After a couple of days on Kaanapali Beach, his back felt better than it had since before the accident. Stewart had little doubt that his first real vacation since going to London, England for a criminal justice seminar as a college student was more than worth the trip.
* * *
By the time he got back to the Kaanapali Palms Hotel, Stewart was dripping with perspiration and huffing and puffing as if he was ready to blow the house down. He went inside and drew in a deep, steadying breath, trying to gather himself. He watched as a group of people—other VIPs who were making use of the hotel before its official opening—passed by heading to the restaurant for breakfast. After catching his breath, Stewart quickly slipped inside an elevator just as it was closing.
There was forty-something woman in the elevator wearing a bright pink jogging suit that stretched across a curvy frame. She displayed a toothy smile and seemed interested, but Stewart was not. He did not come all the way to Hawaii to meet a divorced mother of three from Duluth, Minnesota!
He was relieved when his floor—the eighth—came up, and he got off, thinking only about a cold shower. When he got to the door of his room, he realized he had left his key card inside.
Damn!
He looked down the hallway and spotted the housekeeper's cart a few doors down.
Standing in front of the cart, Stewart called out: "Excuse me," as he sought to attract the attention of the housekeeper who was out of his view inside the room.
"Yes," he heard the soft voice say.
Then she stepped into the doorway wearing a brown housekeeper's dress and a stern gaze of resentment, as if he had intruded upon her private time.
Normally on the offensive, for once Stewart found himself on the defensive. At the same time, however, he was struck by the attractive Hawaiian woman. He did not particularly care for the young, deeply tanned, bottle blonde, chesty women he had seen at the beach and elsewhere; and certainly could do without the one he left practically foaming at the mouth on the elevator. But this one—her name tag read Yoshiko—was indeed a pleasant sight with her shoulder length glossy black hair, finely chiseled features, streamlined figure, and grayish brown eyes of fire that were more than a match for his own deep blue eyes. He guessed she was in her early thirties.
When it became apparent he had let his fixation get the better of him, Stewart shifted his eyes, cleared his throat, and said in an apologetic tone: "I left my key card in my room."
The annoyance in her face eased up as she said: "No problem. What's your room number?"
He told her and she looked down at a sheet on her cart. "You are Mr. McGann?"
"Yes, but you can call me Stewart," he told her.
She smiled and he couldn't help but think what a pretty smile it was.
"Do you have some ID?" she asked, no longer smiling.
Stewart cocked a brow, though he knew it made sense to check him out, rather than simply let him enter what could be someone else's room purely on his word. He took out his wallet and removed his driver's license, passing it to her.
Yoshiko studied it and looked at him. "Yes, I'd say that is you, Mr. Mc—I mean, Stewart."
He grinned, taking the license back. "I hope so. I wouldn't want to see anyone else in this skin."
She chuckled as they walked toward his room together. "Are you enjoying your vacation, Stewart?" she asked.
"So far, so good," he said.
"I'm glad to hear that."
They reached the room and she unlocked the door.
She gazed up at him and asked: "Do you need anything else?"
Attracted to her, Stewart could think of a thing or two, but thought better. "No, that should do it. Mahalo."
"Mahalo," she said back, flashing her teeth, before walking away.
Stewart was curious about her, as if there was more to her than met the eye. He couldn't help but think that she seemed out of place here. Or was that just his imagination?
Was she married or involved with anyone? Even then, he didn't want to go there, realizing it was inappropriate to be interested in the staff. Wasn't it?
Stewart watched Yoshiko move lithely away for a moment longer, before going inside his room. He stepped to the window of the ocean front unit and looked beyond the lanai to the beach and the water. It was definitely a perfect setting. He just wished he had someone to share it with.
Stewart's cell phone rang, intruding upon his thoughts. He grabbed it off the counter. "Hello."
"Aloha! Mr. McGann...?"
"Yes."
The woman said she was calling on behalf of Ben Crawford, who was wondering if Stewart could drop by his suite.
"Sure, why not," he said. He had nothing better to do. "When?"
"Nine o'clock."
That was an hour from now. "I'll be there."
"I'll let Mr. Crawford know," she said.
He hung up, curious as to why Crawford had asked to see him. They had only run into each other once since he arrived. At the time, the hotel owner had been passing by with his pretty daughter, who was giving him the eye. Ben, as Crawford insisted he call him, didn't seem to notice. That was fine by Stewart, as she was much too young for his tastes.
Maybe now I'll find out what this all-expense paid trip was really about, Stewart thought.
* * *
Yoshiko Pelayo took a peek back at the handsome hotel guest named Stewart McGann. She was relieved to see that he wasn't still staring at her, as had been the case for most of their brief communication. She wondered why he was here all by himself. At least he was the only one staying in that room. Maybe he was involved in a steamy illicit affair and doing his best to keep it under wraps.
Yoshiko checked her imagination. In spite of her attraction to the man and feeling lonely, she needed to keep her eye on the ball. In this case, it was her father, Ben Crawford, and seeing to it that he got what was coming to him.
"Hey."
The voice startled Yoshiko. She turned and saw Maggie over her shoulder. "Hey."
"How's it going?" Maggie asked.
Yoshiko grabbed some towels from the cart. "I was just about to get back to cleaning this room."
"I couldn't help but notice you were talking to Mr. McGann," Maggie commented.
Yoshiko regarded her with surprise and then realized this was normally Maggie's floor, but she was subbing on another floor right now.
"He left his key card in the room," Yoshiko explained.
"Good thing you were around to help him out."
"If not me, it would have been you," Yoshiko responded with a smile.
"True. Then I would be the one he was indebted to," Maggie said.
Yoshiko chuckled. "I'd hardly say he was indebted to me for doing my job."
"Never underestimate how little things can make a difference, girlfriend," Maggie said. "Especially when the person happens to be a friend of Mr. Crawford."
"He's a friend of Mr. Crawford?" That caught Yoshiko's attention.
"Yeah, before he arrived, Mr. Crawford personally contacted housekeeping to make sure that his room was ready, with a few extras thrown in, like a fully stocked wet bar, some Hawaiian chocolate-covered macadamia nuts, and a complimentary guest pass to dining at any of the hotel's restaurants."
"That's interesting," Yoshiko hummed. For some reason, it didn't seem like Stewart and her father would hang out in the same circles. Maybe they didn't, but shared some business interests or were connected in another way.
"I thought so, too," Maggie said. "I never saw a ring on Mr. McGann's finger, so maybe he's available for some lucky woman."
"Maybe," Yoshiko allowed, "but probably not the hired help."
"Don't sell yourself short. He's a good looking man and you're a gorgeous woman. You just never know what could happen if you play your cards right," Maggie said. "Besides, playtime on Kaanapali Beach stays on Kaanapali Beach."
Yoshiko laughed. "I'll keep that in mind."
Maggie chuckled. "Hey, I'm just saying."
"Well thanks, Ms. Matchmaker. Now if you don't mind, I'd better get this room cleaned or I won't even have a job. And any chance of bumping into Stew—Mr. McGann would be lost forever."
Maggie grinned. "See you later."
Yoshiko waited until she was out of sight, before stepping into the room with the towels.
She wondered exactly what Stewart's connection was to Ben Crawford. Perhaps she might find a clue in his room. She liked Stewart for some reason, and hated the thought of him becoming her enemy too. But if he was just another pawn in her father's dirty dealings, she wanted no part of him—other than perhaps as another means to strike back at the man who refused to acknowledge her existence in his world.
* * *
Stewart, feeling refreshed after a shower and now comfortably dressed, knocked on the door of the top floor suite. He could only imagine what it must look like in there, especially since his room was a cut above a "standard" room, albeit with a nice view.
All in all, he gave Ben Crawford credit for sparing no expense in creating a first class hotel.
The door opened.
"Stewart..." Ben, wearing a gray suit, extended his hand and the two shook. "Glad you could make it."
To the hotel or your room? Stewart wondered, but responded cautiously: "So am I."
"Come on in."
As expected, the suite was immense, superbly and exquisitely furnished, and definitely fitting of the hotel's principal owner. In fact, Stewart speculated that even the President of the United States might be a bit overmatched in here.
He noticed he was not the only visitor. Two other men—one was Asian, fortyish, thin, and wearing a brown suit; the other was taller, huskier, mid-thirties, and wearing a blue suit—approached him.
Ben introduced the shorter one as Rick Chang, the hotel's general manager, and the other as Victor Quail of the security staff.
He shook their hands.
Stewart still wasn't sure what this was all about, particularly with the threesome present, but he had a feeling he was about to find out. Ben offered him something to drink.
"Coffee," he said. He loved beer, but not at nine in the morning.
He joined Rick and Victor at a long glass table for some small talk before Ben handed him a mug of coffee.
"Are you having a good time on the island, Stewart?" Ben asked as he sat down.
"Yeah, it's been great," he admitted. "You've got some hotel here."
"We think so," Ben said proudly, holding a glass that was half-filled with alcohol. He glanced at his employees and back. "Anyway, Stewart, the truth of the matter is my reason for inviting you here was twofold—"
"Oh..." Stewart met his eyes.
Ben laughed—a singularly unpleasant, yet calming laugh. "Don't worry," he said, "I don't think either reason will put you off. First, I wanted you to see our hotel, get a feel for the electric atmosphere on Kaanapali Beach in general, and the Kaanapali Palms Hotel in specific."
Ben paused and tasted the drink, winced, but drank more anyway. "Secondly, I wanted to offer you a job."
"A job?" Stewart lifted his brows with surprise.
"Yes," Ben said. "I'd like you to head my security staff here."
Stewart sipped the coffee in lieu of an immediate response. He honestly never saw this coming.
Ben continued: "I've never forgotten the superb way you handled that investigation for me a few years back. I really think you're the right man for the job here." He paused and sipped his drink. "Victor will be working security with you—or, actually, he'll be working for you."
"I'm flattered," Stewart said honestly, adding with equal candidness, "but I don't know the first thing about the hotel business."
"But you know a hell of a lot about the detective business," Ben told him flatly. "The rest you can learn." He narrowed his eyes and streamlined his pitch. "Look, Stewart...I know about your early retirement from the Portland Police Bureau."
Stewart gazed at him and said: "Then you must also know about my bad back." There was no sense denying it.
Ben confirmed that, but reaffirmed his desire to have Stewart at the helm of his security force. He ran off some of the fringe benefits: more than double Stewart's last pay he made with the Portland Police Bureau, complete charge of the hotel security staff and its functions, room and board at the hotel, and residence in one of the most breathtaking places in the world and its obvious benefits—sun, beaches, palm trees, and beautiful women...
Stewart had to admit the offer was more than tempting. How often could a washed up detective, who had been out of circulation for a year with a bad back subject to flare up at any time, get an opportunity like this?
And yet it was hardly that simple. For a start, he had grown to enjoy being retired—or maybe lazy was more like it. Since the Bureau was footing his life's bill, albeit at a rate that hardly equated to financial independence, he was making due just fine. Why should he end it all by going back to work? No matter what, work was still work.
Then there was the move across the Pacific to Hawaii. Maui was nice, but who could actually live in paradise? And he liked living in the Pacific Northwest. He had grown comfortable there over the years. His life was there.
Then he thought: What life?
Still... Why him...? Then again, why the hell not him...?
He needed time to think it over and told Ben as much.
Though Stewart suspected that Ben Crawford was used to getting whatever he wanted, he seemed to understand and invited him to take the rest of the vacation to decide. Even then, Stewart could detect a trifle impatience undercutting his would-be employer's voice.
Stewart believed that was fair, finished his coffee, and left.
He went back to his room thoughtfully, and found it was being cleaned by the housekeeper who had let him in earlier. In this instance, it suited him just fine, for it gave him an excuse to talk to Yoshiko, and he did.
Despite the chip he sensed on her shoulder, she seemed pleasant enough. Yet the exchange of words proved to be awkward—for both parties. But what the hell, thought Stewart. There was no rule book that said hotel staff and guests had to limit their contact to towels, sheets, and room service. And he knew for a fact that Yoshiko was a damn sight better looking than anyone else he had seen.
So he asked her what he had wanted to all along. "What time do you break for lunch?"
She regarded him quizzically. "I beg your pardon?"
He sighed, and repeated the question.
"Eleven-thirty," she told him.
"Would you like to join me for lunch?" Stewart almost felt like he was back in high school; and that wasn't necessarily a bad thing, especially if she was his date.
Yoshiko seemed to mull it over, while Stewart wondered if he had overstepped his bounds. Finally, she said evenly, "Okay, why not?"
Stewart smiled and considered that his options seemed to be expanding by the moment on this island, where suddenly all things seemed possible...
* * *
The dramatic and compelling story of Kaanapali Beach Paradise will be continued in the next upcoming episode.
# # #
The following is a bonus excerpt of the exciting new mystery series
DEAD IN PUKALANI: An Eddie Naku Maui Mystery
By R. Barri Flowers
Prologue
Hawaiian music filtered through the speakers on this humid August evening as Suzette Higuchi-Bordeau sat in the Great Room of her contemporary home on Hololani Street in Pukalani, a census-designated region in Maui County, Hawaii. Located on the slopes of the East Maui Volcano, Haleakalā, in an area that natives of the island refer to as Upcountry, the upscale residence was bordered by swaying palm trees and close to the Pukalani Golf Course and Country Club.
Suzette sipped a Mai Tai beneath the swirling ceiling fan as a cool breeze brought forth the aroma of eucalyptus. She brushed away a strand of curly brunette hair from her face, barely listening to the conversation in progress. In truth, her mind was elsewh
ere. There were many things going on in her life at once, some of which she had never meant to happen, others that were beyond her control. Nonetheless, she had resigned herself to make the best of both worlds, just as her husband Patrick had.
"Can I get you another drink, Suzette?" asked one of the three men she had allowed into their home. He was white, bald, and stocky, with a deep tan, having helped himself to the wet bar, as had the other two men.
"No, I don't think so," she told him. She'd never been able to handle her alcohol very well, and now was not the time to test it, as she'd already had one drink before the men arrived. "But feel free to help yourself to another," she offered. "Patrick should be home any time now."
Her husband, Patrick Bordeau, the successful lawyer. Right. What a joke, Suzette thought. He'd called earlier and said he was at the office and would be a bit late, even though he was expecting the visit from his associates. She had no doubt he was busy, but it was not with work. She'd learned long ago to accept his infidelity, along with everything else that was wrong with their marriage. It was all part of the total package she'd become caught up in, mostly due to circumstances. Suzette wasn't sure if she still loved Patrick, or even if she ever truly had, but she was no longer committed to staying with him and pretending to be the dutiful wife who would always look the other way. Not when she now finally had another choice that gave her hope for something that had eluded her for a long time: happiness in a relationship. Or was that even possible? Maybe she was only deluding herself that there really could be a happy ending for two people who loved each other, no matter the obstacles standing in their way.
The ringing of her cell phone jarred Suzette from her thoughts. She pulled out the phone, looked at it for a moment, then glanced toward her visitors. The bald, stocky one had just come back with two drinks in hand, passing one to a white, tall, thinner man with sandy hair. The other man was Asian and small with a short black ponytail, still holding a drink. All three were in their thirties and chattering amongst themselves as though she were invisible. They barely seemed to notice her phone ringing.
Murder on Kaanapali Beach Page 27
