Murder in Honolulu: A Skye Delaney Mystery (16 page)

Ridge blamed himself for that. He was under
orders to avoid talking to Skye about the case as far as anything
useful, in spite of the fact that she had a right to know where
things stood in the investigation if for no other reason than
Carter Delaney was still unofficially her client. Until satisfied
that her case had no bearing on his death, Skye would keep digging
till she could draw her own conclusions.

Ridge feared that this could only end up
putting her in danger. He didn't believe for one second that she
couldn't take care of herself just as well as any male private eye
with a background in police work. But that didn't stop him from
being worried about her. He couldn't rest while a killer who knew
where she lived was out there.

Maybe when this was over, he and Skye could
escape to one of the other islands or Las Vegas for some romantic
time together.

Right now, any such vacation seemed a long
way off, Ridge thought. Especially when there were more pressing
matters to keep him awake at night.

CHAPTER
TWENTY-SIX

I went to a luau on Waikiki Beach. Scantily
clad, shapely island girls moved their hips gracefully to sensual
Hawaiian music while hunky male hula dancers performed
choreographed, athletic moves in the background. Bordering them
were Samoan fire knife dancers, daringly and skillfully twirling
knives of fire.

I honed in on a Polynesian dancer named
Leilani
Mahaulu
who, according to Darlene, was having an affair
with Carter right up to the end of his life. Maybe she knew
something that could shed some light on his death.

It
didn
't take much to understand
what Carter saw in Leilani. She was gorgeous and exotic with long,
silky black hair and a curvaceous body that I could only dream
of.

I recalled seeing Leilani at the funeral,
looking miserable. Now she looked like a hula dancer who hadn't a
care in the world other than pleasing her audience, which included
me. I was less interested in the show than sizing up the woman
Carter was alleged to have been involved with and who may have
intimate knowledge of why he was murdered. Admittedly, there also
was a morbid curiosity on my part about her as the other woman who
came after the woman who had succeeded me as Carter's romantic
interest.

I was baffled as to why Carter had hired me
to prove Darlene was being unfaithful if he was also up to his same
old dirty tricks in bed.

After the hula performance was over, I
wasted little time catching up to Leilani. She was still in
costume, but seemed eager to change into street clothes.

"Nice dancing," I told her and meant it,
while wondering if I had what it took to master the technique.

She grinned. "Mahalo."

"My name's Skye Delaney," I said calmly.
"I'm a private investigator."

Leilani looked at me curiously. "What do you
want with me?"

"I'm investigating Carter Delaney's
death."

She gave me the once-over. "Who are you? His
sister?"

I made a face. "No, I'm his ex-wife—"

This revelation clearly took her by
surprise. Leilani wet her lips. "I'm sorry, about Carter," she
said. "But what does his death have to do with me?"

This was where it sometimes got sticky, I
thought. "Maybe nothing at all," I said carefully. "Or maybe
everything..."

She raised a brow. "I'm afraid I don't
follow you."

I narrowed my eyes at her calculatingly.
"You were having an affair with Carter, weren't you?"

Her expression grew tense. "Who told you
that?"

"His widow, Darlene Delaney."

"Well, she's wrong," Leilani insisted.
"Carter and I were just friends. Nothing more..."

I had no proof to contradict her story,
except for my usually razor sharp instincts. And they seemed right
on target in this instance.

"Look, I didn't come here to make
accusations," I told her truthfully. "Remember, I'm the
ex
-wife. Whatever was going on between you and Carter is
your business. Mine is to try to find out who murdered him." I
lowered my voice. "I was hoping you could help—"

Leilani did not bite the bait. "I'm sorry,
but I don't know anything," she said sharply.

I didn't buy it. She looked nervous, even
scared. What or who was she afraid of? I wondered. "Did Carter ever
talk to you about any problems he was having?" I pressed.

She stiffened. "Only that he wasn't happy in
his marriage." Her dark eyes met mine. "Obviously, that was the
story of his life. And probably his death..."

A muscular fire dancer interrupted the
conversation. He seemed barely cognizant of me when he asked
Leilani, "You still need a lift home?"

She looked at me as though weighing her
options before telling him: "Yes. I'll just be a few minutes."

"Okay." He gave me a long look and walked
away.

I wondered if that was the new man in her
life—or old one—now that Carter was permanently out of the
picture.

"Just a friend," she said as if reading my
mind.

"Right, like Carter," I said
sardonically.

She didn't seem amused. "I have to go change
now."

I got the message. I took out a business
card and handed it to her. "In case you happen to remember
something that might help your other friend rest more peacefully,
give me a call—"

She took the card, but said nothing. I had a
feeling that I might hear from her sooner than later.

I headed to my car, left with more questions
than answers. What did Leilani know that she was not telling?
Darlene had seemed so certain that Leilani and Carter were lovers.
Was she right? Or were they truly just friends with other types of
benefits?

What interested me most was whether or not
either had any bearing on his death. If anything, friends usually
made far better confidants than lovers, I mused, while imagining
Carter trying to get the most out of any type of relationship he
was in. Maybe he had confided in Leilani that his life was in
jeopardy. Or maybe not.

I began to wonder if I was getting too
deeply involved in my ex-husband's personal business. I had to
consider that his murder might have had nothing to do with his
private life. Being a millionaire certainly was reason enough for
someone to want you dead. Especially if you'd made your fortune by
walking over others along the way. I knew I had to keep every
possibility on the table, including a random act, even if I didn't
believe that for one minute.

* * *

I drove to Ridge's place, in desperate need
of his company. He welcomed me with a deep, long kiss. I wasn't
complaining.

After our lips unlocked, I gave him the
rundown on Leilani Mahaulu. Or rather, my speculation about her. I
figured I owed him that much since he was my eyes in the Honolulu
Police Department and the detective heading the investigation into
Carter's death.

"So you think this Leilani was having her
way with Delaney?" Ridge asked, glancing at me sideways. "Or maybe
it was the other way around?"

I shrugged. "I believe Leilani knows more
about him than she's willing to admit."

"Like why he was murdered?" he asked.

"That's something you may want to ask her
yourself—" I responded with a definite edge to my voice.

"I think I'll do just that," Ridge said. "So
what was it about Delaney anyway that seemed to have women falling
at his feet?"

I chuckled. "Sorry, but I can only speak for
myself. While I certainly didn't worship the man, being
good-looking and charismatic probably didn't hurt matters any," I
admitted, and left it at that, refusing to get caught up in
exploring Carter's sexual conquests.

That didn't stop Ridge from speculating
further. "With Delaney bedding so many women and worrying about
getting a dose of his own medicine, I just wonder where the hell he
found the time to make his fortune."

With a weak attempt at humor, I suggested:
"I think it's called managing one's time wisely."

Ridge wasn't laughing. "I can think of some
other things I'd call it," he said. "Anything else interesting
you've discovered about your ex that you'd like to share?"

"I might ask you the same thing, Detective
Larsen," I tossed back at him. "Or do teamwork and cooperation only
work one way in your book?"

"I think I'll take the Fifth on that
one—"

It seemed more like a brush off to me. Was I
expecting too much from him for this case? Or was he expecting too
much from me? I wondered. Both were probably true, under the
circumstances.

Silence fell between us at the worst
possible time, just as things seemed to be heating up following our
passionate kiss. Suddenly, I could wait no longer to speak my mind:
"Why the Fifth? I've got a right to know what's happening with the
investigation other than what I hear on the news. And we both know
they only report what they're told, not what they aren't..."

As he usually did when cornered, Ridge
looked away contemplatively before meeting my eyes again. "This one
is a little too close to home—for both of us," he said unevenly.
"My ass is on the line here, Skye. Everyone knows about us and
about your past with Carter Delaney. If I leak out anything to you
and it gets back to my superiors, I'll be on permanent desk duty
and you'll lose your license to legally investigate Delaney's death
outside the department."

I remained mute, prompting Ridge to ask
flatly: "Do you get my drift?"

I nodded meekly. "Yes, I understand where
you're coming from, Ridge. And I don't want any information from
you that will jeopardize your career—or mine." I paused. "But can
you at least tell me if the investigation is proceeding along
nicely insofar as getting solid leads? Or is there something else
going on that you don't want to talk about?"

Don't ask me why, but I had a gut feeling
that there was more to the case in finding Carter's killer than met
the eye. It was obviously bigger than the fact that Carter was a
self-made millionaire and somewhat of an icon in the community. I
glared at Ridge and waited to see if he would at least give me a
clue.

Ridge hesitated for a long moment before
saying: "I'll just say this much and we'll leave it at that.
Although Delaney had walked away from the legal system some time
ago, apparently he had not stopped working for the prosecuting
attorney's office altogether—"

Of course, I couldn't simply leave it at
that without further clarification, so I asked: "Are you saying
that Carter was working with the prosecuting attorney
while
we were married?"

"Yeah, I think so," Ridge replied awkwardly.
"From what I understand, Delaney was a high-powered consultant with
the P.A.'s office ever since his retirement as a prosecutor. He
dispensed advice behind the scenes and was effectively a hand's on
person in some of the county's biggest cases, without actually
getting his own hands dirty."

I listened with shock, taken aback that
Carter had managed to keep this from me throughout our marriage and
after, clearly not trusting me enough to confide in me. It made me
wonder what other secrets he may have taken to the grave.

"So you think his death had something to do
with his work for the P.A.?" I asked straightforwardly.

Ridge chewed on his lower lip. "We're not
sure, to tell you the truth. It's just one angle we're working on.
But, yes, it's possible...along with something related to his
business empire or his private life, including the wife or
mistress—"

In other words, I thought, Ridge seemed to
be saying that they still did not have enough to know what or who
they were looking for, and why.

And I was in the same predicament.

* * *

"Why the hell did Delaney pick this time to
invite you back into his life?" Ridge asked me later in bed. His
tone was anything but conciliatory.

The same question gnawed at me. None of the
possible answers was satisfactory. My head was resting on Ridge's
chest as I responded dryly: "I'd ask him, if I could—"

"Seems to me he not only wanted the cake and
frosting," moaned Ridge, "but the damned leftovers as well—"

I lifted up and glared at him, appalled. "Is
that all I am to you, Ridge—damned leftovers?"

"Of course not," he said. He smiled, clearly
regretting his choice of words. "I think you know me better than
that."

"I'm not sure I do," I protested, still
fuming at the thought of being anyone's leftover.

Ridge gently took me into his arms and
kissed my forehead. "Oh, don't get all bent out of shape, Skye.
You're anything but leftovers in my book—you're more like a
five-star meal." He paused. "That said, I've got a murder to solve.
Until I do, neither of us can ignore the possibility that Delaney's
motives for hiring you may have had little to do with your amazing
detective skills or his wife's extracurricular activities—"

I wanted to speak, but the words would not
come out. Instead, I started to cry. They were the first tears I'd
shed since Carter's death. As a cop, I was taught that emotion was
a no-no or a sign of weakness, at least if you wanted to be treated
as an equal. But I was no longer a cop, bound by cop's rules, no
matter how sexist and antiquated they could be. I was reacting as a
woman and the ex-wife of a man I was just getting to know in death
and didn't necessarily like what I was discovering. I feared what
was yet to come. To hell with holding back tears that needed to
come out.

Only it was not Carter I was crying for as
much as those he left behind. Whoever he was inside, and whatever
made him tick, his life was over now. But life went on for the rest
of us. And I fully intended to stick around until I was old and
grumpy, regardless of what emotional baggage I had to sort out and
dispose of in the process.