Murder in Honolulu: A Skye Delaney Mystery Page 4

  Ridge drank more beer and studied me thoughtfully. "Whatever happened to the woman who just two days ago wouldn't touch this case with a twelve foot pole?"

  I fixed him with a narrow gaze. "Do I need to remind you who talked me into taking the case?" Or at least he helped push me in that direction, I thought.

  He smirked. "I just hope my big mouth doesn't get you in over your head. Looks like Delaney may end up with a hell of a lot more than he bargained for."

  I put the mug to my lips, spilling beer down my chin, and concluded painfully: "Most clients do."

  The only real question in my mind was just how much more dirt was there to find concerning Darlene Delaney? And was Carter prepared to deal with the fallout?

  * * *

  I got up at the crack of dawn for my morning run with Ollie. For some reason, he seemed more out of it than me. I half-expected him to call it quits about halfway through and get his ass back home, but he managed to keep pace with me.

  When we returned home, I noticed my housekeeper's dark blue Chevy Malibu in the driveway. Natsuko Sasaki was a twenty-five-year-old Japanese graduate student with bold sable eyes and a stylish black bob. She was petite, sassy, sarcastic, and often too damn opinionated for her own good. She also had a strong anti-male philosophy in life, but insisted that it had nothing to do with her sexuality. Who was I to argue with that?

  Natsuko cleaned my house once a week after I convinced myself that I had neither the time nor desire to keep up with my housework, much less pet projects. She also happened to be great with Ollie, which in itself made my life a whole lot easier.

  We found Natsuko in the kitchen where she had managed to get rid of last night's dirty dishes by way of the dishwasher, and had actually fixed breakfast.

  "Aloha kakahiaka," she said.

  "Hey," I responded.

  Ollie gave her his unique brand of good morning by jumping up on her, nearly knocking Natsuko down. She recovered nicely, maintaining her balance by grabbing the counter.

  "Ollie, I missed you too," she claimed. "I made some toast and scrambled eggs to go with orange juice and coffee. That all right?" She regarded me with uncertainty.

  In fact, I wasn't too big on egg yolks these days and their cholesterol, preferring to use only the egg whites for cooking. But I wasn't in the mood to spoil Natsuko's good intentions. Besides, my nearly empty stomach was ready for just about anything.

  I grabbed a piece of toast, bit into it, and said with a smile: "Thanks, Natsuko. It's great."

  She gave me a toothy grin and turned to Ollie. "I didn't forget about you either, boy—" She led him to his bowl that was filled with tasty looking dog biscuits.

  "I just signed up for a course in self-defense," Natsuko said in the breakfast nook where she had only black coffee. "One can never be too careful these days."

  I forked some scrambled eggs into my mouth. "I think a self-defense course is a good idea," I told her while trying to imagine Natsuko on the attack. "Let me know how it goes..."

  In the police academy, I learned my fair share about self-defense strategies. Even took up boxing a few years ago, mainly as a way to increase my upper body strength. Although I'd like to think I could kick anyone's ass who messed with me, the reality was that most confrontations were not about hand-to-hand combat, but who had the more powerful handgun. Nine times out of ten, the thugs seem to be better equipped these days, which was a problem for everyone. Including Natsuko if she happened to encounter the wrong assailant.

  I took a shower and dressed before stepping into some comfortable slip-ons. I had just tied my hair back when Natsuko walked into the bedroom. She was holding a dust rag that didn't look particularly dusty.

  "So what are you working on these days?" she inquired, moseying over to the window. "Anything interesting?" Her eyes bulged with fascination while she casually ran the rag across the faux wood blinds.

  "Not really," I said and added unenthusiastically: "Just your standard cheating wife case—" There certainly was no need to go into the details concerning my ex and his drug using wife. As it was, I had no evidence yet that she was cheating.

  "Not the worst thing that could happen," Natsuko said.

  I agreed, were Darlene's actions confined to that. Nevertheless, having been the victim of a cheater, it still left a bad taste in my mouth. "I can think of a lot better things to do with your time," I told her.

  Natsuko's face flushed. "It's not that I believe in adultery, but men have been getting away with it for years. Maybe it's time we put the shoe on the other foot—"

  I frowned and said: "Just who do you think the vast majority of men have been, as you say, getting away with it for years with?"

  She looked stumped. "So women can be bitches just like men can be bastards," she conceded. "No one ever said we were perfect."

  "Far from it," I admitted, putting on some lip gloss. "That doesn't mean we can't try to be." I grabbed my purse, and told Natsuko: "I've got to go. Don't forget to lock up when you leave—"

  "No problem," I heard her say as I headed out the door, all the while thinking about Darlene Delaney and the trouble she appeared to be in.

  * * *

  Another day, another two grand, I thought while staking out Carter's impressive estate. Once again, Darlene left home bright and early, whizzing by as if it was her last day on earth and time was of the essence. And, once more, she was dressed to kill, figuratively speaking, in what could only be described as provocative designer clothing. Only this time Ivy was not with her.

  I followed Darlene to a hair salon on Dillingham Boulevard, where she emerged an hour later with a new look. Her hair was shorter, lighter, and curlier. I liked the old look better. But it was doubtful my opinion would count for much. I found myself wondering if Carter's opinion would matter to her.

  Darlene went from the hair salon to a motel on Nahua Street called Palm Tree Lodge. There were a few palm trees on the property, as if strictly for effect. Something told me that Darlene had not come there to meet Carter. But who? Perhaps the drug dealer she'd met the day before at the park.

  I eased into a parking spot inconspicuously on the other side of the lot. I'd barely noticed the shiny black Mercedes that Darlene had parked next to. I was too busy watching her take one more look at the new hairdo, put on a fresh coat of lipstick, and get out of the car.

  She sauntered to a first floor room where the door opened before she could knock. A man greeted her. Definitely not the drug dealer from the park—or Carter. This man looked to be in his early to mid forties, and was tall and well built with thick graying hair. He was wearing a kimono style robe and apparently nothing else.

  Through the telephoto zoom lens of my camera, I snapped pictures as the man in question greeted Darlene with a big, juicy kiss. She was more than reciprocal as she kicked the door shut. So much for the freebies! Not that I hadn't already seen enough to earn my pay. Carter's suspicions about the wife were right on the money. Darlene had a lover.

  In that moment, I actually felt sorry for Carter. If the truth be told, I suppose part of me had hoped his qualms were not unfounded. Perhaps I wanted to make him feel renewed guilt for cheating on me, but not the pain of being cheated on. None of that seemed to matter now. Only the hard reality that Darlene Delaney was seeing another man and very likely doing drugs at the same time, if not the same place.

  An hour or so later, the two emerged from the room. He had ditched the robe in favor of a dark suit. They barely exchanged words before she went to her BMW and he to the Mercedes. I was left to wonder what he did with his time when he wasn't bedding Carter's wife, given that the man could obviously afford to drive in style.

  I realized that I was perhaps overstepping my bounds in speculating on the man's net worth and source of income. My only interest here was to confirm that Darlene was having an affair. She was. That should have been the end of it.

  But, knowing Carter, he'd want more than merely confirmation. I needed to find out who the lover was.
I took down his license plate number as Darlene left the lot. He drove off in the opposite direction, as though their worlds together began and ended at cheap motels. I followed him while dialing Ridge at work on my cell phone, putting it on speaker.

  "Detective Larsen—" his voice boomed.

  "Hi, Ridge—" I said in the cozy tone I used whenever I needed a favor. "Got a minute?"

  "Barely..." he said. "What's up?"

  "I need you to run a make on a license plate." I cursed silently as I pressed on the brake at a red light while the Mercedes disappeared down the street.

  "Let's have it," Ridge said. "Just remember, you owe me one."

  "Just one?" I joked. "I'm sure a repayment plan can be worked out to your satisfaction, Detective Larsen—"

  "Yeah, I'm sure it can, and I plan to hold you to it," he replied.

  I could only imagine what he might have in mind. "The plate is EHA 849."

  "Okay, hold on," Ridge said. "The car is registered to Edwin Hugh Axelrod of 813 Onaha Street," he informed me in short order.

  "Axelrod..." The name sounded familiar. And with good reason.

  "He's a criminal attorney," Ridge said, filling in the blanks. "The man defends some of the city's low life elite who can afford the best that money can buy, even if the money is soiled."

  He was also having an affair with the wife of a former prosecutor and current success story in town who happened to be my ex-husband, I thought. Was it a coincidence? Or was there something more to it?

  This was something Carter would have to sort out himself, along with his wife's apparent drug use.

  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 reside
nce. 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.