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Authors: James Patterson, Maxine Paetro
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Chapter 27
I STARTED my engine and followed the moon to Stella Blues, a cheerful café in Kihei. It has high, peaked ceilings and a wraparound
bar, now buzzing with a weekend crowd of locals and cruise ship tourists enjoying their first night in port. I ordered a Jack
Daniel’s and mahimahi from the bar, took my drink outside to a table for two on the patio.
As the votive candle guttered in its glass, I called Amanda.
Amanda Diaz and I had been together for almost two years. She’s five years younger than me, a pastry chef and a self-described
biker chick, which means she takes her antique Harley for a run on the Pacific Coast Highway some weekends to blow off the
steam she can’t vent in the kitchen. Mandy is not only smart and gorgeous, but when I look at her, all those rock-and-roll
songs about booming hearts and loving her till the day I die make total sense.
Right then I was aching to hear my sweetie’s voice, and she didn’t disappoint, answering the phone on the third ring. After
some verbal high fives, and at my request, she told me about her day at Intermezzo.
“It was Groundhog Day, Benjy. Rémy fired Rocco, again,” Amanda said, going into a French accent now. ‘What I have to say to
you to make you think like chef? This confit. It looks like pigeon
poop.
’ He put about twelve
ooohs
in
poop.
”
She laughed, said, “Hired him back ten minutes later. As usual. And then I scorched the crème brûlée. ‘
Merde, Ahmandah, mon Dieu.
You are making me
craaaaa-zy
.’ ” She laughed again. “And you, Benjy? Are you getting your story?”
“I met with the missing girl’s folks. They’re talking to me.”
“Oh, boy. How grim was that?”
I caught Mandy up on the interview with Barbara, told her how much I liked the McDanielses and that they had two other kids,
both boys adopted from Russian orphanages.
“Their oldest son was almost catatonic from neglect when the police in Saint Petersburg found him. The younger boy has fetal
alcohol syndrome. Kim decided to become a pediatrician because of her brothers.”
“Ben, honey?”
“ Uh-huh. Am I breaking up?”
“No, I can hear you. Can you hear me?”
“Totally.”
“Then listen. Be careful, will you?”
I felt a slight burr of irritation. Amanda was uncommonly intuitive, but I was in no danger.
“Careful of what?”
“Remember when you left your briefcase with all of your notes on the Donato story in a diner?”
“You’re going to bring up the bus again, aren’t you?”
“Since you mention it.”
“I was under your spell, goofball. I was looking at you when I stepped off the curb. If you were
here
now, it could happen again —”
“What I’m saying is, you sound the same way
now
as you did then.”
“I do, huh?”
“Yeah, you kinda do. So watch out, okay? Pay attention. Look both ways.”
Ten feet away, a couple clinked glasses, held hands across a small table. Honeymooners, I thought.
“I miss you,” I said.
“I miss you, too. I’m keeping the bed warm for you, so come home soon.”
I sent a wireless kiss to my girl in L.A. and said good night.
Chapter 28
AT SEVEN FIFTEEN Monday morning, Levon watched the driver pull the black sedan up to the entrance of the Wailea Princess.
Levon got into the front passenger seat as Hawkins and Barb got into the back, and when all the doors had slammed shut, Levon
told Marco to please take them to the police station in Kihei.
During the ride, Levon half listened as Hawkins talked, telling him how to handle the police, saying to be
helpful,
to make the cops your friends and not to be belligerent because that would work against them.
Levon had nodded, grunted “uh-huh” a few times, but he was inside his head, wouldn’t have been able to describe the route
between the hotel and the police station, his mind fully focused on the upcoming meeting with Lieutenant James Jackson.
Levon came back to the present as Marco was parking at the
Chapter 27
I STARTED my engine and followed the moon to Stella Blues, a cheerful café in Kihei. It has high, peaked ceilings and a wraparound
bar, now buzzing with a weekend crowd of locals and cruise ship tourists enjoying their first night in port. I ordered a Jack
Daniel’s and mahimahi from the bar, took my drink outside to a table for two on the patio.
As the votive candle guttered in its glass, I called Amanda.
Amanda Diaz and I had been together for almost two years. She’s five years younger than me, a pastry chef and a self-described
biker chick, which means she takes her antique Harley for a run on the Pacific Coast Highway some weekends to blow off the
steam she can’t vent in the kitchen. Mandy is not only smart and gorgeous, but when I look at her, all those rock-and-roll
songs about booming hearts and loving her till the day I die make total sense.
Right then I was aching to hear my sweetie’s voice, and she didn’t disappoint, answering the phone on the third ring. After
some verbal high fives, and at my request, she told me about her day at Intermezzo.
“It was Groundhog Day, Benjy. Rémy fired Rocco, again,” Amanda said, going into a French accent now. ‘What I have to say to
you to make you think like chef? This confit. It looks like pigeon
poop.
’ He put about twelve
ooohs
in
poop.
”
She laughed, said, “Hired him back ten minutes later. As usual. And then I scorched the crème brûlée. ‘
Merde, Ahmandah, mon Dieu.
You are making me
craaaaa-zy
.’ ” She laughed again. “And you, Benjy? Are you getting your story?”
“I met with the missing girl’s folks. They’re talking to me.”
“Oh, boy. How grim was that?”
I caught Mandy up on the interview with Barbara, told her how much I liked the McDanielses and that they had two other kids,
both boys adopted from Russian orphanages.
“Their oldest son was almost catatonic from neglect when the police in Saint Petersburg found him. The younger boy has fetal
alcohol syndrome. Kim decided to become a pediatrician because of her brothers.”
“Ben, honey?”
“ Uh-huh. Am I breaking up?”
“No, I can hear you. Can you hear me?”
“Totally.”
“Then listen. Be careful, will you?”
I felt a slight burr of irritation. Amanda was uncommonly intuitive, but I was in no danger.
“Careful of what?”
“Remember when you left your briefcase with all of your notes on the Donato story in a diner?”
“You’re going to bring up the bus again, aren’t you?”
“Since you mention it.”
“I was under your spell, goofball. I was looking at you when I stepped off the curb. If you were
here
now, it could happen again —”
“What I’m saying is, you sound the same way
now
as you did then.”
“I do, huh?”
“Yeah, you kinda do. So watch out, okay? Pay attention. Look both ways.”
Ten feet away, a couple clinked glasses, held hands across a small table. Honeymooners, I thought.
“I miss you,” I said.
“I miss you, too. I’m keeping the bed warm for you, so come home soon.”
I sent a wireless kiss to my girl in L.A. and said good night.
Chapter 28
AT SEVEN FIFTEEN Monday morning, Levon watched the driver pull the black sedan up to the entrance of the Wailea Princess.
Levon got into the front passenger seat as Hawkins and Barb got into the back, and when all the doors had slammed shut, Levon
told Marco to please take them to the police station in Kihei.
During the ride, Levon half listened as Hawkins talked, telling him how to handle the police, saying to be
helpful,
to make the cops your friends and not to be belligerent because that would work against them.
Levon had nodded, grunted “uh-huh” a few times, but he was inside his head, wouldn’t have been able to describe the route
between the hotel and the police station, his mind fully focused on the upcoming meeting with Lieutenant James Jackson.
Levon came back to the present as Marco was parking at the
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