Lama leaned in and kissed her goodbye.
Maile showered and took her laptop to bed.
****
Lama arrived at the food truck late. He’d been up most of the night consoling Clarissa and had only slept for a couple of hours.
He may have blown it with Maile, but Clarissa was so fragile he felt he needed to help her. When she told him on the phone she wanted to kill herself, he’d told her he’d be right over and not to do anything rash.
When he arrived at her apartment, she answered the door in pastel pink, satin shortie pajamas. She wrapped her arms around his neck before he even entered the apartment. He’d carried her to the couch where she sat on his lap and cried. He held her as he would a small child and tried to sooth her with his words. She whimpered for over an hour and then started to kiss Lama’s neck and whisper she missed him. She laid her hands on the sides of his face and said she needed him. Her lips met his and he’d given in to his desire and kissed her deeply. She removed her pajama top and lowered his head to her small firm breasts.
He relished the feel of her flesh and succumbed to the temptation. She rose from his lap and removed her panties. At the doorway to her bedroom, she called to him. “Come, Floriano. Come to my bed. No one will know.”
Lama had stared at her. “Floriano?”
She shook her head and looked dazed. She tumbled backwards and threw herself on the bed. Lama entered the bedroom. She sobbed into her pillow and called Floriano’s name.
Lama sat in a chair beside the bed and talked to her until she slept. When she quieted, he rested on the bed beside her and slept as well. In the morning, he hoped she’d be more lucid.
Then this morning, she’d nudged him and asked if he had been in her bed all night and he said only after she was asleep. She wrapped a sheet around her naked body and went to the bathroom to shower.
He drove her to the ballet studio and waited until she was safely inside before he went back home to exchange the Mustang for the food truck. Lama decided he’d talk to Edward about Clarissa’s level of anxiety. Maybe Edward could make sure she took the medication the doctor prescribed after the shock of Floriano’s death. Lama still cared about her, but if he wanted to have a chance with Maile, he knew he had to try to stay clear of Clarissa. She felt like a mythical Siren to him and if he gave in to her again, he would surely crash and burn.
Chapter Nine
Maile turned the empty prescription bottle over in her hands. She wondered how many pills it took for a lethal dose. Then it occurred to her that Floriano died on the fifth. His prescription for thirty tablets renewed on the sixth. He would only have had one tablet left on the night he died. The additional digitalis in his system must have come from some other source. She’d have to follow up on that after she interviewed Clarissa.
Maile located the alleyway behind the Seattle Ballet building and walked toward Clarissa.
“He was my lover,” Clarissa announced.
Maile sucked in her breath. “What? Oh, I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“We kept it secret.”
“Why?”
“It’s considered taboo by our Ballet Master. He thinks it makes things difficult.”
“Do you think it does?”
Clarissa smiled and hummed. “It appears so.”
“Do you think Floriano was capable of suicide?”
She looked at the ground. “Yes.”
“Did he ever talk about killing himself?”
“Once or twice he said he’d rather be dead than live without me.” Clarissa held her chin up.
“Did you threaten to leave him?”
“No, but he was insanely jealous of anyone who paid attention to me.”
Maile thought about the way Edward gazed at her during practice. “Anyone in particular that may have driven him over the edge?”
Clarissa nodded. “There’s this other guy I date.”
“Before Floriano?”
“Before…during…and even last night.” Maile noticed her voice changed to that of a schoolgirl as she swirled one toe across the gravel in the alley as if in trouble with her parents.
“Both men at the same time?” Maile tried not to sound judgmental.
Clarissa bobbed her head. “I wanted to see how jealous I could make Floriano.”
What a little bitch, Maile thought. “What happened?”
“Floriano heard me ask Patricia for a free production pass for my new boyfriend. As soon as I arrived at his apartment, Floriano grabbed my wrists and held me against the wall and professed his love for me.” Clarissa paused and started to hum. Finally she said, “He held me with my arms above my head and pressed his body against mine and asked if I’d slept with him.”
“Had you?”
“No. I told Floriano I’d try to break it off, but I’d have to see him again to explain.” The ends of her mouth curled up and she hummed.
“And then?”
“I told Floriano we broke up.”
“Had you?’
Clarissa curled head to her shoulder. “No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I wanted to sleep with him first and I did.”
“And did Floriano find out about that?” Maile thought the girl as crazy as Charles indicated.
“I told him myself and watched while he dropped to his knees. He said I’d be sorry. But I’m not.”
“You’re not sorry Floriano is dead?”
“No. I’m not sorry I slept with Kalama.”
****
Lama tried Maile’s phone number again. He’d sent a text to say he’d like to finish what they began, but didn’t get any response from Maile. He thought he’d better turn it down a notch, so he left a voice message instead to invite her to a neutral place, no strings attached.
Around four o’clock that afternoon, Maile stormed toward the food truck. “We need to talk.” She stomped over to the picnic table and sat down.
Lama walked over and reached for her arm.
She jerked away. “Where did you go last night?”
“I told you a friend had an emergency.”
“Clarissa?”
Lama shook his head. “What? Did you follow me or something?”
“No. She told me.”
“Nothing happened. She’s depressed about Floriano and she’s my friend. I wanted to help her.” He rubbed his chin. “Anyway, it’s not like you and I are exclusive.”
“That’s not even the rub. You know I’m investigating Floriano’s death and you withheld information. If she’s your friend, why wouldn’t you want to help figure out what happened to her partner?”
“I didn’t think it was relevant that I used to date her.”
Maile stared at him and then looked away and shook her head. “I think we better cool it until I sort this out in my head.”
Lama kicked the ground as she walked away.
****
Maile raced back to her Jeep. Once inside, she slammed her palms into the steering wheel. Tears moistened her pant legs and she emitted a low growl. This case is too hard, she thought. It’s not fair to Floriano’s mother that I can’t figure it out.
She texted her partners and asked if they could meet with her in the morning to discuss her case. She needed advice.
The team met at nine o’clock the next morning in the conference room of the Miss Demeanor Detective Agency. Cory had coffee ready and a fruit platter and yogurt sat on the buffet. “Thanks for coming in special,” Maile started. She knew River, Cassie and Shay were busy with their own cases, but she didn’t know what else to do. “I’m stuck.”
River asked her to review what she knew so far and Maile told them all the sordid details about Lama’s involvement with someone she considered a person of interest—crazy and probably unreliable, but a person of interest just the same.
“Ouch,” Cassie said.
“Do you have other suspects?” Shay asked.
“There’s the understudy. The receptionist heard hi
m say he’d do whatever it took to become a principal dancer.”
“Did you interview him?” River sipped at her coffee.
“Yeah. When I asked if anyone hated Floriano enough to kill him, he said, “Who didn’t?””
“Did he give you any names?”
“Nope, although he insinuated that Clarissa was capable. He considers her to be pretty crazy.” Maile sucked in her breath. “And then there’s the Ballet Master and the receptionist and…and I suppose…even Lama.”
“What does your gut tell you?” Shay asked.
“That’s just it. I just feel sick to my stomach. I feel as though I’m failing Mrs. Fernandez-Garcia. I promised I’d call her and let her know my progress today. I have no idea what to say to her.”
Cassie offered, “How about the truth? Tell her you are still working to gather the information.”
The women talked and came up with a plan that they would all read Maile’s notes and offer next steps. They agreed to meet again the next morning.
Maile spent the day at the agency and reviewed all her notes. She kept coming back to the Bible verse. She wondered what Mrs. Fernandez-Garcia saw in that verse besides the fact that it talked about poison. She needed to call her anyway.
Floriano’s mother answered on the first ring. “Mrs. Fernandez-Garcia, it’s Maile Kuhiwinui.”
“Have you found my son’s killer?”
“Not yet. I’m still gathering information. I wanted to ask you about the Bible verse again. What do you think Floriano was trying to tell us exactly? ”
Floriano’s mother recited, ““They tasted of the pottage and death was in the pot.” The poison was in his food.”
Maile’s hands shook. “Thank you. I’ll stay in touch.”
She barely made it to the bathroom before she vomited. The bile lingered in her throat the rest of the afternoon while she berated herself for her involvement with Lama. She should have stopped seeing him as soon as she knew he was involved with the ballet folks.
How could she have missed the clue about the poison food? She’d only concentrated on the poison part and assumed Floriano’s prescription drug had been forced down his throat by the killer. Given her discovery this morning that there were not enough pills left to cause an overdose, she wondered if digitalis presented in any other forms.
Now it looked as if she’d ignored some compelling facts. She tried to put the pieces together—Floriano and Clarissa were lovers. Lama was also Clarissa’s lover, and maybe a very jealous lover. Floriano ate Lama’s food every day. Floriano left a clue that he’d eaten poison in his food.
But, how would Lama get digitalis? Maile looked up digitalis and found it occurs naturally in foxglove.
She stared at the computer screen. Foxglove has purple flowers and all the parts of the plant are poisonous. Lama said he liked purples and pinks when they talked about his flower garden. The images of the dried stalks on her computer looked just like the ones in Lama’s flowerbed and the ground plant parts looked just like the ones in the plastic bag under the chair in his living room.
Chapter Ten
That bitch asks too many questions. If she can’t leave well enough alone, she might find herself as dead as Floriano.
My perfect crime is unraveling. At this point, I’m sure I’m on the suspect list.
The only solution is to kill her. If I can kill a man, it should be no problem to kill a woman. But, I’d better do it soon. She’s probably already shared her information with her partners at the agency. The card she gave me says the partners founded The Miss Demeanor Detective Agency in 2015, so they are a bunch of newbies and no match for me.
The trick to killing Miss Kuhiwinui is to make it look like someone else is responsible. First, I need to cast blame for Floriano’s death on someone else and then follow up with the bitch’s death and point in the same direction.
Should I cast blame on Kalama? After all, his food was the last food Floriano ate. He’s a dear man, but expendable.
The most important thing is to protect the prima ballerina at all costs. She is too fragile to take care of herself. No one should suspect her of any wrongdoing. She’s too brilliant on the stage to lose.
And she is finally indicating her interest in me. Just today her eyes lingered longer than normal when we danced. I knew if I took my time, she would come around to me and just me. I don’t need anyone else as long as I have Clarissa to myself.
The keycard should have been mine sooner and I could have done the deed long ago. It took me a full year after Floriano arrived to realize he would be impossible to work with. And yet, as principal, he would be nearly impossible to get rid of.
The keycard feels good in my hands. I turn it over and over and rub the plastic to remind me of my success. It’s my little trophy.
I wonder what trophy I should keep from the detective? Perhaps a lock of her shiny black hair.
Chapter Eleven
Maile felt numb. She tried to think rationally about all the evidence, but couldn’t ignore the compelling facts stacked up against Lama. Her mind couldn’t go there. He didn’t feel like a killer when he kissed or held her. He didn’t have any of the traits of a killer, did he? Her gut told her Lama couldn’t be a killer. The evidence told her he could.
She couldn’t go to the police with her suspicions. She couldn’t even go to her partners. She needed to systematically eliminate the other suspects before she could deal with the thought that she might be dating a murderer.
In the meantime, she had to stay clear of Lama so she could concentrate on clearing him.
She drove home, stood in the shower and let the water beat on the back of her neck. After she cried herself out, she made a plan to test her theory that Lama couldn’t be the killer.
Back at the ballet studio, Maile checked in with Patricia at the reception desk. She asked to reserve an interview room and when Patricia shifted the calendar on her desk, a keycard fell to the floor—a navy blue card with a mountain range in the background. Patricia bent to pick it up.
Maile stared at the card. “Where did you get that?”
Patricia turned the card over in her hands. “The night custodian brought it to me this morning. He found it in the men’s locker room and thought someone might come to claim it.” Patricia chuckled. “I’m also the lost and found.”
“The men’s locker room? You’re sure?”
“That’s what he told me.”
“I think it may be a piece of evidence. Do you mind if I borrow it for an hour or so?”
“Go ahead. No one else claimed it anyway.”
Maile jogged back to her Jeep and drove to Floriano’s apartment building. She banged on the building manager’s door.
He answered the door, a scowl on his face. “What d’ya want now, lady?”
She held up the keycard. “Does this look familiar?”
“Yeah. Looks like one of ours.”
“May I try it in the back entrance?”
“Be my guest.” He shut the door.
Maile walked around to the back of the building and slipped the keycard into the code reader. The sound of the click filled her with relief.
She forced her logical brain to take over. This was the first piece of concrete evidence that pointed away from Lama.
Maile rushed back to the Seattle Ballet and questioned Patricia again.
“Who uses the locker room?”
“All of the males. It’s not locked.”
“Do you know who might have used it yesterday?”
“Not exactly. Any male in the building could have gone in there.”
“Is the custodian still here? I’d like to talk to him.”
Patricia shook her head. “I could call him and ask if he’s willing to talk to you, though.”
Maile nodded.
The custodian confirmed he found a blue keycard on the floor of the men’s locker room.
“Would you describe where you found it? Where in the locker room?”
“In front of the lockers near the showers.”
Maile hung up and asked Patricia to show her the locker room. Patricia asked one of the males to clear the room before they stepped inside. Patricia pointed to the bank of six metal lockers at the far end of the room.
Maile stood in front of the lockers and noted the names—both Edward and Charles had their names on a locker. She smiled for the first time that day and continued her probe.
She questioned Patricia about how often the custodians cleaned the building and Patricia said seven nights a week. “Can anyone enter from another door?”
“No. The back exit door locks automatically. No one has keys for that door.”
“Who locked up the building the night Floriano died?”
“I did. I waited for Edward and we left at the same time.” Patricia scoffed. “I wait for him every night.”
“Who has keys?”
“Edward, myself, and the night custodians.”
“Is there a night watchman?”
“No. We’ve never seen the need for one.”
“Have you noticed anyone out of the ordinary in the building?”
“I haven’t.”
Maile pulled out her phone and brought up the photo she’d taken of Lama with the beef stew. “Do you recognize this man?”
“No. I’ve never seen him before.”
“Thank you.”
Maile sat on a bench in the lobby and reviewed what she knew. It was highly likely that the killer was a male from the ballet. Whoever possessed the keycard probably used it to gain access to Floriano’s building. There had not been a struggle, so it seemed Floriano expected whoever came that night. If she could figure out who had access to digitalis, she’d have her murderer.
Chapter Twelve
Maile walked across the tiled lobby and stood in front of practice room three. Charles and Clarissa moved as one on the floor—their bodies in perfect sync until it came to the lift. When Charles lost his step while holding Clarissa, she stiffened and stepped away from him. She faced the men with a smirk on her face and seemed to enjoy the obvious reprimand Charles received from Edward.
Choreographed Crime (Miss Demeanor 3) Page 4
