Big Island Blues

by Terry Ambrose

  “He’s on the phone in the back,” said Skip. “I assume he’s calling the cops.”

  Shaw grumbled, “Think you’re tough, huh?”

  “Are you really willing to bet being a cripple for life on the fact that the guy who took away your gun won’t use it on you? Do you know how often that happens?”

  The way Shaw’s eyebrows knitted together made it evident to me, and I assume to Skip, that the cowboy was seriously considering Skip’s warning. After all, he’d done the same thing to a robber twenty years earlier, so why wouldn’t he believe someone else could do the same to him? Shaw swallowed hard, then raised his hands.

  Behind Skip, I saw Burroughs hobbling toward the front of the store. “What are you doing here? I don’t want anymore trouble. All of you, get out!”

  “You’ve got trouble, Sam. Warren’s dead.”

  Sam blinked a couple of time. “Warren? No way.”

  “So’s the guy who beat the crap out of you. Shaw killed him. I think it was self-defense.” I glanced at Shaw. “Well?”

  “I’m not stopping until I get the woman, too,” he said.

  “Shaw’s out to get Marylyn,” I said. “He wants to kill her. Tell me where she lives and I can make this all go away.”

  “You’re crossing the wrong man, McKenna,” said Shaw. “All I want is Marylyn. Call off your guard dog.”

  “We just met,” I said. I winked at Skip. “He’s got a mind of his own and I don’t know what he’s thinking. I suspect he’d rather be sipping a cool one on the beach, but some guys . . . well, gee, Shaw, he might be like Swenson. You never know until it’s too late. Look, Andi’s lost Warren, don’t let her lose you too. She said she wants to get to know you. Do the right thing and be there for her.”

  “She said that?” He glanced at me, his eyes hopeful, his tongue playing across his lower lip.

  Not exactly, I thought. Okay, not at all. “Yes, she did. On the way home.”

  “Company,” said Roxy. “Two women.”

  The rooster alarm wailed away and, to my surprise, Skip didn’t flinch. I glanced toward the door. “Holy shit. Benni, Andi. What are you doing here?”

  “We’re not letting you do this on your own,” said Benni.

  Andi eased her way past Skip. Her eyes remained on the gun as she stood next to Shaw. “Mr. McKenna didn’t exactly tell you the truth. I didn’t say that. But, I’m saying it now. I want to get to know you. Spend time together. And we can’t do that if you’re in prison.”

  I wasn’t surprised when Shaw gave in to her plea. He agreed to turn himself in and deal with the weapons charges. As for the deaths of both Art Swenson Sr. and Jr., I doubted the Prosecuting Attorney would want to build a case against him. That, however, would remain to be seen.

  While father and daughter exchanged promises to support each other in the future, I focused on Sam. “We need to find Marylyn. I’m pretty sure you can tell us where she lives.”

  Benni stepped forward. She put a tender hand on Sam’s arm. “Please, Sam. For old times sake. For me, for Andi. So we can all have some peace. Please, will you help McKenna find Marylyn?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  “Why’s everyone so hell-bent on finding Marylyn, anyway?” Sam scowled at me. “Nothing wrong with her. She’s a nice lady.”

  In my haste to get to Marylyn, I’d forgotten that Sam didn’t know all the details. I hated to take the time, but we needed to walk through the steps and let him come to the realization that this “nice lady” was a psychopath. “Did she work today?”

  He looked over his shoulder as though hoping for support from someone, anyone. “No, she was sick.”

  “Does she drive a Landrover?” I asked. “White, big tires?”

  “Yeah . . .” His brow furrowed. “She bought it from Mike Breenfield.”

  Of course she had, I thought. “She missed much work?”

  “No. She’s the most reliable person I ever hired. She never even takes much vacation.”

  Even though he was trying to vouch for Marylyn, his confident exterior was eroding. Her kid was an ex-con. Had she ever visited him while he was locked up? “She ever fly to the mainland?”

  “Once, to see her son.” From the look on the poor guy’s face, he only wanted to crawl off somewhere and hide. “She was gone for about a week, but never said a word about him.”

  “That’s because he was in prison. Not much for a momma to be proud of there.” I held his gaze, but he didn’t seem convinced. “Has she been acting strange lately?”

  “Everybody’s got off days. You know how it is.”

  “Does an off day include waving a gun in my face? Or theirs?” I pointed at Shaw and Andi. I noted how Benni had subconsciously slipped closer to Andi when I’d pointed at her.

  “No way. Not Marylyn. She hates guns.”

  “Sam,” said Shaw. “We’ve lived with the same mistake for twenty years. It’s time we fixed it. What do you say? I’ve screwed up so much of my life. It’s time to change that. I realize I’m as much to blame for Warren’s death as Marylyn. I never should have been at South Point.”

  “If you hadn’t been there,” I said, “Art Swenson would have killed Andi, too.”

  Sam did a double take. His voice was tentative as he asked, “Did you say Art Swenson?” Beads of sweat on his forehead told me this was getting all too real for him. All too reminiscent of what he’d gone through with Swenson’s father. “I knew he looked familiar. Those pictures of the robber. It looks just like him.”

  It was time to close this interview. Would he answer the tough questions? “What’s Marylyn’s full name?”

  He paused, but when Benni gave him a pleading look, he said, “Marylyn Collins. She’s worked here for three years.”

  “Has she been asking a lot of questions lately? Anything to do with Shaw? Andi?” I noticed that Roxy had moved to the front of the store and was directing customers away while Skip had taken up a position immediately behind Shaw. It appeared that, at least for the time being, I had control of the situation.

  The color in Sam’s face drained and he stumbled to one side. He steadied himself on a rack of women’s tees, then let go and buried his face in his hands. “I can’t believe it, but it makes so much sense now. Christ, I’m the one who told her about Shaw.”

  “What did you tell her?” When he didn’t answer, I moved a step closer, invading the personal safety bubble we all wear around us.

  “We went upstairs to Lefty’s one night after work. She told me she was a psychic, so I asked her if she could read my fortune. She pulled out a goddamn tarot deck. We were drinking . . . or at least I was . . . and the more she told me about the future, the more I told her about the past. When we were talking about critical events, I told her about the robbery and how Shaw saved my life.” He nodded at Benni. “And yours.”

  Benni’s hand went to her mouth and her eyes were rimmed in red, but it was the way she looked away that had me wondering if she’d just recalled another key fact. I filed that away for later because right now, all of the disparate details from the past few days were linking together. I now had a chain of events and people. In the park, Boston Pete had mentioned a psychic. Pete knew Sam. Sam knew Marylyn. Marylyn passed herself off as a psychic. And, in the middle of it all was the one who had plagued me from the day I’d arrived on island, Blueslover. “Did Marylyn know Donny?”

  “Sure,” Sam said. “They didn’t talk much, but they already seemed to know each other. They never said how.”

  “Where’s she live, Sam? This has to end.”

  He winced, then gave in. “I’ve got her address in the back.”

  When Sam returned with Marylyn’s address, we had a decision to make. What to do with Shaw. Trusting him was out of the question. The only one who really had the strength to keep him under control was Skip, or possibly Alexander, but he was sound asleep at Benni’s, unaware that I’d even left the apartment.

  My plan was, in my humble opinion, a masterpiece
of delegation and organization. Benni, Andi, and Sam would stay with Shaw while Skip, Roxy, and I went after Marylyn. We’d leave Shaw’s gun with Sam, who would turn it over to the police. Shaw would go in for questioning. The gun would go in for processing. And Benni and Andi would be safely out of the way if we caught up with Marylyn. Of course, everything depended on Shaw fulfilling his promise to Andi. I resisted the urge to ask him if his cowboy code classified lying to his daughter as a no-no.

  Skip volunteered to drive, an offer I gladly accepted. To my surprise, they had rented a small Kia sedan. I’d fully expected Roxy to be gallivanting around in a Mustang convertible or an open Jeep.

  “You still don’t drive, McKenna?”

  I admired her flexibility as she twisted sideways in her seat to look at me. I think I stopped being able to twist that far shortly after my tenth birthday. “I got my license, but don’t have a car. I still have the same two feet and a bus pass—and Alexander for the emergencies.”

  She winked. “He’s a good guy.”

  “That’s it, up ahead.” Skip pointed at a small, sky-blue apartment complex on the other side of the road. He parked and we all searched for numbers on the units. It was Skip who pointed it out first. “Second floor, on the right. Top of the stairs.”

  The building had plenty of white trim and accents; the landscaping overflowed with palms and hibiscus, each attempting to crowd out the other plants in a vicious struggle for light and water. The stairway going to the second floor looked rickety and unstable.

  “Let’s call the cops,” I said.

  “Don’t you want to make sure she’s there?” asked Roxy.

  Skip said, “It would be a shame to wait here, only to find out she’s caught a plane already.”

  Roxy opened the door. “This one’s on me. I’ll keep her busy until they get here.”

  I started to get out, but Roxy waved a finger at me. “If she was pointing a gun in your face this morning, she’ll probably remember you.”

  “That was Shaw, not me.” Standing next to Roxy made me long for someone to share what I was feeling—the rush of the chase, the sense of accomplishment, and even the trepidation running beneath the surface. The real problem was that the person I wanted to do all that sharing with was my best friend’s sister. We didn’t stand a chance.

  On the way to the stairway, Roxy said, “You look like something’s bothering you.”

  “I don’t want to see you go to jail for helping me.”

  She smiled. “Don’t worry, I don’t intend to break any laws on this island. I’m getting married here, remember?”

  I gestured at the stairs. “Ladies first.”

  She giggled. “You just want to peek up my dress again.”

  “The thought never crossed my mind.” I bit my lip as she took the first few steps. Damn, she had nice legs.

  I wanted nothing more than to get to Marylyn’s apartment and finish what Art Swenson had started. We climbed, but not nearly fast enough for me. Sixteen steps later, we were on the landing. I crossed the wooden slats to Marylyn’s door. Roxy stopped me from knocking, then bent down and picked up one of the slippas that Marylyn had left outside. “What do you need that for?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “Insurance.”

  I knocked. Marylyn opened the door a few inches. “Yes?”

  “You’re Art Swenson’s mother?” I asked.

  Her eyes widened and she made the mistake of pulling back on the door a fraction before trying to slam it shut. Roxy slipped the rubber sandal between the door and the jamb. When Marylyn slammed the door, it rebounded into her face. She screamed and stumbled backwards.

  Roxy was through the open doorway first. I came in right behind her, but stopped short when I saw Marylyn pointing a gun at us. Her nose bled as she aimed at nothing and everything. The barrel swung in a wide arc and back again. A stray bullet was not something I wanted to deal with. Apparently, neither did Roxy. She had her hands in the air.

  “McKenna,” she said, “I know I said anytime, anywhere, but I didn’t say I’d die for you. I really do want to marry Skip.”

  “Believe me, I understand. Marylyn, how about if we just let you go and you can—I don’t know, lock us in the bathroom or something? By the way, you want a tissue for that nose? You might want ice, too.”

  “Shit that hurts.” She wiped at the dripping blood, leaving a red, smeary mustache on her upper lip. “I don’t want to kill anyone. I never did. But, I won’t go to jail. I couldn’t take what Artie went through.”

  “You visited him while he was locked up,” I said. I could have kicked myself because she aimed squarely at me. When would I learn to keep my big mouth shut in these situations? I took a deep breath. “I think you went to see your son and that’s where you two concocted this plan to get the guitar from Shaw. You wanted him to pay for killing your husband in the robbery.”

  “I told the fool it was dangerous. I told him what was going to happen if we didn’t do what we was supposed to. His father’s the one who caused all this.”

  It didn’t seem like the prudent move to point out how armed robbery was frowned on by society. “It’s hard to believe you waited twenty years for revenge.”

  She watched my face for a moment. Slowly, her eyes crinkled and a smile came to her lips. “And here I thought you knew the answers. Yeah, I ran out on my husband and my son and I had to live with that all my life. Enough of this bullshit. Now, they’re both dead and I got nothing left. I don’t know what to do with you two. I’m not a killer. I just want to stay alive. I need a break for once.”

  “Like what Sam gave you? A job?”

  She laughed. “That was all arranged. I didn’t even know who he was at first.” She shook her head. “No! What am I doing? I’m not talking to you. I know what you’re doing. I can see through all of this.” She grabbed a tissue and wiped at her nose again. The tissue came away crimson.

  “Yeah,” I said. “You’re a psychic. I know.”

  “Shut up.” She gritted her teeth. “Both of you.”

  “We could all sit down and sort this out,” said Roxy.

  “I told you to shut up!” Marylyn waved the gun to her left. “Over there. I’m leaving and if either of you tries to follow, I’ll shoot. I swear I will.”

  It didn’t sound very convincing, but she was the one with the gun. Roxy and I shuffled to where she’d pointed as Marylyn bent down next to the guitar case. She tossed the red tissue to one side while waving the gun all over. She picked up the case with her free hand and inched toward the door. As Marylyn stepped backwards through the door, something caught her attention. “What the—?”

  A fist slammed into Marylyn’s jaw. Blood splattered the front window and through the glass we saw her tumbling backwards—again. The guitar case flew from her hand. All we could do was watch as it teetered on the edge of the railing before falling off.

  Roxy and I rushed to the landing, where Skip stood, massaging his knuckles. Marylyn lay at his feet, out cold. The gun lay next to her. Skip kicked it to one side.

  I went to the railing and looked down. I fully expected to see the Martin D-18 in pieces. I wasn’t a musician, but I suspected falling from the second floor to a cement sidewalk would have snapped the neck. Was that kind of damage even fixable? Would Shaw want to put out the money after what had happened?

  Sure enough. The case lay below, broken open by the force of the landing. But, there was no guitar. Laying on the sidewalk where the Martin should have been was a single, forest green overnight case.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  I leaned over the railing of the second floor landing staring at the two cases below. The impact had been enough to break open the Martin’s case. But, instead of broken bits of wood tied together by six entangled strings, there was only an unopened, canvas overnight bag.

  Roxy leaned over the railing next to me. When I snuck a peek at her face, her eyes were bright with curiosity. She smiled at me. “Let’s go check it out.”

&
nbsp; “What the hell?” I muttered.

  Roxy was halfway down the stairs. I started to follow, then looked down at Marylyn. She might be unconscious, but we still had to deal with her. Skip jerked his thumb at the stairs. “Keep Roxy under control. I’ve got this one.”

  Shit, now I was responsible for finding a runaway and keeping a con artist from breaking the law? I rushed after Roxy and made a sharp U-turn at the bottom, dodged the giant hibiscus, then skipped around the above-ground landscape lighting. Roxy had a huge smile on her face as she stared down at the green canvas bag. She beamed at me. “I love treasure hunts!”

  Good God, what was she, six? The instrument case had a huge gash and dent in the outside, the one for luggage looked new. “I don’t remember her carrying that when she ran out.”

  “Right. Just the gun and the big guy here.” She tapped the larger of the two cases with her foot before glancing up to the second floor. “Skip!”

  He leaned over the railing and smiled. “She’s out, still. What have you got down there, anyway?”

  “She didn’t have anything other than the guitar and the gun when you hit her, did she?”

  Skip shook his head. “Sorry about that, but I didn’t have time to inventory what was going where. I think the gun bounced off the siding and that’s why it landed at her feet. I only saw the guitar when it went over the railing.”

  Roxy pointed. “She wasn’t carrying the green bag, right?”

  “Nope, that was not in her hand. Unless it was inside the guitar case.”

  “It would fit,” I said. “But, why would she do that?”

  “I can only think of one reason,” said Roxy. She rubbed a finger over her lips. “I really want to see what’s in that bag.”

  Uh-oh. Wide eyes. Silly grin. I wasn’t sure I could stop her using anything less than brute force. “We should wait for the cops.” But, it was plain as day. She was a little girl with a present from a favorite relative at a surprise party and she had only one thought—open it. Nothing was going to stand between her and the object of her curiosity. The law would be the last thing on her mind until she’d looked inside the bag. “No.” My voice was firm. “I won’t let you do this.”