Ukulele Deadly Page 2

  "We are staying out of this one," I insist. "Besides, I'm working almost full time now. I can't take time off."

  "And what if you are the main suspect? Or what if it's your mother?" Nick breathes in my ear. "How long do you think she'd last in jail?"

  An image pops into my mind of Mom decorating her cell with spork leis or trying to teach the other convicts Hawaiian…a language she doesn't speak, I might add.

  "Where did you get the idea that either of us is a suspect? The detective never said that."

  "He showed you the wallet because he thinks it means something to you," Nick said.

  "It doesn't. I've never seen the man before. He can't possibly suspect me or Mom." I shake my head. "Besides, he knows she's nuts but harmless."

  Doesn't he?

  "I just think you shouldn't rule it out. That's all." Nick looks at me intently.

  "Why would you even think this? Is it because you wish we were involved?" If so, that's going to stop right now.

  "Let's face it." Nick runs his hands through his hair. "He thinks you're connected, and we need to know why."

  I disagree. "He's just grasping at straws. I swear, Nick, I've never seen that man before. There's no way on earth that I'm connected."

  Dinner is pretty quiet as Nick and I stew in our own heads. Mom says very little too. I wonder if she knows something's up. She probably thinks Nick and I are having problems. Eventually, I kiss Nick good night, and as I'm falling asleep later, I tell myself once more that I don't know the dead man.

  And I've almost convinced myself.

  Almost.

  CHAPTER TWO

  I'm barely out of bed the next morning when the doorbell rings. I'm not surprised to see Nick and Detective Ray standing on the stoop, sizing each other up.

  "You might as well come in." I usher them in and follow them to the breakfast bar.

  "I didn't know he was coming over," Nick whispers. "I just wanted to apologize for last night."

  I sigh. "I believe you, and apology accepted. I guess we're going to find out why he stopped by last night."

  "Does the name Edward Hopper mean anything to you?" The detective has once more placed the wallet on my counter.

  "The painter?" I ask, a little confused. I love Edward Hopper. I had a poster of Nighthawks in my dorm room in college. What did the artist have to do with this? Perhaps I shouldn't mention the poster. The detective has an annoying habit of jumping on any coincidence, no matter how small.

  Detective Ray (he actually prefers to be called that) shakes his head as if it's his equivalent of rolling his eyes. "No. That's the victim's name. Edward Hopper. He's from Kansas."

  My blood freezes in my veins. "Kansas?"

  Ray nods. "Aren't you from Kansas originally?"

  "Um—" I'm too stunned to lie. "Yes. Mom and I moved here from Kansas almost two years ago."

  Detective Ray narrows his eyes. "From where, exactly?"

  I look at Nick, who's now nodding as if to say See? Now you feel stupid ruling amateur investigation out, don't you?

  "We lived on a farm." I'm not going to lie to him. "About five miles out of the small town of Felix."

  "Felix? That's the name of your home town?" Nick asks.

  I'm a little annoyed that he doesn't know that. After all, I know that he spent his whole life here. Did I forget to mention it, or did he never ask?

  "It's really small. About two thousand people," I add as if that will help. "Not far from Wichita."

  Detective Ray frowns and looks down at his hand. He's holding the dead man's ID.

  "Are you certain about that?" he asks at last.

  "Why wouldn't I know where I grew up?" I'm a bit annoyed. It seems like a stupid question.

  The man says nothing but holds up the driver's license of Edward Hopper, address 222 Brine Avenue, Felix, Kansas.

  What?

  "I still don't know him," I finally say after a moment of shock. "Just because he's from my hometown doesn't mean I know him."

  Why don't I know him? On the one hand, I've known everyone in that town all of my life. On the other hand, I haven't lived there in two years, so anyone new to town during that time would be complete strangers to me.

  I try to recover from the shock. "I've never known anyone by that name. Not even the last name. I don't think any Hoppers lived in Felix when I was there."

  The detective looks from me to Nick, who seems to be bursting with excitement at this latest news. I'm less than enthusiastic.

  "I'll check it out," Ray says after a moment. "But I'd like you and your mother to come in tomorrow or the day after for questioning."

  My mouth drops open, and my lower jaw just hangs there. Crickets chirp…probably to say Guilty! Guilty! Guilty!

  "What about me?" Nick asks. "I'd like to be there.

  Couldn't he be just a smidge less enthusiastic? This guy needs a hobby. One that doesn't involve murder.

  Ray nods. "You can come in too."

  Nick grins and nods vigorously. He's a little too happy to be included. I'd need to talk to him about that.

  We walk the detective back to the door and see him out. Without a word, Nick follows me back to the kitchen.

  "What was that all about?" I ask him.

  "You'll have to be more specific," Nick answers.

  I fold my arms over my chest. "Begging to be there?"

  He nods. "I just don't think you should be there alone.

  My hero. How could I not love this guy?

  "Weird about the name though."

  I agree. "Yeah, right? I would've remembered a family named Hopper."

  He shakes his head. "No, I mean the name Felix for a town."

  "I guess I never really thought about it before. Midwest towns have strange names. It's just a thing."

  "And it's a bit bizarre that Hopper comes from your hometown."

  I pour a glass of orange juice and offer it to Nick. He waves me off, so I drink it. "This is ridiculous. It's like it was staged. A guy from Felix, Kansas, is murdered practically in front of me?"

  "Do you think your mom knows him?" Nick frowns.

  "If she knew him, I knew him. That's how small towns work. You should know that. Aloha Lagoon isn't very large. In fact, it's just a little larger than Felix."

  "Between the victim being from your hometown and you finding him, it seems as though you're being framed for murder again."

  Sadly, I can't disagree. "Apparently we have a target painted on the roof of this house."

  "Is there anyone back home you could call to ask about Edward Hopper?" Nick suggests.

  I snap my fingers. "I'll call my cousin, Andy! He still lives there, and he knows everyone." I pick up my cell and scroll through my contacts.

  I find Andy's number and dial. It's still fairly early in Kansas. A small twinge of nerves twists my stomach. I haven't talked to him in a while. Sure, we hung out a lot as kids, but since college, we weren't that close, but I "liked" a couple of his posts on Facebook—that counts, right?

  "Nani!" Andy's voice sounds surprised.

  "Hey, Andy," I reply weakly.

  We exchange some small talk. Andy bought our farm before we moved. He rents it out to our neighbors—who farm the land. Andy lives in town and is the postmaster. If there's an Edward Hopper in town, he'd know it.

  But why wouldn't there be? The license looked real to the police. Detective Ray would've said something if he thought it was fake. So this guy must have moved there after we came here.

  "So." Andy cuts through the general conversation. "What's really up? You didn't call here to find out how the corn is doing."

  I laugh. I'm really not your typical farm girl. Dad had hired hands who had helped with the animals and harvest. I was always in my room, playing guitar. Sometimes, I was in my tree house. I couldn't tell you that much about corn, except that it is best with butter and salt.

  "I thought of you. There's this tourist here…" Should I mention that the guy is dead? I decide to tell him ev
erything. "To be completely honest, he died right in front of me. His ID says he's from Felix, and I hadn't heard of him."

  "Huh." Andy must be frowning. I can almost see his furrowed brow. "I haven't heard of anyone traveling. No one has asked me to hold their mail. What's his name?"

  "Edward Hopper," I say.

  There's a strange silence. It trips me up because Andy should know right away if he knew the guy or not.

  "Did you say Edward Hopper?" my cousin asks.

  "That's right. Do you know him?" I point Nick toward my empty OJ, and like a good boyfriend, he refills it.

  "Well, yeah," Andy answers. "He's the new police officer here. But that's bizarre you should say he's in Hawaii."

  "Why's that?"

  "Well, because he's standing right here, in front of me, as we speak."

  For a moment, I don't know how to respond. It doesn't make sense. Either Ed Hopper has mastered the ability to travel through time and space, or there are two of them, both living in the same town (this wouldn't be terribly unusual, as I went to school with three Kelly Burkes). But then I get an idea.

  "Ask if he has his driver's license on him."

  Nick is now looking at me curiously. He's picked up on what I'm saying, and there's nothing to do but wait. I mouth there are two Ed Hoppers, but this seems to confuse him.

  "Hold on," Andy says.

  I can hear him explaining what I've said to someone—presumably Officer Edward Hopper. There's a muffled response.

  "He doesn't seem to have it with him," Andy says.

  A new voice comes on the line. "Is this Nani? Andy's cousin?"

  "Yes."

  "This is Officer Hopper." He has a nice, deep voice. He must look like the dead man. If he didn't, Ray would've noticed.

  "Can you tell me exactly what's going on?"

  I put him on speaker, introduce Nick, and then launch into the details of what has happened here tonight. Nick describes the man way better than I could. I finish by explaining that my mother and I both live here—a fact I probably should've mentioned first.

  "Would it be alright for me to call you back tomorrow?" the officer asks. "I need to check something first."

  "Okay," I agree. I tell him the time difference so he doesn't call too early or late, and we end the call.

  "Why is he calling you?" Nick asks.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Well, shouldn't he call Detective Ray? Since you don't want to investigate, shouldn't they cut out the middle man and deal with each other?"

  Why hadn't I thought of that? I guess I'm too curious about the whole thing. Maybe I do want to investigate after all. I'd better not tell Nick that.

  "I guess I wasn't thinking."

  Nick gives a fake, martyrish sigh. "I guess we have no choice but to investigate…"

  CHAPTER THREE

  Nick has left for work, but I'm off today, so I go shopping. Never again am I going to face a crisis with an empty pantry. After I get back and put everything away, I clean the house, top to bottom, even dusting the mannequin heads. For a moment I toy with tossing them in the garage, but I decide that's more work than I want to do, and I don't want to freak out the garbage collectors.

  No matter what I do, I can't get over the feeling of dread. It's kind of like when you do something embarrassing in front of a lot of people then relive that moment over and over. Like the time I was playing a wedding on the beach and tripped over one of the many feral roosters who roam Kauai. One of the bridesmaids caught it all on her cell phone, and that video went viral on Facebook for months. My stomach still shrinks up into a knot when I remember that.

  Now, I break into a cold sweat every few minutes thinking about the murdered man. It was horrible, watching him die like that. My mind has the memory on a loop, spooling over and over in my brain. After several hours of this, I'm exhausted.

  I finish the day with a simple dinner for Mom and me and go to bed early. In spite of my attempts to block it out, the look on Ed Hopper's face, just as he died, haunts me. I'm not going to forget that anytime soon.

  I'm just going through the laundry when I find a sinus spray bottle in the pocket of the shorts I wore yesterday. It's a brand I've seen before—over-the-counter stuff. That's weird. I don't have any congestion. Neither does Mom. How did this get into my pocket then? Did Nick put it there? I don't think he suffers from allergies. But then again, he works outside with all kinds of exotic plants as the head gardener for the resort. I set the bottle on the shelf above the washing machine and toss in a load.

  I don't sleep well that night. My thoughts are filled with theories as to why we have two Edward Hoppers from the same place. Finally, I decide that Live Officer Hopper's license was stolen by Dead Ed Hopper, probably so he could use it to travel on. Why did he come here? And why die in front of a woman from the same town listed on his license? Did he know me? Was he looking for me? These questions have no answers, so I give up obsessing over them.

  Mom joins me in the kitchen the next morning as I fry up some bacon and eggs.

  "Really, Nani! You left the back door open all night! What if someone broke in and tried to ravish me?"

  "Technically it wouldn't be a break-in if they didn't have to break in," I say before I realize what Mom just told me.

  "The door was open?" Had I left the door open? I didn't even go into the yard at night. Mom had her late-night cocktail out there, but I didn't go out into the backyard at all.

  Mom throws her hands up in the air. "Yes. I just told you that."

  "But you were the last one out there." I pop some toast in the toaster. I'm not too worried about it. We live in a very safe neighborhood—not that there is a rough one in Aloha Lagoon.

  My mother ignores me and pulls out the pitcher that held piña coladas last night. It's half full, which was impressive. For whatever reason, Mom didn't drink much last night. She pours herself a tall one as I set the breakfast bar and plated the eggs.

  "None for me, thanks." Mom waves me off. "I'll just be out on the lanai, practicing my hula dance."

  I groan. She has a tendency to blast the music out there, and there have been complaints.

  "Just keep it down, okay?" I beg.

  I'm not proud of myself, but I eat all of both breakfasts. Oh well. I worked hard yesterday. After taking a shower, I get dressed.

  "Mom?" I shout out to the backyard.

  There's no answer.

  "Mom?" I walk outside to see her passed out on the wicker couch. "Mom?" The pitcher is a quarter full. She didn't drink enough to render her unconscious.

  I shake her shoulder, but she doesn't come to. She's not snoring, but she's out cold. Maybe I should take her in for a checkup with Dr. Chang. I give up after a moment because I have three lessons today. I dump the rest of the pitcher's contents into the sink. She'll probably make more when she wakes up, but I feel better getting rid of this batch.

  The kids are great, and I'm usually thrilled to work with them. While it's nice to play for a huge crowd at the luaus, children are in awe of the ukulele. To them, it's an instrument just their size.

  But my heart isn't in it. This murder hangs over me like a snake waiting to drop out of the trees onto my head. I don't like snakes. Back home we had garter snakes everywhere. I haven't seen any here. The snake population of Hawaii has wisely stayed out of my way.

  "What's wrong, Miss Johnson?" Timmy Kilani, my last lesson of the day, asks.

  At only seven, Timmy has the most talent with the instrument. Usually I love answering his questions. I think he has the potential to be a virtuoso someday.

  "Sorry, kiddo." I smile. "I just have a lot on my mind."

  We wrap up the lesson, and I see him to his mother's waiting car.

  Mom is standing in the kitchen with a cold compress on her head. "I feel awful. There was something wrong with that drink I had."

  "Maybe you didn't mix it right?" I ask as I pour her a glass of water.

  "I don't know." She squints at the empty glas
s in her other hand. "And there's a terrible taste in my mouth. Maybe the guy who broke in last night tried to roofie me."

  "No one broke in last night, and no one is trying to roofie you."

  She nods vigorously but flinches like she's in pain, so she stops. "Tico Pappas down at the senior center would if he ever got the chance."

  I roll my eyes. "Tico is twenty years older than you. Why would he drug you?"

  Mom smirks. "And he's not the only one. Seth Irby also has his eye on me."

  I picture Seth Irby trying to seduce Mom with his walker. The thought makes me shudder. Instead I decide on deflecting the disturbing nature of the conversation by telling Mom about Ed Hopper.

  "You'd better sit down," I say. "I've got to tell you what happened last night."

  Mom handles it pretty well, considering there was a murder and all. It's almost as if she's not surprised. I'm not sure I want to know why.

  "Edward Hopper?" She frowns. "I've never heard of him before."

  "Remember that when we go to the police station today." I hand her a plate.

  "I don't feel like going anywhere." Mom shoves the plate away and rubs her head. "It feels like I've been punched in the head."

  I freeze. Was Mom drugged? I wonder because a few months ago, someone drugged me. I felt the same way my mother does now. The only difference is that she drank hers, while I was stabbed with a hypodermic needle.

  "I think we'll make a stop on the way to the station," I think aloud.

  "Mrs. Johnson, you'll feel a little stick…" A very petite nurse smiles as she gently pushes the needle into my mother's arm and begins to draw blood.

  To my surprise, Mom didn't argue when I insisted we stop at MediLab on the way to the police station. I'd called Mom's doctor and explained right after the one-sided breakfast. Dr. Chang is a great doctor and very kind. He had no problem calling the lab and prescribing bloodwork.

  Which makes me wonder, because who does that?

  "We're going to the police because I was drugged," Mom says to a startled nurse.

  I fake hysterical laughter. "Ha-ha-ha! Mom, you're such a kidder!"