We headed back to our own table, both of us upset. I didn't know about Janet, but Detective Ray had me so mad I was shaking.
"Can you believe the nerve of that guy?" Janet gasped. "He can't possibly believe I'd…" She broke off, took in a long, ragged breath, and began to cry softly.
"Oh, Jan," I said. "Don't cry. Detective Ray doesn't really think you killed Val Markson." I hoped she bought it—I'd always been terrible at lying.
She reached into her tote bag and brought out one of those tiny little packages of tissue, pulling one from the pack to wipe her eyes and blow her nose. "It's not that. Well, not just that. I'm sad about what happened to poor Val." She sat up straighter and pulled her shoulders back. "Maybe he was kind of a schmuck when he was younger. I didn't know about that until today. But when I was with him at The Lava Pot, he sounded sincerely repentant for how he'd been when he was younger. I don't think he deserved to die. Everybody makes mistakes."
"He deserves justice, and that policeman just seems to be spinning his wheels in the mud. I don't think he has clue one about what really happened to Val, but it's obvious he believes someone killed him." She was quiet for a minute, looking out onto the beach. "I think I'll start nosing around some and see if I can't help the police move this investigation along, like they do in those Hallmark movies."
"Janet, is that a good idea?" I'd done that very thing in the past and knew what I was talking about when I said, "That can be dangerous."
She waved a hand at me. "Not likely."
The waitress was a welcome interruption as she walked up to the table. "Hi, Gabby."
I looked up and saw that it was Carrie Jorgenson. "What can I get for you ladies today? The usual?"
"Hi, Carrie." I smiled at her. "I'm getting too predictable. But yes. The usual."
"And what is the usual?" Janet asked.
"They have this awesome lomi lomi salad here." I brought my fingertips to my lips and kissed them. "To die for."
"She almost always orders it," Carrie said.
"I'll have it too," Janet said. When Carrie started to turn away, Janet called her back. "I'm pretty hungry, so I believe, I'd also like a side of fries and some garlic bread. And maybe…" She began to look over the menu again.
I took the opportunity to consider the implications of what Detective Ray had said and couldn't deny the fact that he seemed to like Janet for the homicide, also Mele. If I wanted Detective Ray to begin to look around at others, I was going to have to ferret out another possible suspect.
When Carrie walked away, I said to Janet, "If you have your mind set on looking into this, I'm onboard too. "
"You will?" The light in her eyes told me that was good news for her. "Oh, thank God, because I don't even know where to begin."
* * *
Satiated with lomi lomi salads and peach-flavored iced teas, Janet and I made our way across the property to the spa where weeks ago, when I'd first learned Janet was coming to the island, I'd booked hot stone massages.
The atmosphere at Aloha Lagoon's Moana Spa was so Zen that the moment we walked in a sense of tranquility settled over me like a gossamer drape. And the way Janet's breathing slowed and her posture relaxed, I knew she felt the same way.
The reception area was cool and dim with directional beams spotlighting the stone slab top of the reception desk as well as the original island art on the sea-mist green walls.
Kiki the receptionist, a petite Asian girl with waist-length black hair, skin like satin, and a demeanor so graceful and calming she could have been a geisha, came around the desk and presented both hands to me. "Gabby." She leaned in briefly to touch cheeks with me. "It is so wonderful to see you here once again."
Kiki stepped back and repeated the greeting with Janet. "Welcome."
"Kiki." I kept my voice low. Somehow speaking in normal ranges in this tranquil place seemed the equivalent of shouting out loud in church. "This is Janet, my friend from the mainland. She's visiting us for a few days."
Hmm. When had I stopped referring to Chicago as back home and begun calling it the mainland? Also, when had I begun to see a distinction between myself and others just "visiting" from Chicago? Now there was something to ponder.
"Aloha, Janet," Kiki said, her voice silky as the warm oil I was anticipating. "I hope you're enjoying your visit to our island."
"I've been here before," Janet said. "Many times." She didn't mention the house she kept here. "I'm looking forward to my massage today. I so need this escape time."
Janet and I went into the changing room, found a couple of wonderfully soft robes and some spa slippers. We stowed our stuff in the lockers, went out into a waiting area next to the massage room, and sat sipping cups of complimentary sweet jasmine tea.
Janet was quiet, and I was lost in my own thoughts of what had happened earlier in the day. I couldn't help but remember how strikingly handsome Val Markson had been. Tall, muscled, curling black hair, dark eyes, square jawed. The gash and knot on his forehead had marred those good looks and taken his life.
The sound of female voices rose as, just a few feet away, the door to the massage salon opened and Sarah Goldberg and Dolly Lancaster walked out.
Sarah looked right at home in spa mode with her long golden hair pulled up in a charming messy bun and her moist unlined skin alight with a healthy glow. She was quite animated, and I couldn't help but notice how different she was when not in the tamped down presence of her overbearing husband, Hershel.
Dolly Lancaster on the other hand looked like a woman completely out of her element. While she had also pulled her hair up and out of the way, it was heavy and unshaped, and the better part of it sagged down onto the back of her neck. Rather than glowing, the sheen on her skin looked more like oily perspiration. As she walked her glasses kept sliding down her nose, and what looked like massage oil was smeared across one of the lenses. She shuffled along like a little old man as if afraid of losing the slippers if she lifted her feet. I could tell that if given a preference she'd rather be outdoors with her hubby and a pair of binoculars seeking endangered species.
The two women stopped at the door and continued their conversation. I didn't think they'd noticed Janet and me.
Sarah Goldberg was doing all the talking. "Well, when Hershel and I were having trouble, I actually contacted that Val Markson." She laid her hand on Dolly's arm. "Only a time or two, of course, and I'm not all that crazy for word of that to get around, so if you wouldn't mind keeping it to yourself?"
Dolly shrugged and appeared disinterested. "Sure." Then she noticed Janet and me sitting on the sofa in the waiting area and shuffled toward us. "Hi, Miss LeClair. I'm glad you're here. I was hoping you'd know if there's a bird sanctuary on the island."
Sarah sighed and hung back, obviously not as overjoyed about the prospect of our fine feathered friends as Dolly. "Yes," I said. "Well, I don't know precisely about birds, but there's the Kilauea Point National Wildlife Refuge over on the northwest side of the island near the lighthouse."
Dolly fisted her hands in excitement. She was practically giddy. "Oh, boy. Wait till Freddy hears. Can you get us a rental car so we can drive up there?"
"I can," I said.
Sarah yawned. Well, she had just indulged in a massage, and I wanted to think maybe she was so relaxed she couldn't keep her eyes open, but in reality I figured it was boredom not fatigue making her yawn.
"Mrs. Goldberg," I began.
"Please call me Sarah."
"Sarah. " I started over. "Did I just overhear you say you'd used the services of Val Markson?"
Janet interrupted. "Oh my God, Sarah. You've heard of course. Isn't this just the most terrible thing. Poor Val."
Sarah didn't speak right away, but her facial expression had gone dark and suspicious. "Why are you asking me about him?" She looked from Janet to me.
"Well, because I heard you say—"
"Look, Miss LeClair." Somehow her tone made my name sound more like an insult than a mere address. "Since you were eavesdropping, you probably also overheard me ask Dolly not to repeat that I ever had anything to do with Val Markson. Yes. When I was separated from my husband, there were a couple of times I needed someone to escort me. And Janet had recommended him. And, yes, he was good-looking, and, yes, it was kind of exciting to be seen around town with him. But when Hershel and I worked things out, I was done with all that. I was. Done. Really."
She'd said it all in one breath and was now breathing a bit hard to catch up.
So as not to distress her further, I tried to sound as matter-of-fact as possible. "I noticed yesterday when Val arrived at the hotel, your husband Hershel seemed quite upset. Did he know Val too?"
Sarah blinked her eyes several times, her expression blank. Finally, she licked her lips and said, "Of course not. Why would my husband know him? He never dated Val." She barked a laugh that sounded shrill and forced.
"Sure," I said slowly, looking sideways at Janet. "Why would he know him?"
Understanding dawned on Sarah's face. "Oh, I see. You've heard the police suspect foul play, and you're trying to tie my husband into this ugliness." She nodded smugly.
"No," I objected. "I just—'
"Sorry to disappoint you, but Hershel and I were together here at the resort all night. The island ambiance here at Aloha Lagoon put us in the mood for, shall we say, some quality time alone. Together. That's what I'll say to the police if they come around asking, since it's actually their business and none of yours." Her voice had risen in the Zen atmosphere to an uncomfortable level.
I kept mine down. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Goldberg—Sarah. I didn't mean to upset you."
She looked at me hard and straight in the eye, but bobbed her head in a curt nod.
Sarah was obviously lying about Hershel not knowing who Val was. He had cursed when he saw Val and called the man a filthy parasite—not exactly something you might say about some random guy in a hotel lobby. But I didn't press. Before I talked further to Sarah about Val's murder, I decided I wanted to talk to her husband. If she'd lie about one thing, she'd lie about another.
Janet couldn't read my mind of course, and she interjected. "Wait a minute, yesterday Hershel—"
I was saved from having to step on Janet's toe or poke her in the ribs by two strapping young men in spa uniforms who came from the massage salon.
"Janet? Gabby?" one of them asked.
That stopped Janet dead in her tracks.
"Did you request a male masseuse?" I asked.
"Does Francis rock the popemobile?" She tossed out before breaking into what was almost a full-on run toward the massage salon. "Look at those two hotties. Get a move on, Gabby. I want to take advantage of every minute I'm paying for."