He had just taken a young couple's order and was headed away from Rosita when she stopped him in his tracks.
"Chad..." Her voice was gentle and level.
He turned as she caught up to him. "What's up, Rosita?" Chad asked innocently as his blue eyes surveyed her.
She peeked devilishly at his crotch, and thought: You will be soon enough, but responded coolly: "Have you taken your break yet?"
"Yeah, I just came back," he said.
"I see," she grumbled irritably. But she would not be denied. "Why don't you take another break? I'll get someone to cover for you."
He smiled perceptively. "What did you have in mind?"
She smiled back at him. At least they were on the same wavelength. Rosita glanced around the restaurant before returning her eyes to his. Desperately trying to keep emotion out of her voice and sound professional, she said: "Meet me in my office in five minutes and you'll find out." She winked and they went their separate ways.
* * *
Near Whaler's Village was the very expensive, very luxurious beachfront condominium called Tropical Paradise Place. Its tenants ranged from the super-rich to moderately rich to sufficiently wealthy temporary and full-time occupants. What they shared in common was the love of the ocean, the sun, the beach, the climate, and the company they kept.
"It could be the best damned investment I ever made," Kalani Okamura declared to his bed partner, "short of The Shoreline Lounge."
The investment he was referring to was a stock purchase in the new Kaanapali Palms Hotel.
"What about me?" Genevieve, his young lover, whined as she flaunted her large breasts in his face. "I thought I was the best thing you ever invested in."
He grinned, becoming aroused again by her voluptuous body as much as her attitude. "You are," he told her, "as far as a human investment." In truth, that would probably go to his wife, Rosita, all things considered. But he saw no reason to spoil her fantasy.
Kalani, fifty-seven, with a medium build and thinning black-gray hair, regarded his slimmer girlfriend with loads of curly crimson hair. He leaned over and kissed her.
"Sorry I brought up business," he said softly. "Let me make it up to you."
She seemed to consider the proposition before pouting sexily. "So what are you waiting for?"
He took her advice and climbed on top of her. Peering down at Genevieve with gold-flecked black eyes, Kalani made love to her.
A few minutes later, they were sitting up in bed smoking a joint. That wasn't usually his thing, but it was hers and she had a way of getting him to do things outside of his comfort zone. As long as it didn't interfere with his other life as a successful businessman and husband, he was cool with it.
"Were you serious about trying to help me get a singing gig on Kaanapali Beach?" Genevieve asked.
In fact, Kalani had known from the start that she was an aspiring singer. He had met her while she was performing for free at the Cannery Mall in Lahaina. Kalani had considered letting her sing at the restaurant, but feared that Rosita might put two and two together. No, it was best to separate business from pleasure and save him a lot of grief.
Fortunately, he had another idea. "I was very serious," he said. "I heard they're looking for singers at the Kaanapali Palms Hotel. Since I've got some pull there, I'm sure I could get you an audition."
She beamed. "Would you really?"
"For you, honey, anything."
"Oh thank you," she said enthusiastically.
"Don't thank me just yet," he warned, even if he liked the notion of her being indebted to him. "You'll still have to prove yourself. But I'm sure you can."
"So am I." She licked his lips and then his forehead. "Do you think you've got any gas left in the tank?"
Kalani was instantly turned on again. "More than enough to take you for a ride," he responded anxiously.
Half an hour later, Kalani showered, put on a suit, and left the condo he kept for his side activities. He headed to the restaurant, while wondering what excuse he could come up with this time to explain his absence without arousing his wife's suspicion.
* * *
When Kalani Okamura first arrived in Hawaii thirty-five years ago from his native Japan at the age of twenty-two, he was seeking to put behind him a broken home, an abusive father, and a life that seemed to be spiraling out of control.
He bummed around Honolulu and Hilo that first year working odd jobs and surfing, while trying to decide what the hell he wanted out of life. Or maybe what life wanted out of him.
Nearly a decade later, he met a raven-haired beauty named Rosita Ezaki at a movie theater where she took tickets. It was practically love at first sight.
The following year they got married and moved to Maui. There, they pooled their meager resources and got a bank loan so they could open up a restaurant. Whaler's Village seemed to be a place where growth and profit were inevitable, so they opened The Shoreline Lounge there with high hopes.
And their hopes were fulfilled. Over the years, The Shoreline Lounge became wildly successful and one of the most popular restaurants on Kaanapali Beach.
It was on the personal front where things began to go downhill. Kalani had always wanted a chance to be the father he wished his own father had been. But that aspiration went out the window after years of trying, and ended permanently when Rosita had a hysterectomy. They had considered adopting, but neither of them—particularly Kalani—believed it would be quite the same.
Kalani was surprised when he lost his desire for Rosita after her operation. What had surely been one of the real strengths of their marriage—great sex—suddenly became more or less a duty rather than pleasure. It was as if what had been taken from her was also taken from him, depriving him of his rightful legacy.
Although he did his best to fake it whenever they had sex, Kalani could never recover his former feelings of desire for his wife. And so over the years he began a series of meaningless affairs. He usually felt guilty afterwards because he could not imagine Rosita cheating on him, but not guilty enough to refrain from his adulterous behavior.
He had considered divorce from time to time, but always returned to his senses. Why should he follow his father's footsteps when he had abandoned his mother, ruining her life? He couldn't do the same thing to Rosita.
Then there were the practical considerations. Why the hell would he want to ruin a business partnership made in heaven? Not to mention he had this innate fear that somehow, some way, Rosita would end up taking him to the cleaners. Besides, deep down inside, he still loved her and wanted that to count for something.
That notwithstanding, it was only recently that Kalani had found a new, invigorating pastime to keep him fulfilled, and it both scared and thrilled him. Genevieve was all that in bed and so much more. But he knew that, at his age, he couldn't keep her interested forever. That didn't mean it had to end anytime soon, especially if he continued to help her out in ways he could outside of the bedroom.
For now, it was time to get back to his real life.
* * *
As he headed toward The Shoreline Lounge, Kalani could not help but eye the very noticeable Kaanapali Palms Hotel that seemed to hover over everything else on Kaanapali Beach. Rosita had been reluctant to invest in the hotel, fearing it might take too long before they would see any return.
But Kalani felt differently. He expected to see some return very soon. For one, he respected Ben Crawford as a brilliant businessman, who wasn't afraid to step on toes to get what he wanted. As far as Kalani was concerned, he believed Crawford had a sure-fire winner in that hotel, even if the owners of the previous hotel in that spot had run it into the ground, tainting the entire Kaanapali Beach Resort Area.
Kalani believed another benefit he would gain from his investment in the new hotel was that it would be great advertising for The Shoreline Lounge. Especially if he was able to pull off his bid to stage a sanctioned second grand opening celebration at the restaurant.
He went inside
and braced himself for the twenty questions he'd no doubt have to endure from his wife.
* * *
Rosita squeezed her eyes shut tightly and bit down harder than she meant to on her lower lip as she lay on the couch in her office with her young lover on top of her. These afternoon delights with Chad were just what she needed to get through the day—and often the night.
She and Kalani had separate offices in the back of the restaurant, which made it easier to stay out of each other's hair and made it much more convenient for situations such as this. Of course, her door was always locked whenever she did not wish to be disturbed.
It did not take long for either of them to be fully satisfied during their sexual escapade, which was great for her, as she wasn't afforded the time to be away from the restaurant for too long. Especially with Kalani mysteriously absent.
There would be plenty of other times for longer sessions with Chad. This one had more than accomplished its purpose.
They both got up off the couch and quickly put their clothes on.
Rosita kissed her lover. "You almost make me feel like I'm in my twenties again," she murmured.
Chad grinned. "I think you have a lot to do with that."
She touched his lips with her pinkie, appreciating the compliment, whether he truly meant it or not.
It didn't really matter to her, as long as she continued to have a use for him.
Now she mustn't keep the business waiting.
She unlocked the door, mumbled a few waiter instructions to Chad for effect, and let him go out first. Rosita sucked in a deep breath and ran smack dab into her husband.
* * *
Genevieve Roswell smoked another joint after Kalani left the condo, before slipping into a one-piece swimsuit she'd brought along. He had invited her to hang out there as long as she liked so she decided to take him up on it. At least long enough to have a swim and come back to change into her clothes. She didn't want him to take her for granted any more than she wanted to take him for granted.
Besides the age difference, he was married. And it was pretty clear to her that he had no intention of leaving his wife. Not that she would want him to. She was happy being the other woman, and just hoped that, with his connections, Kalani could help make some of her dreams come true.
Genevieve left the condo and made her way to the beach. She knew guys were checking her out and some girls too—with her skimpy bathing suit and abundance of red hair hanging on her shoulders invitingly—but ignored them. Right now, all she wanted to do was jump into the water and work out for a while.
Swimming had always been one of her greatest passions, along with singing and playing the guitar. Living on the island of Maui had given her some opportunities to do them all. But being in paradise had come at a price, one that she would just as soon forget.
* * *
Two years ago, Genevieve, then twenty-one, was living in San Francisco with her boyfriend, Cooper. They were both heavily into the music scene and getting high.
She had gotten kicked out of high school in the eleventh grade when she was involved a fight that another girl started. She never went back to school, feeling it would just be a waste of time. Her folks weren't cool about it and encouraged her to leave home, which she also felt was best all the way around.
After bumming with friends off and on and even being homeless for a while, Genevieve met Cooper at a party. Tall, dark-skinned, muscular, and charming, she fell hard for him. The fact that he was a musician and playing at clubs made him even more attractive.
He helped her land a few gigs and it seemed like they were destined to be together for a long time.
But she hadn't realized he was dealing drugs. Not until it was too late and he was busted.
She wound up testifying against him and, in the process, helped send him to prison, along with a couple of his buddies.
A lot of people weren't happy about that and blamed her. Some even swore vengeance, starting with Cooper. So she had to get out of town. But where? She'd thought about Los Angeles, where she had friends. But Cooper had friends there too.
Moving to Atlanta crossed Genevieve's mind, since she had family there. But she rejected that idea, deciding she didn't really want to live in Georgia.
She ended up in Hawaii, first Oahu and then Maui. The latter seemed like a perfect hideaway. It was laidback, most people tended to mind their own business, and there were opportunities to sing and actually make money from it.
When she started dating Kalani Okamura, Genevieve had no illusions about them living happily thereafter. She knew he was attracted to her looks and sassy personality. She, on the other hand, was turned on mostly by his kind heart and generosity. He was nothing at all like Cooper, for which she was grateful, knowing that her ex and his cronies could be vindictive and scary.
All she wanted was to sing, play the guitar, and live in peace. Maybe things were beginning to fall in place on Maui.
* * *
Genevieve swam to shore and flipped her wet hair to one side. She started to walk across the beach when she spotted a man from afar who seemed to be gazing at her behind sunglasses.
Her heart skipped a beat. She could swear that he was one of Cooper's friends. But how was that possible? She'd gone to great lengths to cover her tracks.
Against her better judgment, Genevieve moved toward him for a closer look. But the man quickly turned and walked away. By the time she got across the sand, he was gone.
Maybe my mind is playing tricks on me, she told herself. No reason to start getting paranoid in paradise, especially when she was an ocean away from San Francisco and those who might seek to do her harm.
She turned her thoughts to the grand opening at the Kaanapali Palms Hotel. She intended to be there, if only to check out the place where she hoped to land a job as a singer.
Genevieve fully expected Kalani to be there too, since he was an investor. She wondered if his wife would accompany him. Or might it be a good opportunity for Kalani to slip away for some time with his mistress?
* * *
Stewart McGann had beaten the sun up and joined a surprisingly large number of joggers in all shapes and sizes meandering their way around a maze of tree-lined boulevards, hilly residential settings, and the seemingly endless white sand of Kaanapali Beach. This was his third day of a two week vacation on Maui, courtesy of Ben Crawford. Stewart, recognizing in a very short time that he had gotten out of shape, decided it was time he made the most of a setting that almost scolded you if you didn't take advantage of its playground. And so, he gave in to the temptations, even if his body would have to work its way back to where he once was.
* * *
It was not so long ago that Stewart was in the best shape of his life. As a detective for the Portland Police Bureau for fourteen years, he was constantly required to use damn near every limb in his body in the pursuit of justice. He also visited the health club regularly, and routinely did one hundred pushups daily, and more.
But that all took an abrupt turn on the day two years ago when, during a stakeout of a suspected drug lab, one of the suspects got wind of it and took counter measures. Those measures included getting into a Chevy pickup, driving through a garage door like it was papier-mâché, and firing at everything that moved.
That included Stewart and his partner, Miles Berry.
Miles was struck head-on by the truck and sent flying like a giant bird with no wings. Stewart flew as well, but with his own thrust, avoiding the vehicle with no time to spare, but meeting the pavement awkwardly and unkindly. He was not aware he had become immobilized until after he had shot and killed the suspect, who had just as swiftly put Miles in the grave.
Stewart considered himself lucky at the time. His diagnosis: a slipped disc and broken back.
Only his luck ran out when it became apparent after a year of therapy and considerable, sometimes never ending pain, that his mobility and back would never again be the same. For his line of work, anything less was ins
ufficient. The department offered him a desk job, or he could retire early with a full pension.
Being a man of immense pride, Stewart considered a desk job a demotion and decided he would rather call it quits; go out knowing he had done his best while he was the best. Instrumental in his decision was the fact that Miles was gone and never coming back. They were a team for nearly ten years. It seemed only fitting that maybe they should end their active duty at the same time.
And thus, at the age of thirty-seven when most detectives were just entering the prime of their careers, Stewart was content to simply collect his pension and do nothing. Alone. He had been married for a short time early on in his career until his wife became fed up with his perilous duty and sporadic work hours and left him for a doctor, whom she later married.
With his back still bothering him off and on, Stewart spent the next year feeling sorry for himself, drinking beer, and getting flabby. He'd gained about fifteen pounds on his previously muscular frame. He shunned get-togethers with members of the force, who would only make him envious. And he couldn't really relate to older retirees who might well have been friends with his father or grandfather.
Then a month ago, Stewart ran into Ben Crawford, a millionaire real estate investor-owner, who he had once done some private investigative work for on the side. He ended up saving Crawford over two million dollars, for which he had been profoundly grateful. Ben told him about his multimillion dollar resort hotel opening in Maui and invited him, all expenses paid, to visit for a couple of weeks.
Ben had told him: "Just consider it a fringe benefit for that job you did for me three years ago, Stewart. I never forget good people."
Initially Stewart declined, not wanting to be looked upon as some sort of charity case. However, Crawford left the offer on the table. And Stewart was glad he did. He decided there was nothing wrong with accepting a trip from a man who probably threw away millions at the blink of an eye.
Maybe that was what he needed: to get away, put some perspective on what he wanted to do with the rest of his life; have some fun in the sun. And really, when Stewart thought about it, what the hell was he doing anyway but taking up space...
Murder on Kaanapali Beach Page 26
