Chapter 13

Nancy and Frank made their way along the narrow hallway and back to the lobby. She and Frank had been the last ones to leave after the meeting with Detective Lau broke up.

"What do you make of this new evidence?" Nancy asked Frank. "The fact there was another murder?"

"Hard to say." Frank was turning over new possibilities and scenarios in his mind. "But I'm willing to bet we're dealing with the same killer for both murders."

"Me too."

They arrived at the lobby and Nancy glanced at her watch. Five minutes to one. She sighed. "We have interviews in a few minutes. I should get going. I don't want to keep anyone waiting."

A smile broke across Frank's face. "Not even for one minute?"

He spun Nancy into his arms, pulled her close, and kissed her. It was wonderful, but short. Over much too fast.

"Why, Frank Hardy, that was quite a surprise." Nancy was blushing and her heart was a flutter. And all because of one simple kiss.

His eyes swept over her face as he tucked a strand of strawberry-blonde hair behind her ear. He traced the curve of her chine with the tip of his thumb and whispered, "I know I don't really need to say this … and maybe I shouldn't, … but promise me you'll be careful. My instinct tells me the killer is still here and I don't want anything to happen to you." His dark eyes clouded. He had some regret about his choice of words. "I didn't mean to sound like you can't take care of yourself, Nan. I hope you didn't —"

She silenced him with a finger on his lips. "It's okay Frank. I know what you meant. And I'm all for equality in a relationship, so you have to make me the same promise. You have to be careful, too."

He smiled and his eyes brightened. "I can live with that. I dutifully promise to be careful."

"Good. And I make the same promise to you. Now, I really must go. I hate being late." She gave him a quick peck on the cheek and then she was off.

They hurried away. Wide smiles adorned their faces. They cast glances over their shoulders at each other. A wave and a wink made them long to be together again.

Young love. It was never easy to be parted.

# # # #

Frank tapped on the door of room number ten-eleven. It was promptly opened by a tall, slender, man in his late fifties. He had a tan and a head of thick white hair expertly cut and styled. Wire-rimmed glasses rested on a Roman nose. Steel-blue eyes, softened by age, peered at Frank.

"Frank Hardy?"

"Yes."

"John Mansville. Come on in."

Frank admired the diamond-studded Rolex watch on Mansville's wrist. If the watch and the heavy gold chain around his neck were any indication, John Mansville was doing quite well. Aside from those two items Mansville was dressed like every other male tourist in Hawaii – flip-flops, shorts and a short sleeved shirt. A Ralph Lauren polo shirt in this case. Frank was guilty of the same indulgence. He liked Ralph Lauren shirts, too.

"Sorry I'm late," Frank said as he surveyed the suite. It was smaller than Lance Airedale's, but still a huge step-up from the standard hotel room Frank and the others occupied. The left side of the room featured a living area complete with a large flat screen TV. The right side contained a kitchen and dining table.

"Don't be. Gave me time to fix a drink." John Mansville gestured toward the black granite kitchen counter where a glass filled with ice and a dark amber liquid sat. "Care for one?"

"No, thanks. Water would be nice."

"No drinking on the job?"

"Something like that."

Mansville filled a glass with ice and tap water and handed it to Frank.

"Let's sit on the balcony. The view is worth the price of the room. I think it's what we're paying for so we might as well enjoy it."

Frank and John Mansville settled into comfortable cushioned deck chairs on the balcony.

Mansville jerked his chin toward the ocean. "Great view isn't it?"

"Gorgeous," Frank said. He looked down at the tops of palm trees. He saw miniature sunbathers moving along the beach. The shimmering ocean stretched as far as the eye could see. The view was truly gorgeous.

Mansville took a sip of his drink, placed it on a low glass table between the chairs, and leaned back. "So, how can I help you?"

"I'm interested in Gwen Airedale and her background. How long have you and your wife known Lance Airedale?"

"About twenty years. Kate's known Lance longer than I have. She was doing business with him before she and I met. To be honest, I was a little jealous of their relationship when Kate and I first started dating. But after I got to know her better, I realized her relationship with Lance was strictly business. Lance was devoted to his first wife, Emma. They had two small children back then."

"How many times has Mr. Airedale been married?"

"Twice. The first marriage ended some time ago, about the time his kids were graduating from high school. It seems the first Mrs. Airedale found someone new." Mansville picked up his drink. "Surprised all of us."

"How so?"

Mansville sipped his drink. "Lance was a devoted husband. He never strayed as far as I knew. I have no idea why Emma left him. I don't think he ever cheated on her. My wife said, Emma just grew tired of Lance, or the relationship. I don't know which. Maybe it was both." Mansville shrugged, unconcerned about Lance's relationship with his first wife. It was over and done and in the past as far as he was concerned. Almost as an afterthought, he said, "Lance is a good father. He spends a lot of time with his kids."

"Do you think he's capable of murder?"

Mansville's dark brows drew together and the corners of his mouth drooped. "No. I can't see him doing anything like that, especially not to Gwen. He loved her completely. Passionately. Doted on her. Fawned over her."

Frank decided to switch the focus of his questions. "Did you know Diana Collins?"

Mansville appeared startled for a second. Frank thought, maybe, the abrupt change in subject had startled Mansville.

"I knew of her," Mansville said slowly as if choosing his words carefully. "Fashion designer, I believe. She was murdered some years ago. Eight .. ten years ago." He turned on Frank and his tone seemed less friendly. "What's this got to do with Gwen's death?"

"I'm not at liberty to discuss that and truthfully, I don't have many of the details regarding Ms. Collins or her murder."

"Shouldn't be hard to find details. The case was all over the news in Chicago when it happened. Every newspaper and news show ran stories night and day."

Frank thought he detected a hint of anger in Mansville's voice. Sort of a righteous outrage. Frank was puzzled. Had the change in subject upset Mansville, and if so, why?

Frank decided to return to safer ground. He asked a few more questions about Gwen. However, the rapport was gone. Mansville now seemed reluctant to discuss Gwen or Lance Airedale. After several questions were met with an abrupt, "I don't know," or "I couldn't say," Frank terminated the interview. He thanked John Mansville for his time and left.

Frank let out a disheartened sigh as he walked to the elevators. He paused beside the elevator and wondered if, perhaps, he was misinterpreting Mansville's reactions. After all, Frank knew nothing about the man. Perhaps, Mansville was merely upset that two young women had been murdered. Frank, himself, found the murders disturbing.

He glanced back at Mansville's door and then took out his phone. He dialed the Hardy Detective Agency. Walter answered on the third ring. Frank told him about Diana Collins and asked Walter to add her, and her murder, to his list of things to check out.

With that accomplished, Frank sent a text to Nancy. It was almost two-thirty and he was hungry, maybe if she was finished with her interviews she'd like to join him for a late lunch.

When he finished the text he headed in the direction of the Pahlua Bar and Grill. He was almost there when his phone buzzed.

"Any luck?" Nancy asked.

"None. How 'bout you?"

"Nope." Nancy sounded as defeated as Frank did.

In Nancy's mind, her afternoon had been a frivolous pursuit. Was there anyone who knew Gwen? The real Gwen. The woman behind the façade? People had met Gwen, but no one had really known Gwen. On one point though, everyone was unanimous, Gwen was stand-offish.

Paula James, one of the wives Nancy had interviewed, had said that Gwen was cordial and would carry on a conversation, but only if someone else made the first move. And Gwen's conversations never strayed from general pleasantries such as, horrible weather we've having, did you see the latest designs by so-and-so, or Lance is taking me to such and such. Hardly the type of talk that allowed you get to know someone.

Nancy told Frank all of this. Then he shared his impressions of John Mansville.

Frank rubbed a hand over his neck as he paced in front of the elevator. "Want to get something to eat? We can have a more indepth discussion over a late lunch. It's still two hours until the luau starts."

"Oh, sorry. It's going to take me two hours to get ready."

"Two hours?" Frank was dumbfounded.

"I have to buy something to wear," she said as though he should have known. "I saw an aquamarine dress in one of the hotel's clothing shops the other night when we went for our stroll. It'll be perfect for tonight."

"I thought this was supposed to be casual. You told Joe and me to wear Hawaiian shirts."

"It is casual. And you may not be aware of this, but women always take longer to get ready than men. Besides, it's not every night I get to go to a luau with a handsome man on my arm. I want to look my best."

She was teasing him – in a very good way – and he knew it. It was nice to know she was going to extra lengths to look special .. just for him.

She rang off and he stood in the hallway, the heat traveling up his neck. He couldn't wait to see her in that dress. Aquamarine she'd said. Sounded like a lovely color. He pulled at his shirt collar. It suddenly felt tight.

Well, since Nancy was going to so much effort for this luau, he should too. He needed a Hawaiian shirt. Something special.

Yeah, he'd get right on that. After a quick lunch.

# # # #

Joe, Kim, and Lau stood in the lobby. They'd met with the desk manager and Lau held copies of the employee's daily schedules and sign-in logs.

Lau scanned the sheets. "Looks like the three people we need to question are all here today." He looked at Kim. "One of them clocks out in an hour." He told Kim the name and send the young detective on his way.

Joe had stood by silently. Now, he asked, "Do any of the employees work on the tenth floor?"

Lau tilted his head. "Yes. Why?"

Joe explained his theory of the locked room. "So, if one of these employees works on the tenth floor I could help you out by questioning them. I'd be helping myself out, too."

Lau scanned the list of names and considered Joe's request. Finally, he came to a decision. "You can interview Rosita Sanchez. She works the tenth floor. She was there the day of the murder according to the schedule. She was out sick yesterday, but clocked in today."

"Great." Joe turned to leave.

"Hang on," Lau said. He unclipped a sheet of paper from the clipboard in his hand and gave it to Joe. "A list of interview questions. Be thorough."

"Yes, sir." Joe looked the sheet over as he headed to the elevators. All the standard questions were there. When did you start your shift? Did you notice anything unusual or out of the ordinary on the day of the murder? And so on and so forth. Joe had asked these same questions many times in his career. Today, he would add a few questions of his own. Actually, he planned on questioning every maid he could find on the tenth floor, not just Rosita Sanchez.

# # # #

Joe exited the elevator and peered down the hall. No one was in sight. He started walking. Up ahead he saw hallways veering off to the left and right. He figured he would eventually happen upon a maid. Joe noted room numbers as he passed doorways.

A left turn was dead ahead. Joe heard a door open behind him and glanced over his shoulder as he made the left turn. He wasn't watching where he was going and plowed into a massive chest.

Joe stepped back, lifted his head, and stared up at Butch Overton.

Two bushy brows descended over bearlike eyes. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for Rosita Sanchez. Detective Lau's orders." Joe held up the interview sheet as proof.

"Rosita," Butch rolled the R, giving it a Spanish accent. "She's a hot little, Latin number." A lustful gleam flared in Butch's eyes betraying his feelings. It quickly faded when his gaze landed on Joe again. The gruff, irritable Butch resurfaced. "Haven't seen her. She may be on her lunch break."

"Sounds like you keep tabs on Ms. Sanchez." One blond eyebrow rose in question.

Butch glared at Joe and settled on a dismissive, "Harumph."

"Is this her usual time for a lunch break?" Joe thought two-twenty in the afternoon was kind of late for lunch.

Butch peered down the hall, checking doors. "Never can tell with her. Her mood, and break-times, change like the wind. I'll keep my eyes open. If I find her, I'll let her know you're looking for her."

"Thanks, I appreciate that."

The men exchanged cell phone numbers and Joe continued his search.

It was four-fifteen when Joe decided to give up for the day. His quest for Rosita had been fruitless. The last time anyone could remember seeing her was around one-thirty. During the course of his search, Joe had met Mona, Rosita's supervisor. Mona was none to thrilled with Rosita lately. She had made that clear, but hadn't given any specific reasons as to why.

Mona was packing up her cart and anxious to be on her way. She told Joe she was helping with the luau tonight. He pressed her to answer a few more questions and reluctantly she agreed. No, she didn't know if Rosita had given her pass key to anyone. No, Rosita had not mentioned losing her pass key. However, Mona said, if Rosita did lose her pass key she could get a replacement from the front desk clerk. The good news was, there would be a log stating the date and time a replacement pass key had been issued.

Joe's eyes lit up. He thanked Mona and she hurried away, grateful she wouldn't be late for the luau. Joe pulled out his cell phone and dialed Lau's number. When Lau answered Joe explained what he'd learned and that he was on his way to the front desk.

"We're already there," Lau told Joe, "the desk clerk just handed me a copy of the daily log for Sunday."

"And?" Joe held his breath. He waited outside the elevator ready to press the down button.

"On Sunday, Ms. Sanchez requested a pass key. She received it at two-thirty and returned it at five-thirty when she clocked out for the day."

Joe's brow creased with concern and he swallowed hard. "No one's seen Rosita since one-thirty today. Has she clocked out?"

Joe waited while Lau asked the desk clerk to check. Finally, Lau came back on the line. "No. As far as the hotel staff knows, Rosita Sanchez is still here, somewhere in the hotel."

"I don't like this," Joe said. "I'd feel better if we knew where Rosita was. I've got this luau tonight, but I don't have to attend, I can cancel and continue the search for Rosita."

"Attend your luau, Mr. Hardy," Lau said. "It's a once in a lifetime experience. I'd feel bad if you missed it. I appreciate your help today. And don't worry, Kim and I will continue the search for Ms. Sanchez. I'm going to call headquarters and request additional officers. I'll keep you informed of our progress."

"Thanks." Joe let out a huge sigh of relief. "Thanks a lot." He hung up and phoned Butch.

"Yes?" the big man's baritone filled the phone.

"Butch, it's Joe Hardy. Just wanted to let you know, I never did find Rosita. You have any luck?"

"No," Butch said slowly. Joe heard the concern in the big man's voice.

"Yeah, well, the police are going to continue the search. They're bringing in extra manpower. To be honest with you, I'm a little worried about her. Seems like she's disappeared. She ever do anything like this before? Leave without telling anyone."

"No," again Butch answered slowly, like he was taking the information in and slowly processing it. "No she hasn't. I'm still looking. I'll call you if I find her."

"Thanks, I appreciate that." Joe hung up and pushed the down button for the elevator.

The police and Butch Overton would continue the search for Rosita Sanchez. That brought Joe some relief. Hopefully, someone would find Rosita before the night was over.

# # # #

His wife sat at the vanity in their hotel suite and applied make-up. She swept a large brush across her cheeks and surveyed the results. Her mind drifted to her husband. Where was he? Her eyes flitted to the door. What could he be doing? It was after four-thirty and she was getting anxious. The luau was in less than an hour.

She took a deep breath and calmed herself. This trip had shown her a side of her husband she'd never seen before. A side she did not like. He was frequently gone on long strolls doing God knew what.

She slammed down the rouge brush. Well, there had been too many late night strolls for her liking. All these strolls made her suspicious. She had to wonder, was he on the prowl or having a fling? The very thought caused her breath to catch in her throat.

He wouldn't be the first husband to play around on his wife. But it was something she couldn't bare. If she found out he was cheating on her, she'd cut him off without one red cent!

The door opened and her head spun round.

"Finally!" she hissed and sprang off the chair. She came at him, angry faced and hands fisted. "Where have you been? The luau starts in an hour! You haven't even showered or shaved. Good God! I hope you don't make us late."

The venom in her voice stopped him dead in his tracks.

She was like a volcano spewing red hot lava. "I've been sitting here waiting and waiting. Wondering and worrying! I'll ask you again, where in God's name have you been?"

He stood there dazed. She'd never spoken to him like this before. Her angry eyes burned into him as she waited for a response. He wanted to lash out at her, to retaliate, but wisely choose silence. His face, a pliable mask, transformed into an expression of hurt and humiliation.

The transformation worked. She softened. Her mouth opened as if to say something, but she bit her lip. She regretted her outburst and wished she could take some of the words back – not all of them, he deserved some of them. She was hurting emotionally.

She watched his hand slide into a pocket of his shorts. Slowly, he withdrew a velvet box.

"Here," he said, irritation and hurt in his voice. "This is why I'm late. I was buying you a gift." She didn't move so, he grabbed her hand and placed the box in it.

She stood there, gaping and in shock. She'd misjudged him, badly, and pangs of regret pinched her heart.

Inwardly, he smiled. He'd played his trump card and it had worked beautifully. "I'd planned on giving you those on our last night here."

She opened the box. A pair of diamond earrings sparkled against the dark velvet.

"I made dinner reservations at the Waikiki Restaurant for our last night. Just the two of us. Alone, romantic, but after this …" he voice trailed off.

They faced each other. An uncomfortable silence stretched between them. Her fury had dissipated and in its place came remorse. "I .. I'm sorry. My emotions got the better of me. I jumped to conclusions. Can you forgive me?"

His relief was visible and immediate. He engulfed her in his arms. "Of course, dear, of course, I can. I forgive you, my dearest."

All he wanted was her money and he'd come close to losing it tonight. He'd unwittingly piqued her curiosity and roused her suspicions. From here on out he would be careful. They had to be seen as a committed, loving couple. There could be no hint of wrong-doing on his part. When he finally, and literally, kissed her good-bye and she was laid to rest, everyone would say how completely devoted he had been to his dearly departed wife.

She stepped out of his embrace. A relieved smile shone on her face. "I'll wear them tonight." She took an earring out of the box and held it up. She loved how it sparkled in the light. "I love them. Thank you, darling."

He smiled and kissed her. "Glad you like them."

He headed to the bathroom ever so pleased she liked her good-bye gift.

A/N: Thank you to those who have left a review. I really appreciate the fact that you take time out of your busy day to leave a few words for this story. :)