Mai Tais and Murder Read online

  “You’d be a local.”

  “But not Hawaiian.”

  “Right. Hawaiian is a race, you see, not something based on location. A white person born in Japan is not ethnically Japanese, right? The same principle applies.”

  I smiled at him. “Thanks for the linguistics and sociology lesson.”

  “Anytime.” He patted my knee, his hand lingering. “Back to this haole, Trevor.”

  Trevor who? Maka’s touch drew all of my attention, causing my brain to cease functioning properly as all of the blood began abandoning it for a more southern region of my body. Maybe Maka realized the brain-numbing effect he was having on me, or maybe he just decided it was time, but for whatever reason, he removed his hand. It took a moment, but brain function slowly returned.

  “What was I…? Right, Trevor. So I met Trevor. He was the TA for a class on brief writing in corporate law I was taking—I majored in paralegal studies—and we kind of saw each other off and on for most of that year. He graduated at the end of it, though, and went back to Seattle, where he was from, and we ended things.”

  If only that was the end of his part in my story. Unfortunately for me, it wasn’t.

  “After graduation, Grace immediately flew off to Hawaii, and I started looking for good paralegal jobs. I happened to find one in Seattle and took it. I still had Trevor’s contact information, so I told him I was in town, and he hit me up. We had dinner. One thing led to another, and within two months, we were living together.”

  Maka let out a low whistle. “That was pretty fast.”

  Hindsight was always perfect, and looking back, Maka was definitely right. “I didn’t think much of it at the time, to be honest, and Trevor justified it by saying that we had been dating during junior year, so it wasn’t all that fast.”

  “How long did you live together?”

  I snorted bitterly. “Up until about two months before I moved here.”

  “So what happened to make you move across the continent and the ocean to escape?”

  “How do you know I was escaping?”

  The look Maka gave me could not have meant anything other than Give me a break. “It’s not hard to see, if you know how to look. Everyone who’s been hurt carries it around with them, in their eyes.” Maka straightened, leaning toward me, too close, his eyes searching mine. When he spoke again, his breath ghosted across my cheek, and it was all I could do not to lick my suddenly dry lips. “Your eyes show it. He hurt you somehow, did something to make you run.”

  “Actually, he ran,” I said, using my beer as an excuse to turn my head. “But it amounts to the same thing in the end, I guess. When we dated in college, he learned that I had a quite substantial inheritance left to me by my grandfather.”

  “I already don’t like the sound of this,” Maka muttered.

  “Well, once we were living together, he started to say things like ‘You can afford this more than I can’ if we went out to eat or something, or if he found something he liked. If I brought up anything about going through the inheritance, he would remind me that I made good money, so we weren’t living above our means.”

  “And what was he doing with his money? What did he contribute?”

  “Unfortunately, that wasn’t a question that crossed my mind. Which, of course, looking back, is quite dumb on my part. Things might have ended very differently if I had’ve asked that early on.”

  “What happened?”

  “Well, I began to notice money going missing from my wallet and then from my bank account, in larger and larger amounts. I knew right away it was Trevor.”

  “How did he get access to your account? You didn’t give him your PIN number or any stupid shit like that, did you?”

  “No. We shared a MacBook. It was mine, but he was on it as much as I was. I was stupid and stored the passwords there, so he could log in whenever he wanted. I didn’t even think about it at the time.”

  “Why didn’t you call the police?”

  “Because I loved him,” I replied, surprised at the bitterness that could still seep into my voice, even after I thought I’d burnt away every last shred of any feelings, one way or another, toward the man. “I didn’t want him to go to jail. I thought if I confronted him about it, let him know I knew, that it would stop and we could work on things.”

  “Are you always optimistic?” The teasing tone in Maka’s voice right then was a welcome relief, allowing me to break up the heaviness I felt at that moment.

  “Nope, just dumb.” Maka’s laughter empowered me, somehow, to carry on now that the hard part had been reached.

  “I confronted him, and he got so angry—accused me of not trusting him, insisting that someone else had done it, that it couldn’t have been him, if I loved him I’d never accuse him, things like that. He stormed out, saying he was going to go stay with his parents for the night, until I came to my senses.

  “I felt bad, at first,” I admitted, ashamed. “I should have trusted him more, I thought. What kind of guy doesn’t trust his boyfriend? I tossed and turned all night, unable to sleep. All I wanted was to talk to him, to explain to him that I was sorry, clearly the money thing was just me overreacting, whatever it would take to make things right.

  “I know,” I added when Maka opened his mouth to say something, “it was stupid of me to feel that way. I see that quite clearly now. But back then…back then I blinded myself so much. I went out of my way to convince myself that I needed to keep Trevor, that what we had was real.”

  Maka patted my knee once more, and like before, he lingered there, though this time he applied a gentle pressure. “Keep going.”

  “Okay. So, then morning came, and I received a phone call. My inheritance is kept in a special account, and I can only access the account once a month, and there’s a limit on how much I can take out. It turned out Trevor tried to access the account to withdraw money, but couldn’t. When that happened, he cleaned out my bank account and took just about everything from our apartment—which was in my name, as were all the bills, so he basically disappeared, leaving me with no money that I could get to.”

  I stopped there for a moment, not wanting to relive the rough time I spent in Seattle after that. Some memories were too personal, too painful to bring up.

  “Long story short, Seattle reminded me too much of him and my own stupidity, and I wanted a clean break. Grace told me to come to Hawaii, since the break wouldn’t get much cleaner than that, and I thought why the hell not. So here I am.”

  “You never called the police, did you?”

  I shook my head, and Maka stood up, sighing like he was disappointed in me. “So the fucker just gets away with it.”

  I looked up at Maka, surprised by the vehemence in his voice. This wasn’t even a situation that happened to him, and here he was, truly and visibly angry about it. It didn’t make sense. “I don’t see it that way,” I explained slowly. “I see it as me freeing myself from him. If this had become a big thing, I’d be entwined with him for that much longer. As a police officer, you might not appreciate that, but I just wanted to put it—put him—behind me.”

  “So you’re here in Hawai’i. Single, right? Ever been to an authentic lūʻau?”

  I blinked, surprised by the sudden change in mood and the new direction of our conversation. I’d have gotten whiplash if our conversation had been a road we were driving on. Single? Luau? Single? “Uh. What?”

  “A lūʻau,” Maka repeated, like it was the most casual thing in the world, like he hadn’t just completely jumped ship from the last conversation. You’ve seen them on TV, I’m sure.”

  “Yes. I mean, I know what they are. No, I’ve never been to one.”

  Maka grinned widely. “We’ll have to fix that. Can’t really say you live here until you’ve been to one. I’ll take you to one soon.”

  Was I drunk? Had the beer hit me harder than I thought while I told the story? I checked my can—nope, still half-full. This definitely wasn’t an alcohol thing, then. So wha
t was it? There had to be an angle there somewhere, and I would find it. But how did I respond until I figured that out?

  I went with a safe one. “Oh, okay.”

  Maka beamed at me. “Awesome! I’ll find a good one to take you to. In the meantime, it’s probably time we got some sleep. I’ve got work in the morning, and you probably have a house to break into or something.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Har har. It’s not like I go around breaking into houses in my free time. And I didn’t break in, the door was unlocked. I walked in, uninvited.”

  “You can coat it in creative words all you want; you committed a crime.”

  “So what? Are you going to handcuff me now?” I held up my wrists together in front of him. “I’m right here.”

  Something hot and powerful blazed behind his eyes, so intense that I could have sworn I saw flames. His voice, when his answer came, had dropped a solid octave. “Maybe later.”

  I sat there in stunned silence, staring at the wall behind him as he disappeared from sight, only to return a moment later with what looked like a comfortable, soft pillow and a thin plaid blanket.

  “This should get you through the night. If you get too cold, the thermostat is on the wall over there, same as in your apartment. See you in the morning. Good night.”

  “Good night,” I muttered, mechanically going about the task of laying out the pillow and unfolding the blanket. Even after the light was turned off and I lay there staring up at the ceiling—so familiar and yet still foreign, since I was acutely aware I was not in my own apartment—all I could think about was the heat in his gaze and the downright sultry words maybe later.

  I don’t know how, but I managed to sleep like a baby on Maka’s couch. From the moment sleep took me until Maka gently woke me at half past six with a gentle nudge, I hadn’t even budged. If I dreamt the night before, I didn’t remember it. Given the recent state of my dreams where the detective was concerned, that might not have been a bad thing.

  “Does your hair do that standing up all over your head thing every morning?” Maka asked as he leaned over the back of the couch, looking down at me. He seemed much too awake for a man who could have only gotten five hours of sleep, max. “It’s kind of cute.”

  I snarled wordlessly at him as I sat up.

  The snarl did nothing to deter his lighthearted bantering. “Not a morning person? I’m not surprised at all.”

  I resisted the urge to say something really biting, reminding myself that it was my morning self that would be talking, and once I woke up fully I’d be fine. I went to the bathroom and did my business and washed my hands, splashing cold water on my face at the end to speed the waking up process along.

  When I returned to the living room, Maka was pulling on an Aloha-print button-down shirt, complete with a black background and tropical plants in various shades of green and blue, not to mention the garish parrots.

  I couldn’t hold back a small laugh, earning an annoyed scowl.

  “What are you laughing at?”

  I tried to stop laughing, but I couldn’t. “The shirt. I didn’t realize people actually wore those here. I thought they were for fat, sunburned tourists and old men. Never imagined you as the Hawaiian shirt type of guy.”

  The look of offense on Maka’s face was nearly comical. It might have made me laugh harder if I didn’t think that Maka might haul off and punch me “These shirts happen to have a long and honorable history! Maybe if you’re lucky I’ll teach some of it to you someday.”

  I made a sour face. “That’s what happens if I’m lucky?”

  Maka pretended not to hear me. “Unfortunately, I need to go to work. We’re going to try to check your friend’s alibi again.”

  Just like that, the laughter I couldn’t stop a few moments before died away. “Again? How hard could it be?”

  “Apparently Grace’s client hurried off to a family function the day after Carrie Lange was murdered and didn’t leave a number where she could be reached,” Maka explained as he buckled his gun holster to his belt. “We’re trying to track her down, but it’s taking more time than we hoped it would.”

  “And until you do, Grace is in jail.” I couldn’t keep an accusing tone from slipping into my voice. No matter how nice Maka was to me, he was still part of the police, part of the people who put Grace in jail in the first place.

  Maka frowned at my tone. “Look, I’m sorry about that, but I’m just doing my job. But I am. Sorry, I mean.”

  His sincerity got to me, and I felt my ability to blame him slip away. He literally saved my life the night before and was looking out for me now by letting me stay at his place, and, maybe most importantly, he didn’t arrest me for breaking and entering, theft, or obstructing an investigation, and whatever other crime I might have committed that I was unaware of.

  “You should go see her,” Maka suggested. “I’m sure she’ll want to see a friendly face.”

  “Is that your subtle way of telling me you don’t want me in your apartment after you leave?” I teased, even though I thought it sounded like a good idea. I didn’t know why I hadn’t thought to do that myself. Too focused on getting her out of that place to think about going to see her there, I guess.

  “You caught me.” Maka winked cheekily, and then he looked me over from head to foot. “Okay, I guess you should have a shower first; your hair still hasn’t settled down, and you look a little sweaty.”

  I made a face at him, but again he was right.

  “Just lock the door before you leave, okay? I know you can’t lock the deadbolt, but you can turn the lock here.” He pointed to the twist on the inside of the front door.

  “I know how doorknobs work, Detective,” I snipped.

  Maka made a wounded face. “You’re really snarky in the morning. That’s going to take some getting used to. Be safe. Call me if anything comes up.”

  “I don’t have your number,” I protested.

  “It’s in your phone under Stud.”

  I skipped over the ridiculousness of him putting his name in my phone under Stud and went for the more obvious “How did you get my phone open? It requires my thumbprint!”

  Maka shrugged innocently. “You’re very suggestible when you’re asleep. I asked you to show me your thumb and you did.”

  My jaw worked up and down, but I couldn’t make words come out. He’d taken advantage of my sleeping state to gain access to my phone? Wasn’t that illegal? I couldn’t be annoyed, though, as I was too busy admiring the sheer brilliance of the move.

  Maka took the opportunity to make his exit. “Have a good day. And call me if anything comes up.” He shut the door behind him with a snap before I could get my brain functioning properly again.

  Chapter Eight

  It felt strange being in someone else’s apartment, especially someone I didn’t know very well, so I took a hurried shower and put on the clothes I’d brought from my place the night before. I ignored all of the hair products on the counter, wondering why exactly he had a need for so many different things; I’d always only ever relied on a hairbrush or a comb.

  Locking the door behind me, I stepped out into the fresh, crisp morning air and set out to visit Grace.

  It would be easy for one to lose track of time here, I thought as I took several deep breaths. The weather was always the same, without a huge variance, temperature-wise, it seemed. Grace always told me Hawaii had two real seasons, and winter was definitely not one of them.

  It was an ungodly hour for me, and part of me was tempted to go right back to my bed and sleep for a few more hours, but just the thought of going back inside after the break-in the night before left my stomach feeling queasy. Would I ever feel safe there again? Could I sleep soundly knowing how easily someone picked the locks on the doors?

  I shuddered, a dark shadow falling over me momentarily, despite the beautiful morning. I needed to push those thoughts away and direct my attention back where it belonged. When I made my way to my car, I purposefully avoided lo
oking at my condo.

  A quick Internet search told me that visiting hours wouldn’t begin until nine, which gave me a little under two hours to kill. Before I could even think about how to go about doing it my stomach gave a mighty rumble, deciding for me. I was much hungrier than I could recall being in quite a while, the pizza from two nights ago being the last thing I’d stopped to eat.

  My second Internet search of the morning was for an IHOP. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had pancakes, and just like that, I craved them.

  As I devoured my IHOP pancakes—chocolate chip—I was able to, just for a moment, pretend that I wasn’t involved in my own personal episode of a police procedural on CBS. For that brief time, I could just indulge in the happiness that was fluffy pancakes filled with melted chocolate and coated in the Canadian ambrosia that was syrup, choosing to ignore the fact the syrup quite likely did not come from Canada at all.

  With my belly full, my mood lifted, and time sufficiently killed, I set out once more, following my car’s GPS to find the place Grace was being held. It was a bit confusing, and I got turned around a few times, but I finally arrived at the Oahu Community Correctional Center. The building’s size blew my mind. The facility spread out over sixteen acres of land and, I later learned, could house nearly a thousand inmates.

  Which meant that somewhere in there, Grace was sharing meals, a bed, maybe even a cell with criminals—or accused criminals. Was she scared in there? I would have been, no doubt about it. I assumed they kept pretrial and convicted inmates separate, but not everyone awaiting trial was innocent like Grace.

  The sooner I got her out of there, the better.

  Signing in to see her was a process that took quite a bit of time, and it looked like everyone wanted to go see someone in jail on a Saturday. After what seemed like forever, we had all been given the normal instructions—don’t give them anything and don’t touch them—and were now sitting at a round metal table in an uncomfortable chair, waiting for the people we wanted to see to be brought in.