbow when Kiki snapped the picture.

  “You think I could end up on TV? I mean, if your show ever comes back on?”

  “Oh, I’m pretty sure we won’t be back on the air, but you never know,” Kiki said.

  “Keep my photo on file just in case,” he said. “If you ever need extra security, then I’m your man.”

  36

  IN NO TIME AT all they’d bid aloha to their fans and were loaded up in the van.

  “Where to, boss?” Pat asked Kiki.

  “Trish, can you find La Mariana Sailing Club on your notebook? I’ll punch in the address.”

  “Looking,” Trish called from the back seat. “It says something about Sand Island.”

  Precious wanted to know, “Are we going sailing? Or to the beach?”