Beachboy Murder

by Sally J. Smith

  "Please get dressed, ladies, and meet me out back to see if you can identify the victim." Detective Ray turned away from the door and headed around the house.

  Victim. He'd said victim. Did that mean he suspected homicide?

  Janet was already dressed, and her hair was damp, so I figured she'd probably showered in the downstairs guest bathroom.

  I turned back toward the stairs. "I'll just throw on something and be right back," I said.

  She stood there looking at me, her expression puzzled. "Really, Gabby? I mean, is he serious? A dead body? Here on the island, here at the house?"

  "Serious? Oh, yeah," I threw back over my shoulder. "One thing you can count on. Detective Ray is always serious."

  I pulled on a pair of capri leggings and a tank top, and we were both outside in less than ten minutes. My hair was still standing straight up, so I finger-combed it (just one of the perks of a pixie cut) while my flip flops, what the islanders called slippers, carried me across the warm damp grass around the house and to the big empty space behind it where I always parked the car on the patch of rich red soil that was kept clear of the thick island grass for that very purpose.

  The good-sized lot on which Janet's small house sat was a couple of acres, like most of the neighboring lots around it. The piece of land behind the house was part of a bigger parcel that the owner was sitting on while it appreciated in value. Between me and my next-door neighbor was an empty lot, also about two acres in size.

  My part of the neighborhood was kept tended and mowed by a three-man father and sons yard crew who worked the entire area. Pika, the father, would leave the fruit he'd picked from the trees bordering the property in a basket by the lanai door. His sons, Magnum and Dano, named after their father's favorite TV characters, did most of the mowing and trimming. They came every week, and it was easy to see why, especially during the rainy season. They'd missed one week a while back due to a problem with their truck, and by the time their scheduled day rolled around the next week, the island had already begun to creep up on the house, taking back the land. Kauai was a garden paradise, and that was a lot of what made it hard to stay uptight here.

  But as we approached the tight group of police and medical staff near the back of the property where a small picturesque stream was fed by the runoff from Sleeping Giant Mountain and the foothills, the thought popped into my head that at least one person hadn't succumbed to the gentle aloha spirit of the island. Not if the person lying dead at the back of the house had been murdered, and from Detective Ray's terminology, it appeared he thought homicide was a definite possibility.

  We stopped at the boundary laid by the crime scene tape. Beside me, Janet's breath was rapid and shallow.

  Yards away, officers, paramedics, and Coroner Aimi Yoshida clustered in a tight group. No body was in sight—not that I'd been looking forward to one, not at all.

  Detective Ray looked up and saw us. He walked over and lifted the yellow tape so we could step under it. "I'm sorry to have to do this, Miss LeClair, but since you live here, I need you to take a look and tell me if you knew this person." He turned around and started back toward where the others were.

  My stomach roiled, and I was relieved I hadn't had breakfast yet.

  Detective Ray hadn't addressed Janet, but she grabbed onto my hand anyway, and when I took that first step forward, she followed hesitantly. We were like two little kids—we knew we'd be both scared and repelled at what we were about to see, but we crept up to have a look at it anyway.

  And we weren't wrong. I knew when we got close enough to see the legs, it was going to be bad. Right away I recognized the expensive pale blue board shorts and leather sandals.

  I looked away from the muscular male legs as Janet gasped—no, shrieked—let go of my hand, and fell back a step.

  "Oh, lord." She breathed it more than said it. "It's Val. Oh my God. It's Val."

  Ray's head swiveled. "You know this man?"

  Her hands were clasped over her mouth, eyes locked onto the tanned legs. She turned her head to me, began blinking rapidly, and reached for my hand. I took hers in between both of mine.

  By now, the group of people around the body had pulled back to stare at Janet, and I could see the dead man lying half-in, half-out of the stream, his handsome face smeared with the iron-rich red Kauai mud, his hair caked with it rendering the expensive haircut a waste of time and money. The handsome man I'd seen in the lobby yesterday had a small gash in the middle of an ugly bruise and goose egg on his forehead.

  His eyes were open and cloudy.

  Janet was shaking.

  Detective Ray repeated. "Do you know this man, Miss…"

  "Belinski," I said, as Janet seemed unable to speak.

  "Janet Belinski. This is her house. I just rent it."

  Since Janet was mute and I at least had a voice, Detective Ray shifted his attention to me. "Do you know him?"

  I shook my head. "I did see him at Aloha Lagoon yesterday. In the lobby. He had a suitcase with him. I assumed he was just checking in."

  I couldn't tear my own gaze away from Janet's colorless face and horrified expression. And it didn't seem as if she could tear her gaze from the man she'd called Val.

  "Janet," I said softly. "Are you all right?" I put an arm around her and turned her around, thinking that would take the body out of her line of sight. But she looked back and kept staring at it. I said her name again, louder.

  She finally turned. Tears had gathered in her eyes. "I can't believe it. How is he dead? How did this happen?"

  "Do you know this man?" Detective Ray asked again, as if the answer wasn't totally obvious. His voice was nowhere near kind or sympathetic, but it wasn't as brusque as usual either.

  Janet slowly lifted her eyes to look at the detective. "Yes. I know him. He's from Chicago. I sort of used to date him." She paused. "His name is Val Markson. He is—was—a professional plus one."

  I said, "Holy cow! He was?"

  Detective Ray said. "A what?"

  Janet looked to me, and I picked up the ball. "A plus one. A professional escort who accompanies women when they need someone for a business or social function."

  Detective Ray seemed to be chewing on what I said. "A plus one, eh?"

  I nodded.

  He went on. "In my day, we used to call that kind of professional a gigolo."

  I looked first at Detective Ray then at Janet. A gigolo? Like in "call me?" Like Richard Gere. Or Deuce Bigalow? I knew such men were around. I wasn't all that naïve, but I couldn't imagine Janet Belinski hiring one.

  "But you didn't…you and he weren't…a plus one, right? Not a real gigolo?" I hoped I didn't sound as flabbergasted as I felt.

  "It wasn't like that." Janet shook her head. "I had his arm if I needed one to hang onto. You know how it is." Now she was speaking more to me than to Detective Ray. "Even in a city like Chicago, people in the travel business keep such a tight circle. A divorced woman walks into one of those industry shindigs by herself, tongues wag, and she never hears the end of it. Even though everyone knew about Val Markson and others like him, it was better than showing up alone. Our relationship did evolve from business to personal, but still, we were just friends."

  I didn't say anything. I didn't have to. Detective Ray pretty well summed it up. "Friends? Friends with benefits?"

  Janet sighed. "No." Her eyes flicked briefly to where the dead plus one lay in the stream. "Val was a class act, at least in my opinion. After my divorce I was too gun-shy to really hook up with anyone. It was my maiden aunt who suggested I find someone to squire me around. That was how she put it, 'Someone to squire you around, Jan.' Val was well-known among a certain class of businesswomen in Chicago. His number was given to me, and I used him. More than once."

  Detective Ray raised one eyebrow, and Janet hurried to add, "I used his services as an escort only. No fooling around. I was pretty beat up after my divorce. His cute butt to fill the empty chair next to mine at business dinners and the pleas
ure of his company were all I ever required of him. He was my friend. And I helped him as much as I could, referred him to a lot of women I knew who might need a strong arm to place their hand on when walking into a function where whispers circulated if you appeared solo."

  I knew I was staring at her. I couldn't help it. This was not only something I never knew about Janet, it was something I would never have guessed, not in a lifetime, not in two lifetimes.

  Detective Ray seemed to be waiting for her to finish.

  She shrugged. "In the end we were friends more than anything else. And when I saw him last night—"

  If I had to describe what happened then it would be that it was just like a shark attack. Sudden. Unexpected. Violent. Detective Ray took a step, and it was almost as if he sprang at her, his eyes intense, his interest completely focused, his voice sharp and accusing. "You what? You were with this man last night?"

  Janet fell back a step, and I didn't blame her. Ray's assault on her was almost physical.

  "I…we…uh. Yes. We had a few drinks at The Lava Pot, and then he drove me back here."

  "Did you quarrel with the victim?" he asked.

  "No."

  "Were you jealous of him. Was he seeing another woman?"

  She tilted her head to one side. "Seeing other women was Val's job. Why would I be jealous? How could I be?"

  We all stopped talking as the paramedics rolled a gurney up next to the body, unzipped a body bag, and laid it on the gurney. They lifted the man onto the bag, pulled it up over him, and zipped it. The sound was somehow eerie and final. And I shivered.

  Dr. Aimi Yoshida, whom I'd met once before, caught Ray's eye. He walked a few paces away to join her, and the two began to converse out of my earshot.

  Janet seemed to have calmed down—less shocked now, more just sad. "Poor Val. I can't believe this."

  I leaned close to her. "I can't believe it either. Were you really with that man Val last night?"

  She nodded. "He had a rental car. When he offered to give me a ride, I jumped at it. Better than Uber. He brought me back here around eleven thirty and dropped me off. He didn't even want to come in. I was dead tired after the trip and took a sleeping pill so I'd have a good night's sleep. That way I'm fresh if the consortium members need anything today."

  "Is that why I couldn't wake you up?"

  "Yeah, I guess. You tried to wake me up?"

  "When I came home. I thought you'd be more comfortable in the bed upstairs. But you were out cold."

  Her eyes followed the paramedics. They'd reached the ambulance parked on a level spot on the vacant lot next door, had opened the doors up and were lifting the gurney inside. Her face was troubled, her voice too. "I'd had a couple of drinks, plus the pill. I was doing just fine where I was, sweetie." She sighed. "Now I wish I hadn't taken the meds. Maybe if I'd been more alert, I might have been aware of what was going on, been able to help him. Did you see that horrible mark on his face? He was so handsome, Gabby. This is just—" Her voice broke then.

  I called out, "Detective, my friend needs to go inside now. Are you done with us?"

  "For now," he called back. "But I'm going to need you both later for a formal statement."

  I looped my arm with Janet's and pulled her close as we walked back to the house. She was quiet.

  "What was he doing here, Janet?"

  "Val came to the island because of Chelsea Westport. He said she invited him, even paid for his ticket. She's a wealthy widow—megarich—and since her husband passed, I guess she's used Val's services a few times—for the wedding of her sister a few months back, and also for a holiday party the Goldbergs threw for their business associates. There might be other times I don't know about. Val was a popular plus one in Chi-town. If he knew anything, it was how to make a woman feel special. He did all right for himself. Sarah Goldberg hired him a few times herself, back when she and Hershel were separated."

  "Geez, was I the only single woman in Chicago who didn't go out with the guy?"

  Janet's mouth turned up in a sad little smile. "You might be, Gabby. You just might be. You could also be the only woman on the island who hasn't gone out with the guy. Val Markson grew up on Kauai, not more than a few miles from where we are right now."

  "Here? Really?" We were at the back of the house. I held the lanai door open, and she stepped inside.

  "He worked as a Poipu Beachboy, you know, surf lessons, canoeing—that stuff. He told me last night that while he was here he also planned to try to right a wrong he'd done when he'd left the island. Said he'd been young and thoughtless, and the way he'd handled things here had weighed on him these past few years. But I'm not sure what he was talking about."

  "It's a shame," I said, sighing. "So, Janet, how about I make you some breakfast? Rick's taught me how to make the yummiest omelets."

  She sighed and threw up her arms. "You bet," she said. "Sitting around and wasting this good island sun isn't going to help Val now, and he wasn't the kind of guy who'd want that anyway. I'll help you."

  While I pulled ingredients from the fridge, I couldn't help thinking about Val Markson's death and how, more than once, Detective Ray had termed him a victim. Did that mean the detective thought the former beachboy had been killed? Had he just fallen and hit his head? Or had someone hit it for him? Was it a sad accident? Or was it murder? "Can you think of why anyone would want to kill him? Or who might?"

  Janet was at the sink. She shut off the water and stood drying her hands on a kitchen towel. Her gaze had centered on the kitchen window past the lanai screen out back to the lawn and fruit trees and beyond to the stream where the body had been found. "Lots of why's," she said absently. "And lots of who's."

  CHAPTER SIX

  It was nearly ten by the time Janet and I finished getting ready for the day. We climbed into the agency shuttle, which I'd been using as my personal vehicle ever since I'd sold my Ford Focus for cash to fund the agency through a lean spell we'd had a while back. The Ford had been a sweet little car, but the money I'd received from its sale had been even sweeter. There's nothing quite like the peace of mind that comes from knowing you have at least some money in the bank.

  It had taken a while to get used to the shuttle. And now I'd dubbed it Brute, a good and proper moniker for a strong and sturdy entity, and I'd grown to enjoy driving my Brute almost as much as I had the Ford.

  Janet had been quiet.

  "Do you want to talk about it?" I'd asked when we'd been driving for a few minutes.

  She'd taken the seat right behind me and was sort of hanging halfway over the partition between her as passenger and me as Capitán LeClair, as Rick called me when I was behind the wheel of the shuttle.

  "Val?" she asked.

  We made eye contact in the mirror. I nodded, and she shook her head.

  "Not now. I'm still trying to figure out how I feel about it."

  "Sure, I understand."

  After another mile, she seemed to shake off the funk she'd been in. "So, girlfriend, have you made a decision about selling your travel agency?"

  "You sound like Rick," I said. "Like I told him. It's a little premature. They haven't offered yet."

  I was watching the road, but I could tell by her voice she'd shrugged. "Just a matter of time."

  "I'm not sure I want to sell," I said. "I'm my own boss. I keep my own hours—"

  She interrupted me. "Oh, right. All twenty-four of them. I know you, LeClair. When Webster wrote his dictionary, he had a hard time deciding whether to call a person who works all the time a workaholic or a LeClair."

  I shook my head, smiling. "Not so much these days," I said. "I've changed."

  "Gabby, it would be so great if you came back to Chicago. I could hire you to help me run the consortium's agencies. They'll need someone to travel back here every so often and check up on things. I'm sure they'd send you. You could see the dashing Mr. Dawson then."

  Seeing the dashing Mr. Dawson only every so often was nowhere near my version of ideal
. With every passing day I felt the need to spend more and more time with him. Plus, if I went back to Chicago, back to work for a big company, I'd just fall back into the same old patterns I'd been unable to break free from before I left the Windy City.

  "I miss you, Gabby. I want my friend back."

  "I miss you, too, but I'm conflicted about selling," I said.

  "Just say yes, and come on home with me."

  Wasn't my friend Janet Belinski the same woman who'd encouraged me to buy Gabby's Island Adventures and come to Hawaii?

  I couldn't let this be about what Janet needed or wanted. I couldn't even let this be about what Rick needed or wanted—in part, yes, actually in some big part but not wholly. In the past I would have bent to the will of others, but I hadn't been lying when I'd told Janet I'd changed. My own needs mattered to me these days. If only I knew for sure what those needs actually were, beyond Rick of course—needing Rick was a gimme. I had become somewhat of a proponent of the philosophy to first nourish my own soul or there'd be nothing left for me to give others.

  I'd sent a text to Koma, asking him to meet us under the portico in front of the resort so he could take the shuttle for a fill-up and a wash before the afternoon departure of a group we'd booked to Hanalei for snorkeling and a beach pig roast.

  When we pulled up, he was there and waiting.

  Janet came to life when she saw him. And who could blame her? He was as handsome and manly as his twin, Lana, was beautiful and feminine. I'd been so lucky the two had decided to stay with me when I bought the agency. They knew the island backwards and forwards and both had a knack for matching up Aloha Lagoon resort guests, which was where most of my business originated, with activities.

  Mumbling, blushing, and making it a point to avoid Janet's ogling gaze, Koma took the shuttle off our hands, and I headed inside with my friend.

  "You ready for your meeting with the consortium?" Janet asked.

  I shrugged. "I guess. Got nothing to hide. I assume they're going to have a lot of questions to ask me."