Carter Peterson Mystery Series (Volume 1)

by Al Boudreau

  “Okay. Getting back to the subject of having to steer clear of Kaholo—how is that going to work?” Andrew asked.

  “It’s my understanding that Kaholo is after our Odell imposter. Our investigation involves searching for Amber Odell. So, technically, we’re not stepping on anyone’s toes. That’s why we were brought to the island, that’s what we agreed to by way of verbal contract, and that’s what we’re now getting paid to do.”

  “Hope you don’t get sick of me asking dumb questions,” Andrew said, “but aren’t you concerned that chasing down this girl might be part of the scam?”

  “Not overly concerned. Searching for the girl provides us with legitimate cover for finding clues as to what’s really going on. Think of it as an alternate route to get to the same destination.”

  “Ah, OK, I get it,” Andrew replied. “We’re still on the case, indirectly helping the cops find the imposter, while searching for the girl to fulfill our agreement with Mrs. Odell.”

  “In a nutshell.”

  Andrew threw his hands in the air. “OK, what’s our next move? How do we go about locating this young girl when we’re not even sure she’s actually missing?”

  I smiled. “You said you wanted to become a detective, right? You tell me. How would you go about it?”

  Andrew nodded. “How old is she?”

  “Thirteen.”

  “Her last known residence?”

  “Los Angeles.”

  “And how long has she been missing?”

  “Two weeks.”

  Andrew sat down on one of the reclining chairs, his gaze fixed on the breaking waves. After about ten seconds he turned to me and said, “First, I’d do some checking to find out if a missing person’s report was ever filed. And maybe contact the school she attends.”

  “Good call,” I said. “That’s the right move, but we’ve already checked for missing persons reports. No report was ever filed in California. Not here in Hawaii, either. That’s been confirmed by the Honolulu Police Department. Good idea to check with her school, too. But you have to take the time of year into consideration. It’s June now. School’s out.”

  “Oh yeah. Okay, well … it might make sense to try and track down her relatives. Find out if they’ve heard from her,” Andrew said.

  “Yep. Definitely a logical next step. What else?” I asked.

  “Next, I’d probably check out social media. Use the photos we were given, along with her personal information, and scour the most popular networking websites.”

  “Okay, good. Let’s test your skills. We’ll see how it pans out,” I said and pointed toward the coffee table. “You can use my laptop. Meanwhile, I’m going to see if I can locate some physical clues. We need to determine who, or what, that GPS tracker was showing us.”

  Andrew jumped up off the chair as though a bee had stung him in the backside, obviously eager to make his first contribution to the case. I was impressed with his ambition and his ideas.

  I followed Andrew inside, hoping to find Richard immersed in some sort of activity related to our search for the missing girl. I headed toward his bedroom to find the door closed.

  “Come in,” he said in response to my knocking.

  I found him on his computer. “Playing Solitaire?” I asked.

  Richard laughed. “Checking my email. Hoping to find out how Emily is doing in France.”

  I crossed my arms and rested my shoulder against the door frame. “You never did tell me how that whole trip came to be. You said she went with three of her girlfriends?”

  “Yeah, that’s right. Well, two of them are her close friends. The third, Tiffany Bell, is someone she met recently at her Bridge Club. Tiffany won the trip through a raffle. Ten nights’ lodging for four in Paris. Some boutique hotel within walking distance of the Eiffel Tower.”

  “That’s some kind of prize,” I said. “Probably about eight thousand dollars’ worth.”

  “Ten,” Richard replied. “I checked. Which is part of the reason I couldn’t say no.”

  My eyebrows shot up when I heard the number. Skeptical didn’t even begin to cover what I was feeling. “This new friend. She Emily’s age?”

  “Nah. Emily said Tiffany is significantly younger than the rest of them. Mid-forties, if I remember right. They all took quite a shine to her. Said she was a lot of fun to be around. Emily was so excited about the prospect of going to France with those gals, I didn’t have the heart to shut her down.”

  “When did this travel opportunity land in Emily’s lap?” I asked.

  Richard hesitated. “A few weeks ago.”

  I nodded. “Good for her.” The timing seemed suspect, but I had nothing concrete to go on. No sense in broaching the subject with Richard. He was ornery enough without me making matters worse. I took out my wallet and handed him a wad of twenty-dollar bills. “I promised you a round of golf while you’re here. Today’s the day,” I said and handed him the cash. “Play the course here at Ko Ahiku. The brochure in the living room says it’s world-class.”

  “Really? You don’t mind?” Richard asked, looking the happiest I’d seen him since he arrived.

  “Nope. Go hit ‘em.”

  “Thanks, Carter. I really appreciate it.”

  I turned and left the room, relieved that I’d be able to pursue some leads this afternoon by myself. “Andrew, I promised Richard a round of golf while he’s here on the island. He’s heading out to play Ko Ahiku’s course. You okay here if I take off for a few hours?”

  “Definitely. I’ve got plenty to do,” he said.

  I went to the safe, grabbed some additional cash and the GPS tracking console, and made my exit. Within minutes I was at the entrance to the on-ramp for Interstate H1. I pulled off the tarmac and stopped short of the ramp. Richard had given me a brief rundown of what he’d learned about the tracking device. I switched it on and gave it a few seconds to acquire whatever targets were in range.

  We’d seen two different targets the first time we used it. Today there was only one, and it appeared to be stationary. I reduced the scale of the map to figure out just where I was headed. The target was located along Oahu’s surfing Mecca, the North Shore. Once I’d determined the general search area, I increased the scale in order to see detail. The target sat on a dead-end road, the shortest I’d ever seen, called Kauku Road, in the town of Pūpūkea. I was pretty sure my driveway in Bridgeport was longer.

  I put the car in gear to begin my search for the source of the GPS signal. As soon as I pulled back onto the roadway a thought crossed my mind. If this entire case happens to be based on a scam, then there’s a high probability the scammers are tracking this GPS device I’m carting around.

  And if they’re tracking it, they’re tracking me.

  I checked the road ahead and behind. Both clear, I yanked the steering wheel, pulled a U-turn, and headed straight back to Ko Ahiku. I didn’t want to waste time driving back into the parking garage. This was only going to take a minute or two, so I approached the small public parking lot which was adjacent to Tower 1.

  A young Hawaiian male wearing a day-glow yellow vest with reflective stripes tossed up his palm and shot me a halt sign. “Lot’s full, sir,” he said as I slowed to a stop next to him.

  “Actually, I’m staying at Ko Ahiku,” I said and pointed in the direction of Tower 1. “I forgot to grab something in my room before I left. Any way I can park here for just a few minutes?”

  “No, sir, we’re not allowed to have vehicles parked along the roadway.”

  I grabbed my wallet and got out my universal parking pass—the green one with Andrew Jackson’s picture on it. “Two minutes,” I said and waved the twenty in front of him.

  The attendant gave me a quick nod and snatched the bill from my grasp. “Two minutes. No more.”

  I grabbed the tracker and sprinted past the lot, through the security gate, and across the lanai to find Andrew sitting exactly where he’d been when I left.

  Andrew startled when I came bound
ing into the living room. “Everything all right?” he asked.

  “Fine,” I said. “I need your help.”

  “Sure. Name it,” Andrew said.

  I handed Andrew the GPS tracking console and pointed at the screen. “Keep an eye on that target for me,” I said as I jotted down Pūpūkea and Kauku Road in my notebook. “If you see that target move before you hear from me, call my cell immediately. Otherwise, I’ll check in with you once I get near the target’s location.”

  “No problem.”

  I ran back to the car, gave the attendant a wave, and I was on my way.

  “Okay, Odell, or whatever your name is. Let’s see what or who you want me to find.”

  Chapter 16

  I’d traveled through some remarkable areas over the course of my career, but never one as breathtaking as this ride to the North Shore. Highway 99 stretched out before me, high above the ocean, running straight through the middle of Oahu’s vast pineapple fields. Miles and miles of bluish-green pineapple crowns created a living carpet stretching clear out to the base of Mount Kaala, Oahu’s highest peak. I couldn’t help but think this area saw more than its share of serious traffic accidents. It was difficult to pay attention to the road ahead with so much beauty to take in all around me.

  The straight and level stretch of asphalt began to slope toward sea level as the majestic North Shore came into view. Sets of waves breaking bright white in the distance created a distinct border between land and sea, though still more than five miles away. I searched the airwaves until I found some traditional Hawaiian music playing on the radio.

  I checked my phone once I got down to sea level just to make sure I still had a decent signal. I didn’t want to get all the way to Pūpūkea only to find I’d missed a call from Andrew, and the opportunity to get eyes on my target.

  Five bars. We were good.

  I’d managed to memorize half a dozen prominent landmarks I’d seen on the digital map, in order to gauge my progress along King Kamehameha Highway, the road which hugged the water along the North Shore. I’d just passed the fifth landmark, telling me I was now in the general vicinity of Kauku Road.

  Traffic was heavy and slow along this stretch. I divided my attention between scanning street signs and watching the back bumper of the car ahead. It there was ever a location that screamed endless summer, it was this place.

  My heart began to beat a little faster as I spotted the weathered sign up ahead for Kauku Road. I pulled over to the shoulder in front of a No Parking sign, coming to a stop just short of the gravel dead-end road. I killed the engine and climbed out while placing a call to Andrew.

  “Hey, Carter. No movement on the tracker.”

  “Okay, good. Made any progress matching Amber Odell’s photo to those social media sites?” I asked.

  “No, not yet, but I’m determined to uncover a lead that will shift this search into warp drive,” Andrew said.

  “Good man.”

  I pocketed my phone and pulled the baseball cap I was wearing down tight to the top of my shades. I started walking along the main road, keeping my focus on anything and everything but Kauku Road. If anyone happened to be watching me they’d have no clue why I was really there.

  The entrance to Kauku right beside me now, I waited for a break in the 2-way traffic and crossed to the other side of the highway. Sunset Beach was a short walk away, so plenty of people were strolling along the sidewalk.

  I spotted a palm tree that was about to become my temporary lean-to. I pulled out my phone and got comfortable, my dark glasses allowing me to study the lay of the land while appearing to be focused on my device, like nearly every other person around me.

  Lining Kauku Road were three houses, better described as surf shacks based on the funky paint jobs, rickety carport roofs, and enough surfboards between them to stretch from here to Waikiki. A total of ten vehicles, mostly beaters, filled the driveways and front yards of the tacky trio, with motorbikes and bicycles totaling in the twenties. Rents were steep in this area of the island, so surfing buds generally pooled their resources, each claiming a small area of the floor plan and filling the joints to the rafters.

  Speaking of joints, there was no lack of the scent of ganja wafting through the air.

  The scene was pretty consistent, with the exception of one standout: a shiny BMW convertible. And not a run-down, entry-level jalopy either, but a late-model M6. The kind that costs close to six figures on the showroom floor. The silver beast was parked at an angle where I couldn’t get a clear shot of the license plate, but the top was down. And being that the North Shore was famous for sudden changes in weather, I had to assume the lucky owner of this ride was probably planning on using it soon.

  Every few minutes a teenager would arrive or a twenty-something would leave, the traffic in and out of the three properties not unlike the men’s room during intermission at a rock music festival.

  This went on for a half hour or more, with surfers passing by like the tide. I was about to call Andrew out of sheer boredom when I noticed something out of the ordinary: a guy, who looked to be in his mid-forties, walking out of one of the residences, wearing royal blue scrubs. No surprise, he strutted right on up to the driver’s side door of the fancy Bimmer, climbed inside, and fired it up.

  He may have been closing in on middle-age, but he drove just as recklessly as the young bucks I’d seen blasting up and down Kamehameha. In fact, this guy got the convertible going so fast on the short road that he had to skid to a stop at the end, nearly sliding into the traffic on the highway.

  I was distracted from this buffoon’s antics by two things: his Hawaii vanity license plate, which read DOGZLIF…

  …and the sound of my phone ringing.

  I hadn’t even had the chance to say hello when I heard Andrew’s voice.

  “Carter, the target’s moving.”

  I boosted myself up and away from my tropical perch, making a beeline for the rental car. “Is it stationary right now?” I asked, keeping the BMW in my peripheral vision.

  “Yes. It’s showing the target sitting still at the end of Kauku Road.”

  No sooner had Andrew spoken when the BMW pilot caught a break in the traffic and pulled out onto King Kamehameha Highway, heading in the opposite direction my vehicle was facing.

  I jumped in and started the car, hoping I’d catch a break and be able to pull a U-turn before DOGZLIF got away.

  “Target’s moving again, Carter. West on Kamehameha.”

  “I’ve got eyes on the vehicle, Andrew. Excellent work. I’m going to let you go so I can concentrate on following this guy. But keep an eye on that tracker for me. If I lose him, I’ll be calling you.”

  “Will do.”

  Chapter 17

  I tossed my phone onto the passenger seat and eased the nose of the car out into traffic, a bad habit I’d picked up while spending years behind the wheel in Boston’s rush-hour traffic.

  Unlike Boston, a motorist kindly paused and waved me out. Lucky for me, there was a lapse in traffic moving in the opposite direction. I cut the wheel hard to the left, punched the accelerator, and made a successful U-turn in the middle of one of the busiest roads on Oahu. I was now about six cars behind Doggy McScrubs and his fancy ride. Which was fine, because, with all this traffic, I wasn’t about to lose him.

  Or so I thought.

  This particular miles-long stretch of King Kamehameha Highway was one big No Passing zone, with residences and businesses lining the busy two-lane roadway, and crosswalks every couple hundred feet. But that didn’t stop our hero from flexing his automotive muscles.

  Despite the presence of a huge dump truck barreling down the oncoming lane, McScrubs pulled out to pass several cars ahead of him. I held my breath as the idiot came within inches of taking out the back wheel of a bicycle ridden by a surfer toting a board.

  I thought McScrubs would stop at getting past two cars, which would have been pushing it, but he went for three, coming so close to the front end of the
dump truck I would have bet the farm he was toast. The truck driver laid on his brakes and air horns, shattering the peace and tranquility of the area with tandem axles bouncing and skidding to a stop, and a warning blast that sounded much like an ocean liner coming into a harbor.

  McScrub’s maneuver was reckless enough that everyone in the surrounding area came to a halt to witness the total disregard for other people this imbecile had just displayed.

  I reached for my phone and called Andrew.

  “Did you lose the guy already?” he asked.

  “No, not yet, but he nearly caused a huge accident less than a mile into my pursuit. I’m not even going to try and shadow this moron. Just wanted to make sure you still had him.”

  “Yeah, the signal hasn’t faded at all, so we’re good. Do you think he made you?” Andrew asked.

  “Nope. No way. My guess is this is just how the guy usually drives. If you happen to lose his signal, make sure you call me right away. Otherwise, hit me with an update every five minutes or so. And let me know when he arrives at wherever he’s going.”

  “No problem.”

  I tossed the phone back on the seat and maneuvered my car so I could catch a glimpse of the silver Bimmer. He wasn’t going to get another opportunity to jump ahead anytime soon as movement was down to a slow, congested crawl in both directions.

  Traffic came to a halt in order to let a crowd of pedestrians cross the highway, so I pulled out my notebook and jotted down the information I knew about McScrubs so far. As I wrote DOGZLIF under the info about the guy’s car, I began running possibilities in my head of what it might mean.

  My phone rang just as traffic began moving again. “Hello,” I said, expecting to hear Andrew’s voice.

  “Carter, Sergeant Kehoe.”

  “Oh, good afternoon, Sergeant.”

  “Got a minute?” Kehoe asked.

  “Actually, I’m tailing the vehicle that keeps showing up on the GPS tracker our Odell imposter gave us.”

  “Nicely done. If you’re able to get a plate number I can run it for you,” Kehoe said.