Murder in Honolulu: A Skye Delaney Mystery (22 page)

"Why not," I hummed, not wanting to press my
luck with this sudden cooperation in the investigation. "Where
to...?"

I took down the address, and headed there,
hoping to put my women's intuition to work.

* * *

It was three o'clock when I arrived at the
apartment building on Kukui Street where Kalolo Nawahi lived.
Located in a part of the city known for drug dealing and
prostitution, Kalolo's unit was on the third floor. I knew
something had happened when I saw a number of people milling about
outside, a scene I was all too familiar with and was usually
associated with tragedy. If that wasn't enough of a clue, the
flashing lights from several cop cars were a dead giveaway,
figuratively speaking.

I realized the trouble involved Kalolo when
Ridge greeted me in front of the suspect's apartment building.

"What happened?" I asked, noting the yellow
crime scene tape already in place.

"Nawahi's dead," Ridge said glumly. "Someone
called in, reported hearing gunfire in his apartment. Looks like he
was shot once in the back of the head—execution style."

I winced at the thought, as well as the
irony. "First Carter, now Kalolo..." I sighed. "It's almost as
though he was silenced before you could talk to him—or maybe before
he could talk to you..."

"Let's not jump to conclusions, Skye," Ridge
urged, keeping his voice level. "Nawahi was a known drug dealer and
probably had more than his fair share of deals gone sour. Anyone
could have had it in for him."

Including Darlene Delaney, we were both no
doubt thinking but kept to ourselves. We parted to allow the body
to be removed by members of the medical examiner's office.

I followed Ridge inside the victim's
apartment. I saw Detective Kawakami, along with several others from
the department, combing the place for evidence. Kawakami glanced at
me and smiled, almost as if to say:
"Don't worry, Skye. Everyone
knows you're working this case. Just stay the hell out of the
real
cops' way and no one will bother you."

I smiled back at him and just as quickly
wiped the grin off my face, knowing that joviality aside, someone
had been murdered who was, at the very least, indirectly associated
with Carter and directly connected to his widow. The distinct sweet
and sour smell of fresh blood permeated the air in the tiny
apartment. I could see blood and brain matter where the body had
been. I couldn't help but wonder if his blood happened to be AB
negative.

Ridge was reading my mind, which he'd done
so well of late. "Nawahi's blood type will be analyzed right away,"
he told me. "My guess is he didn't have anything to do with
Delaney's death. Other than the common link between the two,
there's no evidence to indicate Nawahi took a bullet as a result of
his association with Darlene Delaney—"

Wearing a pair of protective, disposable
gloves, I carefully picked up a folded newspaper on the coffee
table that the techs had ignored. Unfolding it, I noted the
headline: FORMER PROSECUTOR CARTER DELANEY FOUND DEAD IN JACUZZI.
The article was accompanied by a picture of Carter and Darlene. The
paper was dated the day after Carter's death.

"Take a look at this," I said to Ridge,
handing him the newspaper. "If nothing else, Kalolo probably
recognized his cocaine customer
Amber
as Darlene Delaney
from the photograph and article..."

Or, I wondered, had he already known the
relevant facts in the article before the paper was even
printed?

* * *

"Kalolo Nawahi's blood type was O negative,
which also matched the blood in his apartment," Ridge informed me
the following day. We were enjoying an early morning jog on the
beach, while Ollie tagged along.

I moaned, though not surprised, and said:
"It would've made things so much easier if Nawahi's blood had been
AB negative and his DNA was a positive match with the blood Ollie
took from Carter's presumed killer."

"Yeah, well, homicides are never that cut
and dry," Ridge muttered, sidestepping a clump of seaweed.

I yanked on Ollie's leash, pulling him away
from the seaweed he suddenly seemed very interested in. Then I told
Ridge: "If you're still interested in what my women's intuition is
telling me, I'd say that Kalolo was somehow involved in Carter's
death, and it may have cost him his life—"

"We're double and triple checking every
possibility surrounding Delaney's murder," Ridge assured me. "That
means we're not eliminating any suspects, including Kalolo
Nawahi."

Ridge was beginning to huff and puff.
Jogging was not his forte; he preferred the gym, lifting weights,
or getting his workout making love. I had no problem with any of
those where he was concerned.

He looked at me and said: "I don't think I'm
giving anything away by telling you that there are others who may
have had a stronger motive than Nawahi for wanting to see your ex
dead..."

"You mean like Darlene?" I asked, perspiring
in a sports bra and matching shorts.

He wiped his brow. "Yeah, like Darlene.
Strictly from a financial point of view, she had at least a couple
million reasons that we know of to benefit from the death of her
dearly beloved."

I regarded Ridge as if I hadn't heard him
correctly. "What are you saying...?"

"Darlene took out a two million dollar
insurance policy on Delaney just a month before he died," Ridge
informed me. "Either she's psychic or the lady had good reason to
believe Delaney might not be around for long—"

"Hmm..." I mumbled aloud while thinking
about the million dollars Darlene said she raised through
liquidating assets and her daughter's trust fund to pay off
Carter's mounting gambling debts. Obviously his business fortunes
had taken a serious hit along the way, making the hefty insurance
policy all the more unnerving.

I was still split on my feelings about
Darlene Delaney. While she was clearly no saint with more than a
few skeletons in her closet, there was still a big stretch between
infidelity and drug abuse and cold-blooded murder. Frankly, it was
hard for me to imagine that Darlene could have masterminded
Carter's murder for the love of money. I wanted to believe, if only
for the sake of their child, that Darlene wouldn't have knowingly
conspired to kill Carter.

But that was not a declaration of innocence,
I thought. Money had a strange way of corrupting even the noblest
person, which Darlene clearly was not. It also represented just one
reason why people committed murder. That seemed especially true
when talking about the man who, two weeks ago, had the world—or at
least Honolulu—believing he walked on water and was drowning in
success.

Now it was evident that both were far from
the truth, which still had to be sorted out and a killer
apprehended.

CHAPTER
THIRTY-SEVEN

He watched as they jogged along the beach:
Skye Delaney and Ridge Larsen, along with her dog. They seemed to
be caught up in their own little world. He imagined that they were
comparing notes on their respective investigations into the death
of Carter Delaney, under the guise of a leisurely jaunt.

Well let them try to put the pieces
together all they want
, he thought. It wouldn't get them
anywhere, except maybe in their own graves...right beside
Delaney.

He continued to stare at the private eye and
police detective as they moved farther away. The dog was
practically running around them in circles, as though he had lost
his sense of direction. He should've killed that damned mutt when
he had the chance. Instead, it had nearly killed him. Or so it
seemed when the dog lunged at him, looking for blood. But he'd
managed to fight back and overpower it enough to force the dog into
the utility room, while keeping his eye on the primary objective:
making sure Carter Delaney got everything he had coming to him.

He took a few more pictures of Skye Delaney
and the detective, before heading to his car.

He had to be very careful these days, even
more than usual. They could be on to him quicker than he was on to
Delaney that day if he did something dumb. He couldn't allow them
that satisfaction.

In the car, he sat there for a couple of
minutes plotting his strategy, knowing there was still work to be
done. He put the car in drive and took off, still thinking about
Skye. That was replaced by the real deal as he actually passed by
her, Larsen, and the mutt, who were now on the street. He was
careful not to make eye contact, but watched them through his rear
view mirror. As far as they knew, he was just another driver on his
way somewhere, having nothing to do with Carter Delaney.

Well, think and think again.

He wondered if he'd thrown them off
sufficiently by killing Kalolo Nawahi. Would that drug freak's
death satisfy them that they had Delaney's killer? Or would they
force him to take out more deserving assholes to cover his
tracks?

See, Delaney,
he thought,
this is
what happens when you renege on a deal, man.
People die. But
you already know about that, don't you?

His lips curved into a self-satisfied
grin.

CHAPTER
THIRTY-EIGHT

Darlene Delaney walked into my office
wearing dark sunglasses, a red, short-sleeved dress that contoured
to every curve on her body, and white pointed-toe mules.

She looked around in no particular
direction. "This place was really hard to find," she
complained.

"I would've been happy to give you
directions if I'd known you were coming," I said dryly from my
desk, barely able to hide my surprise at this unexpected visit.

"It was impromptu," she said nervously,
licking her ruby lips, before asking: "Mind if I sit?" She answered
her own question as she planted herself in a chair.

It was our fourth face-to-face encounter
since Carter's death. In spite of the fact that we happened to have
married the same man, I saw no reason why we should be
acquaintances, much less friends. This was particularly true while
she remained a bona fide suspect in playing some role in Carter's
murder.

Physically, I doubted Darlene was capable of
killing Carter all by herself. But that didn't rule out her
involvement, if not direct participation, I thought, in spite of
her alibi that suggested otherwise.

Which brought me to why she had decided to
pay me a visit in the middle of the week on a hot, humid afternoon.
Was she on a guilt trip? Maybe she wanted to confess to
something...like how two million dollars can pay for a lot of
tears.

"I need your help—" she said finally.

"Excuse me?" I let my mouth hang open for
effect.

She removed the sunglasses and rolled her
eyes. "I want to hire you. Or do you only work for people who
didn't happen to steal your man?"

I was stung by those last words, as if I
needed to be reminded that she was the cause of my breakup with
Carter. Of course, deep down inside, I knew that it took two to
unravel a relationship. It didn't include the faithful spouse. I
doubt that she'd had to put a gun to Carter's head to get him to
cheat on me. Just as Darlene got to see the shoe on the other foot
of betrayal when Carter turned his attention to Leilani
Mahaulu.

But none of that seemed to matter at the
moment. Admittedly, I was curious as to why Darlene needed my
services.

I kept my cool as I responded: "What can I
do for you?"
This ought to be good
, I thought.

She squirmed and took a deep breath. "I want
you to find out who murdered Carter—"

I cocked a brow at the odd request,
especially considering that I had already made this my personal
mission, much to the chagrin of Ridge and those he worked for.

"That's a police matter," I responded
nevertheless, hoping to draw much more out of her. "And my cop days
are long over—"

"Oh, don't give me that—" Darlene snapped.
"This is a
private
matter to me, and you're a private cop.
Whether you approve of my life or not, I'm asking for the sake of
whatever Carter once meant to you to take the case..."

I could feel my nostrils grow with vexation,
even as my mind noted the irony of the request. It seemed as if I'd
been down this road once before with her husband, who had sat in
that very seat. I'd had nothing but grief since making the mistake
of taking on a client whose personal life I wanted no part of. So
why in the hell would I want to make the same mistake
twice
?
I asked myself.

"Whether I approve of your personal life or
not is beside the point," I stressed, knowing that was very much at
issue in the scheme of things. "Murder investigations are outside
of my jurisdiction, especially when the victim happened to be
my
ex."

"And
my
late husband," Darlene said,
seeming to take pleasure in reminding me. "Carter came to you when
he needed help. And now he's dead, and they'd like nothing better
than to lay the entire thing on my lap—"

"Who are
they
?" I asked
pointedly.

She sighed. "I think you know. The
police—"

I knew nothing of the sort, and told her so,
leaving out the reality that she remained a person of interest in
the case for obvious reasons. "I doubt very much the police are
interested in anything but—"

Darlene broke in: "Trying to make me a
scapegoat for something I didn't have anything to do with—other
than being married to the man. You aren't being hounded by the cops
at every turn..." Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "But why would
you be—when the man you're sleeping with is heading the
investigation into Carter's death?"

The fact that she knew about my relationship
with Ridge was less surprising than her insinuation. I drew in a
deep breath and said tartly: "I'm not even going to dignify that
last comment—"