Murder in Honolulu: A Skye Delaney Mystery (6 page)

For me, the hard part was serving to my ex
on a somewhat less than silver platter the preliminary results of
my investigation.

CHAPTER
SIX

The bar was not his usual watering hole, but
a place Carter Delaney had been to before a couple of times. Then,
like now, he had wanted to drown his sorrows in liquor without
running into anyone in his business or social circles. These days
he didn't even know who the hell he was anymore. Yes, he was a
onetime successful prosecutor in Honolulu, where crime had run amok
and the pressures of the office were more than he could handle.
And, yes, he had gone into business for himself and ended up making
far more than he could have ever dreamed. Then there was the fact
that he was married to a beautiful woman and was the father of the
prettiest little girl in all of Hawaii.

But that hardly got to the root of who
Carter Douglas Delaney really was. In better times, he was a young
ambitious lawyer, wanting only to do his best to put the bad people
where they belonged: behind bars. Once that stage of his life had
run its course, he had turned to the business world to make his
fortune.

But his life hadn't truly begun to take
shape till he met the former Skye McKenzie Fairchild. She was the
complete package: brains, beauty, and sexual appeal. It was
probably love at first sight, though he hadn't known it at the
time. There was no doubt that what he felt for Skye was the real
deal when they got married less than a year later.

At first, it looked like a Cinderella love
story where they both got what they wanted from each other and
would live happily thereafter. But real life was never a fairy
tale. He'd learned that the hard way. They saw the landscape
differently. Though Skye impressed the hell out of him as an ex-cop
turned security consultant who he would have gladly recommended to
anyone, at the end of the day he wanted a stay at home wife and
mother to a bunch of kids.

Skye had other ideas. She wasn't about to
give up what she'd worked so hard to achieve. And he was too
stubborn and impatient at the time to respect her for who she was,
especially when other women were at his beck and call, tempting him
left and right. He went to the cookie jar too many times and paid
the price when Skye walked out on him. With that went the marriage
and probably the best thing to ever happen to him.

Carter put down another vodka. His third. He
admitted to being an alcoholic and, he believed, with good reason.
He had screwed up his life big time. He had screwed up his
business, and his second marriage was going to hell. The walls
seemed to be coming down around him and all he really wanted was
for things to go back to how they were when Carter felt like he was
on top of the world.

Maybe there was still hope
, he
thought. Yes, maybe he could find a way out of the mess he had made
of his life and look at the glass half-full rather than
half-empty.

Skye had asked him to meet her this
afternoon to discuss her findings. She'd sounded tense, as if the
news was worse than he'd imagined. Was that possible?

Carter ordered another vodka and used the
time to reflect on seeing Skye in her office that first time the
other day. She was actually better looking now than when they were
married, if that was possible. She had obviously taken good care of
herself over the years—both physically and professionally. He'd
heard that she not only was a top security consultant locally, but
one of the best private investigators around.

But that wasn't why he had hired her. His
reasons were far more personal than that.

He immediately downed the drink that had
been placed before him. It was time to find out what Skye had
learned about his current wife. Then maybe he'd have a thing or two
to say to Darlene.

Carter Delaney burped, and put a brand new
fifty-dollar bill on the counter.

He stumbled out of the bar and onto the
street, managing to get to his car.

CHAPTER
SEVEN

Carter had agreed to meet me at my office at
four o'clock sharp. I had hoped to close this case by five and have
dinner with Ridge at six, but as of four-thirty, Carter had not
shown up for our appointment. Punctuality had never been his strong
suit. But that hardly justified putting my life on hold while I
waited for him to set foot in the door only to hear things he may
not want to know.

I finally called Carter's cell phone, but
got his voicemail. I reminded him about our scheduled meeting, then
decided to try his office. He was not there.

"Did he leave a message for me?" I asked his
secretary.

"I'm sorry..." she said insincerely.
"Nothing."

I hung up, feeling hot under the collar.
Where are you, Carter
?

I found his wife's cell phone number, which
Carter had given me as a possible tool to use in obtaining her
phone records to identify a potential lover. I suspected Edwin
Axelrod's number was on the list and likely the drug dealer's as
well.

At the moment, I was itching to call Darlene
Delaney, though I knew it wasn't a very good idea. What the hell
was I supposed to say to her?
"
Hi, I'm Carter's ex-wife,
Skye. He hired me to find out if you're having an affair. You are,
and you're also buying illegal drugs. Now I need to locate your
husband so I can give him the good news..."

I nixed the idea and instead phoned Ridge
and told him I would be a little late for dinner, which he was
cooking. He seemed to accept it; though, reading between his sighs
and mutters, I could tell he was pissed. Couldn't really blame him.
I would make it up to him later.

I knew exactly who to blame for messing up
my plans.

By a quarter after five, it was obvious that
Carter was not going to keep our appointment for whatever reason. I
was in no mood for excuses from him nor was I particularly anxious
to reschedule our meeting.

When I left the office, I had more or less
planned to terminate the investigation. I didn't have time to play
games with Carter or his cheating, drug-abusing wife. I would leave
him a voicemail summing up what I'd learned. If he wanted more dirt
on Darlene, he would have to get someone else to dig it up.

* * *

I went home to feed Ollie and freshen up
before heading to Ridge's place. I got my first clue that something
was wrong when I drove up to my house and heard Ollie barking like
the dog from hell. There was no sign of Natsuko's car. Instead,
there was a silver Cadillac DeVille in the driveway. Carter's car.
I recognized it from the second time Carter visited my office. I'd
watched from the window as he climbed in and drove off in
style.

Why is he at my house?
I wondered,
knowing I certainly hadn't invited Carter to conduct business at my
private residence. In fact, he'd only been there once before. It
was shortly after I'd moved in and we were no longer married. He'd
stopped by to pick up some of his precious books by Ernest
Hemingway and F. Scott Fitzgerald that had inexplicably gotten
mixed up with my own books.

Had Carter somehow believed that I wanted to
meet him here instead of at my office for the final report on his
cheating wife? And how the hell had he gotten in? The last I knew,
I hadn't given him a key for safe keeping. He also did not have the
codes to my security system, which seemed to have been
deactivated.

Was Natsuko still here when he came? I
wondered. Maybe she let him in.

I peeked inside Carter's car. There was no
sign of anything unusual. His leather briefcase was on the front
seat, passenger side. There was a newspaper folded neatly on the
back seat and a suit coat stretched across the back of the front
seat. The car was not locked.

Neither was the front door to my house,
which was slightly ajar as I stood there inspecting it. I wondered
why Ollie, who was still barking ferociously but from a distance,
hadn't come out. I pushed open the door cautiously while calling
out Carter's name. If he was there, he was not answering or showing
himself.

The whole thing was very bizarre and
unnerving, to say the least.

"Carter, where are you?" I asked nervously,
but still got no response. "Ollie, come here, boy..." He too failed
to show, though I continued to hear his somewhat muted barking.

I entered the foyer at which point I
half-expected to see Carter sitting in the living room, looking
wearily at his watch, and wondering if he'd have to wait all night
to hear what I had to say. Instead, there was no indication that I
had company. To be sure, I took one quick glance around, looking
for signs of life. My eyes passed over the French provincial
furnishings, area rug, decorative art, and plants.

Carter was definitely not in the room.

On impulse, I reached for the 9-millimeter
handgun in my purse still strapped across my shoulder. Had I been
anywhere other than home, my instincts would have kicked in long
before now. But, for some reason, the comforts of familiar
surroundings caused me to let my guard down.

If Carter was an uninvited guest, he was
starting to scare the hell out of me. He'd better have a damned
good explanation for being here and not bothering to respond, I
thought as I moved cautiously through the house.

I followed the sound of Ollie's barking
through the kitchen and down the hall till I came to the utility
room door that was closed. I could hear Ollie jumping up against
the door, trying to get out. When I opened it, he practically
attacked me.

"Whoa, boy, what's wrong? Who put you in
there?" Carter seemed the obvious choice, as he had never been an
animal lover, but Ollie wasn't confirming it in so many words. I
was taking no chances, keeping the gun out, just beyond Ollie's
reach.

He was barking like crazy, clearly trying to
tell me something.

"What is it, Ollie?" I asked, my heart
skipping a beat. "Where's Carter? I know he's here, his car's in
the driveway. Is he hurt?"

As if he understood me, Ollie darted away
and headed down the hall toward the stairs leading to the second
floor. I followed, not sure what to expect, but somehow fearing the
worst.

At this point I still had no reason to
believe there was real cause for alarm, other than my dog's
follow-me routine. I called out to Carter again, hoping he had
simply failed to hear me while snooping around my house, which I
really did not believe. There was no response.

I watched Ollie dart in and out of the
bathroom, urging me to go in. As I approached, I could hear the
jets of my Jacuzzi bath churning. I sucked in a deep breath and,
with my gun drawn, turned the corner to come face to face with what
had really spooked my dog.

Nothing could have prepared me for what I
saw.

Carter was in the bath, his head was under
water, and water was spilling out onto the ceramic tile. I noted
that his clothes and shoes were tossed about the floor, getting
soaked, as though he could care less.

Not knowing if he was alive or dead, I
immediately rushed to his aid, screaming Carter's name frantically.
I turned off the water and the jets and lifted his head up, trying
to make sense of this. His naked body was cold and rigid and it
looked like there were scratches on his legs.

It was one of those times where in the space
of a heartbeat your entire world took an inexorable left turn into
the depths of hell.

The sheer grief of the moment took on an
added dimension when I noticed between barks that Ollie, who had
never left my side, had blood dripping from his mouth. Had he
bitten someone? Carter? Or was Ollie the victim of an assault?

Returning my attention to Carter, I noticed
that there was something protruding slightly from his grayish blue
lips. Carter's eyes were wide open, but it didn't take a forensic
examiner to know that they had lost their sight forever—

* * *

The jury was still out on Ollie. I avoided
cleaning him up so I wouldn't destroy any possible evidence before
the police arrived, took pictures of the dog, and then took him to
the vet for treatment. The verdict on Carter was far more ominous
and conclusive. The former attorney and ex love of my life was
dead! Almost as unsettling was the sight of him as a corpse.
Drawing on my police training and common sense, I managed to
refrain from further corrupting what I believed to be a crime scene
once I determined that Carter was no longer amongst the living.

In my mind, this was a homicide perpetrated
by an unknown assailant in my house. Unfortunately, the early
indications suggested otherwise.

Inside Carter's mouth was apparently a
suicide note, according to police, who had taken over my
house—routine for incidents that could at the very least be
described as suspicious circumstances. The note was typed and
read:

"Skye, sorry to have to dump myself on you
like this, but I really didn't feel like I had much choice. At
least with you, I knew I could count on a decent burial. Recently,
my life's been going to hell! Between the pressures of work and
home, it just got to be too damned much. This—killing myself—seemed
like the only halfway dignified way out. I'm sorry for
everything...

Carter"

At this point, I was like a walking zombie.
If Carter really did write that note, not only was his death
undignified, but the apology was totally unacceptable. In my gut, I
was sure there was far more to this than met the eye.

But that was to come later. For now I was
still grief stricken and waiting for Ridge to arrive, whom I'd
called right after calling 911. I needed him now more than ever to
get through this.

CHAPTER
EIGHT