Dead On Arrival (A Malia Fern Mystery) Page 6

  There was nothing fatherly about the look in his eyes.

  I took a deep breath — which wasn’t easy since my breathing almost stopped when he looked at me like that — and went for it. His arms curved the towel so no one else had a view, but boy did he make sure he got an eyeful. He turned his head to the side, his mirror sunglasses hiding a sly look no one else could see. To the average beach dweller, Natua appeared to be my knight in shining armor.

  “Hah…”

  My mouth was so dry, I nearly gagged on my attempted laugh, then figured I was better off keeping quiet, since I couldn’t trust myself not to blurt out breathlessly, “Take me now, big boy,” as his arms enveloped me. I craned my head back to meet his gaze, now openly directed toward me. Hunger. Pure unadulterated need reflected in his sunglasses.

  Unfortunately, that look was coming from the reflection of my eyes, not his. He appeared calm, cool and collected, though the pulse pounding on the side of his forehead told me otherwise.

  Once the towel was wrapped around me, he handed me my top, torn down the backside from my brush with nature and stepped back, leaving me longing for more.

  Geesh. Get a grip, I admonished myself. Moa had seen my boobs, but Moa…wasn’t Natua.

  Aw, hua.

  The familiarity between us was growing. A closeness that was bringing me one step nearer to his bed, which was probably not going to happen.

  Officer Natua picked up my board and held it in front of him. I wasn’t going to speculate why he held it at his waist, covering the front of his uniform pants.

  Nope, not going there. I can say I was a little jealous of Paradise, though.

  He grabbed his socks and boots, and we walked in silence toward my car, parked under the trees. He was the first to speak, once he finished putting my board in the MINI Cooper’s backseat. The sun’s last golden glow burst through the trees and across the ocean surface, making Officer Natua’s expression dark and unreadable as he faced me.

  “A young woman told me there was a girl surfing topless. I never dreamed it would be you.”

  “Oh, please. Who would say…?” I stopped as my anger started to form. Only one person would say that. “Was she a surfer?”

  “Yeah, long blonde hair, large…..” he cleared his throat. I knew what he was going to say before he realized he shouldn’t. Only guys who considered me a friend would talk so casually about another woman’s attributes, which meant Natua didn’t see me in the same way I saw him. I swallowed the hurt and filled in his sentence for him, just to prove it didn’t bother me.

  “Boobs?”

  “I was going to say board, but yeah, now that I think about it, she did have pretty large breasts.”

  The slightest rise of his left eyebrow and the quirk of the corner of his mouth were the only signs he was teasing about Windy Trapp’s double D cup boobs. Then again, I didn’t know him very well. Maybe he was enjoying the memory of her.

  “Was her name Windy?” I couldn’t hide the animosity in my voice. It had to be her. She’s a walking billboard for a boob job. Of course, her ass was already huge pre-boob surgery, so now the guys just thought of her as curvaceous. In my book — the book I reserved just for Windy — it meant something entirely not-so-nice to say.

  Natua recognized he’d pushed a button and decided to take advantage of the situation. His face turned innocent. “I believe she said her name was Windy when she handed me your top. She thought a little girl lost it. Wait, I’ve got her number here somewhere.”

  While he dug through his pockets for her number, I gritted my teeth and held my breath as I called up the image of the Tiki God of Happiness in my mind. It was better than ripping off Windy’s head and shoving it down her throat. For that deed, I’d need to concentrate on the Tiki God of Strength.

  I began to wonder if Natua was one of those guys who wanted to see women fight over him. Not going to happen, brah.

  “Forget the number. I don’t think it was meant for me.”

  “Do you know her?”

  Did I know her? Only my entire life. Best friends as kids, until she graduated past the training bra, and by that I mean a whole different universe past a training bra. Her taunts about my sports bra being too big for my itty-bitty boobies destroyed our friendship. She’d been flaunting her rack in my face ever since and when she got the boob job...well, from there it just got worse.

  Again, I thought of the Tiki God of Happiness, unable to respond to Natua’s question during my meditation.

  “Did you find out anything about our victim?” Luckily, Natua wasn’t as brainless as I’d started to think and changed the subject.

  “Yeah, Peter Johnson was at The Garden of the Gods one morning last week meeting two guys. One of the guys looked like a professional wrestler, with long black hair in a ponytail down to his waist and a goatee. Probably a local. The other was a mainlander. Brown hair with a fuller goatee and a predominantly red tattoo on his forearm.”

  “That sounds like his business partner, Mr. Raines.”

  I nodded and then it suddenly occurred to me. Natua worked midnights but was standing on the beach in uniform before sunset, shaded by the Ironwood trees, aptly named for their bark that appeared as colorful as aged iron with a patina finish. “What are you doing here so early? Don’t you work dogwatch?”

  “They were short-handed so I’m working a double. Besides, your brother wanted to talk to me.”

  My stomach flipped but I kept my tone casual. “Did John learn anything about the cause of death?”

  “That would be privileged information for the investigators on this case, not a part-time surf instructor who works for a private investigator.” His voice was business-like.

  Mine was pissed. “That’s bullshit. You wouldn’t have a case if it weren’t for me. You shared with me this morning. What’s changed?”

  The towel slipped a little as I got excited and started moving my arms around. Although I couldn’t see his eyes, I knew he was staring at the top of my exposed breasts. My mouth clamped shut and I turned for my car.

  “Is there something you’re not telling me?” His tone sounded like we should be sitting in an interrogation room.

  In the best innocent, Southern belle voice I could muster, I responded, “Now offisuh. I would ne’vah hold back information. Y’all such big, strong lawmen. Someone like lil’ ‘ol helpless me could ne’vah solve a murdah.”

  Natua pulled off his sunglasses, his eyes narrowing. Well, screw him — and John both. Let them find out on their own about the hand-to-hand exchange between the victim and the other two guys. Let them find out that Mutt somehow knew the dead guy on sight. Let them just try to solve this murder without me.

  I grabbed a t-shirt out of the back seat of my car, slid it over my head and reached for my keys. Then I tossed the towel on Natua’s patrol car, turned on a dime, and with sand spitting up behind me, left the beach without a backward glance.

  Three could play this game.

  Chapter Nine

  After leaving the tree-lined beach, I called my little brother Kionni several times hoping he could add to the story about the construction site. I wasn’t sure where he was working, but I thought maybe he’d heard some gossip through the construction workers’ network. Unfortunately, all I got was his annoying voicemail. No doubt he was out for the night and wasn’t about to answer his sister’s phone call.

  Determined to investigate a murder case I had no clue how to solve, of a man I’d never met, should have made me wonder what the hell was wrong with me. Instead, the more I learned, the more connected I felt to the case. As if a grand plan was in the works, and I had no control over it.

  Not one to dwell on the meaning of life, or the choices we make that alter our destiny (remember I’m just taking a break before my senior year of college), I jumped into the case with both feet. Back in the peace and quiet of my apartment, I documented everything I knew on my laptop. When my (yes, I know) amateur reports were complete, I wrote the names of th
e major players on the dry-erase board that normally lived a blank existence on my kitchen wall. Now, it looked a bit like a family tree. Peter Johnson was the trunk, his wife and son branched to the left, his business partner with the dragon tattoo sprouted to the right and the location of his body became the roots.

  Then on another side of the board I started a separate list of individuals who may or may not play a role — kind of like a surrounding forest. The big wrestler definitely hit the top of the list and then… I tapped the marker on the board, hesitating. As much as I didn’t want to write the name, Mutt needed to join the ranks of loose ends. I scrawled his name and felt guilty for even thinking someone I knew could be involved in something this bad.

  I’m not sure how long I stared at the stick tree on the board before sitting down on my couch and getting lost in the words. I laid my head down on the arm and before I knew it, dreams of hooking up with Natua filled my mind and body with desire. The scene was hot, and sexy as hell. Sun setting on the beach, clothes flying, muscles glowing and his tongue doing unimaginable things…until I grabbed his sculpted bicep to pull him closer. But what should have been rock-hard muscle turned out to be squishy flesh ripping from his body.

  I shot off the couch, panting, and shaking my hands free of the goo as I looked around for the missing appendage. Nothing.

  Hua.

  My body itched, repeating the creepy crawly attack of the day before. The only good thing — my stomach remained intact. Without hesitation, I shook my mind clear of Natua, headed straight for the bathroom and took a fast, coldish shower, then for the second time in less than 24 hours, applied my grandmother’s ancestral lotion.

  To my disappointment, the sun still wasn’t up, but there was no way I was going back to sleep. I put on my bathing suit, covered it with a tank top and shorts, and sat down to put on my running shoes. Pulling my hair back in its usual ponytail, I left my small apartment above the now quiet office of Private Kaua’EYE’s Investigations.

  I’d gotten the job as a Runner (not a go-fer) for the business after moving in. Turned out my landlord owns Private Kaua’EYES, and his people did a background check on me before he offered the lease. My daily contact with the employees coming and going in the parking lot turned into friendship and a beer here and there with the lead investigator, named Lani.

  One particularly drunk night, I complained about the possibility of having to move back home. A large surf company had moved in next to our stand, making Aaron’s Surf Zone ragtag group nearly invisible with their flashy boards, hot guys and bikini babes. Business had dropped so dramatically that I was going to have to make some serious changes in my life.

  Lani graciously stepped in and said I could help her with deliveries, police reports, and other odds and ends. Helping her out began a natural progression to assisting the other detectives when they got in a pinch, and the money slowly but surely became a steady supplement that kept me afloat. So my little studio, with its private entrance and a view of Koloa’s small, quaint downtown, had saved my sanity. The last thing I was ready to do was decide on a real career. I wasn’t even sure about finishing my degree.

  Normally, I’d hop in my car and drive to the beach to run, but after yesterday and the ever present dream of Natua’s detached arm, I decided to risk the roads.

  I hit the pavement and all my troubled thoughts disappeared. I didn’t love my daily run, but it always took my mind off everything else. And today, I definitely needed that. My feet created a steady beat on the pavement, lulling me into a steady rhythm. The sights, scents and sounds of waving Eucalyptus trees and grasses filled my senses and soothed my mind. All was peacefully quiet.

  The hum of a car engine behind me broke my reverie. With no flashlight to warn of my existence, I ran off into the grass to avoid being hit as headlights silhouetted my body. I could see my shadowed form jogging as I glanced back a couple times, aware of the vehicle slowing down. The bright glare of the headlights made it difficult to see anything until the car drew closer, and I could make out the outline of a Jeep.

  My nerves now skittering like my uneven steps, I wondered if I should give up jogging all together or at least take my dad’s advice — get a treadmill or join a gym. Maybe then I could avoid dead bodies on the beach and creeps on the road.

  The Jeep pulled up next to me, permanently sealing my decision to get a treadmill if I actually made it out of this encounter alive. It slowed to match my pace as my pulse attempted to outrun us both, and I warily tried to see the occupant. As if reading my thoughts, the driver turned on the interior lights of the vehicle.

  “Baby Doll, it’s dangerous to be driving on the road at this hour, let along running it.”

  Shit. I stumbled.

  There was no doubt in my mind as to the identity of the man lecturing me. It was Mutt’s ‘pro-wrestler’ staring at me from the driver’s seat. His body was so large, I was pretty sure if the canvas roof had been attached, he would have had his head bent forward in an awkward position. His hands made the steering wheel look like a child-size toy in his grasp, and his chest sat wider than the seat could accommodate. His hair, longer than mine, was held back in a ponytail that disappeared behind his back. I couldn’t see his legs, but if they were anything like the rest of him, they had to be tree trunks.

  My heart stopped. Slammed into an invisible wall. I couldn’t breathe. My rhythm — lost.

  “Ayyy!” I yelped as I tripped over some imaginary tree root and found myself eating grass, seasoned with dirt.

  The Jeep stopped and before I could get up, the pro-wrestling dope dealer was standing above me. Tilting my head, I looked up at his Red Dirt cargo shorts and gray tank top. I couldn’t crane my head back far enough to see his face. Then he picked me up under my armpits, no doubt to break me in half for asking too many questions.

  No longer in shock, my blood pounded in my ears. The headlights of his vehicle illuminated his frame but kept his face hidden from my view as he turned into the light to get a better look at me. My feet dangled a couple feet above the ground, adding to my sense of alarm.

  I wasn’t ready to die.

  I started fighting the dope-dealing killer, refused to allow him to kill me and throw me to the fishes. I felt like a two year old throwing a tantrum in his arms as he held me out in front of him, my feet and arms swinging wildly. A couple times, I connected with his head and body, but not once did he flinch.

  I was in deep shit.

  I’m not sure how long I struggled, but it was long enough for exhaustion to set in. I’d fought for my life…and lost. My kicking and squirming came to an abrupt stop, but my chest continued to heave. I hung limp in his hands, waiting for the fatal blow.

  “Are you done, because I don’t want to set you down if you’re not?” His voice sounded…cheerful?

  Then he turned, revealing the biggest, bluest eyes lined with long curly lashes most women would kill to possess. As startling as it was to see blue eyes in his native face, I was caught more off guard by the realization that there wasn’t a mean bone in this guy’s body. Yes, he was big enough to break me in half, but he wouldn’t. He had happy eyes to match his voice, and a crooked smile with a dimple that came off sexy as hell.

  “Yeah…” panting, I tried to finish my sentence, “…I’m done.” was all I could manage.

  Slowly, he set me down on the ground and began brushing bits of dirt out of the strands of hair escaping my ponytail. There was no way he was a dope dealer. Dope dealers don’t pick people off the ground, they put them in the ground.

  “Thanks…” I felt like I should know his name, like I’d known him for a lifetime. Nevertheless, I didn’t know him at all, which left me feeling a little confused.

  “Alapai. Alapai Lincoln. My friends call me Pai.”

  In the Hawaiian language, Alapai means Elf Council. Pai means to encourage, rouse, hold up, exalt. As a culture, we choose the names of our children with great care for their meaning. Did Alapai’s family believe in the Mene
hune, the mythical elfin people of Hawai’i?

  I don’t normally give my name to strangers, but Pai exuded faith in humanity and somehow, I wanted to return that faith. Why, I had no idea, I was still suffering from the shock of how quickly my fear turned into trust.

  “I’m Malia…Fern,” I nearly gasped. I’m not sure the delay in catching my breath was from my little fit or from his pure male scent blending in with the eucalyptus to create an incredible aphrodisiac. My hand shook as I held it out.

  He engulfed it with an intimate, two-handed grasp.

  “Well, Malia, I’m sorry I distracted you and caused you to trip.”

  “No, really. Thanks for stopping to help me. Can I…can I buy you a cup of coffee?” There was no way I was going to let our chance encounter go to waste. This man was a lead that I needed to follow. He might have been the last person to see Peter Johnson alive.

  “I’m on my way to work, but I’ll take a rain check.”

  He reached for his wallet and pulled out a business card. The headlights clearly lit up the bold script of Lincoln Security Firm, 66 Fern Rd. Kailua-Kona, HI (808) 555-1325. His cell phone number was listed below the office number.

  He was from the Big Island. The name of the street where his business was situated did not escape my notice. If he recognized the irony of my last name being the same as the street location for his security company, he didn’t comment.

  “I’m opening an office on Kaua’i so I’m staying with a friend. Call my cell and we’ll have that cup of Kona.”

  Before I could respond, another car turned down the road. The roar of the engine obvious as the car sped up. Just when I began to worry about another dangerous encounter, red and blue lights ricocheted off the foliage and a police car pulled up behind Pai’s Jeep.

  I knew it was him, before I actually saw him. Who else would it be, other than the guy who had a knack for showing up at the most inopportune times?

  Son of a…

  Officer Natua got out of the car with his body stiff and his chest puffed up like a silverback gorilla. His nightstick was cocked close to his side, as if he was going to beat the shit out of someone. I glanced at Pai thinking he’d get humor out of this situation, but those happy eyes, weren’t so happy when they looked at Natua. In fact, they looked pretty damn mean.