Beachboy Murder

by Sally J. Smith

  I went back into the living room. Elvis had been frozen on the TV screen. He was wearing a red and white aloha shirt, a lei of yellow plumeria, holding a ukulele, and giving us that sultry hail-to-the-king look.

  "What'd he say?" Rick asked.

  "He's sending someone to come and get it."

  "Now?" Ace said.

  "Yeah." I nodded. "I guess Detective Ray thought maybe it was important too." I turned to Janet. "Do we know anyone who had contact with the beachboy? Someone who wears black patent Loubies?" Before she could answer my question, I did. "Well, me for one," I said. "But I didn't really have any contact with him, and I know I didn't kill him."

  "Chelsea brought a pair with her. I saw them in the closet of our room. And I've seen Sarah wearing Loubies a time or two, but I don't know if she brought them with her. Black patent."

  "Dolly Lancaster?" I asked.

  "Dolly? Are you kidding? Dolly Lancaster thinks she's in formal attire if she's wearing combat boots. No, I'd bet Dolly doesn't have any Louboutins."

  "Did you bring a pair?" I asked before I considered how it must have sounded.

  Janet bristled. "Well, yeah, girlfriend. I did bring a pair. But they're back at the hotel encased lovingly in velvet shoe bags, locked in my suitcase right where they belong. And neither has a broken heel. That's how I treat my valuables when I go on vacation. So, guess what. I didn't kill him either."

  "Good to know." I pulled her into a hug, sorry to have made it sound as if I suspected her of something so heinous as murdering a professional beachboy and a pair of black patent Christian Louboutins five inch stilettos simultaneously. "What was I thinking?"

  I hadn't thought for one minute that Janet would be capable of killing someone. Not really. But I was compelled to ask about her shoes.

  What about Chelsea? Sarah—either alone or in cahoots with her intimidating blowhard husband? Well, who knew? Both of those women had originally lied about where they were that night. And even their newest stories didn't ring true—at least not to me. Out loading up on junk food? Covering for a husband she didn't even seem to like? Yeah, ladies. Right. Those alibis wouldn't even hold up on the Hallmark channel.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Detective Ray didn't just send someone. It was the detective himself who showed up.

  Rick went to the door. "Hello, Detective. Come in."

  Detective Ray walked straight in, not wasting any words or time. "Where is it?"

  Rick followed behind him, softly saying, "Why hello, Rick. You're looking good. Nice to see you again. How's it going? Great, thanks, Detective. How are things with you? Awesome, Rick. Thanks for asking."

  Rick Dawson could make me smile in the most dreadful circumstances even when I might be in possession of a murder weapon.

  "It's in here, Detective," I said.

  Detective Ray followed me into the kitchen where I took the Ziploc bag off the counter and handed it to him.

  He held it up to the light, examining it through the clear bag. "Where'd you say you found this?"

  "I didn't find it." I went to the door between the kitchen and the lanai and opened it. Five-O was lying on an old quilt I'd put down for him in the corner. He was in stray-dog heaven, full of hamburger, and snoring loudly. "He found it," I said.

  "Your dog?" Detective Ray asked.

  "Neighborhood's dog," I said.

  Rick added, "We were grilling, and we figured he was looking to barter for some chow."

  "The dog didn't bring the rest of the shoe?" Detective Ray asked.

  "Nope. Just that."

  When I went back into the kitchen I made it a point to shut the door between the two rooms so we wouldn't have World War III if my cat, Hercules, happened to discover the scruffy little mutt was invading his territory.

  "Do you think it's the murder weapon?"

  Detective Ray shrugged. "Let's see if we can find out."

  He pulled a pair of gloves from his pants pocket and put them on before moving over to the sink. After taking the shoe heel out of the bag, he produced a small bottle from the kit he'd brought in with him and sprayed liquid on the heel. "Hit the lights, will you?"

  Ace, who'd been standing back with Janet, walked across the room, flipped the light switch, and the room went dark.

  Detective Ray shone his black light, and the shoe heel lit up like a blue neon sign on the Las Vegas strip.

  It was so dramatic, I caught my breath. I couldn't help it. The implications were staggering. A shoe heel had been used to murder a man. And not just any shoe heel, one from a Christian Louboutin stiletto.

  From behind me, Janet said, "Holy Moses. Does it light up because of blood?"

  "Mmm, maybe," Detective Ray said. "Whatever's making it light up is organic. Could be blood. Could be saliva from the dog. Could be both. It'll have to be run through the crime lab, and we will do it right away." He switched off the black light. "You can turn the lights back on now."

  He put the shoe heel back in the baggie, and it, along with the luminol and black light, into his kit.

  Detective Ray headed for the front door, and I walked with him.

  "I was right in the middle of Jeopardy! when you called. It's my favorite show, and I don't like being interrupted while I'm watching it," he said. "But you did exactly the right thing calling me, Miss LeClair. Good job."

  "Oh." I almost said I was sorry. Detective Ray always had that effect on me, like a school principal or supervisor at work. But then it sank in that he'd said what I'd done was a good thing. "Thanks, Detective."

  He nodded. "I'll send some people out in the morning, so they can search for the rest of the shoe. There should be DNA attached to it. We can use that to close in on the killer."

  Rick, Ace, and Janet all stayed a while longer, but a pall fell on the evening because of the gift from Five-O and Detective Ray's visit, and no one felt much like talking any more.

  Rick and Ace gave Janet a ride back to the resort. I went upstairs where Hercules had stretched out and taken over the bed. When I moved him over, he went limp and lifted his head, giving me a look of distrust. After all, I'd opened the gate to the enemy who was sleeping on a quilt out on the lanai.

  I hardly slept at all. Between Hershel and Sarah Goldberg earlier in the day, and the evening's discovery of what was sure to be confirmed as the murder weapon, my brain was running at Mach 3 and wouldn't stop.

  * * *

  The next morning I handed the shuttle over to Koma in the front drive of the resort so he could get her ready to take a group of romance novelists down to Poipu for an outrigger canoe ride. It was Wednesday, four days since Val Markson's murder on Saturday night, and that was what I had on my mind—partly because the murder victim had been a Poipu beachboy who took tourists for outrigger rides, partly because of the discovery of the shoe heel that had apparently been used for murder, and partly because the weapon was something so specific there were a limited number of people who'd make the suspect list. Not everyone could afford to wear Loubies—in fact, few could.

  My only pair was from the days before Steve, my ex-husband, had lost his job and we were both bringing in some very nice change, before he'd decided working was beneath him and that I should support him in the fine manner to which he'd become accustomed. These days I bought my shoes at Macy's and had to save up for those. I was the last one to get paid from Gabby's Island Adventures and didn't make near the kind of money I did when I was working for Corporate Worldwide Travel.

  But that didn't bother me. Most of the time, the lower income translated to lower blood pressure, which suited me just fine. That was something to think about when considering the buy offer from the consortium, if a buy offer even came.

  I crossed the lobby, heading for the continental breakfast setup. Caffeine would be my first order of business. Or it would have been if I hadn't seen Chelsea Westport going quickly through the front entrance and hopping into a car waiting at the curb.

  Another so-called junk food run?
/>   Wait. That meant she wasn't in her room.

  I forgot about the coffee and headed straight up to Janet and Chelsea's room, knocked on the door, and stood waiting. No one came.

  I pulled out my phone and called Janet's cell. I could hear it ringing inside the room, so I knew she was there, probably sleeping in. As the phone continue to ring and I continued to knock, I eventually heard other noises coming from inside the room that told me my friend was up and moving around.

  The door finally opened, and Janet stood there barefoot, wearing a longish T-shirt that read No Coffee, No Talkee. Even with no makeup at all and her silky hair standing on end, Janet was gorgeous.

  "What?" she asked, squinting at me.

  She stood aside as I pushed past her into the room and went to the closet.

  "Chelsea's left the hotel, and now's my chance to look at her shoes."

  "Really?" She crossed her arms across her chest. "It's come to that? You're going around checking everyone's shoes? Wanna see mine?"

  I grasped the knobs on the louvered bi-fold closet doors, pulling them open. "Nope," I answered. "You said yours were safe and sound locked in your luggage, and both of them had the heels intact."

  She stamped her foot. "I don't believe you actually had to ask me about them."

  "Relax," I said. "Just pushing your buttons."

  "Oh," she said. I could tell she felt a little silly. "Chelsea's stuff is on the left."

  I looked down, and there they were, sitting side-by-side on the carpeted closet floor—a pair of the signature black patent stilettos all us shoe girls lusted after. Shiny and graceful and ever-so-sexy—and, yep, both perfectly intact.

  "It wasn't Chelsea." I was relieved.

  "I never thought it was," Janet said.

  "Okay." I closed the closet and turned back to her. "If you were so sure Chelsea didn't throw a fit and hit Val in the back of the head with her shoe, who do you think did?"

  I had her there.

  "I don't know," she admitted. "I mean I might have just exonerated her in my mind because I didn't want to be rooming with an ax murderer."

  "Or shoe murderer?" I said.

  "Yeah, that, but also because I'm wishing I don't know someone or actually even work for someone who's capable of a thing like that."

  "Well, if it wasn't you, and it wasn't Chelsea, there's only one more woman on the island who you and I know wears Loubies. So if it turns out that Sarah Goldberg didn't do it either, then you'll get your wish. It won't be someone you know."

  Janet looked at me. "What will you do then?"

  What then, indeed? "I don't know. I'll be at a dead end, and honestly, I'll be just as glad as you are if it isn't someone we know. There are a lot of women on this island, but not so many who can afford Loubies."

  She stood there a moment, yawning. "It was nice at your place last night. That Ace Garrison is my kind of man. Good-looking, smart, funny—"

  "Employed," I interrupted.

  "Yes. Employed." She stretched. "Okay, you have to leave now. I'm going to take a shower then head down to the salon for a mani-pedi."

  "Have fun," I said. "There's something else I want to do now, anyway."

  "Gabby?"

  I had my hand on the doorknob but stopped and turned back.

  "How are you going to figure out if it was Sarah who killed him?"

  "I'm on my way over there now," I said. "Going to employ the Cinderella method."

  She gave me a curious look.

  "You know," I teased, "see if the shoe fits."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Using the hectic morning checkout as cover and praying no one would notice a nervous travel agent hanging around the bell captain's desk, I managed to snag a pass key before heading out to the bungalows, specifically Bungalow 15-B. I knew Hershel and Sarah wouldn't be in their room because Lana had made a reservation for them to attend the lei making class. While reservations weren't required, having one assured that if the class was full, you wouldn't be turned away.

  I was only two steps away but stopped cold when the sound of Hershel's voice came through the partially open door.

  "I don't ask much of you, Sarah. A person would think maybe you could do this one thing for me."

  He threw open the door the rest of the way and was about to step outside. He came to an abrupt halt when he saw me.

  I stopped too, surprised and shocked.

  "Uh, hello, Hershel," I said.

  He narrowed his eyes. His tone was suspicious. "Good day, Miss LeClair. What can we do for you?"

  Sarah came to the door and stood beside him.

  Oh, great. Now you're in it. "I, uh, came to, uh, tell you that…" That what, Gabby?

  The two of them stepped back so I could enter their room. The bungalows were set up with the bathrooms off to one side when the room was entered, and the closet to the other, creating the illusion of a hallway that led to the bedroom area. The sitting room was beyond the bedroom and opened onto a small, private patio.

  I stopped just inside, a thought suddenly entering my befuddled brain.

  "…that your names were chosen in the weekly drawing for free hula lessons." Yes, it was lame, but it was the best I could do after having been caught red-handed trying to sneak up on them.

  Sarah clapped her hands. "Hula lessons? That sounds like fun."

  "Right, I just came to tell you."

  I glanced to my right. The closet doors had been parted, and I could look in.

  A pair of Loubies was on the shelf above the clothes rack. No damage. Not even black patent. Okay.

  So as not to be completely obvious, I looked away from the closet and tried to smile. It wasn't easy, since only seconds earlier I'd been about to break into a guest's room and my heart was still pounding from the close call of nearly being discovered.

  "You'll need to come down to the travel agency office to confirm," I said, a little surprised at how easily the story just sort of fell out of my mouth.

  "Thank you so much, Gabby," Sarah said. "Since Hershel had me cancel the lei making class this morning…" She threw an irritated look at her husband. "…maybe we can both make it to the hula lessons. All things remaining the same we're leaving day after tomorrow, and I for one would like to do something fun, something Hawaiian."

  Hershel didn't look all that excited about it, and the dirty looks he kept casting in my direction made me even more nervous.

  "So, that's all," I said. "Don't forget to come down and pick up your voucher for the hula lessons."

  "We will," Sarah promised.

  It was Hershel who followed me out the door.

  "Okay, well. So long," I said.

  He looked so unfriendly, I couldn't get away from him quickly enough. For certain, I didn't want to get close enough for him to get his hands on me again. Not after the last time.

  Even as pretentious as she was, I was still relieved that Sarah Goldberg's Loubies were in her closet and as pristine as the day she'd bought them. I mentally crossed her off my list of suspects to have murdered Val Markson.

  I was pretty much out of ideas. It was almost certain that Val had been murdered when the heel of a Christian Louboutin pump had penetrated the soft spot at the base of his neck. Presumably that meant the killer was a woman. Presumably it also meant whoever that woman was, she'd ruined her shoes.

  I didn't know what names Detective Ray had on his suspect list since the shoe-as-weapon development, but I felt sure he should eliminate Ona and Mele. Knowing both of them fairly well, I was pretty sure even the famous designer's name would draw blank looks from those ladies. I'd never seen either of the Hale women wear anything but flip-flops or sandals, even when they dressed up.

  That left few women in my circle. Janet had a pair of C.L. pumps. She'd said they were in her suitcase and weren't damaged. I believed her unequivocally, but I would have been willing to bet money that Detective Ray would be coming back for a closer look at my friend now that he knew about the murder weapon. Janet
hadn't killed Markson. I knew it as sure as I knew I hadn't killed him. Apparently, it hadn't been Chelsea or Sarah either. That left me fresh out of suspects with no clue as to where to look next.

  The very idea that I might have to leave the solving of this crime up to the Kauai P.D. frustrated me. From everything I'd seen since I moved to the island, the police typically settled on their prime suspect early on and didn't waver until they felt they'd gathered enough evidence to file charges. And even after having gathered that evidence, there were times they'd been wrong. I could only hope they, specifically Detective Kahoalani, didn't swing back around to dogging their early suspects, namely Ona, Mele, and Janet.

  I went back to the bell captain's desk and waited until no one was around before slipping the pass key back where it belonged. Then I headed to the travel agency.

  Lana was covering the office since Koma had driven the romance novelists to Poipu. I knew that group especially would be happy with that handsome young dude as an escort. And besides, I'd made arrangements to take Freddy Lancaster birdwatching at the Kilauea Lighthouse. It was the best spot on the island, and the man had offered me a nice payday to ride out there with him and show him around. I also had an ulterior motive, which was to learn as much as I could about the consortium's possible plans for Gabby's Island Adventures.

  I told Lana about offering the Goldbergs free hula lessons, in case they came for their vouchers, grabbed my sunhat and the canvas tote I kept packed with daytrip supplies, and headed out front.

  A little silver Jeep Compass sat idling at the curb. Freddy Lancaster waved from behind the wheel.

  I waved back. I had to admit I was looking forward to spending the day with Freddy. First, of all the times I'd been to the Kilauea Lighthouse, I'd never just gone for the birdwatching. It wasn't my bag. But secondly, Freddy had me sort of worked up about it. Of the eleven members of the group, Freddy and Dolly were the most real, and I liked them both.

  I opened the door to the passenger side and slid onto the seat.