We sat back, and I sipped at my club soda while Janet took down over half of hers at one go. Casey was already on his way back with another drink for Janet. He gave me a questioning look, and I shook my head.
"My, my." Janet pushed the first glass, now empty, away and pulled the second one closer. "These are so good."
That was the trouble with Lava Flows, they tasted way too yummy. While she worked on the second drink, I had a look around the bar.
"Oh." I directed Janet's attention to a table across the room. "Look who's here."
Hershel Goldberg sat alone at a table, a beer in a pilsner glass in front of him. He seemed totally engrossed in his iPad.
"We should go talk to him," I said.
Janet looked at me quizzically.
"Let's see if maybe he'd like to tell us where he was last night."
Janet started to object at first. "But Sarah already told us they were together…"
"Yes, that's what she said anyway." I let it hang there a minute until the light dawned in Janet's eyes and I realized she knew where I was going.
The liquor must have been affecting her brain cells—my friend was a tad slower than usual. "Oh," Janet said finally. "I see. Sleuthing, right? You're going to see if she was telling the truth."
We stood, picked up our drinks, and walked over to where Hershel sat.
Hershel didn't look up as we approached. On his iPad screen was a card game—High Stakes Poker and a virtual card table with cards and chips and everything.
When he finally looked up and saw us, he laid his napkin across the iPad screen. I had the impression he was nervous about having been discovered at playing cards online.
"Hi, Hershel. Mind if we join you?" Janet's words didn't slur, but her voice sounded a little dreamy—probably the result of the Lava Flows taking hold.
Hershel shrugged, and I noted that while he didn't stand up (as my old-fashioned flyboy Rick Dawson would have), he at least gestured toward the empty chairs opposite him.
We took our seats, and I lifted my chin toward the iPad. "Playing a little online poker?"
He gave me a look that pretended to say he didn't understand the question, and then he sort of laughed and waved a dismissive hand over the iPad. "Playing? Oh, no. Just sort of kibitzing"
"Did you hear about the murder?" Janet dove right in. Subtle as usual.
He looked around and seemed to be immediately uncomfortable.
I dove in too. "Did you know the victim? Val Markson?"
That put him on the defensive. His mouth thinned into a hard line. "No. I didn't know him, but I knew all about him. He had a rather colorful history, didn't he, Janet?"
Janet took a sip on her drink and agreed in blissful inebriation. "Colorful? Sure. You could call it colorful."
"But you didn't know him?" I asked.
"If it's any of your business, Miss LeClair, my wife had used his services as a professional escort during a time when she and I were seeing a marriage counselor. But then Ms. Belinski here has probably already told you about that." I opened my mouth, but he went on before I could get a word out. "Once Sarah and I worked through our issues, his services"—the word itself was a contemptuous sneer—"were no longer required. That's all I knew about the man." He picked up his glass and drained it. "Now if you'll excuse me—"
"Yesterday when he walked into the lobby, you seemed quite"—I searched for a word, finally choosing—"dismayed."
The look he settled on me was one of utter dislike, and it crossed my mind that I might be sabotaging any possible offer on Gabby's Island Adventures. Is that what you're trying to do, Gabby?
Maybe it was, because I couldn't seem to help myself. I kept after it. "I think the words you used were, 'I'm gonna freakin' kill him.'"
Hershel Goldberg's eyes went even darker, colder. "I see where this is going. You and Janet are playing at being amateur sleuths." He turned to Janet, or more like he turned on Janet. "This creep was a boyfriend of yours. Right, Janet? You missing him already? You were the one who introduced him to my wife in the first place, weren't you?"
The look on Janet's slack face was one of utter dismay. With sudden clarity, I understood she was in a different position with the consortium members than I. She worked for these people, and I didn't want her to put her job in jeopardy.
Gabby to the rescue. To pull his attention back to me, I asked. "What were you doing the night Val Markson died?"
"I was with my wife. In our room. In bed. Together. With the Do Not Disturb sign on the door, if you get my drift. I didn't kill the scum, although having my hands around his neck would have been totally satisfying. Obviously since she was with me, Sarah didn't do it either. So if you're looking for someone to hang the murder on, you need to look somewhere else."
He pushed back from the table, lifted the napkin, and flipped the cover on the iPad screen, picked it up, and walked away.
"Whew." Janet nudged me in the ribs. "That went well. Don't you think?"
I just looked at her a long beat before we both laughed, due more to nerves than actual humor. Hershel Goldberg was a serious man, and there was a kind of unsettling darkness in him that had affected me. What was more, I wouldn't have pegged him for a romantic guy.
"Is he always so intense?" I asked.
"Serious, yes, but,"—she shook her head—"I never saw him like that before."
"Look," I said slowly. "Your job, your livelihood depends on your relationship with the members of the consortium. Mine doesn't. They don't have to like me to make an offer on my business." I laid my hand on top of her. "Janet, I don't want you to put yourself in a bad light with them. Maybe you should back off and leave the investigating to me."
It didn't take long for an answer, just a beat or two at the most. "Oh, thank God. This sleuthing gig is harder than I thought it'd be, and if I'm honest, it kind of scares me," Janet said. She raised a hand in Casey's direction. "I don't want you to think I'm a lush, but after talking to Good Time Hershel, I could use one more drink. At the very least."
CHAPTER TWELVE
We stayed at The Lava Pot awhile longer. I'd nursed another club soda while Janet made love to yet another Lava Flow. She was really unsteady by the time she'd finished it off, so I walked with her back to her and Chelsea's room. She'd stayed at my place the previous night, but in her current relaxed condition, that wasn't in the cards for this night.
Chelsea wasn't there, had left a note she'd gone out with the Lancasters for an early dinner. I sat with Janet and commiserated while she waxed maudlin over the death of Val Markson, whom she'd clearly considered a friend.
It wasn't long before she crashed and slumped over onto the pillows of her bed, and it looked like she might be down for the count. I slipped off her ever-present Louboutin pumps and covered her with a blanket before heading back downstairs to the travel agency.
It was getting on into late afternoon, and both Koma and Lana were on the phone. It sounded as if they'd taken quite a few tour orders and were still tying up details for clients going out on various activities the next day.
The three of us worked together awhile and tied up all loose ends, although the twins had done most of it already.
"You should take off, boss lady," Koma said. "We're gonna be here until closing."
"Well, since you two have it covered, maybe I'll grab a bite to eat. I need to keep up my strength. I'm taking the members of the consortium to karaoke tonight. By the time I manage to get back home after that, it will have been a very long day."
I headed over to the Loco Moco Café. It had turned into such a stressful day I threw caution to the wind and took Jimmy Buffett's sage advice and settled on a "Cheeseburger in Paradise," and maybe even—gasp—a milkshake, a pineapple milkshake. I was in the Hawaiian Islands after all.
The burger, fries, and shake made a happy woman of me. I was down to sucking air on the straw when I noticed Pastor Bobby Pukui and his sister Ona, the Talk Story Lady, in a corner booth.
I'd
been wondering how Bobby planned to handle the auction winner for the prize I'd donated to the orphanage fundraiser, so I took one last slurp on the straw, left money on the table, and headed toward their booth.
I stopped beside them and had already spoken—"Hi, guys."—before I picked up on their moods. Bobby radiated tension, and it was obvious Ona had been crying. Eww, not good timing. I thought about turning around, but it was too late for that. Me and my big mouth.
Bobby tried to smile. "Gabby, hi."
I fumbled. "Sorry, guys. I won't bother you. I can see you're in the middle of—"
"No, no," Ona scooted to the edge of the bench. She wiped her eyes. "You come, Gabby. Sit down. I was just leaving."
I objected, not wanting to land in the middle of some family issue. "No. That's fine. It can wait. I just had a quick question for Bobby." I backed up a couple of steps.
She was already pushing out of the booth, not an easy task for a woman with bad knees. I moved in to help her, but she shooed me away. "I got this down pretty good now. I'm scientific 'bout it, you know. Laws of leverage." She grunted a little as she put one hand on the edge of the table, the other on the side of the bench, and heaved herself to her feet.
Bobby handed her cane across to her. "I'll meet you out front." He questioned me with a raised eyebrow. "Should be just a few minutes?"
"Oh, yeah," I was quick to say. "Just a couple minutes."
Ona nodded. "Thanks, bro." To me she said. "Catch you later, girl." She made her way to the exit at a pace much slower than her usual purposeful gait.
Bobby gestured to where Ona had been sitting. "Sit down, Gabby."
I slid in. "I'm sorry, Bobby. I didn't mean to interrupt."
"It's okay. She's worried about my niece. Nobody's seen Mele since she left the resort this morning. She didn't show up for her shift at the gift shop. She was pretty shook up about this thing with Val Markson, and Ona's worried about her."
"She's not answering her phone?"
He shook his head.
"Can't blame Ona for being worried."
"No." He rubbed his chin.
I sat and talked with Bobby for just a few minutes longer and determined that he would be sending me the name of the person who'd bid highest on my donation. It turned out he was going out to get his car and pick up his sister at the front of the resort. Then he and Ona were going out to look for Mele.
Bobby walked with me to the lobby and left through the front.
I watched Bobby go, feeling down—but the sight of Rick Dawson striding in lifted my spirits.
Rick stopped when he caught sight of me and looked me up and down. The approval in his expression was exciting.
He walked up and circled my waist, pulling me to him. "You look good enough to eat, Princess." He pressed his warm lips to my neck.
I quivered, full of wonder at the way he made me feel—desirable, cherished, even possessed, something I would never have thought I'd have any wish or need to be—yet there it was, undeniable. I was with him in a way I'd never been with anyone else. The best part of that was I knew he was just as much with me, and that too was undeniable.
Remembering where we were, I pulled back. His eyes held mine. "I heard all about that ugly scene out at your place. How you holding up?"
I shook my head, allowing myself to feel vulnerable in the safety of his presence. "What happened to him was terrible." I said. "Did you know him?"
He shook his head. "Not really. I heard about him. Guy had quite a rep, and there was a ton of gossip after he left. Everybody sided with Mele."
"Speaking of Mele…" I told him what Bobby had said about her having gone missing after she spoke to Detective Ray this morning and about how worried they all were.
In true Rick Dawson fashion, he shrugged and grinned. "Somebody should've asked me. I'm fairly sure I know where to find her."
I knew the question was on my face, but Rick was having a good time being mysterious.
"Well?" I said.
He pulled me out into the front room. "Come with me, Princess. It's a beautiful evening. Let's go for a ride."
It was getting close to 7 p.m., and we chased the sunset up Highway 56 in Rick's yellow Wrangler almost to Kilauea near the wildlife refuge. The evening sky was like a Monet watercolor—the air, a religious experience. I was content to sit in the passenger side next to the ever-so-tasty flyboy, wind in my face, grooving to his favorite playlists—all throwbacks to the 40s, 50s, and 60s, simpler times. Then, when we turned inland along the rough, impossibly bumpy road toward the base of the mountains, I knew where he was headed.
"Hector's?" I asked. "What makes you think Mele would be at Hector's?"
Without looking away from the road before us, Rick shrugged and grinned. "Just a hunch."
I'd only met Hector once before, a few months back. A friend of Rick's, Hector wasn't like anyone I'd ever met in my life. His wizardry with computers and gadgets, and his mastery over the internet would put Tony Stark to shame. He was also a diehard conspiracy theorist, and a more paranoid soul you'd be hard-pressed to find.
We pulled up in front of his cute little shanty-like dwelling and parked.
Rick went straight to the door and knocked. Nothing seemed to be happening at first, but I could have sworn I heard sounds of someone moving around inside.
"Hector?" Rick called out. "It's Dawson. Come to the door, bud."
After a minute, Hector's deep voice came from the other side of the door. "Rick?"
"Yeah, buddy. It's me. Gabrielle is with me. You remember Gabrielle?"
"How do I know it's you and not some Interpol scum pretending to be you?"
Rick sighed and shook his head good-naturedly. "It's me, man. Remember that time I flew you over to Kaneohe and you met with that actor from Hawaii Five-O to let him know aliens had targeted him for abduction?"
"Yeah." The muffled voice came again followed by the sound of bolts being slid and locks clicking.
Hector's unmistakable flyaway hair and wild grey eyes peered around the edge of the door. He saw it was us and threw the door open wide and threw himself on Rick. "Hey, brah. Love you, man. And your lady graces my abode tonight? I'm privileged."
I stood still, enduring the close, enthusiastic, and lengthy hug of the shirtless man.
"Ok, Hector." Rick finally took hold of Hector's arm and pried it off my back. "You're gonna smother her."
Hector ushered us in then went to put on a shirt. I remembered from last time that he was about four clicks left of center, but a gentleman nonetheless.
When he returned, he was still talking about the Hawaii Five-O actor. "Fool actor should've listened to me, you know. I mean, look what happened. His character was killed off just a few episodes later. At least that's what they fed the press. I'm pretty sure that dude's on a space ship headed for Alpha Centauri."
Rick seemed to consider this theory. "You could be right, Hector. We'll never know."
Hector turned for the kitchenette at the far side of the main room. "Can I offer you some refreshment? Wine cooler? Tang? Spam sandwich?"
"Aw, man. That's so nice of you," Rick said.
"Nice," I agreed.
"But we can't stay," Rick finished. "There's been some trouble, and we were wondering if Mele's been around to see you."
Hector's face grew sad. "Aw, yeah, boy, bad trouble. I heard." He looked back and forth between Rick and me. "Mele told me."
I knew enough about Hector and his off-the-grid lifestyle to know that for Mele to have told him, she would had to have done it in person. No phone. No social media. Not even email. Rick had once told me that Hector was so convinced we were all being monitored every minute of every day by our electronic watchdogs he didn't even have a legal internet connection, choosing instead to piggyback off various Wi-Fi from neighbors and island hotspots.
I looked around. There weren't many places in Hector's house for someone to hide, not even someone as small as Mele. "When did you see her last?" I asked.
/> He shrugged. "Last night."
"She was here last night? With you?"
He nodded. "She was in some pretty bad shape. An old flame came back to town. She was worked up real good, feeling sorry for herself. I told her I heard about people bottling up those bad feelings and getting cancer or maybe just a nasty heat rash—but either way it wasn't good. By the time she left, Mele had decided she'd go look for the dude and confront him."
"Oh," Rick said. "What time was that?"
Hector's eyes rolled up as he concentrated. Finally, he shook his head. "Just a sec." He walked over to the long table against the wall where a couple of laptops, a few remote keyboards, and several monitors were set up along with a few other electronic gadgets I didn't recognize. As he hit one of the keyboards, one of the monitors flashed. Hector pulled up a calendar—and what a calendar it was.
Yesterday was laid out in detail—the time he got out of bed, showered, ate, even what time he hung his laundry out on the line.
"I like to keep track of things," he said simply when he caught me staring at the screen. "Mele arrived at 6:22 p.m. We ate dinner at 6:53. Spam salads, mango iced tea, Pillsbury buttermilk biscuits. We finished eating at 7:47 and talked until 10:08 p.m. when she left."
We thanked Hector, promised to keep our heads down and—"Stay the heck off The Man's radar, dudes."— and come back when we could stay longer.
We stopped outside Hector's door. There was no exterior lighting, but the moon was big and full in a beautiful starry sky.
Rick looked at me. "So we still don't know where Mele's got to."
"I know," I said. "It was worth a try. How long have they been seeing each other?"
He shrugged. "Neither of them is all that great a conversationalist, so I have no idea. I just know he's kind of crazy about her."
"What about Mele?"
Rick shrugged.
I thought about what Hector had told us about Mele's determination to confront the man who jilted her. "Mele left here last night in plenty of time."
"Plenty of time?"
"According to what the coroner told Ray, it was plenty of time for her to have killed Val Markson."
Beachboy Murder Page 7
