“You can handle it. And the mom might be wrong. Maybe he did commit suicide. You know what they say about artists.”
“Yeah, well, I’m going to head home. Lama promised to save me some ahi poke.”
Cory screwed up her face and twirled her giant hoop earring. “What the hell is ahh-hee po-kay? Sounds like some kind of lap dance.”
“Get your mind out of the gutter. It’s a raw tuna concoction. Decadent as all hell and great with beer. You really should try it sometime.”
“No thanks. I like my protein cooked.”
“I’ll check in tomorrow. I think I’ll go over to the Seattle Ballet building in the morning and ask some questions.”
Maile pushed her arms into her rain jacket, pulled up the hood, and headed for her Jeep. It was almost six o’clock. She hoped Lama had waited for her.
****
Lama looked at his watch and tapped his toes. Five-forty five. He’d give the pretty wahine another fifteen minutes and then he’d have to go. Who knew if she’d ever return? He kicked himself for not asking for her number. Maybe she already had a boyfriend or husband and just didn’t wear a ring.
He twirled the shark’s tooth on his necklace. Clarissa made him remove it when they slept together that one time. She said it disgusted her. He’d worn it to the ballet with a shirt she provided and long dark pants. His cousin loaned him some closed leather shoes that pinched his feet. He only forgot about his discomfort when Clarissa swirled onto the stage and danced. Her fluid motions looked effortless and complicated all at once. And then Floriano pranced onto the stage and stole the show. It wasn’t until after he lifted her slight form above his head that the audience turned their attention back to Clarissa.
Later at his apartment when he undressed her, Clarissa asked if he thought the audience liked her performance better than Floriano’s. He’d tilted her face to his and promised she’d performed perfectly.
“Lama?”
He snapped to attention. Maile had shown up. “Hey, ready for the best poke in Seattle?”
“I am. Sorry I’m late. Mahalo for waiting.”
“That’s all right. I thought you might want to have a beer with that poke, so I picked up some Longboard Lager.”
“I don’t know if I can find my way home if I drink a beer.”
“Where do you live?”
“Capitol Hill.”
Lama hoped she’d invite him to her place, but it didn’t look promising. “Tell you what. I’d like to spend some time with you. You know, get to know you better. And if you don’t want to drink when you have to drive, I respect that, but you have to have beer with poke, right?”
“That’s the plan. I mapped out a route to a store that carries Kona Brews and I planned to stop on my way home.”
“So, we have a dilemma.”
Maile tilted her head. “How about I take the poke home this time and I’ll stop by tomorrow and we can make a solid plan.”
He shook his head. “At least take a couple of beers with you. Save yourself a stop.”
She tried to hand him some money and he raised his hands in protest. “See you tomorrow.”
He watched her leave and realized he still forgot to get her number.
****
Maile walked briskly back to the Jeep. If she turned around now, she’d invite Lama home with her. And what did she really know about this guy except he was good-looking man and made perfect Hawaiian food?
As soon as she arrived home, Maile popped the cap off the bottle of Longboard and took a satisfying slug. She set up her laptop at her kitchen table and opened the plastic container of poke. The first forkful would’ve had her in Lama’s arms if she’d stayed in town with him. Just like the loco moco, it tasted perfect. She took another swig of beer and another bite of fish and settled into her tasks for the evening.
First, she sent a text to her partners to say she finally got her first case. While she waited for their responses, she finished eating her poke and logged into her Facebook account to catch up with her Auntie Lei.
When her doorbell rang, she knew it’d be the girls. She opened the door and saw River, Shay and Cassie with armloads of ingredients Maile recognized as the makings for River’s pineapple mint mojitos.
“Get in here.” Maile hugged all of them.
“So, congratulations and tell us about your case.” Shay plopped down on the couch.
River called from the kitchenette, “Do not start without me. Let me get the drinks made first, okay?”
When they settled on the couch and chairs in the living area, Maile relayed everything she knew about Mrs. Fernandez-Garcia’s claim that someone murdered Floriano. “I’ll start interviews tomorrow morning. I need to make a list of people from the ballet company who knew him best.”
After they finished their drinks, Cassie carried the glasses to the sink. “Yuck! Maile, what the hell was in here?” She held up the poke container.
“My dinner. It’s called ahi poke and it’s a raw tuna salad made by a damn good-looking Hawaiian guy.”
The ladies giggled and Maile told them about Lama.
“What did you find out when you researched him?” River asked.
Maile furrowed her brow. It didn’t occur to her to research him. In Hilo, you just asked the family name and where they lived and hoped for the best. “I didn’t research him.”
Shay stared at her. “Let’s do it now. We need to make sure you’re not falling for the wrong kind of guy.”
Chapter Four
The fools believed Floriano committed suicide.
I’ve read the article about his death several times now and I’d believe it if I didn’t know better. He deserved to die. He was no more than a haughty foreigner who pranced around the company as if he owned it and stole the limelight each time he stepped on the stage.
Lucky for me he had a documented heart condition.
I easily walked into his apartment building unseen. I’d hustled him for two damn years before he gave me the keycard to the back entrance of his apartment building so we could rendezvous secretly. Neither of us wanted anyone to know about our tryst. Especially me.
It had been too easy. He was a creature of habit and insisted on his food from Kalama’s food truck. I remember I joked that it would kill him one day.
If only he’d listened to me.
Then again, I suppose I would have killed him anyway. I knew he medicated with digitalis, but I couldn’t trust there would be enough pills in his prescription to provide the kiss of death. The dried leaves from the summer crop of foxgloves were so easily disguised in the chicken teriyaki sauce.
I allowed him a few kisses before I warmed his dinner and served it on a glass plate. I poured wine and encouraged him to finish his dinner like a good boy before I’d join him in his bed. He ate heartily while I anticipated his end.
I poured his second glass of wine and he reached for my hips. I straddled him in his chair and whispered promises in his ear. Floriano moved like a cat while he removed his shirt and tugged at mine.
I admit I teased him with kisses to his bare chest and allowed him to fondle me, but I stopped him before anymore happened saying his kisses were enough for now and I wanted to sleep next to his beautiful body before we made love.
Every compliment burned my mouth, but in the end it was worth it.
When he jumped from the bed and began to vomit in the toilet, I forced myself to rub his shoulders and comfort him. He apologized to me.
I glanced at my watch and calculated his demise. And I couldn’t help myself, I laughed in his face. It had not been my plan, but suddenly I wanted him to know I was in charge of his death. I told him I needed him off the stage.
I loved it when he dropped to his knees and begged me to call an ambulance. He promised to leave the country if I let him live. And I just laughed at his absurdity.
He crawled to his bedroom and reached for his Bible from the nightstand. I watched as he fumbled with the colored ribbons, sweat beadi
ng on his bare chest and knees bent in a fetal position, until he bit his own finger and drew blood, dripping a few drops on his precious Bible before he clutched his chest and lay still.
I gloved up and started to clean him with water-free cleanser. I changed the bedding and replaced it with the clean sheets I had in my duffle bag. I found the prescription bottle of digitalis in his medicine chest and spilled the remaining tablet into my duffel before I dropped the empty container on the bedroom floor.
I traced the length of him before I slipped out of the building.
I checked my watch. I’d only been there for a little over two hours. In my wildest fantasies, I never imagined it would be so exhilarating to take someone’s life.
Chapter Five
Maile drove by the Seattle Ballet building and watched for an open parking space along the street. Eight blocks away, she parallel parked her Jeep and walked to the intimidating building with its wide concrete staircase which led to the vast lobby.
She got out her iPad, looked at the first name on her list and asked the receptionist if she could make an appointment with Edward Berwin.
“He’s in a practice session at the moment. Would you like to wait?”
“Any idea how long it will be?”
She glanced at her watch. “Another couple of hours at least.”
“Maybe you could answer some questions for me. I’m investigating the death of Floriano Garcia.” Maile pulled out her ID to show the woman.
The woman shuddered a little. “So very sad. A great loss for ballet.”
“How well did you know him?”
“Not well, personally, but I’ve followed his career. He was a brilliant dancer.”
“Did you ever hear anyone say something negative about him?” There had to be someone who didn’t worship this guy no matter how good he was at ballet, Maile thought.
“Hmm, well, you can imagine there were people who were jealous. Who wouldn’t be?”
“Can you give me names and what they said?” Maile opened her iPad.
The woman leaned forward across her desk and cupped her hand in front of her face. “The understudy might not want him around if you know what I mean.”
“What is the understudy’s name?” Maile lowered her voice to match the other woman’s.
“Charles Vinton, known as Charlie around here.”
Maile asked for the spelling of his name and tapped it into her iPad. “Did Charlie ever do or say anything that would make you think he’d harm Floriano?”
The receptionist lowered her voice even further, “I heard him tell Edward he’d do whatever it took to make principal dancer.”
“Edward Berwin?”
“Yes. Ask him when you talk to him. He’ll tell you.”
“You’ve been very helpful. May I get your name?”
“Patricia. Patricia Cole.”
Maile thanked the woman and said she’d be back in a couple of hours. Maile sat in her Jeep and reread all of her notes. She pulled up the Bible verse Mrs. Fernandez-Garcia showed her and cut and pasted it into her notes. The first time she looked at the Bible verse in Floriano’s Bible, she’d focused more on the blood splotches near the words. This time she understood why Floriano’s mother might think the clue indicated a poisoning.
“The stew was poured out for the men, but as they began to eat it, they cried out, “Man of God, there is death in the pot!” And they could not eat it.”
Maile agreed with Floriano’s mother that the Bible verse had been a hint and hoped this Ballet Master, this Edward Berwin, would be able to help solve the puzzle.
At eleven-thirty when Maile returned to the Seattle Ballet building, she checked with Patricia who walked her to an office on the second floor of the building. Patricia tapped on the door, then opened it a crack, her voice reverent. “Edward?”
“Yes, Patricia. What is it?”
“There’s a private investigator here to speak to you about Floriano’s death.”
“A private investigator? What on earth for? It was a suicide.”
“May I send her in?”
“Yes. Yes, of course.”
Patricia held the door open and Maile walked across the threshold and extended her hand. As soon as she saw him, she recognized him as the man she’d seen at Lama’s food truck. “Thank you for seeing me.” She showed him her ID. “I’m Maile Kuhiwinui and I’m investigating the death of Floriano Garcia.”
“Yes, that’s what Patricia said, although I don’t understand why.”
“There’s some evidence that suggests he may have been murdered.”
Edward stiffened in his chair. “Oh, this is not good for our ballet company. Does the press know about this?”
“No—I don’t think so.”
“Let’s try to keep it that way.”
“May I ask you some questions?”
“If it will help to shorten the length of this inquiry, then yes.” He maintained his formal pose.
Maile fumbled a bit with her iPad before she started the interview. This guy made her nervous. “What was your relationship with the deceased?”
With what seemed to Maile as carefully measured words, Edward explained that he’d lured Floriano to Seattle after he’d watched him perform in Portland. “His moves were impeccable. He deserved a stage worthy of his talent.”
“Was he happy here?”
“He was as content as any genius can be. His brilliance was a gift and a curse, I suppose.”
“What do you mean?”
“He stumbled at practice the day he took his own life. He said he felt a little lightheaded. When you are used to perfection, imperfection is difficult to swallow.”
“So you believe he had a reason to overdose?”
“He had a heart that beat irregularly. He hid the fact from everyone but Charles, Clarissa and me. I think perhaps he realized after that stumble he might falter during a performance. It is better to leave the stage at the height of your glory as I did.”
“But he had other options. Teaching, for one.”
“He was not always practical in his desires.” Edward started to stand.
“One more thing. Earlier you said Charles knew about the heart condition. Is that Charles Vinton?”
“Yes.”
“I understand Vinton made a threat.”
“What kind of threat?” Edward stood erect.
“He reportedly said he’d do whatever it took to be a principal dancer. I wonder if that includes getting rid of a principal who is in his way.”
“I hadn’t thought about that. I suppose Charlie could be viewed as impulsive.” He headed toward the door.
Maile stood up and followed him down the hallway. “Thank you for your time.”
“Ms. Kuhiwinui? If you must keep up the pursuit, please use discretion. The ballet company is made up of a group of artisans who are quite sensitive.”
Maile nodded. She felt as though the headmaster had just scolded her.
She felt hungry and decided to navigate her way over to the food truck and see what Lama could tell her about this guy. He seemed pretty friendly with Berwin when she watched them interact the day before.
Chapter Six
Lama blew out a big breath when he saw Maile approach. “Howzit?”
“Good. And again, mahalo for the poke and beer. Absolutely delicious.”
“Do you want a loco today?”
“Not today. I need information and maybe a teriyaki burger with slaw.” She tilted her head and added, “Today I pay or I won’t come back.”
“Shoots. I’ll take the money, then.” Lama fixed her sandwich and slaw and handed it through the service counter. “Mind if I join you as long as I don’t have anyone in line?”
“I hoped you would. I really do want to ask you some questions.”
“And I want to give you some answers.” His grin filled his face.
After they sat down at the picnic table, Maile asked, “How well do you know Edward Berwin?”
> “Whoa. Back up. Why are you asking questions about my customers?”
“I guess I never told you what I do for a living, did I?”
“I guess not. Are you a cop?”
“No. I was. Now I’m a private investigator.”
“What are you investigating?”
“Floriano Garcia’s death. I interviewed Mr. Berwin today and thought you might be able to enlighten me about him.”
“Is that why you started to come around the food truck?” Lama should’ve known. She seemed too good to be true.
“No. That’s not the way it happened. Floriano’s mother hired me for this case after I had lunch yesterday. It just so happens I remembered Berwin ordered food and chatted with you while I ate.”
“What do you want to know, because I don’t want to be a narc. The folks from the ballet are some of my best customers.”
“I understand. I just want to find out if there’s a possibility that someone murdered Floriano. There’s some evidence that points in that direction.”
“Then why not go the police with the evidence?”
“Floriano’s mother already did and they didn’t believe her. So, I wondered if you’ve ever heard anyone from the ballet make a threat against Floriano.”
Lama started to pace around the picnic table. He thought about conversations he’d had with Edward and Clarissa and decided nothing they’d said could be construed as threatening. “I can’t think of anything.”
“If you do, will you tell me?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. Excuse me.” Lama walked back to the food truck to take care of the couple who approached.
He needed to walk away from Maile anyway.
****
Maile knew how it looked to Lama—a detective sucked up to get information. As soon as his customers left, she walked back over to the truck.
“Lama? Look, I’m just doing my job and someone is dead. Don’t you want to know if Floriano was murdered?”
He nodded. “Yeah. I do want to know.”
“Then help me do my job.” A group of six customers lined up behind Maile. Lama scribbled his address on a napkin. “Come by at six o’clock and we’ll talk.”
Choreographed Crime (Miss Demeanor 3) Page 2
