Murder in Honolulu: A Skye Delaney Mystery Read Online Free Page A

it. Apparently Carter wasn't returning my
call.
    "You didn't," I told him, giving him the
benefit of the doubt that he'd somehow forgotten I had always been
an early riser.
    He paused. "Look, I wanted to apologize
about running out on you like that yesterday. Guess I just let my
frustrations and suspicions get to me."
    That was about the most I could expect from
Carter Delaney as far as groveling. And it was enough for me,
considering I'd already had a change of heart.
    "I'll take the case."
    "Really?" There was a note of surprise in
his voice that was clearly more for my ears than anything.
    "I charge two thousand a day, plus
expenses," I informed him. What I didn't say was that I had raised
my normal fee by five hundred dollars, figuring I deserved it from
my rich ex for what he wanted me to do.
    He didn't argue the point.
    "When can you start?" he asked
anxiously.
    Was he that desperate to find out if his
wife was sleeping around? Or was I missing something here?
    I decided not to think so much and just do
the job he was paying me handsomely for.
    "If you can stop by the office this
afternoon to go over some details," I told him, "I'll be happy to
begin right away."
    "How does eleven sound?"
    "Perfect. I'll see you then."
    I remained seated on my sofa for several
minutes after hanging up, second-guessing if I was doing the right
thing in getting involved in my ex-husband's marital problems. I
had to admit, there was a certain amount of irony and a lesser
degree of curiosity in taking this case. My bottom line wish was
that it was over and done with as soon as possible with minimal
casualties along the way.
    * * *
    "Where do I begin?" Carter asked as he sat
before me in my office. As usual, he was impeccably dressed in a
sharp suit, as if to wear anything else would somehow spoil his
image of the consummate successful businessman now than he no
longer had to get his hands dirty as a prosecutor.
    I looked down at my desk nervously and
started counting the dust particles, as though about to go on my
first date or something. I realized that, in effect, we were
starting all over in communicating with each other in the post
marriage era. And I had a feeling it wasn't going to get any
easier.
    "Why don't you start by telling me why you
think your wife is cheating on you," I suggested with a straight
face.
    Carter reverse-crossed his legs clumsily.
"There are a number of reasons. Darlene's never home for one, and
when she is, she's usually bitchy, lies about where she's been and
who with, and"—he forced himself to look at me—"we haven't made
love in months..."
    I colored a little in that moment where it
seemed like our own intimate past had come back to haunt us. He had
certainly given what seemed to be legitimate reasons for his
suspicions. I took notes, attempting to treat his case as I would
any other client's.
    However, that seemed to be asking the
impossible.
    "I take it she doesn't work?" I'd heard that
through the grapevine. Not that she needed to work, since she was
married to a man who appeared to be more than capable of supporting
his wife. Of course, that hadn't stopped me from wanting to do my
own thing when I was married to him back in the day. But then that
was just me.
    "Not on this planet," Carter moaned. "Hell,
not even in this city! The word work is not in Darlene's
vocabulary."
    Strangely enough, one of Carter's pet peeves
in our relationship was that I did work (never mind the fact
that it was his hiring me that led to our romance in the first
place). It had something to do with the balance of power most men
prefer to have in their favor. Had he changed his tune over time?
Or was this really only about Darlene doing something with her time
other than maybe having an affair?
    Another one of those awkward moments between
us left an eerie silence that hung in the air like thick smoke.
    "What about your child?" I asked. "I thought
most mothers had their hands full just getting through the
day."
    Carter's brow