Murder in Honolulu: A Skye Delaney Mystery Page 9

  Darlene put her glass on the table and looked at me. "So what is it we need to talk about? Other than the fact that the man we both married just happened to be at your house when somebody decided to kill him." Her eyes shifted distrustfully at me. "Maybe you can tell me what the hell Carter was doing there. Or am I supposed to guess?"

  I tasted the martini and took a moment to try and figure out if this woman was actually implying that I had reversed the tables and was having an affair with Carter. I would never have stooped to her level, but I let Darlene consider the possibility just a while longer, fully aware I could be looking at an accomplice to murder.

  I took a deep breath, then said levelly: "Carter hired me as a private investigator—"

  Darlene's eyes widened and she licked her lips. "Well, this ought to be interesting—"

  "Oh, it is," I assured her, and wet my throat with more drink. "He suspected you were having an affair..." I watched Carter's widow suddenly grow tense. "He wanted me to verify it. At four o'clock on the day Carter died, I was supposed to meet him at my office to tell him what I had learned in my investigation. Only he never showed up. He must have decided to meet me at my house. That's where I found him—"

  Darlene's eyes became slits. "That bastard!" After sipping her drink, she asked accusingly: "So, what were you going to tell my husband?"

  I un-crossed my legs and sat erect in the chair. Looking her in the eye, I said: "Well, for starters, that you were—are—having an affair..."

  She was silent, apparently fuming inside at the thought that I had discovered her dirty little secret. Of course, that wasn't the half of it.

  Darlene's nostrils flared. "It must have been quite a perverse thrill for you—his ex-wife—to discover that I was cheating on him just like he cheated on you."

  I sneered. "Don't flatter yourself. It was strictly business on my end—nothing more." I had the feeling she wasn't buying that, so I added: "To be perfectly honest, my marriage to Carter was over long before you came into the picture, for all intents and purposes—"

  I had managed to convince myself of that when I looked back now.

  Darlene's brows contracted as she gave me a look that wavered between uncertainty and edginess. She asked cautiously: "And so you're here to tell me what? You think because I was cheating on Carter, I had something to do with his death?"

  "The thought crossed my mind," I replied honestly.

  She set her jaw defiantly. "Well I'm sorry to disappoint you, but you're wrong—at least about my being responsible for Carter's death." She paused. "Okay, I won't deny that I was having an affair...what's the point? But that doesn't make me a murderer—" As if it made a difference, she added: "Not my own husband...the father of my daughter—"

  I went back to the "doesn't make me a murderer" part. "What does it make you?" I dared to ask, having my own ideas.

  Darlene finished off her drink in one fell swoop. "It makes me a normal, healthy woman who was damned sick and tired of being rejected by a husband who was too critical, too busy, and too womanizing!"

  Darlene caught my attention with those last two words, and she knew it. "Are you saying Carter was having an affair?"

  She peered at me. "Figure it out yourself. You're the detective and former wife. Once an asshole, always an asshole! He didn't know the meaning of the word faithful—certainly not with me, and obviously not with you. I swear, I don't even know why he and I ever got married in the first place—"

  I could think of two very good reasons. One was the thrill of the chase, which clearly wasn't that thrilling once Carter had caught and married Darlene. The other was the very real possibility that Darlene was pregnant, which would have been all the more reason for Carter to do the right thing, in his mind, and marry her.

  Then I thought of one other reason. Darlene had coined the phrase rather aptly: Once an asshole, always an asshole! But that was beside the point at the moment.

  Darlene leaned back in her chair. "His latest fling was a hula dancer. Carter was spending most of his nights and a fair share of his days with her for the past three months."

  Despite being well aware that Carter had trouble keeping his pants on, this revelation caught me completely off guard. It was as if I had expected him to treat his new wife with the respect he should have given me. But why would a zebra change his stripes with a change of scenery?

  "Sorry to shatter your illusions about Carter, if you had any left," Darlene said with a self-satisfied grin. "I accepted his faults for the sake of our child. But I'm only human with needs that he was either incapable of or unwilling to fulfill."

  "Does that include doing drugs?" I asked point-blank.

  "Excuse me?" Darlene said with a look of bewilderment.

  "My guess is crack—"

  She fixed me with hard eyes. "What the hell are you talking about?"

  I lifted two photographs from my purse. One showed her with the Hawaiian drug dealer, the other was a close-up shot of the packet he handed her.

  I passed Darlene my photographic work. "Maybe these will help jog your memory of what the hell I'm talking about—" She gazed at the prints and colored. "Look familiar?"

  She grimaced. "Where did you get these?"

  "The same place I got these—" I added to her collection the telling photos of her and her lover, Edwin Hugh Axelrod. "Remember, I'm a private investigator. I was supposed to hand these over to Carter, but someone murdered him first."

  Darlene shot to her feet and threw the pictures on the table while glaring at me. "You had no right!"

  A natural reaction, I thought. Was it defensive? Or apprehensive?

  "I was only doing my job," I informed her with a touch of regret, as if I'd done something wrong in exposing her secrets. "Did Carter know about the drugs?" I had to ask, partly out of curiosity, but more as a possible motive for his death. "Maybe your drug dealer friend freaked out after Carter confronted him or something."

  She licked her lips nervously. "Kalolo had no reason to kill Carter. He didn't know we were married and Carter never knew about Kalolo or..." Darlene hesitated while favoring me warily. "Should I have a lawyer here, or what? I mean I wouldn't want anything I say to you to get back to your cop friends. Or is that what this is all about? You're just here to set me up."

  "I'm not here on behalf of the police," I promised her. Not that they were too far behind me in trying to connect her to Carter's death, I thought. "I work for and by myself." I chose to forget for the time being that Ridge was heading the investigation into Carter's murder, making us unofficial partners in this case. "My only interest is in finding out who might have killed Carter, and why. Anything else you tell me won't leave this room."

  Darlene flashed her blues eyes at me for a moment or two of, no doubt, reluctance, fear, anger, maybe even betrayal—before seeming to decide it was better to tell me than my so-called cop friends. She made herself another drink without offering me one this time, and sat back down.

  "I've been using cocaine recreationally for a couple of years," Darlene admitted. "Ironically, I was introduced to the stuff at a party Carter took me to—" She put the glass to her lips. "He was too damned busy doing whatever with whomever to notice. Kalolo—the guy in the picture—is just someone I met at a club. He knows me only by my middle name. Amber." She wrinkled her nose. "He isn't a big time drug dealer or anything. If I need something, he knows where to get it. We only meet maybe once a month—"

  That's one time too many, I thought. I wanted to tell Amber that, in light of her obvious alcohol and drug abuse, she might consider entering a treatment program. But I decided it wasn't my place to tell her. Besides that could be the least of the troubles she faced.

  Assuming Kalolo was not involved in Carter's death, it still left Darlene's attorney-lover as a suspect, which I relayed to her.

  "Edwin couldn't have killed Carter," Darlene was quick to come to his defense. "Yes, we've been having an affair, but we were both married. Neither of us wanted anything more than
sex—" Her eyes met mine. "Carter may have suspected, but he never had any proof..." She rubbed her nose and sighed heavily. "Whatever you think of me, you've got to believe that, in spite of our screwed up marriage, I never wanted Carter dead."

  Her argument was convincing, if not altogether airtight. It was too soon to eliminate suspects—especially one who, on the surface, seemed to have the most to gain by her husband's death.

  "Someone obviously did," I told her with a catch to my voice. "You have any ideas who that could be?"

  She ran a hand through her hair. "As I told the police, Carter kept his professional and personal life totally separate. He was not the ex-prosecutor or the sharp businessman in our relationship." She took another sip of her martini. "I honestly don't know who would want to kill him..."

  Perhaps, I thought guardedly, watching her eyes watch me. But Ollie had taken a piece of someone and I couldn't help but think that Darlene knew more than she was letting on.

  "Did you know Carter's blood type was AB negative?" I asked curiously.

  "Yes," she said coolly. "Why?"

  "My dog bit someone with that blood type. Only it wasn't Carter."

  Darlene shrugged. "I don't know what to tell you. I don't make a habit of asking people their blood type. And, in case you're wondering, I'm O positive—"

  Looks like you're off the hook on that one, I thought, knowing that the victim of Ollie's bite was an unknown male. But it still doesn't let you off the hook completely. Not till some missing pieces of your puzzle fall neatly into place.

  "That wasn't exactly on my mind," I told her truthfully. "But it's something the police may want to know, just for the record."

  The phone rang twice before stopping. Momentarily, Elberta entered the study.

  "Your attorney's on the line," she informed Darlene, and eyed me sternly. "Do you want me to tell him you'll call back?"

  "That's not necessary," I answered for Darlene, wondering if her attorney was Edwin Axelrod, the same man she was sleeping with. I got to my feet. "It's time for me to go home and let my dog out for some fresh air. He just hasn't been himself lately since witnessing Carter's death—" If Darlene was involved, I thought, that just might shake her up a bit.

  "It's better that your dog saw it, believe me," Darlene said as if she could vouch for this. "How frightening would that have been if you or I saw Carter murdered?"

  "Pretty frightening," I admitted, though feeling no less sorry that Ollie had been there to see it. Except for the fact that he'd probably taken a chunk out of the probable killer, which would ultimately lead to the person's arrest.

  Darlene walked me to the door. "My daughter just started piano lessons," Darlene said. "I was never any good with musical instruments, but she really seems to like it." Her face became downcast. "I'm seriously contemplating having Ivy stay with relatives until this thing blows over. It's really been terrible for her. She keeps asking me when is her daddy coming back. She doesn't understand that he isn't—"

  I did, only too well.

  * * *

  Ollie wasted no time scampering out into the backyard. Though the vet had given Ollie a clean bill of health, I had a feeling he would never be at peace until Carter's killer was apprehended.

  That went double for me.

  "Ollie," I called out to him after he chased the Frisbee to the end of the fenced-in yard. He quickly brought it back to me. "What would I ever do without you, boy?" I hoped I didn't have to find out anytime soon.

  While Ollie playfully licked my face, I told him: "You may be the only one who can identify Carter's killer." Once a dog had that blood scent in his nostrils, he would never forget it. "If only I could take you inside and out of every damned house in the city to snuff out a murderer—"

  Later that evening I paid a visit to my neighbors, hoping they might have seen someone or heard something. Fat chance. One of my neighbors was an eighty-five-year-old woman whose sight and hearing had deteriorated to the point that her daughter wanted to put her in a nursing home. A younger couple just down the street claimed they were too busy fighting with each other to have noticed that a man was killed practically in plain view of their residence, were it not for the palm trees.

  One neighbor thought she might have seen someone lurking around my house, but she couldn't remember if it was before or after Carter's death. Then she decided that maybe the whole thing had just been in her head.

  What I was left with was the undeniable fact that at least one person had managed to break into my house without the alarm sounding, murder Carter, then put his body into the tub—all without being noticed, or leaving behind any clues to point the finger in their direction. Except for one. A very rare blood type...

  It occurred to me that Carter could have actually come to my house with his killer, unaware that his life was about to end...and, as such, not feel he would need to defend himself. Not until it was too late.

  That night I put my thoughts down in my computer as I normally did for any investigation, detailing everything I had so far and what was missing. It read like a chronicle of frustration, question marks, helplessness, and the real feeling that there was no end in sight in getting to the bottom of Carter Delaney's untimely death.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The funeral took place on what felt like the hottest day of the year in Honolulu. It seemed as if half the city's dignitaries and business leaders were present, along with a healthy dose of representatives from law enforcement, to pay their respects. As a former prosecutor and self-made success story, Carter Delaney had obviously made a lot of friends.

  And likely just as many enemies, I thought.

  The widow was dressed in traditional black and gave every indication that she was distraught. Beside her was Carter's daughter, Ivy, who probably would suffer the most in the long run in being denied a father as she came of age and beyond. I stood next to Ridge somewhere in the middle of the rows of mourners. Not being invited to take a spot amongst family members was a bit dampening, but actually preferable. After all, it was senseless to have Carter's first and second wives standing side by side like we were some big, happy family, which clearly wasn't the case.

  Ridge, whose new partner was scouting the area for a possible brazen appearance by Carter's killer, whispered in my ear: "If the widow played any part in your ex's death, it won't be easy to prove. Witnesses at a popular spa back up her claims of being there at the time the medical examiner says Delaney was killed." I could feel Ridge's warm breath on my cheek as I took in his words, which were more of a relief than disappointment. "The boyfriend's alibi is even more solid," he said. "Edwin Axelrod was in San Francisco on business the day Delaney checked out. Looks like we might be barking up the wrong tree on those two, no pun intended—"

  That was both good and bad news, I thought. The good news was a love triangle may not have cost Carter his life after all. The bad news was it went against my gut feeling that Carter hiring me to prove his wife was being unfaithful had in some way, shape, or form figured into his death. I still wasn't fully convinced that Darlene Delaney was free and clear as far as playing a role—directly or indirectly—in Carter's demise was concerned. Alibis and corroboration had strange ways of being manipulated and arranged by people who wanted to cover their asses.

  "Where do we go from here?" I whispered to Ridge.

  "How about my place," he said suggestively. "I'll ditch Kawakami and meet you there—"

  I elbowed him in the side and watched him wince deservedly. "I hardly think this is the time or place," I said under my breath. "I'm talking about the case—"

  Ridge appeared to regret his weak attempt at seduction. Finally, he said: "Who the hell knows? Right now it's anybody's guess who murdered Delaney. We're taking the investigation one step at a time."

  Knowing Carter, I honestly think he felt he would live forever. Or at least long enough to go gray, white, then bald, before spending his days on a chaise lounge reading the classics, and lying on the beach. However, fa
te had intervened. The thought bothered me, especially when I had serious reservations that his death was set in stone. Whoever had murdered Carter was not God, but a cold-blooded assassin.

  "If only Carter hadn't gone to my house," I muttered lamentably to Ridge. Even then, it was becoming obvious to me that Carter had been targeted for execution whether he had gone to my house or not.

  I honed in on the pastor, a heavyset man with thinning gray hair and a resonant voice that seemed made for such occasions.

  "...Carter Delaney will be sorely missed. Not just as a public servant and a business leader in our community, but as a husband and father. Darlene and Ivy Delaney face the very difficult task of having to rebuild their lives. But, God willing, and with our help, they will do just that—even as Carter watches over them from above..."

  In that moment, I was grateful that my life had already been rebuilt since Carter and I split up. But that still hadn't taken away my own unexpected feeling of loss.

  My eyes wandered about the cemetery until they latched on Detective Kawakami. He appeared to be eyeing everyone suspiciously. I knew him from my days on the force. We actually went out on a date once, but I quickly realized he wasn't my type. He didn't necessarily agree, but never argued the point.

  Other familiar faces were present, including that reporter who had gotten in my face on the day Carter died. Not far away was Edwin Axelrod. I wondered if the man had shown up to pay his last respects or to move in on the widow now that Carter was conveniently out of the way.

  Farther away from the crowd was a man who looked very much like Darlene's drug dealer associate, Kalolo—the one who supposedly never knew her as Mrs. Carter Delaney. So what the hell was he doing here? I didn't like what I was thinking.

  My eyes left him for a moment to scan the faces and profiles of other mourners. I had an eerie feeling that there was a good chance whoever was responsible for Carter's death would not be satisfied until they saw the dirt covering his casket.

  By the time I looked back to where Darlene's drug supplier was standing, he was gone.