Vacations Can Be Murder: The Second Charlie Parker Mystery (5 page)

She wagged her index finger in my face. "So,
I don't. He no get clean towels at night, and no orchid for the
lady."

"What about the lady?" I asked.

She clamped her wrinkled lips together in a
straight line, her head nodding knowingly. "Miss Turner. Registered
in ten-fifty-seven. But those two rooms connect. Like Mister Page
and Miss Turner connect. You know what I mean?" She held two
fingers up, pressed together tightly.

I gave her a knowing look. I pretty well had
the picture.

"Last night, whee, they have a big
fight."

"Oh?"

"That man gotta temper, ya know? He scream at
her, then slam the door when he leave."

"When was this?"

"Last night. Oh, 'bout seven-thirty, eight.
Me and Hazel up here makin' our rounds like now. Mos' guests out
for dinner. I was in ten-fifty-four. Door open, but he no see
me."

"Any other visitors last night?"

"Not that I seen."

"Well, thank you, Geraldine. You've been most
helpful."

I took the elevator down to ground level, and
located a place to have dinner. The most casual of the hotel's many
restaurants was open-air, facing the pool. Apparently, they catered
mostly to the lunch crowd.

Aside from a couple of families with
children, and a few singles like myself, the place was quiet. I
chose a table for one under a little palm frond umbrella. Suddenly,
I was ravenous. I placed my order, then sat back to watch the
people walk by.

I thought about Gilbert Page, a man with a
temper, apparently generous with money, reminiscent of a slick TV
personality.

The waiter brought my salad. He was a good
looking blond guy, no more than twenty-two or -three, probably
working this and two other jobs to afford the lifestyle in
paradise. I watched people while I finished my salad, an
interesting mixture of greens, topped with a tangy sweet-and-sour
mango dressing.

A couple about my age circle the pool, hand
in hand. They looked like honeymooners. I let myself wonder what it
would be like to have someone I planned to spend my whole life
with. I’d made it through my first thirty years without a partner.
Adding someone now might feel really strange.

The lobster arrived just then, and it seemed
like a better thing to devote my time to than worrying over
biological clocks and retirement plans.

Anyway, thoughts about the dead Gilbert Page
wouldn't seem to leave me alone. After dinner I would try once
again to reach Drake Langston.

It was a little before nine when I got back
to the room.

"Hi, Charlie. I got in just a bit ago," he
replied to my greeting. He didn't seem surprised to hear from
me.

"Have you had dinner yet?" I asked.

"Yeah, I grabbed a burger, and ate it on the
way home. In fact, I just stepped out of the shower."

I tried to suppress the image that flashed
before me. "How about coffee? I've learned a few things about our
dead man."

"Give me thirty minutes to throw some clothes
on and get down there. I'll meet you at the top of the
escalator."

Drake looked just as good to me in an aloha
shirt of muted colors and white slacks as he had earlier in the
day. I watched him enter the lobby; he smiled quickly at an elderly
couple and flashed a “hang loose” sign at the bellman before he saw
me standing near the escalator.

Again, that dazzling smile as his eyes
coursed appreciatively over my attire. He placed a gentle hand on
my elbow as we walked back through the lobby. His white Datsun
mini-pickup was parked out front.

"Did you have a particular place in mind?" he
asked.

"I'm not familiar with anything here, so you
lead the way."

We drove through a maze of winding narrow
roads, without leaving the hotel grounds, stopping in front of a
place called the Inn on the Cliffs.

Inn on the Cliffs was more like the sitting
room in some incredibly wealthy person's mansion than a restaurant.
Comfortable groupings of furniture clustered around a large
fireplace. Gas logs glowed, taking the nip out of the ocean breeze
that came through the double doors leading to a small lanai. We
settled into wing chairs upholstered in a pattern of little
flowers.

A three piece group played soft love songs
from the forties and fifties.

A blond waitress in a short ruffled skirt
brought a dessert tray by, and I couldn't resist the
treacherous-looking chocolate torte. Drake was a bit more
restrained with his choice of fruit strudel.

I related to him what I'd learned that
afternoon.

"I'm impressed," he said, pouring a whirl of
cream from a silver pitcher onto the surface of his coffee. "I
don't think the police even have the identity of the man yet.

It was fairly clear to me that the guy died
from a blow to the head, whether inflicted by a person, or by
falling out there on the Na Pali, I couldn't say for sure. I didn't
see any footprints around the guy, no blood on the ground or the
rocks, but it just wasn't a normal place for someone to be
walking."

"So maybe he was hit on the head somewhere
else, and dumped there?" I mumbled the words through a mouthful of
thick chocolate.

He shrugged. "We took the body to Kauai
General Hospital, and I'm pretty sure Akito is ordering an
autopsy.

"Jack Akito is the officer assigned to the
case. I think you should go talk to him in the morning, Charlie.
They need all the help they can get around here."

He accented the words by jabbing his fork
into the air.

I let the comment go, busying myself with a
sip of coffee. There's no more unwelcome feeling than you get when
involving yourself in a police case where you know more than they
do. I haven't seen a cop yet who warms up to such a situation.

We sat awhile longer, enjoying the music and
the warmth from the fireplace. I noticed that Drake seemed to be a
little tired around the edges, so I suggested we leave.

"Guess I better," he agreed. "I'm flying
again tomorrow."

There was a three-quarter moon out as we
strolled across the parking lot toward his truck. The smell of
plumeria filled the air. I found it incredibly romantic. It took a
tangible force of will not to reach out and touch him.

I wondered whether he noticed.

We drove back to the main entrance, each
intent on our own thoughts. Our silence was comfortable as we
strolled through the upper lobby and rode the escalator down.. He
walked me across the thick Oriental rug in the lower lobby, past
the richly polished teak front desk, over to the elevators. He
offered to see me up to my room, but I knew he was also anxious to
get some sleep, so I declined.

"After tomorrow, I have four days off," he
said. "Can I call you?"

I nodded. He squeezed my hand, and stepped
onto the escalator. I watched the moving stairs carry him upward
before I headed toward the elevators.

In my room, I found my bed turned down and an
orchid on my pillow.

Chapter 4

Jack Akito reacted to my news just about the
way I expected he would.

He was a middle-aged man who obviously had
very Oriental ideas about a woman's place, and it wasn't in
his
police station.

I had squeezed the rental car into the last
available space in the parking lot, beside the cinderblock
building. The place was one story, painted blotchy off-yellow,
about the color of dried urine. Orange scallops decorated the base
of the building, where the sprinklers had splattered rusty red
earth up on the walls. Some scrawny ti plants attempted to survive
the wind that whipped them against the cinderblock.

A couple of women sat on the concrete steps,
possibly waiting for visiting hours to begin. A uniformed officer
stood outside the front door. He lit up a cigarette just as I
passed him. I almost held my breath, but he turned away from me to
exhale.

It had taken fifteen minutes to get escorted
back to Akito's desk. Now I felt like I was stuck in the Oriental
version of a Mexican standoff.

"I am sorry, madam, but a murder
investigation here on Kauai is no concern of yours," Akito told
me.

He remained as polite, as smooth-faced, and
as unwavering as a block wall. His dark uniform looked stifling to
me in the heavy humid air, but he seemed unaffected. Every crease
held its shape, and his tie was knotted precisely. His badge hung
perfectly straight. His narrow eyes never wavered.

The Caucasian officer at the adjoining desk
was obviously an old timer in the department. I noticed him
watching our exchange. Although his stripes indicated his rank was
lower than Akito's, he butted right in.

"Listen sweetie," he interjected, "we know
our jobs here, and when we want advice from an outsider, we'll ask
for it."

His tactfulness certainly left something to
be desired. I couldn't believe the nerve of the guy. Actually, I
couldn't believe Akito let the remarks pass.

I gritted my teeth. I have a real problem
with being called sweetie, honey, baby, or dearie. Especially when
it comes from a man who's too old to be my boyfriend and too young
to be my father. If my eyeballs could emit laser beams, his throat
would have been in mortal danger.

I forced the corners of my mouth upward, but
my teeth refused to unclench.

Akito sat, implacable.

"Fine," I said, working to keep my voice a
monotone. "I came here because Drake Langston thinks I have
information you could use."

Officer Rudeness piped in again. "Oh, he
does, huh? What could a helicopter pilot and a little haole tourist
know about this?"

"We know more about it than you do at this
point."

I fought to keep my voice level. I could feel
my neck getting hot, my self control slipping. "If you want my
help, I'm willing to give it." I stared at the rude one. "If not,
then personally, I don't give a damn what you do."

I turned to leave and saw Akito swallow a
couple of times, quickly. His eyes widened slightly as he took a
deep breath.

"Wait." I could tell by the tone that it was
killing his manly pride to utter the word.

I turned slowly, and zoomed him with the
laser beam eyes again.

"Miss... Parker," he began, emerging from
behind his desk. "Your friend is right. We welcome information from
citizens which might help us solve a crime."

Akito looked rather pitiful. He was
struggling not to grovel.

The other officer was shifting from one foot
to the other. Akito's turn-around let him know that his own remarks
would come back to haunt him later. I kept my distance. It took a
real force of will to unclench my teeth.

"His name is Gilbert Page. He's registered at
the Westin." I turned toward the door again. "And you can damn well
find out the rest on your own."

My heart was pounding as I got back to my
car, and my hand had a hard time fitting the key into the ignition.
The tires chirped as I jammed the car into reverse.

By the time I had swung out of my parking
space, and into the traffic on Umi Street, I realized that I was in
no condition to drive. I found a shady spot in the parking lot of
the public library a block away, and pulled in.

I turned off the ignition with shaky fingers,
took a deep breath, and rested my forehead on the steering
wheel.

Smart, Charlie. Real smart.

I hate scenes. Flashes of my parents
screaming at each other bounced back at me. Why had I taken the
bait? Why hadn't I let him save face, condescend a bit, then let me
tell my story?

Because I'm quick to get defensive, I guess.
Growing up with two older brothers constantly picking on me, it
just seemed to come naturally.

I pushed the button to lower the convertible
top, and pulled my hair up to let the breeze cool the back of my
neck. Why had I shot back that last remark?

It's not smart to antagonize a cop. Now I'd
probably pissed him off, and he'd drag me in for questioning.

Well—day two of my vacation.

I closed my eyes for a couple of minutes,
forcing my mind to go blank. I was breathing better now, and
decided I couldn't let the whole day fall apart.

It wasn't yet noon. I'd go back to the hotel,
grab my beach stuff, and try to make up for lost time. That way, if
the golden dragon did decide to haul me in, at least I would have
managed one day of sunshine on the trip.

The message light on my phone was blinking
when I got in. Drake Langston, wondering if I was free for
dinner.

I left a message with Melanie at Paradise's
office that yes, I was. Things were starting to look up.

I flipped through the hangers in the closet.
Yes, the emerald green silk would do for tonight. It was a good
blend of classy and naughty. The color always looked good with my
dark auburn hair, and it brought out the green in my eyes.

I ran my fingers through my hair. Maybe I
should try to do something with it, set it or something. But, with
the humidity here, it would just be straight again in no time. I
decided not to bother. Those details out of the way, I put on my
bikini and a big shirt, and gathered sunscreen, glasses and my
book.

Between the hoard of teenagers whooping it up
at the volleyball net, and the family with three gooey-faced
shriekers, the beach lost some of its appeal. Besides, I wasn't
sure I relished the idea of more sand in the suit. Lounge chairs
and cold drinks sounded better, so I opted for the pool
instead.

There were probably two hundred people
present, whose lounge chairs circled the freeform pool like cars at
the drive-in theater. Even so, there were whole sections
unoccupied. I prefer my Tom Clancy undisturbed, so I snagged a
waiter, ordered a mai tai and pointed out a nearly empty
section.

The pool was a winding thing which circled a
little island containing more lounge chairs and a few palm trees. I
watched a hunky guy with a great set of lungs swim the whole thing
under water. He only had to come up for air three times.