5 The Elemental Detective Read online

  She wrapped the sheet around her and sat up. “Sorry. I must have fallen asleep.”

  “Don’t lie to Aunty. I felt your energy. That was no dream. You had a vision.”

  The woman lowered herself into the Adirondack chair. It squeaked beneath her bulk. “You have magic. Big magic. But your energies are chaotic. You’ve been repressing them, until recently. Now they’re all over da place. Some have turned dark. So I worked on smoothing them out. Things should be better for you now. But you must be careful.”

  “Thanks,” she said, unsure if her gratitude stemmed from the massage or just from having someone to talk to openly about the supernatural. “I’ve been feeling magic everywhere. Some I recognize, some I don’t, and some scares the hell out of me.”

  The woman shook her head. “Lots of negativity around. I can’t figure out why. A man even got murdered on da beach yesterday. Darkness infected da killer. Holding hate and grudges makes him sick. It will make you sick too.”

  “Him?” Riga asked sharply.

  She shrugged, her flesh rippling. “Him? Maybe her? I don’t know. All I know is there is much hihia and hukihuki about.”

  “What can you tell me about Hawaiian magic?”

  “Nothing. I’m no kupua. But if you like, I can introduce you to a friend of mine. He’s da local kupua.”

  “The kupua? Is he the only one?” Riga asked, thinking of the little man she’d met on the beach.

  “Only one I know. And I know everyone. So what’s your story?”

  “I’m a metaphysical detective. Donovan and I found the murder victim on the beach, alongside the dead seal. There was magic there.”

  “You don’t think da kupua did this?” Aunty ‘Akamu asked sharply.

  “No,” Riga said. “The sense I got was that the magic was… from the mainland.” Necromancy. Riga’s kind of magic.

  The masseuse made a wry face. “Not all our visitors are welcome. But they come anyway.” She heaved herself up. “I’ll call my friend. You take your time, get dressed. Then come back to da house.”

  Charcoal-colored clouds massed behind the steep mountains, threatening rain. Riga dressed slowly, hating to put on her muddy clothing. Eyeing the darkening sky, she hoped the masseuse was right about the privacy. She was in no mood to give some random hikers a show.

  Once dressed, she returned to the house and found Donovan stretched out on one of the couches.

  “Nice massage?” she asked.

  He didn’t open his eyes. “Let’s just say it was enlightening. You?”

  “Apparently, my energy is blocked.”

  He opened one startling green eye. “I may be able to help you with that.”

  Aunty ‘Akamu swept into the room, and handed Riga a slip of paper. “He says he would be happy to meet with you. Just call this number.”

  Donovan swung his feet off the couch and stood, stretched.

  “Thank you,” Riga said. “And thank you for the massage.”

  Donovan handed the woman an envelope. “It was everything promised. Enjoy your evening.”

  He walked Riga to the car. “You’re not limping.”

  Surprised, she looked down. The swelling was gone. All that remained was a faint pink mark on her knee.

  “Well, so much for milking that injury,” she said. “And I had such plans for taking advantage of you.”

  He helped her into the Ferrari, and they drove slowly down the bumpy road.

  “I take it you found your kupua,” he said.

  She folded the paper into her wallet. “According to Aunty ‘Akamu, there’s only one in this area. Now, explain what was so enlightening about your massage.”

  “I got the lomi lomi lecture – though in fairness, I asked for it.”

  “Anything useful? Useful to our little problem, I mean.”

  “Nothing I didn’t already know. Love is happiness, that sort of thing. But according to my masseur, the locals had something of a love-hate relationship with Dennis.”

  “Wasn’t Dennis a local?”

  “Yes, he was. Dennis employed a lot of people in his hotel, but they resented an outsider dictating how they should protect their island.”

  The car glided to a stop at a one-way bridge, and a pickup truck rumbled past. Donovan shifted the Ferrari into gear, and they purred forward.

  “And apparently there’s been some sabotage at the hotel,” he continued.

  “What kind of sabotage?”

  “Stopping up the plumbing, a fire in one of the kitchens, bogus online reviews. Petty stuff, but it adds up. What did you learn?”

  “Aside from the kupua’s phone number? I fell asleep and had a vision.”

  “Bad?”

  “An earthquake, a landslide. I honestly don’t know what to make of them. I’ve had visions before. I’ve seen people who’ve given me messages, or astral traveled, but these seem… pushed. Like someone’s forcing them on me.” A layer of her newfound relaxation evaporated. She didn’t like being toyed with.

  He risked a glance at her. “Who?”

  “That’s the question. Maybe Mark will have an idea.”

  “Mark?”

  She held up the strip of paper Aunty ‘Akamu had given her. “The kupua.”

  Riga called him, and they arranged a meeting for early the next day. She hung up, frowning.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “He wasn’t the kupua I met on the beach.”

  “Kauai must have more than one.”

  “Aunty ‘Akamu said she knew all the locals, but I’ll ask Mark when we meet him tomorrow.” She checked her watch – it was well after lunch in San Francisco. Surely her niece would be awake. But when she rang Pen’s cell phone, it went to voicemail. Riga left a message and dropped the phone into her bag.

  “I’m sure Pen’s fine,” Donovan said. “If there was a problem, your sister would call you. And she’s got Brigitte.”

  “Donovan, about Br—” A Volkswagen Bug barreled around a curve, on their side of the road.

  Donovan slammed on the brakes and pulled up tight against the mountainside. Riga’s jaw clenched. She gripped the door handle, one foot stomping an invisible brake.

  The woman in the VW brandished her fist at them, leaned her head out the window, shrieking.

  “You okay?” Donovan asked.

  Riga’s heart banged against her chest. “Fine. But my post-massage zen is officially gone.”

  More honking sounded up the hillside.

  He grinned at her, and pulled back onto the road. “I think I know a way to get it back.”

  Chapter 8

  Night had fallen when they returned to the hotel to shower, and the air outside had cooled. There was a gust of wind, and a sound like pebbles striking the walk. Riga looked out the window, unsure if she was hearing rain or the rattling of palm fronds, but in the light of the tiki torch, she saw no tell-tale droplets on the patio outside.

  She changed into her mainland uniform, wide-legged khakis and a crisp white cotton blouse, and fumbled with the clasp of a thick shell choker she’d bought from a street vendor on the island of Hawaii.

  “Here.” Donovan brushed her hair to the side, and hooked the necklace for her.

  His arms came around her waist, and she watched him in the mirror. He’d returned to his comfort clothing as well – a black shirt and jacket, black pants. Experimentally, she rubbed her bare foot against his. Touched the smooth leather of cowboy boots.

  “Are you flirting with me?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  He nuzzled her neck.

  “What time did you say we were meeting the Rogins for cocktails?” she asked.

  “Let’s be fashionably late.”

  *****

  They pulled into the beach house driveway, tires crunching across the gravel. Spotlights artistically lit the palm trees lining the drive, their fronds waving five-fingered shadows. The house was an elegant sprawl, an updated mid-century modern that she wouldn’t mind living in, an
d Riga had to remind herself that a death had occurred on its beach. That on the other side of that house, Dennis had died.

  Donovan checked his watch. “Right on time.”

  “Mm.” She leaned across the seat and kissed him. “Good thing you mixed up the schedule.”

  “Who said I mixed it up?”

  “So how did you arrange this? What’s our connection?”

  He grinned. “Mr. Dirk Rogin loves Vegas.”

  “But how did you learn that?”

  “Like you said. Minions.” He hopped out of the Ferrari.

  “I really need to get some of those,” Riga muttered.

  They walked past birds of paradise and spiky purple and yellow pineapple bushes. A gong hung beside the wooden door.

  Donovan quirked a brow. “Do you want to do the honors?”

  “Absolutely.” Riga took the padded hammer and struck the gong, which rang a high, golden note.

  There was the sound of laughter, and the door was opened by a fit-looking sixty-something, her graying hair done up in a bun. She smoothed the front of her sarong-style dress with one hand, and extended the other to Riga, smiling.

  “You must be Riga and Donovan. I’m Dirk’s wife, Jane.” She kissed them on both cheeks. "It’s lovely to meet you both. Come in, come in!”

  It was, as Donovan had observed, a very nice house, with high ceilings, and burnished natural wood and cork floors.

  “We send the staff home at night,” Jane said. “So you’re stuck with Dirk’s bartending. Though I love having someone else doing the cleaning, I do like the privacy.”

  Riga smiled. “I’ve always found the concept of live-in staff awkward.” And she suspected it was equally odd for the staff not to have a place fully their own to go home to.

  “Exactly!” Beaming, Jane led them to a semi-enclosed tile patio that ended in a swathe of green lawn. A fire pit in the center of the tiles warmed the outdoor room. Donovan gravitated toward the bar, regarding the row of bottles on the wall behind it.

  Riga eyed the surf boards hung on one wall. “Do you surf?”

  Jane laughed. “Not anymore. Lately I’ve gotten into stand-up paddleboarding. It’s a fantastic core workout.”

  A silver-haired man in shorts and a crisp, white shirt entered the patio. “Aloha! Looks like I’m just in time to mix you a drink. I’m Dirk!” He laughed, and they shook hands. “Fun with Dirk and Jane, eh?” he said. “What are you drinking?”

  “How are your skills in the way of tropical martinis?” Riga asked, grinning.

  He winked. “I make a mean coconut martini, with real slices of fresh coconut. It will send you to Tahiti and back.”

  Dirk whipped up drinks and soon they were settled in wooden chairs around the fire pit, Riga with a coconut martini that lived up to his promise.

  Dirk gripped his bare knee, leaning forward. His drink sloshed onto the tile patio. “Well, I have to say I was tickled when I heard you were here and wanted to meet up. Though with all the cash I’ve dropped in that casino of yours, you should be buying me drinks.”

  “Then next time you’re in Vegas, stay at our casino as our guest,” Donovan said. “I’ll even comp the drinks.”

  “With pleasure.” Dirk leaned back comfortably in his chair. “And for the record, I never believed that stuff they said about you in the papers.”

  Riga’s smile was brittle.

  “But I’ve got to say,” Dirk continued, “this is some customer outreach.”

  His wife gave a little shake of her head. “And on your honeymoon.”

  “Actually,” Riga said, “what brought us here was my business. Donovan was kind enough to use the casino as an introduction.”

  “And what sort of business are you in?” Jane asked.

  “I’m a metaphysical detective, a private detective.”

  “No kidding?” Dirk said. “What’s a metaphysical detective?”

  “The study of metaphysics is the study of first causes,” she said, “so in a sense, most detectives are metaphysical. But on a day-to-day basis, I deal with a lot of haunted houses and things that have gone missing. My P.I. license is handy for the latter.”

  Jane laughed. “You mean the ooga-boogas aren’t always responsible when Aunt Milly’s pearl necklace disappears.”

  “Usually the culprit is a very much alive cousin Jeff,” Riga said wryly. “But I do occasionally get a murder case. We found Dennis Glasgow’s body on the beach outside your home and were wondering if you’d noticed anything.”

  “The police asked us that, too,” Dirk said. “But we didn’t see or hear anything.”

  “Well, that’s not quite true,” his wife said.

  “I told you, honey, that was just lightning.”

  “And I told you it wasn’t raining.”

  “It doesn’t have to be raining here to see lightning out at sea.”

  Jane folded her arms over her chest. “Well, I’ve never seen green lightning before.”

  “When was this?” Riga stilled, her heart bumping against her ribs.

  “Around three-thirty A.M.,” Jane said.

  “Late night?” Riga asked.

  “Not at all,” Jane said. “Something woke me up, and then I saw that strange flash out over the beach.”

  “You told me it was over the water,” Dirk said.

  “Well, they’re both in the same direction,” she said tartly.

  Riga and Donovan glanced at each other. They needed to learn the time of death, she thought.

  “But you didn’t hear gunshots,” Riga said.

  They shook their heads.

  “I’m thinking of buying Dennis’s hotel,” Donovan said. “We were in negotiations before he was killed.”

  “How wonderful if you did buy it,” Jane said. “We’d be neighbors.”

  Riga sipped her drink, felt it go straight to her head. She should have eaten something before coming.

  “It’s a lovely hotel,” Jane continued. “We go there quite often for brunch. Of course, it’s horribly haunted.”

  Riga shifted forward in her chair. So stories of their ghost had gotten around. The ghost likely had nothing to do with Dennis’s death, but her skin twitched with remembered unease. “Haunted?”

  “Or cursed,” Jane said.

  “Honeeeeey,” Dirk said warningly.

  “I’m just repeating what others are saying. There was that fire, and all those other little accidents. And things going missing.”

  “What sorts of things?” Donovan asked.

  “Guests’ things. Things no one could have possibly taken because the guest was right there in the room when they went missing.”

  “If there’s a ghost or a curse,” Riga said, “there must be some sort of story behind it.”

  The Rogins looked at each other.

  Jane pressed her lips together.

  Dirk laughed shortly. “Who knows how these things get started? I suspect old Dennis was just trying to stir up business – haunted Kauai, that sort of thing. Ghosts are hot now.”

  “If there are ill-feelings toward the hotel, I’d like to know before I buy. One businessman to another,” Donovan said.

  Dirk scratched his cheek. “They renovated five years ago or so – there was some kerfluffle with the environmentalist group, but it seemed to blow over after Dennis joined it. Aside from that, I don’t think anyone has a problem with the place. It’s a nice hotel. Provides jobs.”

  “Did you know someone was on the beach that night, guarding the seal?” Riga asked.

  Jane rolled her eyes. “Oh, yes. I was out walking that night and got too close to the precious darling. Dennis really let me have it.”

  “You didn’t tell me that,” her husband said. “He knew damn well you’d never harm a seal.”

  “It was nothing, and a moot point now that the poor man is dead.” But there was something rehearsed about Jane’s words, a carefully lanced truth.

  “Do you remember what time you ran into him?” Riga asked.
>
  “Oh, it was late. Past midnight, I think. I couldn’t sleep, and there’s something about the feel of the sand between my toes that I can’t resist.”

  “How well did you know Dennis?” Riga asked.

  “He’s what I’d call a casual acquaintance,” Dirk said. “We saw him around, invited each other to parties. But I never really knew the man. He kept busy with his hotel and that Aquatic Protection Society.”

  “I believe what my wife is asking, is do you know who might want to kill him?” Donovan said.

  “I have no idea,” Dirk said. “I’m afraid if you’re hoping we’ll expand your suspect list, you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

  Riga smiled to hide her disappointment. That was exactly what she’d been hoping. “Well, we had to try.”

  Donovan’s lips bent in his lopsided smile, and he rose. “Thank you for your time and for your hospitality. I’m afraid my bride and I have dinner reservations and need to be going.”

  Jane exhaled, deliberately quiet.

  Donovan pulled a silver case from his breast pocket, and handed Dirk a card. “Call this number when you’re planning your next trip to Vegas.”

  The women kissed each other’s cheeks, and Riga and Donovan departed.

  Donovan revved the engine of the Ferrari, and executed a quick turn in the driveway. “What did you think?”

  “I think there’s something they didn’t want to tell us.” Her stomach growled.

  “I got that impression too. Interesting about the haunting. It sounded a lot like sabotage. We know the hotel has at least one ghost, but I’m not ready to blame her for the fire.”

  “Agreed,” she said.

  “And the green flash?”

  “Could be magic, could be lightning. We’ll have to check the weather reports for that night. And find someone who knows Dennis’s time of death.”

  “If the police even have that information yet.”

  “You’re right,” she said. “It’s unlikely the autopsy has even been finished.”

  She leaned her head back on the leather seat. The sky was an unremitting mass of darkness, the stars obscured by clouds. She’d never solved a murder in two days, knew her impatience was unfair. But already she was beginning to feel trapped on the island by this case.