Paradise, Passion, Murder Page 4

  Val harrumphed. “My husband said you were never good enough to make the top tier.”

  Having been the target of Val’s acid tongue already, I knew it was an uncomfortable place to be. But, seeing Totally squirm under her level gaze made me want to kiss her.

  He was still fuming when I said, “Can’t say as I ever heard of you, TC. Of course, I was never much of a golf fan myself.”

  TC looked like he might pop his cork at any moment. Magda, on the other hand, was holding back a smile. Before her husband could recover, and before Magda got herself into trouble by saying something she’d regret after the reinforcements were gone, I put TC on the spot with a question about whether he’d heard the argument.

  “There wasn’t any argument,” he growled. “That’s the other thing about Conchita, she makes things up to get attention. Me, I don’t have to do that. Right, Maggie? Right. See? There was no argument.”

  Magda hesitated. “I don’t recall hearing one.”

  I saw Val stiffen. She grimaced when I glanced at her. “If you’ll excuse me.” She stormed away, shaking her head.

  This whole thing made no sense. Why would Conchita have made up the story? And why would TC call her a liar? Unless he had something to hide. “Where were you when this supposed argument took place?”

  “How the hell should I know? If it didn’t take place, how could I tell you where I was?”

  Magda shifted from one foot to the other, obviously uncomfortable with this entire discussion. TC’s version of the events made it one in favor of an argument, one opposed. It was easy to see how someone could miss the loud voices, but to call Conchita a liar about it? Something was wrong with the whole scenario. I also had the impression that Magda was trapped in a marriage with a man who regarded her as he did everyone else—subservient. In his eyes, TC was the most important person in the room. I’d play to his need. Maybe he’d give something away.

  “What you’re telling me could be critical to solving this case, TC. You could be the man who has the information. What else do you know?”

  “Well, that’s more like it. That Ramon guy was kinda queer, don’t you think?”

  “Are you saying he was gay?”

  “I knew a couple of their kind on the tour. He didn’t strike me as the type. That’s not what I meant. He was a queer duck. Stayed all to himself during the day. Antisocial, if you ask me.”

  At each stop, TC had latched onto a new victim to talk about sports. Football, baseball, pro, amateur, it made no difference. TC was a walking encyclopedia. Oddly enough, I hadn't heard him discuss golf once. Yes, he’d bragged about his “days on the tour,” but he did it in the context of a bait-and-switch comparison to a different sport. It always went something like, “When I was on the tour, we always respected people’s property. Nothing like these guys in pro football today. Did you see…” Then, he’d venture into a discussion of winners and losers, scores and strategies.

  Ramon, on the other hand, had been quiet. A loner. Not antisocial in my opinion, but how would someone who craved the spotlight interpret his behavior?

  “Did Ramon say anything to you, TC? I know you tried to talk to him this morning.”

  “Yeah, yeah, he was all excited over getting to visit Lindbergh’s grave. He said it was going to be his coming out.”

  My pulse quickened at that line. Did it mean what I thought? Had this been a hate crime, a spur of the moment flash of anger triggered by Ramon revealing his innermost desires? But, why do that on a tour with twelve strangers? And what would that have to do with Lindbergh?

  I glanced at Magda. “Did you hear him say that, too?”

  She nodded. “I was there.”

  “C’mon, Maggie, let’s let McKenna finish up his investigation. Remember what I said. We’re counting on you to make this right.” His voice took on a sinister tone. “Conchita and me are going to be watching.”

  He started to grab Magda’s hand, but she pulled her arm away. “That one hurts, honey. I’m coming.”

  Staring after them as they walked away, I couldn’t help but feel as though Totally Contemptuous might actually seek revenge if he felt disappointed.

  Marquetta

  Benni and Marquetta came to see me next. At first, Marquetta’s attention was focused on Magda, who dutifully trailed behind her husband. Marquetta shuddered, then shook her head.

  “McKenna,” Benni said, “Marquetta has something you need to hear.”

  Marquetta was one of those women to whom age had been kind. She had a full head of curly, silver-blonde hair, which she wore cut at the shoulder. Her skin was still smooth and her smile bright. “I hope you didn’t say anything to upset TC. He’ll take it out on Magda.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Because Magda is a victim of domestic abuse. I can tell.”

  Just because TC was a jerk didn’t make him abusive—although his verbal treatment of Magda treaded a fine line. “Did she say something?”

  “Not in so many words, but back in Hana, when the guy had us all squeeze the ginger flower to release the scent, Magda winced. I asked her if she was in pain and she said it was arthritis. I thought nothing of it at the time, but when she reached out for one of the bracelets, I saw bruises on her arm. I suggested she try the bracelet on and she practically burst into tears when I took her wrist. She let me push up her sleeve. Her arm was purple and black from above the wrist to the elbow. When she saw TC coming, she pulled away. I think she wants help, but doesn’t know how to ask for it.”

  “Pretty impressive diagnosis,” I said.

  In addition to perfect skin, Marquetta had the figure of a twenty-year-old, and the observational skills of a trained investigator.

  “Thanks,” she said as she unconsciously draped one of her earbuds around her neck while she continued to listen through the other.

  “What are you, a psychologist?”

  She smiled at me. “You’re sweet. Hang onto him, honey. He’s a keeper.”

  “I’m thinking about it.” Benni snickered, then they burst into laughter.

  As usual, the whole female communication thing baffled me. Of course, given the fact that one of my strengths is my perseverance—which more than one person had called obstinacy—I wasn’t about to give up so easily. “Were you a cop?”

  “No, sweetie, I was an exotic dancer. I started out on the streets when I was fifteen. I ran away in 1969 from a father who was just like TC. I come from the school of hard knocks and have seen it all. Anything you can imagine, I’ve been there. Hell, I’ve probably done it, too.” She paused, hummed a few bars of a song I didn’t recognize, then gazed at me. “Sorry, does that offend you?”

  “The humming? Not at all, you have a great voice. Very melodic.” Quite honestly, my mind was spinning as it worked to calculate Marquetta’s age. “You don’t look a day over fifty,” I muttered.

  She pulled out the remaining earbud and let it hang next to the other. Marquetta laughed, causing me to realize every time I spoke I dug my hole deeper. If I didn’t get my focus, and fast, Benni would probably leave me behind when the tour left. Time for this captain to change the ship’s course before everyone started calling me the bus bozo. I pointed at the earbuds. “What were you listening to?”

  “I love music, harmonies. This setting.” She gazed at the church, painted dark green and white. “I’ve seen so much beauty today I want to bring a hundred canvases here and paint for a year without taking a break.”

  “You’re a painter, too. I’m impressed.”

  “It’s okay, sweetie, so was TC. I made the mistake of introducing myself to him as a painter during breakfast. That seemed to get him all excited. I guess he’s got some preconceived notions about artists and their lifestyles. I’m sure as hell glad I didn’t tell him I started out as a call girl. I haven’t worked on my back in a very long time, but I’m
sure he wouldn’t know the difference.”

  I stammered, again noticing heat in my cheeks. “You, uh, don’t look like you come from the streets.”

  “Thank you.” Her smile was demure and pure. “I had a client who was very generous and helped me start my own club. I empathize with Magda’s situation. I wish there was a way to get her away from TC.”

  “I may have an idea. But first, would you answer a few questions for me?”

  “Let’s see—where was I at the time of the murder? Since none of us knows when the murder occurred, our collective ignorance is our alibi. Did I hear the scream? Yes, I was with the rest of the group. I have been with them since we got here. That includes Magda and TC, by the way. Oh, what about, did I have a reason to want to see Ramon killed? I’ve never met the poor man before, so why would I want to kill him? Anything else?”

  Marquetta had pretty much covered my entire Chief Inspector McKenna’s repertoire in thirty seconds or less. It was unnerving how easily she could throw me completely off balance. I cleared my throat. “So, uh, you sound like you’ve been interrogated by authorities before.” My cheeks felt hot the moment the words popped out of my mouth.

  She smiled. “Don’t forget those without any authority. It was an occupational hazard.”

  I cleared my throat again. “Right. I do have one more question. There supposedly was a discussion about Charles Lindbergh between Lowell and Ramon. What do you know about that?”

  “We were all there. Ramon was spouting off all these details about Lindbergh, some of which Lowell refuted. Then, Ramon really pissed Lowell off by announcing to all of us that his mother had also been married to Lindbergh. Everybody but Lowell thought it was pretty funny, but you know what? Ramon was serious. He truly believed Charles Lindbergh was his father. Personally, I’d say he’s off his rocker. Like my father in a way, but Ramon was the nonviolent kind.”

  Benni put a hand on Marquetta’s arm. “I can’t imagine what you must have gone through.”

  “The streets were better than being beaten up whenever he got drunk.”

  “After you left, did your mother stick around?” Benni asked.

  A tear formed at the corner of Marquetta’s eye. Her jaw tightened for the briefest moment. “She stuck with him until the end, which was only a few years. Now that was a twist of fate.” Marquetta’s eyes crinkled with the memory. “Of all things, my father was killed by a drunk driver. Mom got a nice settlement. That’s when she tracked me down and I helped her start her own bakery. She passed on a few years ago, just after her 84th birthday. She never missed a day of work in thirty-five years. She was the kind who loved each and every day. I think Magda has that same potential. Anyway, you said you had an idea about how to get her away from TC.”

  “It’s more like I have a way to get TC away from Magda. Let’s face it, you’re a very attractive woman and if you were to make a move on him, he might just decide he could leave Magda alone for a little bit.”

  Benni’s jaw dropped. She hissed, “No way. McKenna, are you crazy?”

  “I love it.” Marquetta flipped back a strand of hair. “He’s been eyeing me all day, anyway. This will be a chance to even the score. Count me in, but I need a backup just in case he doesn’t want to take no for an answer.”

  “I know just the person,” I said.

  Magda

  The CIA had nothing on us. We had our own little black op going down on Maui. Good grief.

  “We’ll need a code name. How about Operation Breakaway?” Benni and Marquetta stared at me as if I’d lost my last marble.

  Benni continued to stare at me. She was probably wondering how she’d hooked up with a lunatic. Marquetta, on the other hand, gave me a wink and a little salute.

  I cleared my throat. “On second thought, forget the code name. I’ll go get Jerod involved.”

  Our driver readily agreed to his role in our little venture. I think he might not have been so willing if our target had been anyone else, but TC had been a vocal thorn in Jerod’s side all day. It helped considerably when I explained that TC had seen Jerod sleeping earlier. In the end, he was very willing to help take the man down a few notches.

  Next, I went in search of Val. She was with Olivia, engaged in a heated debate about IOS vs. Android. When the women saw me, Olivia excused herself and left me alone with Val. “What’s up, McKenna?”

  “We need to get Magda away from TC so I can interview her.”

  “Good luck. That man’s an insufferable—never mind. Sorry, but I don’t want anything to do with him.”

  “Not you,” I said. “The drone. Here’s what I have in mind.”

  I described how Marquetta would attempt to lure TC away. Before TC could make a move, Jerod and I would “stumble upon” the two and break them up by telling Marquetta to get back to the van. We needed the drone to video the interaction, then swoop in if TC became difficult. I also explained that Benni had the questions for Magda and would do the interview for me. When I was done, Val regarded me with disbelief in her brown eyes.

  “You do realize you’re completely insane, right?”

  I blinked in surprise. “I was just sure you would have loved the opportunity to use the drone as a witness.”

  “I do,” she said. “What if the guy goes ballistic? You need a better backup. Something to stop him in his tracks. Here.” She reached into her giant backpack and extracted a small device.

  I pointed at what she held. “Is that what I think it is?”

  “Tasers are perfectly legal.”

  “Maybe in your state. But not here.”

  She shrugged. “I didn’t realize that when I packed it.” A sly smile appeared at the corner of her mouth. “I guarantee it will stop even a hormone-crazed maniac.”

  “Keep it. I’m not spending a year in jail because you think I need a better plan.”

  “Your choice.” She dropped the Taser into her backpack.

  Operation Breakaway kicked off a few minutes later. Marquetta swayed up to TC. Her languid movements captured his attention in seconds. Magda didn’t protest as her husband drifted away. I wondered if TC had cheated on her in the past or if she was just too afraid to complain. Either way, it was the opening we needed.

  Benni moved in immediately, her list of questions at the ready. We figured we had no more than five minutes at the most. Jerod and I shadowed Marquetta and TC, who was practically salivating on himself. Overhead, the drone shadowed our target with its all-seeing eye.

  The moment TC and Marquetta were away from the others, TC reached for her. Marquetta sidestepped and wagged a finger in his face. She kept her cool and gave him a playful laugh. “Now, now. You’re not a schoolboy, and we’re not going to hump in the woods like a pair of dogs.”

  TC’s face reddened. “That sounds good to me. You said you wanted it. I’ve seen you watching me all day.”

  “A girl still likes a little warm-up.” She pushed gently against his chest and TC stumbled backwards, his butt landing on a large boulder. “You sit there and let me do something you’ll remember for a very long time. Why don’t you unzip? It turns me on when I see a man respond.”

  TC’s efforts to drop his shorts were the stuff of TV sitcom legend. His fingers shook so violently he could barely pull down the zipper. In his haste, the zipper caught and TC had to shimmy out amidst a great deal of cursing. By the time we hit the two-minute mark, his face was fourteen shades of red, he looked like he might have a heart attack, and his shorts were bunched down around his ankles. When he started to kick them off, Marquetta stopped him by kneeling before him. She placed her hands on his knees.

  “Not yet,” she cooed. “Here comes your reward for indulging me.”

  TC looked like he might lose control of his bodily functions at any moment.

  Marquetta stood and began a slow, rhythmic dance as we crossed the three minute mark. We
needed two more.

  Hips swaying, Marquetta ran her hands down her sides. It looked like she might strip right before us. I glanced at Jerod. “Holy shit.”

  “My wife gonna kill me,” he croaked.

  I checked the timer on my phone. Marquetta’s dance had taken up another minute and a half. We were four and a half minutes into this little charade. The problem was, if this went any further, Marquetta could be in danger. Suddenly, she stepped away from TC. “If you can catch me, you can have me.”

  TC jumped up, but fell flat on his face, his shorts around his ankles. “Son of a bitch. Son of a bitch!”

  He extracted one leg, then kicked frantically with the other leg. The shorts clung to his foot, then flew away. We were just past the five-minute mark.

  Jerod charged through the trees into the clearing. He bellowed, “What the hell’s goin’ on here?”

  I marched in behind Jerod. TC scrambled across the grass for his shorts. He pulled on one leg, hopped a couple of times, then lost his balance and fell to the ground.

  “This is mortifying.” Marquetta covered her face with her hands and rushed away.

  “You better get back to the bus,” Jerod bellowed after her. “I ain’t gonna allow no more funny stuff on my tour!”

  Jerod turned his full wrath on TC. With the driver glaring down at him like a disgusted parent, TC couldn’t seem to decide whether he should cover up or get dressed. We’d already passed the six minute mark. The question was, had we given Benni enough time to do her part?

  I waited, a witness while Jerod spent the next couple of minutes chewing out TC, telling him to stay away from Marquetta, and instructing him that if there was any more trouble, all incidents would be reported to the company. TC, focused on his embarrassment, barely gave me a sideways glance.

  Jerod and I left TC alone in the clearing. I doubted if he’d ever brag about this episode as he did with his “PGA tour” experience. When we found Val, she said Benni and Magda were in the church. I found them, side-by-side in the last pew. Magda’s eyes were rimmed in red, but she sat up straight, as though a weight had been removed.