Blood like the Setting Sun: A Murder on Maui Mystery Read online

  We both watched them in action for a few more seconds.

  “Man, he’s really sticking it to her,” I said.

  “Don’t be vulgar.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Still, it does create a certain stirring,” she said.

  “Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?”

  “Only if you’re game.”

  “I’m always game with you,” I said.

  “Your place or mine?” she asked.

  “Yours. More privacy.”

  I followed Alana back to her house. It took us close to an hour because she lived near Ka’anapali. I was concerned she might have lost her desire after the long drive. I need not have worried. She was ready, willing, and more than able. We decided to re-create the Dr. Peterson scene on her patio. The backyard had large trees that surrounded the property and offered complete privacy.

  I made two drinks in her kitchen and carried them outside. I found Alana sitting on one of her patio chairs.

  “Care for a drink?” I asked.

  “Why, yes, Dr. Peterson. I would like one,” Alana said in her most bimbo-like voice.

  I handed her the drink.

  “I don’t know what to call you,” I admitted. “I never learned the young lady’s name.”

  “Just call me Bambi.”

  I sat down beside Alana, and we sipped our drinks.

  “That’s strong,” she said. “Are you trying to get me drunk, Doctor?”

  “How else am I going to convince someone as young and beautiful as you to sleep with an old guy like me?” I asked. The truth was that at thirty years old, Alana was only five years younger than me.

  “Your large wallet might help,” she said.

  I finished my drink and put it on the table.

  “Have I told you how irresistible I find you, Bambi?”

  “No, you haven’t.”

  I leaned forward and kissed her.

  “You are breathtaking,” I said.

  Within a few minutes, we had assumed the same position we last saw Dr. Peterson and his companion enjoying. The breeze was cool, and it felt sensational running across our nude bodies. We both did our best to remain quiet. We didn’t think her neighbors were outside, but you never know. There are a lot of Peeping Toms out there. Who knows who’s hiding in the bushes?

  Chapter 2

  The Four C’s

  The next morning I copied the photos of Dr. Peterson from my camera to a jump drive and drove to Mara’s office. She greeted me in the lobby. Mara is forty-five. She’s tall with dark red hair. Mara impressed me the moment I first met her. She’s easily one of the most confident people I’ve ever met, but she doesn’t exude an ounce of arrogance or smugness. She led me back to her office where she sat in a chair behind her desk. I sat across from her.

  Mara plugged the drive into her laptop and scanned through the photos of Dr. Peterson and his young lover.

  “Dear, Lord,” she said.

  “Shocked me, too.” I said.

  “I never imagined you’d get something this good. Who’s the girl?” Mara asked.

  “No idea.”

  “I’m sure Karen will be delighted to see these. On the other hand - maybe not.”

  “Did you get the impression she’s ready to divorce Peterson?” I asked.

  “More than ready. You just made her millions.”

  I turned away from Mara.

  “Something wrong?” she asked.

  I turned back to her.

  “I appreciate you giving me this job, but I’ve thought a lot about it, and it’s not something I can do anymore.”

  “Why not? You’re clearly good at it.”

  “Photographing guys with their pants around their ankles is not something I imagined myself doing.”

  “That’s what investigators do. They catch people doing things they aren’t supposed to be doing.”

  “I was a paid Peeping Tom for god’s sake.”

  “Better than being an unpaid Peeping Tom.”

  “You know what I mean,” I said.

  “So this means you’re officially out?” she asked.

  I nodded. “It’s just not how I imagined it would be. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Perhaps something different will come along.”

  I stood and extended my hand. Mara stood, as well, and we shook hands.

  “Thanks for taking a chance on me. Maybe we’ll run into each other at the sushi place.”

  On a side note, I discovered during one of our earlier meetings that both Mara and I enjoy a sushi restaurant located near the airport, of all places. It has fantastic rainbow rolls.

  “I’m sure we’ll meet again. Take care, Mr. Rutherford.”

  I drove back to Foxx’s house, where I currently rent a bedroom. Lauren left Foxx the house and the rights to her paintings in her will. It made him an instant millionaire - many times over. The house is located on the coast in Ka’anapali. The back wall is basically one giant window that offers spectacular views of the ocean and sunset. There’s a large pool in the backyard, and I usually swim several laps underwater after crawling out of bed each morning. I’ve lost count of how many hours I’ve spent just sitting by the pool and staring at the waves crashing onto the rock jetty just off the coast of Foxx’s backyard.

  I found Foxx sitting by the pool when I got home. Foxx is a huge guy. He stands six-four and weighs around two-forty. He was a football player for the Washington Redskins before a bum knee forced his early retirement. Immediately after his last season, Foxx took a vacation to Maui, and he never returned home. He loved the sun, the casual lifestyle, and, above all, the women. Foxx has a way with the fairer sex. He’s usually with a new girl every other week, which made his close relationship with Lauren such a surprise. They were well on their way to marriage. Her death, a brutal one at that, devastated him. He’s told me he’s gotten over it, but I know him well enough to know he’s not telling me the truth.

  “How’d things go last night?” Foxx asked.

  I filled him in on the details, including my visit with Mara Winters.

  “Please tell me you kept copies of the photos,” he said.

  “Sorry, I deleted them.”

  “You inconsiderate bastard.”

  “Come on, Foxx. You wouldn’t have respected me if I’d kept nude photos of that innocent young lady.”

  “You couldn’t have at least given me one little peek before you erased them?”

  I was spared having to answer when my dog darted out of the house and ran up to me. How much better would the world be if people greeted everyone else as enthusiastically as a dog does? Of course, it would be hilarious watching people get on their backs and roll around.

  My dog’s name is Maui; he was named after my new home, of course. He weighs just ten pounds, is black and silver in color, and is a cross between a Maltese and a Yorkshire terrier. He’s more than a handful. I don’t think I’ve ever encountered a more mischievous dog, but his cute face keeps me from giving him the boot. I bent over and rubbed his belly. I looked up at Foxx.

  “What are you up to today?” I asked.

  “I’ve got a lunch date with Suzy,” Foxx said.

  “Have I met her yet?”

  “She was at the house a couple of nights ago.”

  “Brunette? I think I might have caught a glimpse of her. What’s her story?”

  “I met her at Harry’s. She’s an assistant manager for one of the hotels in Lahaina.”

  I didn’t bother asking Foxx if he thought this relationship would last more than a few weeks. We both knew it wouldn’t.

  I told Foxx I’d catch him later and took Maui for a walk. Despite his short legs, Maui has no difficulty keeping up with me. This dog could walk for miles. Other than eating and sleeping, walking is definitely his favorite activity.

  We walked for about an hour. Once we got back, Maui lay on the cool tiles of the living-room floor, and I plopped down on the sofa with my lapto
p. I checked my e-mail. I’m not exactly sure why since I rarely get any.

  I then Googled engagement rings and immediately began to read about the four C’s - cut, color, clarity, and carat weight. I saw the general rule of thumb is that you’re supposed to spend three month’s salary on a ring. I wasn’t sure if that was gross salary or after taxes. I was jobless, however, so what did that mean for me? My parents were both wealthy, and they left me a sizable inheritance. Technically, I didn’t have to ever work another day in my life. I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to factor that equation into the cost of the ring. It was all so confusing and intimidating, and I immediately logged off and closed the laptop.

  A question then popped into my head. Why had I even searched for engagement rings? I didn’t recall actually thinking about them and then making the decision to look for one on the Internet. It was sort of a subconscious thing, and the truth of the matter was that it thoroughly surprised me - even scared me a little. Alana and I hadn’t been dating each other for that long, and we’d recently weathered a serious rough patch where I wasn’t sure if we’d technically broken up or not. Was I seriously considering a marriage proposal to her, and, if so, what did that mean?

  I’ve never been married before, never actually even considered it. It’s not like I’m against marriage. I just have never met anyone who I remotely thought about being married to. Alana changed all of that, though. I knew that I loved her and that she loved me. I thought about her constantly, but how does one know when those feelings truly go beyond the initial stages of infatuation and transform into those deeper connections that are potentially life-long? Were we technically past our honeymoon stage? How does one even know when that happens? I thought we were, especially considering the rough patch I mentioned a second ago. Did that mean my feelings for her were now more solid and less based on initial attraction and lust?

  My cell phone rang. The display indicated the call was from Alana. What is that saying about ears burning?

  “Hey, there,” I said.

  “Did you meet with Mara yet?”

  “Yeah, I told her I wasn’t interested in any more jobs like that.”

  “How do you feel about that? Do you think it’s the right move?”

  “Absolutely. I felt kind of gross watching them go at it.”

  “You shouldn’t, but I understand what you’re saying. Want to have dinner tonight?”

  “Sure. Where do you want to go?”

  “How about I come over? You can cook for Foxx and me.”

  “May I have the pleasure?”

  “Yes, you may.”

  “What are you craving?” I asked.

  “Nothing in particular. Surprise me. I better get back to work. See you tonight.”

  “See you.”

  I ended the call and debated what to make for dinner. I’m not a particularly good cook, so I have to keep my selections simple. My thoughts quickly drifted back to my conversation with Mara. It was true I didn’t want to take on any more of those kinds of investigations, but I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do instead. I knew I didn’t want to live off the proceeds of my parents’ hard work. It was a great problem to have. I knew I’d forever be grateful for the way they planned for my future. Nevertheless, we all want to forge our own paths and provide for ourselves. I thought about what I did enjoy, and only one thing popped into my mind – photography. I didn’t want to ruin my passion for the craft by shooting weddings of demanding brides or photos of families all dressed in white shirts and khaki pants while posing on some scenic beach.

  I’d been unemployed since the recession, which brought on the loss of my architecture job. As you can imagine, that job took an enormous amount of education and training, only for me to realize it wasn’t what I thought it was going to be. In fact, I had hated it.

  In a strange way, I was grateful the recession took away the job. If it hadn’t, I’d probably still be toiling away in my gray cubicle, completely dreading my day-to-day life. I certainly wouldn’t have gotten around to visiting Foxx on Maui and eventually meeting Alana. Now I was left with a different question – what to do with the rest of my life.

  The phone rang again, saving me from the dramatic ponderings on the meaning of life. I assumed it was Alana and that she had an idea of what she wanted to eat, but I didn’t recognize the number on the display. I answered it anyway.

  “Hello.”

  “Mr. Rutherford, it’s Mara Winters.”

  I immediately wondered if she was going to try to tempt me with another Peeping Tom case.

  “I have another job that I think you might be interested in,” she said.

  “It doesn’t call for following unfaithful husbands, does it?”

  “Nothing of the sort. It’s potentially a much more serious subject. Any chance you can be back at my office in an hour? My client is coming over soon. I’m sorry for the late notice. This was just brought to my attention.”

  I hesitated a second, not sure if this was something I wanted to get into. Though I had thrown my problem out to the universe, and maybe this new assignment from Mara was the answer.

  “Sure. I’ll see you in an hour,” I said.

  “Great. See you soon.”

  I ended the call and looked down at Maui the dog. He was still sleeping on the tiled floor, but he had rolled over onto his back and his legs were sticking straight up in the air. This dog turned sleeping into an art form. I snapped a photo with my phone and texted it to Alana.

  Chapter 3

  Charlotte Chambers

  I drove to Mara’s office and arrived before her client.

  “Thanks for coming back here on such short notice,” she said.

  “No problem. So, what’s this about?”

  “I’m not quite sure. After you left, I received a call from a long-term client. She said it was a matter of life or death, but she wouldn’t tell me exactly what it was about.”

  “Who is she?”

  “Her name’s Charlotte Chambers. She’s the eighty-five-year-old owner of the Chambers Hotel in Wailea.”

  “Has she ever called you in a panic before?”

  “Never. I urged her to call the police if someone was in danger, but she wouldn’t hear of it.”

  I saw Mrs. Chambers drive into the parking lot a few minutes later. She arrived alone, and I was impressed she could get around by herself at her advanced age. Mrs. Chambers was tall and thin. Her posture was straight, and her walk was steady.

  Mara introduced me to Mrs. Chambers and led us into her large office. We sat down on a sofa and chair that were placed several feet from her desk. It was somewhat of an informal area to talk as opposed to the typical desk with the one or two chairs placed in front of it. I always found that arrangement to feel like an interrogation versus a conversation.

  “Is everything all right, Mrs. Chambers?” Mara asked.

  “It most certainly isn’t. Someone tried to kill me last night,” she responded.

  “Did you call the police?” I asked.

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Why wouldn’t you call them if someone tried to harm you?” Mara asked.

  “Because I don’t want to get them involved. Next thing you know, the story will be all over the news, and people will mock the Chambers family.”

  “But if your life is in danger-” Mara started.

  “This needs to be handled another way,” Mrs. Chambers said.

  “Please tell us exactly what happened,” I said.

  “Every night, I take a hot bath before bed. Last night, someone tried to drown me.”

  “Did you see who it was?” I asked.

  “No, they were too clever for that.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Mara said.

  “My wine was drugged. There’s no other explanation.”

  “You were drinking wine in the tub?” Mara asked.

  “I have two glasses of wine each night - one at dinner and one while I take my bath. Someone must have dropped
something into the wine.”

  “Who would have been there to do that?” I asked.

  “Patricia was the only one at the house yesterday other than me, but she usually leaves by five o’clock.”

  “Is there any way she could have drugged the wine before she left?” Mara asked.

  “Of course, but she wouldn’t have. Patricia and I are fine. She may be a little slow sometimes, but she’s the best assistant I’ve had in years.”

  “Do you think you could have just fallen asleep?” I asked.

  “I’ve taken a bath every night for decades. Never once have I ever fallen asleep or even almost fallen asleep in the tub.”

  She paused, and I really didn’t know what else to say or ask at that point. I began to wonder if my earlier positive impression of her had been dead wrong. Perhaps she was off her rocker. It certainly seemed that way.

  “I always keep a supply of wine in my pantry. It would be easy for someone to drug the wine earlier in the week. They could have injected the bottle with a needle through the cork. I’ve seen things like that on television,” Mrs. Chambers said.

  I glanced at Mara as subtly as I could. To her credit, she had a serious and concerned look on her face. I wasn’t sure if she was faking it for her client’s sake or if she was actually worried that her long-time client needed to be committed to a nursing home.

  “What would you like us to do, Mrs. Chambers?” Mara asked.

  “I want to you to find out who did this to me.”

  Mara looked at me for suggestions. I turned to Mrs. Chambers.

  “I don’t suppose you still have the wine,” I said.

  “No, I poured the whole bottle down the drain. I know it was a foolish thing to do.”

  “You said you keep a supply in your pantry, though. Perhaps we can test another bottle. There was no way to guarantee which bottle you would have chosen last night. Maybe your attacker poisoned more than one.”

  Mrs. Chamber nodded. I felt bad for feeding into her fantasy, but I didn’t know what else to do short of wishing her a good day and immediately vacating the building.

  “There’s something else,” she said. “I’ve received two letters in the mail in the last few weeks. They threatened my life.”