Free 1 Murder on Moloka'i by Chip Hughes

Scotch bottle furtively, as if it were his secret lover.
    He loaded two crystal cocktail glasses with ice cubes, then poured fizzing club soda to the brim in mine, and half full in his. He filled remainder of his glass with Chivas Regal. I watched as the aromatic gold Scotch turned a shade paler in the bubbling water. I took my plain club soda from him and we toasted.
    Despite Parke’s sloppy appearance, he had shrewd, intelligent eyes and a magnetism I found strangely attractive. Rich, self-made men often strike me this way. But beneath his aura, I detected one of those hidden things I’m prone to discover in people and waves. I just couldn’t fathom what.
    After we exchanged a few pleasantries, Parke clinked his Scotch glass on the granite bar. “Now what can I tell you about my former wife?”
    I decided to jump right in. “It puzzles me, Mr. Parke, that two people so different should marry.” I watched his expression for change. “I mean, Sara being anti-development and you a developer.”
    “We weren’t as different as you might think,” he replied without a pause or blink. “Although we first met as adversaries at a hearing on Coconut Beach. I spoke on behalf of a friend of mine who proposed to develop a parcel across from the beach. Sara represented the Save Coconut Beach coalition, who opposed my friend.”
    “And Sara won?”
    “Of course she won. And it’s a damn good thing, because Sara wasn’t a good loser.” He made a grunting sound that was either a tight laugh or a groan. “Don’t let those glowing sentiments you read about her fool you. Sara was tough. She could get down and dirty.”
    “Did you admire her for that?” I sipped my club soda.
    “As I said, we were more alike than you might imagine. We both played to win.” Parke eyed his Scotch, its color lightening as the ice cubes melted. “I found that out the hard way in divorce court. Sara tried to take my home. This home.” He gestured to the sunken bar and mammoth living room, then outside to the sun-splashed spa. “She didn’t invest a dime in it–not one damn dime–and she tried to take it all. Square that with her liberal causes!” He gulped half his Chivas in a swallow.
    “How did the court settle it?”
    “The judge was a woman and she was crooked.” Parke wiped his Scotch-glazed lips with his hand. “Sara had no legitimate claim to any of my assets, yet that damn judge awarded her half of my home.”
    “That must have added up to a sizable piece of change.”
    “Then what does Sara do with the money? She buys a half acre of oceanfront at Lanikai, all the while claiming to be a champion of affordable housing!”
    “Sounds like a contradiction.” I tried to keep him going.
    “Sara was full of contradictions.” Parke poured more Scotch into his half-empty glass, again giving it a golden glow. “Publicly she criticized developers like me. Privately she adored our perks and privileges.”
    “That’s not just sour grapes, is it?”
    “Sour grapes!” Parke’s face turned a brighter pink. “I listened in court to all those lies about me while keeping my mouth shut to save Sara’s reputation.”
    “From what?”
    “Sara cheated.”
    “She was unfaithful?”
    “There were many men.” Parke raised both fleshy hands in a gesture of philosophical resignation. “But I’ll tell you only one: McWhorter.”
    “Rush McWhorter? Her colleague at the law school?”
    Parke nodded and sipped his Scotch, his anger seeming to have passed. I made a mental note to talk with Rush McWhorter sooner rather than later, then shifted gears.
    “Mr. Parke, why did you travel to Moloka‘i the day before your ex-wife’s death?”
    Parke slammed down his glass on the bar, nearly shattering it. “How did you know?”
    “You were identified by several people.”
    Parke looked into his Chivas, then peered at me with watery, searching eyes. “Sara was bad to me in court, but I just couldn’t get over her.”
    Suddenly I realized