Free Stolen in Paradise (A Lei Crime Companion Novel) by Toby Neal Page B

like you could have used a little more shut-eye.”
    Marcella rubbed her eyes, sat back, took another sip of coffee. “You have no idea. How was the steak?”
    “Excellent, thanks for asking.” He got behind his computer. “What did I miss?”
    “A lot, in fact.” She swiveled her chair a bit. She’d worn her hot-pink heels today, hoping they’d give her a little energy boost. Sure enough, looking at them on her feet helped. “You first.”
    “Not much to tell. Dropped off the camera and purse at the lab last night. Only Andy was on; we just inventoried the items. We should go down later, see how they’re doing with the computers from the lab, Dr. Pettigrew’s desktop, and if they’re going to be able to read the cards off the camera and phone.”
    “Okay. Let’s do that.” Marcella yawned, shook her head. Her loosely pinned hair fell down. She scooped it up, wound it into a ball, and stuck a pencil through it. “I staked out Natalie last night. Guess who her mystery alibi is?”
    “Hm. I’m betting on Dr. Truman, since he wouldn’t give up his alibi either.”
    “Shoot.” She took another sip of coffee. It was bound to work, anytime now. “I was hoping to surprise you. Yup, around nine p.m., Natalie left her apartment and was picked up at the corner by Dr. Handsome in his blue Toyota RAV-4. They went dancing. Can you guess where?”
    “No idea.”
    “That Goth club on the corner of Kalakaua and Ellis—the BatCave. I had no idea there were enough Goths in Honolulu to have a club. Well, it was very much the dungeon-scene meat market. I watched until about ten forty-five, then called it a night. Got tired of fending off people who wanted a taste of my neck.”
    “Did you see her leave with him? Did they go back to her place?”
    “No. I didn’t stay to see the inevitable, but Julie Beecham Truman she’s not. Talk about an odd couple—and yet they seemed really into each other.” Marcella felt something like envy, remembering the way the couple’s arms had twined around each other, their passionate kissing.
    “I liked Natalie. I don’t get her art, but hell—if you say she’s got talent, I’m sure she does. Maybe she and Truman brought something out in each other. Something more than the obvious.”
    “Thanks, Dr. Phil.” Marcella yawned again. “Okay. Let’s line up the day. At eight a.m., I’m going to call Cindy Moku and set up a time to talk. Then we have to check in with Waxman, bring him up to speed. After that, we’ve got the AgroCon interview at ten. How about we check in with the lab on the tech stuff when we get back from that?”
    “Sounds like a plan. ’Course, you know things seldom go according to plan.”
    “I know. But I like to have one anyway. We also need to go through Pettigrew’s financials. We should check with her lawyer and see what’s in her will, if there are any financial motives hanging around out there.”
    Rogers lifted the thirty-pound barbell next to his desk, did ten pumps while his computer booted up. He did stuff like that—and she’d decided not to find it annoying.
    SAC Waxman stuck his head in the door. “Briefing in my office at eight.”
    Rogers looked at Marcella as the branch chief disappeared. “And so it begins. Don’t know why you think having a plan is a good idea.”
    “It comforts me,” Marcella said. She shrugged into her FBI-gray jacket. “Let’s go.”
    Marcella headed out of the building, her cell phone ringing with the third attempt so far to contact Cindy Moku. She left another voice mail as Rogers opened the Acura.
    “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” she asked her partner as they got in.
    “What? That Cindy got cold feet about talking to us? Yeah.”
    “Let’s go by her place on the way to the AgroCon meeting. Just swing by.”
    “We don’t really have time.” The “briefing” in Waxman’s office had been slowed by Gundersohn, who insisted on a step-by-step review on the progress of the