Vacations Can Be Murder: The Second Charlie Parker Mystery (20 page)

The discovery gave me renewed vigor. I wasn't
about to cower in the corner, worrying over this. I went back into
the bathroom, where I did a quick once-over with some blusher and
lipstick. Grabbing my tote bag and purse, I headed downstairs.

"Ms. Parker!" My little buddy, Morton,
beckoned me from the concierge desk. His voice dropped discreetly
as I approached.

"I'm so glad I caught you. I was just trying
to phone your room. Mrs. Catherine Page asked me to contact
you."

His freckled hands fluttered nervously as he
spoke, and I could have sworn his pink scalp was even pinker.

I had thought both Catherine and Susan were
leaving today. Perhaps Catherine had thought of some new
information for me.

"Mrs. Page is in the hospital." He was
practically whispering now.

"What?"

"She was mugged last night," he said. "Right
here in the hotel, although that is
not
public information.
You didn't hear it from me."

Fine. Whatever. "You said she's in the
hospital?"

"Kauai General. She asked us to get word to
you. She would like to see you, if possible."

I thanked him, and said I'd get by to see her
this morning. This certainly added a new wrinkle. I had planned on
getting right out to the airport to talk to Willie Duran, the
security guard, but maybe I ought to see Catherine first.

She was in a private room on the third floor,
I discovered. Cautiously, I entered, unsure what to expect. She was
sitting up in bed, dressed in a filmy apricot peignoir with a
border of down. The way it framed her face made her look soft and
delicate. There was a gauze square taped to her left temple, and
beneath it an ugly purple bruise had begun spreading down her
jaw.

Her eyes welled up at the sight of me. "Oh,
Charlie," she said, her voice breaking on the last syllable. I
submitted to a hug. The apricot feathers tickled my nose, almost
triggering a sneeze reaction.

"What happened, Catherine?"

"I don't know exactly," she sniffed. "I came
back to my room after dinner last night."

"What time was this?"

"Oh, about eight, I guess. Anyway, I walked
into the room, and something attracted my attention toward the
bathroom door. I turned toward it, and that's the last thing I
remember. Apparently, the night maid found me a few minutes later,
and called the paramedics. I came to while they were working over
me, but I felt so dizzy."

She must have been attacked about the same
time my room was broken into. I had to believe it was all connected
somehow.

But how?

And why?

"Do you know if anything was stolen from your
room?" I asked.

"No, I was too out of it. I couldn't even
stand up without feeling faint. One of the paramedics was a woman,
and she got my gown and cosmetics case for me."

"I'm sure whoever was hiding in the bathroom
was long gone by that time."

"Oh, yes. It all happened so fast I never
even got a look at him."

She looked like she was about to cry again.
Her hands trembled. I wondered whether it was from emotional
trauma, or the fact that she hadn't had a drink in several
hours.

"Charlie, I was supposed to fly back to
California this morning. I have to get back. Gil's funeral is
tomorrow."

She touched the bandage gingerly. "I'm quite
a sight, aren't I?"

"What has the doctor said about releasing
you?"

"He checked me over this morning, and said I
could go any time. I'm just nervous about it. What if the person
who hit me comes after me again? Charlie, can you help me find out
who did this?"

I thought about that. I was supposed to be
working for Mack, and I wasn't ready to tell Catherine that she was
still one of my suspects. However, I felt certain that the mugging
would tie in somehow to the rest of the case. It also moved
Catherine a little further down the suspect list.

"I'll see what I can find out," I told
her.

"Thanks." She looked relieved as she reached
for a small leather case on the table beside the bed. I noticed
again that her hands shook as she held a gold lighter to the tip of
her cigarette.

Something was still bothering me, and I
decided I wouldn't get anywhere unless I came right out with it.
"Catherine, what are your ties with Joe Esposito?"

She leaned back against her pillow and closed
her eyes, taking a long pull on her cigarette. I sensed a debate
going on inside. Finally, she exhaled deeply. Her eyes opened, but
she kept them fixed on the ceiling.

"Joe thinks he's in love with me," she
said.

Her voice was so quiet I had to practically
lean over the bed.

"Three years ago, when Gil first loaned Mack
the money for his business, we came over here to see the operation
first-hand. Gil rarely involved me in his business deals, but I did
go out to the heliport with him a time or two. I've never been
brave enough to take a ride in one of those things, but they
fascinate me.

"Joe was working on the helicopter, and Mack
introduced us. Joe's reaction to me was the weirdest thing. He
acted like a star-struck groupie. I mean, he stared, he got
flustered when I spoke to him, he told me he thought I was the most
beautiful woman he'd ever seen. It was almost spooky. I've never
had a man react to me like that—ever.

A few days later, Mack and Gil had a meeting
at our hotel, and Joe somehow managed to be invited along. I found
it most disconcerting the way he stared at me. I was afraid Gil
would notice. He was extremely possessive and insanely jealous.
But, I guess Gil's mind was elsewhere because he never seemed to
notice Joe."

"Did you ever see Joe alone?"

"No! I would have been frightened to,
Charlie. His interest in me was almost fanatic."

"Did Joe ever show animosity toward Gil?
Jealousy?"

"Not outwardly. Around Gil and Mack, he
usually kept his eyes lowered, acting rather subservient."

"You said not outwardly. Did you see any
indications privately?"

"Well, as I said, I really wasn't around him
much. But, there was one time. I think it was during that meeting
they all had at our hotel. Gil said something rude to me. I don't
even remember what it was now, it was just his way. But, as I was
leaving the room, I caught Joe staring at Gil with almost open
hatred.

"I guess I remembered it because it was
different from the reaction most people usually had. When a man is
rude to his wife, most people will turn away, look embarrassed. I
was used to that. But Joe looked ready to jump to my defense. Sort
of a Latino machismo, you know."

I digested that. If Joe Esposito fancied
himself in love with Catherine Page, he might have taken it upon
himself to permanently fix her marital problems. Or, there was
still the possibility that Catherine and Joe had cooked up the plan
together. She might have implied favors to come if her husband was
out of the way.

Right now, she seemed in control and sure of
herself, but I had seen her after a few drinks, too. Who knew what
might run through her head when she loosened up a bit?

However, those suppositions didn't help
answer the question of who might have hit Catherine last night.
Surely, Joe wouldn't do that to the woman he said he loved? Unless,
of course, something in the little romance had gone awry.

Catherine was sitting up in bed now, looking
better after lightening her burden.

"Charlie, I need to get out of here. Could
you help me get checked out, and take me back to the hotel?"

I wasn't really up for becoming her
babysitter, but I supposed I could do at least that much. I told
her to get dressed while I walked down the hall to the nurse's
station to see about the paperwork. When I got back to her room
with a wheelchair, which the hospital insisted on, Catherine was
dressed.

She looked somewhat overdone in last night's
attire, a black cocktail dress with a gold lamé ruffle over one
shoulder. She had slipped on her black satin pumps without hose,
and her legs looked white and skinny with small blotches of
varicose veins showing.

She was still a little slow on her feet when
we got to the hotel, but made it to her room all right. I got on
the phone to see what could be done about changing her plane
reservations, while she went into the bathroom and changed from her
evening dress to a lightweight jogging suit. She gathered her few
belongings and put them into her suitcase.

The soonest flight I could get for her didn't
leave until seven that evening, so I suggested she use the time to
sleep. After putting in a wakeup call for five-thirty, I told her
to lock all the deadbolts behind me. I waited until I heard them
click into place before walking off down the hall.

I felt increasingly uneasy as I walked out
toward my car. The chat with Catherine had only solidified my
nagging thoughts about Joe Esposito. Now I knew he had motive.

My next move would be to talk to Willie
Duran. He should be able to confirm when Joe had come and gone from
the hangar last Friday night. He might have even seen Joe removing
the body.

That, coupled with the fuse found in my room,
and Catherine's statement, might be enough to get the heat off
Mack. The problem was still the disposal of the body. If I couldn't
prove my boat theory, the suspicion would still be on Mack and his
helicopter.

I felt like something was about to break, and
I didn't like not knowing what it would be.

I was concerned, too, about Drake. If Joe
really was our man, he could be dangerous. He must know we were
getting close to something if he took the trouble to ransack my
room last night. He also must know, too, that Drake and I were
involved with each other. If Joe wanted Drake out of the way, it
would be a simple matter for him to sabotage the aircraft.

I thought of the miles of treacherous
coastline where an emergency landing would be difficult, if not
impossible.

I drove slowly past the helipads. Mack's
helicopter was out. It didn't ease my mind any. I parked near the
maintenance area, locked the car and approached the gate.

Willie Duran was a cocky little rooster of a
man, twenty-eight or -nine, his black hair slicked back on the
sides, low in front like a young Elvis. He watched me approach the
gate with an appreciative gleam in his eye, like I was doing a
strip-tease just for him. I guess his attitude was supposed to be a
turn-on, but it's not my style.

He wore his uniform about a size too small,
so it fit like a glove. The short sleeves of his shirt were rolled
up several turns to impress the world with his biceps. Sleazy. I
thought of the poor girl staying home with kids hanging all over
her.

"Hey, doll," he said, "what can I do for
you?" His voice was low and he probably meant it to sound
provocative.

Doll
is among the list of names,
including honey, baby, and sweetie, which I do not take well to. I
tend to become cool, if not downright frosty. I pulled out my card
and notebook, not bothering to explain the limits of my duties with
the investigation firm. His puffed-out pectorals dropped
perceptibly when I didn't warm up to his bait.

"I have some questions for you pertaining to
last Friday night. I understand you were on duty that night from
three to eleven?"

His weight shifted from one foot to the
other; his flashy smile disappeared. I could tell he was
discomfited dealing with a woman in authority. I loved it.

"Is that correct?" My voice sounded sharp but
I wasn't going to cut this creep any slack.

"Uh, yes, ma'am."

Ma'am. That's more like it. "You are aware
that a man was murdered that night, over in the Paradise
Helicopters hangar?"

"Yes, ma'am. I've already talked to the
police."

Ma’am. That’s more like it. “You are aware
that a man was murdered that night, over in the Paradise Helicopter
hangar?”

“Yes, ma’am. The police, they already been
here.”

"I'm representing an innocent man who is
under suspicion. I may have to ask some of the same questions
over."

He nodded, peering toward my notebook. I
tilted it away from him. Nosy little jerk.

"How did the victim get into the hangar? Did
he have a security badge?"

"Well, he walk up to the gate with Mack
Garvey. I stop him, and ask to see his badge, but Mack say it’s
okay. I tell him I'm supposed to see a badge, but Mr. Garvey get
real irritated. It was late, and no one around, so I went ahead and
let them both go through."

"Was Joe Esposito around?"

"His truck was in the lot. Been there all
afternoon."

"Was Joe in the hangar when the other two
arrived?"

"I don't know. He goes back and forth between
the hangars a lot. He does maintenance for Mack, for Bill Steiner,
some others, too, so he's all over the place."

"Did he leave during the evening?"

He shuffled a little, and avoided eye
contact. "I'm not sure. Most times he takes a dinner break, but I
can't remember if he did that night."

"After Mack and his visitor got here, did you
hear an argument between them?"

He grinned. "There's so much noise around
here, I don't pay attention. You know, planes taking off and
landing, helicopters, the wind, the surf."

It was probably a dumb question. Even
standing three feet apart, we were having to raise our voices
slightly just to converse. But Joe had said he overheard the
argument. It was worth asking.

"Willie, did you see Mack and the visitor
leave? Either or both of them?"

Again, the lack of eye contact. "Nope.
Neither one."

"How could that be? Mack says he had an
argument with the other guy, then he got mad and left. How could he
have got past you without your seeing him?"