Read Online Diagnosis Murder: The Death Merchant by Lee Goldberg - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lee Goldberg
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able to help himself.
That was good to know.
Perhaps, Wyatt thought, there might be a way to manipulate that to his benefit.
The search of Steve Sloan's room took even less time than Mark's. There were guidebooks, magazines, and paper back books stacked on the nightstand. A six-pack of beer had been crammed into the tiny refrigerator. There was a bag of Doritos, some candy bars, and a bottle of Coca-Cola stashed on a shelf in the closet, along with souvenir shirts, caps, and flip-flops. And nothing in the room had anything to do with Danny Royal. Unlike his father, Steve Sloan was on vacation and open to any distraction that came along. Danny Royal wasn't one of them, and never would have been if not for Mark Sloan; Wyatt was certain of that.
As Wyatt left the room and went down the stairs, he decided it had been bad luck after all. Mark Sloan stumbled into Danny Royal's life, and Wyatt's job, by accident.
But the more Wyatt thought about it, the less it seemed like a problem In fact, it began to look like a great opportunity.
By the time Wyatt reached the lobby, he knew exactly what to do.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Kamalei Moala, the hostess at the Royal Hawaiian, lived in a tiny bungalow in Hanapepe on the same overgrown property as her impossibly old grandparents, who sold home made taro chips off their front porch to passing motorists, who were few and far between.
The elder Moalas fried the chips, made from taro roots and lightly seasoned with garlic, and sold them hot and fresh for $3 a bag. They'd been doing it as long as Mark had been alive. And then some.
Mark and Steve each bought a bag, just to be polite, but couldn't stop eating them as they talked to Kamalei, who sat at the picnic table in front of her bungalow.
Kamalei Moala looked very different here, away from the seductively low lights of the restaurant, wearing a simple floral sundress, nursing a glass of iced tea. She wasn't quite as exotic. Her eyes were bloodshot from crying, but she offered the Sloans a warm smile anyway.
"These chips are wonderful." Mark held up a bag. "I've never had anything quite like them. What is a taro, any way?"
"It's similar to a potato and is an important part of Hawaiian culture. We use it to make poi, kulolo, squid luau, lau lau, and chips," Kamalei said. "Like corn for the American Indians, it has great spiritual, historical, and ceremonial significance besides being good to eat."
"Really?" Mark said, examining a chip. "Sounds much more interesting than a potato chip. And tastes better, too."
He stuck the chip in his mouth, savoring it, then offered the bag to Kamalei. "Would you like one?"
"No, thank you. I've had enough taro chips to last me a lifetime," she said. "I'm sure you didn't come all the way out here just to buy my tutu's chips, Dr. Sloan."
"You remember us?" Steve asked.
"You came to the restaurant for dinner the other night," she said. "You're Danny's friends."
"Actually, we only met him on Saturday," Mark said. "We hardly knew him at all, but we'd be interesting in talking to people who did."
"You knew him as well as anybody," Kamalei said, with out a hint of bitterness or sarcasm in her voice. She was simply stating a fact. "Danny didn't like to talk about himself."
"You didn't find that odd?" Mark said.
"People talk about themselves way too much, especially men. Danny was different. He liked to listen. Danny cared more about what other people had to say. That was his secret."
"We were wondering what it was," Steve said.
"It wasn't the food that kept bringing the customers back, it was Danny. They loved him. He made everyone feel as if they were the most interesting people in the world."
"Including you?" Mark asked.
"Danny was a nice man to work for," she said defensively. "Why are you asking all these questions?"
"Now that he's dead, we're trying to settle his affairs, contact his next of kin." Steve said. "But we don't have any thing to go on."
"You're getting awfully involved for two
That was good to know.
Perhaps, Wyatt thought, there might be a way to manipulate that to his benefit.
The search of Steve Sloan's room took even less time than Mark's. There were guidebooks, magazines, and paper back books stacked on the nightstand. A six-pack of beer had been crammed into the tiny refrigerator. There was a bag of Doritos, some candy bars, and a bottle of Coca-Cola stashed on a shelf in the closet, along with souvenir shirts, caps, and flip-flops. And nothing in the room had anything to do with Danny Royal. Unlike his father, Steve Sloan was on vacation and open to any distraction that came along. Danny Royal wasn't one of them, and never would have been if not for Mark Sloan; Wyatt was certain of that.
As Wyatt left the room and went down the stairs, he decided it had been bad luck after all. Mark Sloan stumbled into Danny Royal's life, and Wyatt's job, by accident.
But the more Wyatt thought about it, the less it seemed like a problem In fact, it began to look like a great opportunity.
By the time Wyatt reached the lobby, he knew exactly what to do.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Kamalei Moala, the hostess at the Royal Hawaiian, lived in a tiny bungalow in Hanapepe on the same overgrown property as her impossibly old grandparents, who sold home made taro chips off their front porch to passing motorists, who were few and far between.
The elder Moalas fried the chips, made from taro roots and lightly seasoned with garlic, and sold them hot and fresh for $3 a bag. They'd been doing it as long as Mark had been alive. And then some.
Mark and Steve each bought a bag, just to be polite, but couldn't stop eating them as they talked to Kamalei, who sat at the picnic table in front of her bungalow.
Kamalei Moala looked very different here, away from the seductively low lights of the restaurant, wearing a simple floral sundress, nursing a glass of iced tea. She wasn't quite as exotic. Her eyes were bloodshot from crying, but she offered the Sloans a warm smile anyway.
"These chips are wonderful." Mark held up a bag. "I've never had anything quite like them. What is a taro, any way?"
"It's similar to a potato and is an important part of Hawaiian culture. We use it to make poi, kulolo, squid luau, lau lau, and chips," Kamalei said. "Like corn for the American Indians, it has great spiritual, historical, and ceremonial significance besides being good to eat."
"Really?" Mark said, examining a chip. "Sounds much more interesting than a potato chip. And tastes better, too."
He stuck the chip in his mouth, savoring it, then offered the bag to Kamalei. "Would you like one?"
"No, thank you. I've had enough taro chips to last me a lifetime," she said. "I'm sure you didn't come all the way out here just to buy my tutu's chips, Dr. Sloan."
"You remember us?" Steve asked.
"You came to the restaurant for dinner the other night," she said. "You're Danny's friends."
"Actually, we only met him on Saturday," Mark said. "We hardly knew him at all, but we'd be interesting in talking to people who did."
"You knew him as well as anybody," Kamalei said, with out a hint of bitterness or sarcasm in her voice. She was simply stating a fact. "Danny didn't like to talk about himself."
"You didn't find that odd?" Mark said.
"People talk about themselves way too much, especially men. Danny was different. He liked to listen. Danny cared more about what other people had to say. That was his secret."
"We were wondering what it was," Steve said.
"It wasn't the food that kept bringing the customers back, it was Danny. They loved him. He made everyone feel as if they were the most interesting people in the world."
"Including you?" Mark asked.
"Danny was a nice man to work for," she said defensively. "Why are you asking all these questions?"
"Now that he's dead, we're trying to settle his affairs, contact his next of kin." Steve said. "But we don't have any thing to go on."
"You're getting awfully involved for two
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