“But he was the headliner.”
“Bah. Fire Dancers. They dime for dozen.” Stamp. Stamp. Stamp.
The cantankerous woman reminded Miranda of a couple of bosses she’d worked for in her travels. She felt even more sorry for poor Keola. “You have someone to replace him already?”
“Of course. I have Justin Nahele. He been waiting for months. He beg Wainani, he beg me all de time. ‘Put me in the show. I’m better dan Keola.’ So now he got de job.”
Now that sounded like a motive. “Where can I find Nahele?”
“He downstairs practicing with Wainani.” She looked up from her papers and waggled a chubby finger at Miranda. “Don’t you dare disturb them. They have to be ready for tomorrow night.”
Miranda put on a smile as sweet as a freshly picked mango. “I wouldn’t think of it, Minoaka. Thank you for your help.”
Minoaka only scowled at her. “You tell dat Balondo I already said all I got to say.”
“I’ll do that.” She turned to go while the getting was good.
On the way out, she brushed past Parker, who was still lingering in the doorway. He hadn’t said a word and his expression seemed full of admiration. The kind he used to give her on her first cases with him. A rush of tenderness swept through her. Good Lord, he was making this hard. Why couldn’t he argue with her about her methods instead? It sure would be easier to stay mad at him.
But then it wasn’t her methods he objected to. It was the whole investigation. She knew he was just waiting for her to get it out of her system. Hah. What she needed was to get him out of her system.
Apparently, that wasn’t going to happen. As she hustled down the hall, he stepped up beside her and murmured in her ear. “A temperamental artist would be prone to suicide after being fired from a job that meant a lot to him.”
“Only means I haven’t dug deep enough yet,” she hissed back.
“Perhaps. Perhaps not.”
“Well, I’m going for another shovelful. You don’t have to come with if you think it’s so pointless.”
But stubborn mule that he was, Parker followed her as she made her way back downstairs and past the clerk, who pretended not to see them.
Ignoring her good-looking shadow, she slipped out the front door.
Chapter Fourteen
Outside, the sound of a lone drumbeat greeted her ears. With Parker still on her heels, she followed it across the wooden porch and around the building to the dining area.
Under the morning sun the place stood vacant and lonely. There were no linen tablecloths. No fancy china or silverware or colorfully-garbed greeters. Rattan chairs were piled atop empty tables. In the far corner, a lone worker swabbed the floor.
On the stage, a young man in cutoff jeans danced to the drumbeat, an unlit torch in his hand. Another man, who was tall and looked much older than the dancer, stood at the edge of the stage watching him intently.
Suddenly, Miranda felt her eyes grow moist. This was where she’d watched the show with Parker last night. Her blissful honeymoon. Keola’s last performance. Her heart swelled at the memory. What a difference a day makes.
She shook herself.
“I’ll stay out of your way,” Parker murmured, sadness in his voice as he moved to the bar to wait for her. His thoughts must be going in the same direction.
She watched him pull a stool down and perch on it. Oh, for Pete’s sake. There was no time for emotional stuff now. She had a murder to solve.
Straightening her shoulders, she turned and made her way through the tables, heading for the stage.
“Step, stomp. Step, stomp. That’s right,” the tall man cried out.
As she neared Miranda saw he was lean and lanky with wavy gray hair that receded a bit at the temples and was caught up in a braid that fell down his back. He was wearing sandals, dark jeans and a form-fitting black shirt.
“Step, stomp. Step, stomp,” he repeated, clapping his long, bony hands in time to the drumbeat.
His thin bare chest gleaming with sweat in the sun, the dancer shuffled to the left then back to the right.
“Good. Now turn and toss.”
The dancer spun and flung his flameless torch into the air. As it came down, he reached for it but his fingers fumbled and the wooden baton clattered onto the stage.
“I’m sorry,” he cried, nerves in his voice. “I’m so sorry, Wainani.”
The man slapped both hands against his forehead in a dramatic gesture. “No, no, no, Justin! Never let them see you’ve made a mistake. Just keep going. Smooth. Smooth.” He moved his hands in the air like a conductor directing an orchestra.
“I’ll try. I’ll do better. I promise.” The dancer picked up the torch and dropped it again.
The older man made a grunting sound and shook his head.
“I’m so sorry. I’ll try harder. Please.”
The man lifted his gaze skyward as if asking why he had been so cursed. He raised a hand. “Stop. You’re tired. Just take five.”
The dancer nodded, picked up his torch and, this time managing to hold onto it, scrambled from the stage. In the absence of the drumbeat, ocean sounds took over the now silent stage.
The older man turned on his heels with a huff, about to make a beeline for the bar.
Miranda stepped in front of him and cut him off. “Doesn’t seem to be much of a replacement for Keola, huh?”
“What?” The tall man glared at her. She saw his black shirt was open at the neck, revealing a mass of graying hair covered with several gold chains. Must take the stage manager job seriously.
“You’re Dominic Wainani, right?”
He made a sound like barking seal and rolled his eyes. “How did you get in here? I don’t do interviews. You’ll have to talk to our publicist.” He brushed past her.
“I’m not here for an interview, Mr. Wainani. I’m looking into the death of Keola Hakumele.”
He stopped in his tracks and slowly turned back, giving her the once over with a pair of wary green eyes. “And you are?”
“Miranda Parker. I’m a private investigator.” Once more she dug in her pocket and handed him a card. “May I have a moment of your time?”
He looked very uncomfortable, but he nodded. “Minoaka said someone would come round to talk to us about that, so I suppose I’ll have to give it to you.” He folded his arms over his thin chest. “What do you want to know?”
“You’re the stage manager here?”
“Creative Director.”
Excuse me. “Tell me about Keola.”
He shrugged. “He was a great talent. His loss is felt deeply by all of us here at Luau Pilialoha.”
Now that she was close to him, she saw red circles under his eyes that he’d tried to cover up with makeup. Maybe he really did feel the loss. Or maybe he’d been crying because he was terrified of being caught for a serious crime. “Minoaka didn’t seem to think he was such a great talent. She indicated he could be easily replaced.”
He coughed and rubbed a finger under his long nose as his face became animated with an array of emotions. Mostly disgust. “Let’s just say Minoaka is difficult to work for. She doesn’t understand the art of the fire dance. All she cares about is the money. Keola was special. We will all miss him very much.”
“Sounds like you were close.”
“In the creative sense. He was an artist.” He waved a hand in the air. “Oh, he got on my nerves sometimes. I’m an artist, too. But Keola was one of a kind. No one can replace him, contrary to Minoaka’s opinion.”
“What about the guy I just saw? What’s his name?” She gestured toward the stage.
“Justin Nahele.” Wainani shook his head and rolled his eyes. Must be a nervous habit. “The boy’s trying hard, but he’ll never match Keola. Keola had raw talent. An innate sense of the moves. A natural grace.”
She pursed her lips and took a step closer. “Why was Nahele picked as a replacement then, Mr. Wainani?”
He almost rolled his eyes again, bu
t stopped himself. “Justin’s been begging Minoaka to let him fill in for Keola for months. He wants more than anything in the world to be a fire dancer like Keola. He worshiped him.”
Oh, really? This was getting more and more interesting. “Sounds like he might have been a little jealous of him.”
Wainani laughed as if he were talking to a child. “We’re all a little jealous of each other in the artistic community. Just as we all deeply admire each other. Outsiders don’t understand.”
“I see.” Artistic or not, jealousy could make you want to destroy a rival. She’d seen that before.
“Is that all, Mrs. Parker? I have work here, as I hope you can see.”
“Just a few more questions.” She leaned her butt against the stage. Might as well get comfortable.
He drew in an exasperated breath. “Very well.”
“What about a girlfriend?”
He frowned as if she’d said something in Bulgarian. “What do you mean?”
“Girlfriend. As in, did Keola have one?”
He lifted his hands. “He was a local celebrity. Young women hounded him. He could have had his pick of any of them.”
“And did he? Perhaps one of them had a boyfriend. Perhaps Keola got on a boyfriend’s nerves.”
Wainani narrowed his eyes at her. “Are you saying there was foul play in Keloa’s death? I thought it was an accident.”
“We’re trying to determine that.”
With a stunned look, Wainani ran a hand over his forehead. “Keloa was dedicated to his art. He gave himself over to it. He spent hours practicing. He didn’t have time for a girlfriend.”
“So he was a loner?”
“I would say so. Many of us are.”
“Sounds like you’re one, too.”
He looked at her as if she were the rudest person he’d ever met. “Your point?”
Maybe Wainani was the jealous one. But what would he and Keola be doing at the blowhole in the middle of the night? She decided not to press that now. “What was this thing about the Night Marchers?”
He blinked as if it were difficult to follow her change of topic. “Huaka’i Po. Keola’s latest obsession.” He waved a dismissive hand. “A silly island superstition some parents use to frighten their children into behaving. I didn’t like it. I didn’t think he should put it into the show.”
“Did you argue over that?”
“We argued over a great many things. But yes, we argued. Our show is supposed to be happy and romantic, not…spooky. He went over my head and did it anyway.”
“Minoaka agrees with you.”
His face showed that he suddenly understood what she was implying. “I made a mistake. I shouldn’t have complained to her. She was livid. She called Keola into her office and screamed at him with that horrid screeching voice of hers.” His face went dark as he drew in a ragged breath. “Then she told him he was fired and that he’d never work in Lahaina again.”
“He took it hard?”
“He was devastated. Absolutely devastated.”
“So you think he was in the state of mind to…”
He blinked at her. His green eyes grew turquoise with moisture. “End it all?” Slowly, he nodded. “Yes. Perhaps. He could brood with the best of us. It took all I had sometimes to get him out of one of his funks.” Now his eyes began to glow with trepidation. “Do you think that’s what happened to him? Oh, God. Was it all my fault?”
This guy was either a really good actor or he cared about Keola. But if he’d just wanted the kid out of his hair, it didn’t make sense to kill him after he was fired. She pressed on.
“Do you know where Keola went after Minoaka let him go?”
He frowned as if trying to remember. “I’m not sure. Earlier he told me he was going to see his little brother after the show. He might have still done that. He was worried about him.”
“Why?”
Wainani stared out at the sea. “His brother has been in trouble lately. Hanging out with a bad crowd. Rebellious teenager. His mother kicked him out of the house.”
“I see.” She was getting closer. She could feel it. Maybe this little brother knew exactly what happened to Keola. “Do you think he met his brother at the blowhole?”
“I really can’t say. But I know his brother is staying at his father’s bar.”
Her heartbeat picked up. “His father owns a bar?”
“Yes, a tiki bar.”
“What’s the name of it?”
“Coconut Rum. It’s on Front Street. Near Wahie Lane, I believe.”
Another good lead. She’d have to check it out. “His father’s name is Hakumele, I assume.”
Wainani scowled again. “No, that’s Keola’s middle name. Let’s see. Let me think. Oh, yes. His father goes by the name Pumehana.”
Well, that was confusing. Good thing she’d asked. “Pumehana?”
“It means warmth and affection,” he said softly. “His place is a lot of fun, I hear. Or it used to be…until last night.”
###
Parker sat on the barstool, his gaze fixed on the pair standing before the stage. The director seemed surly, but Miranda looked lovely and fresh in her pale blue blouse with the backdrop of the blue sky and sea complementing her. He smiled at her casual pose, the confident way she posed her questions. He could hear only vague snatches of their conversation, but he knew she was getting all the information she needed out of the man.
She’d always had inborn instincts. And inborn drive and determination. But now, she also had skills. She had come a long way since she first swaggered into his office back in Atlanta. She had grown into a fine investigator. Pride rippled through his chest. It was mingled with frustration. It took a tremendous amount of self-control not to interfere. To sit back and let her work it through.
As he leaned on the bar and summoned another round of patience, a troubling thought struck him. He may have trained her, but she really didn’t need him or the Agency any more. She could strike out on her own, if she chose. And knowing her, she was thinking of just that. He couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t lose her again.
She turned and he took in the expression on her face. She’d learned something.
The bottom dropped out of his heart. Had she discovered the fact he’d been trying so hard to keep from her? No, she’d be furious if she had. And upset beyond words. It was something else. Something that would spur her to dig deeper, as she had put it. And he’d been so sure her investigation here would only confirm the Keola Hakumele’s death had been a tragic suicide.
What if she were right? What if it wasn’t suicide?
There’d be no whisking her away in short order then. She’d follow the trail until it led her to the killer. He tapped his fingers on the bar. Time to change tactics. The only way he could control how much information she had was to join her investigation instead of merely observe it. If only she’d stop being so prickly.
He watched her shake Wainani’s hand and leave him to his work. She strode toward him with a brusqueness that made his heart ache. He slipped off the stool and put it back in place.
“Excellent work,” he murmured when she reached him.
“Thanks.” She kept going. Her eyes didn’t meet his and the twitch in her mouth spiked his irritation with her.
He stepped to her side. “Have you reached any conclusions?”
“I’ve got a nibble or two.” She moved swiftly through the open entrance to the porch.
He quickened his pace. “I was thinking. What you’re missing is physical evidence to prove what happened to Keola was neither an accident nor a suicide.”
Closing her eyes, she stopped just before the steps leading to the walkway and spun on her heels. “If you think this is such an exercise in futility, Parker, why don’t you go back to the hotel? I can manage without a ‘chauffeur.’”
Her testiness inflamed him, yet the fire in her deep blue eyes reminded him of the first time he saw her. When she’d been falsely accused o
f murder and had so eloquently told him to “get lost.” He wanted to shake her. He wanted to bury his lips in hers. Instead, he would do his best to tame those ruffled feathers.
“You misjudge me, Miranda,” he said as calmly as he could.
She folded her arms and glared at him. “Oh, yeah?”
He drew in a slow breath. “I was going to suggest we examine the scene in the light of day.”
Miranda had to blink at that one. Had she heard him right? He wanted to look for evidence? Or did he have some trick up his debonair sleeve? What was she thinking? He always had some trick up his sleeve.
She turned away but didn’t go down the steps. Parker had a point. Some solid physical evidence would be a lot more convincing to Balondo than just her gut feeling. And it would be pretty hard to examine the area around the blowhole by herself.
She turned back and tilted her chin at him. “You’re saying we should go there now?”
“No time like the present. Besides, the tide isn’t at its peak yet. We’ll be drier.” He gave her that trademark sex-appeal grin.
She forced her feelings into a wall to block his charm, not too sure if it had worked. She had such a weakness for him. A damn good reason not to examine the crime scene with him. Besides she needed to question Justin Nahele. And she wanted to check out what Wainani had told her about Keola’s little brother.
She tapped her foot on the wooden floor of the porch. She was a professional. And with Parker’s status in her profession, no doubt she’d consult with him in the future from time to time, no matter where she ended up. He seemed to be familiar with every place in the world, after all. She ought to get used to working around him. Examining the area where she’d found Keola would be good practice. Her other two tasks could wait an hour or so.
She gave him a quick, professional nod. “Okay, James. Take me to the blowhole.”
His sexy gray eyes twinkled. “I’d be delighted, m’lady.”
Chapter Fifteen
Her “chauffeur” drove in silence for a long while. Miranda bided her time counting the ferns and the flowering hibiscus plants and the avocado trees and the coconut palms they passed along the Honoapiilani Highway. She watched the ocean disappear behind an elaborate apartment building and wondered how much dinero it cost to live in this pretty place. They probably charged by the sigh.
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