CHAPTER EIGHT
"Miss Johnson." Detective Ray points to a chair across from his desk, and I sit.
Nick and Binny were told to wait in the lobby, which is good because there isn't any room for more than two people. This might be the messiest office I've ever been in. Stacks of papers, thumbtacks, and paper clips litter the floor and completely cover the desk. I have to remove three binders from the chair before I sit. It's like an Office Depot exploded in here. How does this man get anything done?
I fill Detective Ray in on our trip to where Leilani was murdered. I tell him what Reverend Blake told us, and the detective frowns. He doesn't say a word as I describe that the Parker couple couldn't have seen much of the killer and grimaces when I hand him the note. When I finish, he leans back in his chair, still frowning.
"This is a criminal investigation," Detective Ray says finally. "You are not a policeman. You have no idea what you're doing."
Well, clearly, neither does he. But I think I'll keep that to myself. And maybe I'll buy him a desk organizer. Or three.
I nod. "I know that, sir. I just want to help. I didn't kill Kua or Leilani."
Yes, it sounds weak. It sounds ridiculous. It sounds like something the killer might say. But I'm desperate. I need this off my plate so I can pursue happiness with a certain botanist.
"Miss Johnson," Detective Ray says at long last, "you will benefit from their deaths, right?"
"Um, well, I guess so, now that you say it." I fidget in the chair. Something feels like it's stabbing me. Did I miss a thumbtack? I wouldn't be surprised. A rotting sandwich covered with white fuzz sits on a bookshelf a few feet away with flies buzzing around it. Now that's a crime.
He nods. "You will now have more opportunities with them out of the way. Am I wrong?"
I try indignation. "That's a terrible thing to say! I would never kill someone just for a gig!" I might wish it, but I wouldn't do it.
"I'm just looking for motive." Detective Ray shrugs. He doesn't seem defensive. I really need to up my indignation game. Another time though.
"Don't you have any other suspects?" I ask weakly. "I mean, both of them must have other enemies in common."
"I'm not that far into my investigation." The detective sighs wearily. "So far you are the only common link to both victims that I've found."
"But what about the note? What about Reverend Blake's testimony?"
Ray says nothing. That makes me nervous.
My heart starts to pound. "Maybe the two murders aren't related! Maybe it's just coincidence that they were both murdered at the same time!"
"Calm down, Miss Johnson," the man says. "You are a suspect, but we don't have enough to arrest you. Yet."
A thought comes to mind. I just need to be careful how I phrase it in order to find out what I want to know.
"Is someone handling the funeral arrangements for Leilani?" I ask as innocently as I can. The body had disappeared in the sea. The minister said it hit the rocks before falling into the crashing waves. People still hold funerals without the body, don't they? I mean, obviously there's a body, or they wouldn't know it was murder, right?
"No. No one has come forward."
I stare at the detective. "But you don’t have a body, right? How do you know she's dead?"
He gives me a pitying look, as if I'm ridiculous to think of this. "We found a lot of blood—her blood—at the scene. So much of it that the coroner felt she couldn't have survived the fall."
"How much is that?" I ask.
"I don't know," Detective Ray says with a frown. "But the coroner thought it was too much for her to live. And we found her shoes and a hank of her hair."
I almost expect the man to produce these things. It seems like it would be in his wheelhouse to do so.
"So no funeral then." I remember my earlier thought. "No family or friends to claim her…um…what's left."
"Not yet," the detective said.
My second hope was to find out who was closest to Leilani. I read something once that said the majority of murders are committed by someone you know. Of course, that also backed up the theory that I'd been the murderer. But if I had some names, I could do a little interviewing…
"I must insist that you stop investigating. This is a police matter and my case." He tries to look menacing but only succeeds in looking a bit like a lopsided bloodhound
"I'm just trying to help," I grumble. The man wouldn't even have the new testimony or note if we hadn't checked it out. That's gratitude for you.
Ray sighs again. I feel like a little kid in the principal's office.
The phone rings, and I watch as he answers. He gives a few grunts into the phone before hanging up.
"I need to do something quick." The detective stands. "Stay where you are. I'll be back." He walks to the door, pointing at me wordlessly before walking out.
There's a file on his desk with photos of Kua and Leilani on it. After glancing at the door, I stand up and attempt to read the open file. A list of names that reads People to Interview who Knew Victim is on top. I look toward the door and take out my cell, snapping an upside-down photo of the list. Footsteps outside make me sit back down, shoving my cell into my purse. I paste on a look of concern as the man once again sits down at his desk.
"Just stay out of this, Miss Johnson," Detective Ray says. "You can go."
I race out the door and into the lobby, where I meet with Binny and Nick. It's not until we are in the car that I tell them all about the meeting, including the picture I took.
"I can't believe you did that!" Binny gasps.
"It's getting late," Nick says. "Let's pick up takeout and head to my house. Maybe we can divide up the list to interview."
Binny looks like she's going to explode with excitement. A mystery investigation and she gets to see the mythical Woodfield mansion? Unfortunately, it isn't going to happen tonight.
"I can't," I say. "I've got another wedding tonight at the Blue Hawaii."
My friend looks crushed. I silently vow to make it up to her. She's waited all her life—she can surely wait a little more, right?
Nick drops us off at our cars back at the Loco Moco, and I give him a quick kiss on the cheek before he drives off. I did it again! I chastise myself for being so shameless and then congratulate myself because he seems to like it.
Binny hugs me before jumping into her Jeep and speeding away. As for me—I'm in my house in ten minutes. Mom is passed out in the backyard, an empty pitcher of something sticky and sweet on the ground next to her.
The wedding tonight is kind of a big deal. The couple, some big mafia boss from Atlantic City, is marrying his girlfriend, a woman who isn't half his age so much as a quarter of it. They'd arranged this a year ago. And since Fat Mookie (the gangster, of course) paid a ridiculous amount of money in cash, it was priority number one. Pastor Dan was even tripling my fee for it. I'd been waiting all week for this because I was going to set the money aside for Mom and me to go on a little trip, like to Maui.
But now that I'm accused of another murder, I didn't really feel like going. Suck it up, Nani—you have to keep Mom in muumuus and mai tais. I throw on the pink dress with the ukuleles on it, because the bride's favorite color is pink, and slip into my matching sandals, and head out the door.
"You shouldn't pay her so much!" Mary Lou's voice stabs me in the head as I enter the chapel. I can only assume she's talking about me.
"It's none of your business, Mary Lou," Pastor Dan says, and I suppress a smile. That's before I really see the chapel.
Somehow, the bride managed to turn everything pink. Bright pink. Pink flowers swallow the altar and block the fantastic beach view from the windows. Swathes of pink satin are draped over everything. Pink velvet cushions hide the lovely teak wood of the pews. And pink light bulbs rain a Pepto Bismoesque glow on everything else.
"Whoa," I whisper as I walk open mouthed down the aisle. Maybe I should've bought a pink ukulele for this occasion.
"You're go
ing to run this business into the ground, Dan!" Mary Lou obviously feels she is entitled to skip Pastor Dan's title.
"It's my business," he fires back. "I'll do what I want." A door slams, and I rush up to the altar and pretend I'm enthralled with the giant pink sparkly cross that dominates the window.
Pastor Dan emerges from a pink satin-covered doorway. He looks mad. He's wearing the 1950s Elvis costume. The one with the short shorts. I try not to stare.
"I swear, Nani," he says as he stomps over to me, "I'm going to fire her one of these days!"
I laugh. "You say that almost every time I see you. And you never do. I don't think you ever will."
He winks at me. "Look—I made the shorts longer, like you asked." He points to shorts so short he's in danger of flashing me.
"What, did you go a whole millimeter this time?" I tease but avert my eyes anyway.
Pastor Dan shakes his head and walks past me to the altar, where he begins rearranging his notes.
Mary Lou bursts out of the back, and I can't help but stare. She's wearing a pink dress and pink lipstick with a huge pink hibiscus flower in her hair. I step back, fearing the god of colors will smite her with a lightning bolt. Her outfit is too much, even for the Rainbow State.
"What are you staring at?" She's stopped in front of me and looks furious.
"That's a nice color on you, Mary Lou," I lie.
"Oh…well." The woman blushes and smooths her dress. "Thanks." She sneaks a look at Pastor Dan to see if he notices the compliment, but the man seems very intent on his notes. Too intent, if you ask me.
"I just bought this," Mary Lou says. "I wanted to look nice for Fat Mookie and Bambi."
I gape at her. "The bride's name is Bambi? Are you sure we aren't being punked?"
Oh sure, I know that there are real people with that name, but Fat Mookie and Bambi? Are we marrying a couple of cartoon characters? Maybe I should play the Warner Bros. theme for the ceremony.
Mary Lou returns to her old self. "How dare you mock our clients! This is a business, and we are professionals!"
"You're right," I beg off. "I'll behave."
Did I just hear a chuckle from the altar? I try not to grin.
"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiioooooooooooohmygod!" A shrill voice squeals almost every vowel in a pitch I wish only dogs could hear.
This is followed by the tallest Amazon I've ever seen. Tottering in on seven-inch high heels, with hardly any pink material to cover her unbelievably voluptuous curves, comes what I can only assume is Bambi. The woman's long blonde hair has been teased within an inch of its life, and her eyelashes could brush the altar, 30 feet away, if she blinked.
"This is amazing!" Bambi shrieks.
She's followed by what can only be described as the skinniest, shortest man on the planet. He wears a three-piece suit, one that would probably only fit an anorexic eight-year-old, and a fedora. He takes the hat off to mop his balding head with a handkerchief (also pink) before replacing it.
"Fat Mookie!" Pastor Dan calls out as he makes his way up the aisle to shake the man's hand.
This is Fat Mookie? Maybe I got it all wrong. Maybe he's Bambi and the barely dressed bimbo is Fat Mookie. I wait to see who responds to Dan.
"Nice to see you again, Pastor," the man says as he takes Dan's hand and shakes it. He pulls up his trousers to show blue suede shoes. "We're matching. Bambi wanted me to wear pink, but I stood my ground." Standing his ground against Bambi must be like a toothpick in a tornado.
Fat Mookie joins Bambi at the start of the aisle. She towers over him by at least two whole feet, and I think one of her breasts weighs as much as he does. Mookie is at least in his late 50s, and Bambi looks about 21.
I'd love to hear the story of how these two met. I'm not sure whether I'm going to laugh or faint.
"Pick your jaw up off the floor!" Mary Lou hisses while elbowing me.
I oblige her. What else can I do?
"This is Mary Lou—she'll be taking pictures." Pastor Dan waves his hand at her, and Mary Loud practically shakes with delight. I wonder if that's the closest he's come to complimenting her.
"And Nani Johnson is our instrumentalist." Dan winks at me, and I smile and nod. "She's a classically trained musician from Julliard," he adds.
Bambi can't be bothered to take her eyes off the waves of pink that are now undulating obscenely in the breeze from the open windows.
Fat Mookie bows to both of us, removing his hat. I like him.
"Ladies," he purrs. "So very nice to meet you."
I hope that Mary Lou won't explode.
"Such an honor, sir." Mary Lou actually curtseys. Who does she think this guy is?
"It's nice meeting you as well," I say. "Do you have any requests for the ceremony?"
Usually, the couples submit their music a week or so out, in case I need to learn it. Fat Mookie hasn't done this, so I'm hoping he'll want something I can play.
He looks longingly at Bambi, who is now giggling and spinning around in the long sheets of satin—her arms outstretched—like a slutty Maria in the opening of The Sound of Music. I almost reach for my ukulele and play the hills are alive…
"Whatever you think appropriate." Fat Mookie turns back to me and smiles. "I didn't get around to filling out the request form, and that's my fault."
I think I love him. No one is ever that nice about the music. No one.
Bambi suddenly notices us and stops spinning. "Ooooh! But can you play Beyoncé's "Single Ladies" for when I throw the bouquet?"
I nod. Weirdly, I have that in my repertoire. I had to play it at a nursing home's grand opening a couple of weeks ago. Not kidding.
"Great!" Fat Mookie slaps his hands and begins rubbing them together. "Let's get started!"
"Now?" Mary Lou looks stricken. She glances at Bambi's attire. "But what about your guests?" Nice save. I'm sure she was going to ask if Bambi wanted to change.
Bambi nods so vigorously I fear her head will pop off. "Oh yeah! We got a booze cruise in half an hour!"
I say nothing, instead taking my usual place off to the left of the altar. Pastor Dan ushers the couple to the front and takes his place. Mary Lou blinks, then runs off for the camera.
I launch into a lovely little song written by Queen Liliuokalani. After a few bars, I strum softly for the perfect background music.
"Dearly Beloved, thank you very much!" Pastor Dan begins, and Fat Mookie respectfully removes his hat.
The ceremony moves along like they all do. All the same words that link all the same couples together. I watch as I quietly play and start to wonder what was going through Leilani's mind when she played that wedding earlier today. It had to be a shock when the murderer ran up and threw her over a cliff. I felt a little bad for the Parker couple. And for the shark that probably ate Leilani. The indigestion would be epic.
"We wrote our own vows, Reverend," Fat Mookie says as he and Bambi turn to face each other.
We're at the vows already? I need to pay more attention. I slow down the tempo and continue strumming.
"BamBoobs," Fat Mookie says, and it's all I can do to not burst out laughing. "I loved you from the day I met you."
He looks expectantly at BamBoobs after the shortest vows I've ever heard.
"Back atchya, babe!" Bambi snaps her gum and grins goofily at her husband to be.
I stand corrected on the shortest vows thing. No Shakespeare is wasted with these two.
"Do you have the rings?" Pastor Dan asks.
Fat Mookie pulls out a platinum band with a diamond as big as his head and says the usual words. Bambi pulls out a simple black-titanium band and repeats what Mookie said as she places the ring on his hand.
"I now pronounce you husband and wife." Pastor Dan grins. "You may kiss the bride."
I try to focus on my music, but I'm curious as to how they're going to pull this off. Bambi bends almost completely in half, and her new husband rises up on his tiptoes to kiss her.
Thank God I wasn't
murdered by the ukulele killer before now. I'd have hated to miss out on this.
"Okay!" Bambi shouts as I play the recessional music. "Time to throw the bouquet!"
She suddenly produces a very large bouquet, from where, I don't know. "Play Beyoncé now, please!"
The bouquet is a riot of bright pink flowers with a horseshoe in the middle of it. I've seen that before with Irish weddings—they insert a horseshoe, open end up, for good luck. That has to be one heavy bouquet.
I do as I'm told and begin a rousing version of "Single Ladies," just as I realize that Mary Lou and I are the only single ladies present. And since I'm playing a ukulele and the requested music, I'm completely out of the running.
But that doesn't stop BamBoobs, who turns around and tosses the large bouquet over her shoulder. I watch as it soars, almost in slow motion, through the air. It's going to miss its target (that being Mary Lou) by a mile.
I underestimate the woman, as Mary Lou expertly hurdles two of the pews just in time for the clump of flowers to hit her hair-helmeted head and knock her out cold. I rush to her side and try to revive her, with no success.
"Ooops!" Bambi cries. "I'm sorry!" Tears actually start to stream down her cheeks, blending with non-waterproof mascara, creating two black lines on her face. She looks like a blonde female Alice Cooper.
"Is she going to be okay?" Fat Mookie bends over the unconscious woman.
Pastor Dan whispers to me, "Keep trying to revive her." He turns to the gangster and his bimbo. "No problem, really. She has a history of fainting spells."
I wonder if that history includes being bludgeoned by pink flowers every time, but say nothing. I tuck the bouquet into Mary Lou's hands. She would've wanted it that way.
"What about the pictures?" Bambi's crying jag has ended, and she chews on her enormous lips. "I really wanted that cool blue frame."
"I'll deliver the pictures to your hotel tonight," I say for some reason. "Where are you staying?"
Fat Mookie peels off hundred dollar bills from a roll as big as his fist. "At the resort. Ask for Mr. and Mrs. Stone."
Ukulele Murder: A Nani Johnson Aloha Lagoon Mystery (Aloha Lagoon Mysteries Book 1) Page 8
