Murder in Honolulu: A Skye Delaney Mystery (15 page)

Axelrod hesitated, as though he knew it was
something he'd rather not see, before moving across the plush
carpeting and looking down.

"Correct me if I'm wrong," I said smugly,
"but that is
you
with
Mrs
. Carter Delaney, isn't it?"
I watched as a startled look of resignation crossed his face. "I
believe the place is called the Palm Tree Lodge."

He gathered the pictures together and tried
unsuccessfully to squeeze them into a ball. "Where the hell did you
get these?" he demanded, glaring at me.

I met his eyes head-on. "Believe it or not,
I took them with my very own camera. Carter Delaney hired me to
find out if his wife was having an affair. Those pictures—and there
are more—prove it. Problem is, my client ended up dead before he
got the chance to see them."

I picked up a framed photograph from the
desk. It was a picture of Axelrod and the model-like beauty he
obviously couldn't wait to get back to. It looked like it had been
taken recently. Gazing at the real life Edwin Axelrod, I said
nonchalantly: "As an attorney, doesn't that strike you as just a
wee bit suspicious
and
coincidental?"

He yanked the frame from my hand like it was
more precious than gold and set it back on the desk. "Not
particularly." He curled his lip. "So I had an affair with Darlene
Delaney. Sue me. It wasn't even fulfilling, to tell you the truth.
There certainly was no reason for me to want to kill her
husband—"

Stranger things have happened
, I
thought, while taking note of the past tense nature of the affair.
I assumed Darlene was of the same mind, considering her rather
precarious situation.

"Anyway, the police already know I was out
of town when Delaney was killed," Axelrod pointed out. "I'm sure
even you're smart enough to know you can't be in two places at the
same time, detective—"

Beneath that cool façade was definitely a
cold, arrogant son of a bitch, I thought. Not to mention
patronizing. He was confident in his denials. Perhaps a little too
confident. But did that make him guilty of anything other than poor
judgment and a desire for someone outside his marriage?

"Yes, you're right about that—no one can be
in two places at once," I had to agree. Yet something still didn't
seem right about this one. I decided to apply the pressure a bit
more to see how he reacted. "Just out of curiosity," I said, "how
do you think Carter Delaney would have reacted had he found out you
were involved with his wife?"

Axelrod seemed to weigh his response
carefully, then said: "I don't suppose he would've been too happy
about it."

"Is it a fair assumption that he might have
been angry enough to do you bodily harm?" I asked dramatically. In
reality, the Carter I knew was non-violent. It was the Carter I
didn't know that worried me.

Edwin Axelrod's patience seemed to be
running thin. "I can't answer the question if I don't know the
answer. Can I, Ms. Delaney?"

He stepped closer, bearing down on me with
eyes that could best be described as menacing. Was he trying to
intimidate me, or cover his ass by playing tough guy?

I took a step or two backwards. "I guess
not," I replied curtly. "Unless, of course, Carter knew about you
and his wife, threatened you with maybe more than bodily harm, and
you decided to do him in before he followed through on his plan.
But first, you had to conveniently arrange to be out of town and
leave the dirty work to some hired assassin. Does that sound about
right?" I knew I was overstepping my bounds and in the process
exaggerating the chain of events. Still, the scenario struck me as
entirely plausible.

Once again Axelrod approached me, and once
again I backed up, feeling somewhat threatened. "You have a very
overactive imagination, Ms. Delaney," he said tautly. "If you can
prove your tale, I suggest you take it to the police. Now get the
hell out of my office!"

I gave him a nasty look, realizing I had
overstayed my welcome. "All right, I'm going..." I took a few steps
toward the door, stopped, and asked, as if a harmless afterthought:
"Just for the record, mind telling me what your blood type is?"

Axelrod stiffened where he stood. "What
for?"

I tried to put it in a way he could relate
to. "You might say I have a fetish for certain blood types..."

Being a clever attorney, he wasn't buying
that for one second. But Axelrod could hardly refuse to answer the
question without giving the guise that he had something to
hide.

"A positive," he said casually. "Not all
that unusual, really. Dogs don't go for blood that's too tart.
Sorry." He flashed me a crooked grin. "I know all about you,
Delaney, and your self-appointed mission to single-handedly bring
your late ex-husband's killer to justice. Well, you won't find him
here—"

I batted my eyes at this man who was
evidently even smarter than I gave him credit for. But he wasn't as
smart as he may have thought he was.

"Who said anything about Carter's murderer
definitely being a male?" I doubted that the police had made it
public knowledge that the AB negative blood Ollie took from the
assailant belonged to a male. That gave me another opportunity to
put the squeeze on Axelrod for his reaction. Directing my attention
to the framed photo on his desk, I asked what seemed obvious: "Is
that your wife?"

Axelrod acknowledged it indirectly. "Leave
her the hell out of this!"

Did he know something I didn't? I wondered.
At the very least, perhaps the wife was involved indirectly, I
thought. "I assume she doesn't know about you and Darlene."

His temples swelled. "That's none of your
damned business. This meeting is over!" He grabbed the damaging
photos. "And take these with you..."

"Keep them for your archives," I told him.
"I have them on a flash drive in case I need reprints—"

I left him brooding over our conversation.
In the elevator, I wondered if Edwin Axelrod's wife did know about
the affair and, if not, what lengths he might be willing to go to
in order to keep his sordid little secret from his young wife.

CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR

I woke up the following morning feeling
really stressed for some reason. Perhaps it was the company I'd
been keeping recently. Or not so recent. I decided to go jogging to
burn off the stress and try to keep things in a proper perspective.
Including the fact that Carter was gone and there was nothing I
could do about it other than try to find his killer, if the police
didn't do it first.

As usual, jogging worked like a charm. Ollie
and I pounded the sand and got in some good exercise at the same
time.

An hour later, I did my cool down,
stretched, and took a long, hot shower. Feeling somewhat refreshed
and reinvigorated, I chased Ollie around the house—actually I think
it was the other way around—for a time, before we both decided to
call it quits and find something more productive to do with our
time.

For me, it was doing my weekly grocery
shopping that was already two days overdue. The cart was stuffed
with mostly healthy food as I made my way down the cereal aisle en
route to the checkout lane. I stopped in the middle when someone
called my name from behind.

"I thought that was you..." said Lily
Yokouchi, a butcher at the store and former neighbor when I was
Mrs. Carter Delaney. She wore an apron that was splattered with
more blood than I cared to ponder.

"It was the last time I looked in the
mirror," I said lightheartedly. I always seemed to miss seeing Lily
whenever I came to the store, but not deliberately. Neither of us
could help it if, as an attractive divorcee, she seemed to get
along better with Carter than me back in the day. I tried not to
take it personally.

She gave me a strained smile. "Pehea 'oe?
she asked.

"Maika'i no au," I responded in Hawaiian,
meaning I was fine. "And you?"

"O ia mau no," she said, or the same as
usual. She wiped her hands on her bloody apron and I hoped she
didn't plan to shake mine. "Keeping busy. You know how that
is."

I did and told her so.

Furrows formed on her brow. "Heard about
Carter. I wanted to call, but...I really wasn't sure what to
say—"

"Don't worry about it," I told her, feeling
the same way and trying to remember that Carter was my ex-spouse,
not current lover. I glanced at my frozen foods that were beginning
to thaw.

"You never really believe something like
that can happen to someone you know, until it does—" Lily said.

"There are no guarantees for any of us," I
muttered. "Life can go as quickly as it comes."

Lily saw right through me. "But there should
be guarantees against being the victim of violent crime." She
gulped. "If such a terrible tragedy can happen to one of the most
well respected, successful men in this city, how can the rest of us
feel safe from harm?"

Her point was well taken. Carter didn't
deserve such a fate, even as my ex-husband with problems beyond the
cool, calm façade he presented.

"I know," I muttered. Especially when one or
more people were still on the loose after murdering Carter Delaney,
I thought. To Lily, I said: "Fortunately these things don't happen
all the time—at least not in Honolulu."

I was hoping to leave it at that and get my
groceries home before they melted or withered away before my very
eyes, when Lily asked: "Will they be making an arrest soon for
Carter's murder? Or is this going to turn out to be one of those
unsolved mysteries that will end up on a television crime show
someday?"

"We can only hope for the best," I suggested
lamely, the thought of Carter's murder never being solved unnerving
me. My eyes lowered to my cart, and back to her. "I've really got
to get going. Nice to see you again, Lily."

"I'll call you—" she said as a parting shot,
which we both knew would never happen.

I made it through the checkout line in no
time flat. The sliding doors parted for me and the young male clerk
who insisted on carting my groceries to the car for me. I allowed
it, still preoccupied with finding Carter's killer.

At home, Ollie was only too happy to see me
and, even more, his dog food. I had just finished putting the last
of the groceries away when Ridge phoned. His voice always provided
welcome relief from whatever was ailing me, even if his presence
was not always the answer.

That didn't stop him from trying a back door
approach to getting together. "What you need is a head to toe
massage, which just happens to be something I specialize in," he
hummed suggestively.

"Sounds wonderful," I said, speaking from
past experience. "But today I really need to be alone... Tomorrow,"
I added hopefully, "I may be in need of some serious massage
therapy—"

Ridge seemed to accept this without sounding
hurt, even if he was. "Any time, any place," he said. "Just say the
word—"

I kept that in mind and switched subjects.
"Any new news on Carter's murder investigation?"

Ridge hesitated before answering. "We don't
have anyone in custody," he said, then added with assurance: "But
no one around here is going to get any rest till we do—"

That was a comforting thought, if not the
same thing as having the case solved. I was still left with several
questions about Carter's death and determined to get some answers.
If not for his widow, then for the daughter Carter had left
behind.

I downplayed it to Ridge when he probed me
about my unofficial investigation into Carter's murder. At this
point, I wasn't prepared to share any information, especially since
he seemed in no hurry to do the same. Not that I had much to share.
But he didn't have to know that.

We were both fully aware that this case was
different from others Ridge and I had helped each other with.
Carter's death had almost become larger than his life ever was.
Until the public and I were satisfied that justice was served,
there would be no business as usual. And that included the private
business between Ridge and me, even if a part of me wanted to run
into his arms.

I cuddled up with Ollie on the sofa and fell
asleep.

CHAPTER
TWENTY-FIVE

The investigation into Carter Delaney's
death was round the clock. Ridge felt the pressure from both the
top and bottom. Every lead had to be checked and double-checked.
Even the usual crackpots and assholes flooding the department lines
with so-called tips and sightings of potential suspects couldn't be
ignored.

Not this time.

The last thing this city in so-called
paradise needed was an unsolved case involving a man who some
almost worshipped for his successful prosecutorial days and even
greater success in the business world. Between the press hounding
them and concerned citizens demanding that an arrest be made, Ridge
was starting to believe that if they didn't have a bona fide
suspect in custody soon, they may well have a damned near riot on
their hands.

Fortunately, Ridge got along well with Henry
Kawakami, who was currently shuffling some papers at his desk. He
doubted they would ever be best buddies, but they respected each
other and, more importantly, knew their temporary partnership could
make or break them insofar as career advancement.

Kawakami told Ridge about his one date with
Skye before Carter Delaney ever came into the picture. He said it
fell apart after that and Ridge never asked why. What happened in
Skye's romantic past was none of his business, unless she wanted it
to be.

Except where it concerned Carter Delaney,
now that he had met his maker. He had resurfaced in Skye's life,
and Ridge had perhaps rather foolishly encouraged it. Consequently,
they both had to see this through, even if it put a definite and
unavoidable strain on their relationship.