The Hawaiian Word for Murder

By Kristen Houghton

“Kristen Houghton really knows how to write!”
— Jeani Rector, Editor, The Horror Zine

“Fun, murder-mystery perfect! Houghton is a wonderful storyteller!”
— Bob Woods, Criminal Element Magazine

“If you like Harlan Coben, you’ll love Kristen Houghton. Excellent reading!”
— Greg Archer, author and journalist

Murder never takes a vacation, not even in paradise. That’s what Private Investigator Cate Harlow discovers while she’s on a Hawaiian vacation with her sexy ex, NYPD detective, Will Benigni.

Their vacation is unceremoniously interrupted by not one, but two murders, at the famed and upscale Kahala Resort where Cate and Will are staying.

Hindering the police investigation at the resort is a group of amateur sleuths calling themselves the Make Mine Murder Society. The wealthy women in the society are led by the pompous and shady Mr. Arnold, a self-styled “expert in the grisly methods of murder.”

When Cate and Will are asked by Will’s old college roommate, the police captain in charge of the murder investigation, for help in solving the murders, Cate’s dream vacation becomes a danger zone that leads her to an unexpected killer and a desperate fight to avoid becoming the next victim.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kristen Houghton
• Release date: Mar 20, 2020
• ISBN: 9781732416666

Kristen Houghton

Kristen Houghton is an internationally best-selling author whose new novel, THE HAWAIIAN WORD for MURDER is book 5 in the critically acclaimed series, A Cate Harlow Private Investigation.Her young adult novel LLILITH ANGEL, featuring a teenage investigator with distinct paranormal abilities, has been chosen as a finalist in the Bram Stoker Awards. She is also the author of the award-winning horror novella, WELCOME TO HELL and the Horror Writers Award for best short story, THE SHUTTLE BUS MAN.Besides writing novels, Houghton is the author of two non-fiction books and numerous short stories which appear in popular anthologies.Kristen Houghton resides in the NYC area and Sanibel Island with her husband, baseball historian Alan William Hopper.Visit her website at: www.kristenhoughton.comGreg Archer of The Huffington Post has called her books, "Page-turning, can't put down mysteries with a sexy, savvy PI who is very good at what she does. Wonderful secondary characters and back stories as well. Brava Kristen Houghton!"Books by Kristen Houghton include:CRIME and MYSTERYA Cate Harlow Private Investigation series (books 1-4 listed below)For I Have SinnedGrave MisgivingsUnrepentant: Pray for Us SinnersDo Unto OthersFANTASYThe Teddy Jameson Chronicles series (books 1& 2 listed below)Welcome to Hell, Teddy JamesonLeaving Hell With The Angel of RedemptionHISTORICAL ROMANCEThe Anchoress: A Romantic Tale of TerrorYA NovelsLilith AngelRemember, Hetty?ANTHOLOGYNo Woman Diets Alone-There’s Always a Man Behind Her Eating a DoughnutAnd Then I’ll Be HappyNourishing ThoughtsHer vast portfolio includes writing for the Huffington Post, the Horror Zine, the San Francisco Examiner, and Criminal Element Magazine as well as celebrity interviews and reviews for HBO documentaries, OWN-The Oprah Winfrey Network, and The Style Channel. She appears as a guest author and book commentator regularly on TV, radio, and internet shows.

Book preview

chaphead_1

No phones, no dealing with desperate clients, no city noise, no disturbances. Nothing but the gentle crash of waves and that indescribable ‘sound’ known only as peace. I sigh deeply with satisfaction and finish my Hawaiian Vodka Cocktail. Fan-damn-tastic! Chat up the baristas and they’ll serve you well, says Will. I lift my sunglasses and look over at the swim-up bar. Sure enough, there’s my guy, Will Benigni, my ex-husband—one of NYPD’s finest detectives, recent survivor of a horrific attack by a crooked fellow cop, and a recipient of a hard-won law degree—joking and laughing with a barman. They love him.

The Kahala Resort on the island of Oahu is as upscale as it gets. We’re in an oceanfront suite with all the amenities—more than this NYC private investigator can imagine and, believe me, I can imagine a lot. The U-shape layout of the buildings at the resort are all connected by open air bridge walkways with beautiful balustrades, those lovely ornamental railings used on stone balconies. There are blue and white deck chairs on the balconies in case you want to sit and take in the view. The walls of the walkways are decorated with colorful Hawaiian flowers in heavy stone pots hung from hooks drilled into the cement ceilings.

All-in-all, very top-notch.

This is all courtesy of Francesca Sutton Benigni, Will’s mom who is completely upscale herself. At first, we politely refused to take her incredibly generous offer. Will was, at one point, adamant that he would not have her pay for this trip.

Francesca, I am perfectly capable of paying for our vacation. This is a gift I’m giving Cate and myself after all the hell we’ve been through. Francesca—after all this time, I still can’t get over the fact that he calls his mother by her first name.

I agreed with Will’s stance on paying for our Hawaiian vacation ourselves and even went so far as to insist, several times, that I contribute to the trip by paying the first-class airfare to Hawai’i. Will told me that if I kept insisting, when we did get to Hawai’i he’d drop me into Mount Kilauea, the continuously active shield volcano on the island.

But in the end, Francesca won out.

William Christopher Sutton Benigni, do you even know how I felt after I found out you what happened to you? Do you know how close I came to losing you? The fact that I didn’t know about it until everything was over in no way makes me feel any better. How do you think I would have felt if—oh, I can’t even say the words!

She’s referring to the fact that while she was in the remotest areas of South America looking for primitive artwork as part of her position as acquisitions curator for the Metropolitan Museum of Art, her son was lying in a hospital in a dance with life and death. This after having been bashed in the head, shot, had extensive surgery, and put into a medically-induced coma to prevent swelling of the brain. All this horror due to a dirty ex-cop who wanted Will dead after he had helped the ex-cop’s wife—a woman the dirty cop had physically battered beyond belief—to escape to a safe house. Francesca knew nothing about any of what had happened. I couldn’t reach her for over two weeks!

Let me pay for this Will, please. I need to do this for you both. It helps assuage the guilt I feel in not having been there for you and Cate during that horrible time when you were, her voice breaks, fighting for your very life! Give in on this one, my wonderful, lovable son. When he hesitated, she went in for the clincher. Make me happy.

It was the sentence, ‘Make me happy’ that got to Will. What son can resist the chance to make his mother happy? In the end, a nice compromise was reached. Francesca would pay for the room—being Francesca, she upgraded it to a suite—and Will would pay for the airfare.

No argument on the airfare, Francesca. I’m paying for that, said Will firmly and Francesca graciously acquiesced. She knew better than to push her son.

So very much like his grandfather in his sense of what’s right, she once told me privately referring to her dad. And, oh that stubbornness!

So here we are on O’ahu, one of the most beautiful islands of Hawai’i, at the famous Kahala Resort in a suite that directly faces the ocean with views from the balcony that take our breath away. I sigh with pleasure and thankfulness.

Hey babe, how about we do some serious snorkeling off the volcanic rocks in an hour or so.

Will is standing next to the cabana lounge, drink in hand, grinning down at me. His body is perfect, slightly tan and taut. He looks so handsome standing there in his surfer swim shorts. The thought that I almost lost him still sends a fearful chill through me.

Oh, sure, yes. That’s be great. I’d like that. I grab his hand. What time is dinner again?

We just had lunch! He laughs and shakes his head, checking his diver’s watch. "It’s 1:30 now. Dinner’s at 8:00, so if we leave the beach around 5:00, we’ll have plenty of time to go up to our suite and relax," he grins at me wickedly, before we head down to the restaurant.

He downs the rest of his drink and lies down next to me on the oversized lounger pulling the cabana cover over us both, hiding us from the world. So snorkeling in an hour okay? We’ve got plenty of time, baby.

I smile at him as he gathers me in his arms.

chaphead_2

Apple seeds contain a substance that can convert into poisonous hydrogen cyanide in the intestine. For an adult, the fatal dose of hydrogen cyanide would be about fifty milligrams. And the seeds would have to be pulverized first to ensure the cyanide was absorbed by the body. There are a lot of ways to murder someone. Poison is a naturally occurring composite of some foods which we consider harmless. Cherries, apricots, peaches, and plums—all contain cyanogenic glycosides that create cyanide in the pits.

A dark-haired portly man is talking to a group of women at the table next to us. By the look of their jewelry—all high quality bracelets, necklaces, earrings, rings—the ladies hanging on his every word are quite well-to-do.

My hand automatically goes to a diamond and ruby heart necklace that I bought for myself when Catherine Harlow Private Investigations became profitable. At that time, my friend Melissa insisted that I treat myself to jewelry that was good quality, pretty, and something that would increase in value. Jewelry, she had told me, is an investment, something every woman should have.

I guess her meaning was that if I’m ever broke and desperate, I can sell the necklace. I look with a bit of envy at the jewelry worn by the women at the next table then remind myself that too much bling is vulgar.

The dark-haired man continues, obviously relishing his disturbing topic.

And if you just wanted to make someone suffer, raw lima beans will do the trick. The raw beans contain a product called limarin. Just a handful can make someone violently ill. Then there are poisonous plants, even here in paradise. Oh yes indeed, ladies. One that is native to these islands is a lovely yellow flower called Angel Trumpet. You’ve probably seen them all around in the flower pots hanging from the ceilings here at this resort. It contains highly toxic alkaloids. Every part of this plant is extremely poisonous, including the leaves, flowers, seeds and roots. Death can come from many unexpected sources.

Interesting dinner conversation, says Will, raising an eyebrow at me while signaling the server for the dessert cart.

We’ve just finished a leisurely dinner and an excellent bottle of Merlot. I’m relaxed and replete. I look around the restaurant and am happy that I chose a long strapless blush-colored dress to wear tonight. The guests in the restaurant are all dressed in what Will calls a ‘top-of-the-line’ manner. Will looks perfect in his resort wear of blue slacks and a light grey open-collar shirt.

The man who was speaking at the next table turns towards us while every one of his dinner partners give Will appreciative up and down appraisals. A tipsy woman, wearing glasses with shiny rhinestones on the sides and thick rhinestone bracelets, giggles and waves at us. She giddily sweeps her hands through her chin length hair two times and giggles again. Her heavy arms, covered in long, sequined sleeves, are in sharp contrast to her small but barely concealed bosom. She begins to speak and is stopped by another woman who hushes her angrily. ‘Rhinestone lady’ quickly lowers her head like a disciplined child.

Looking at Will with cold eyes, the man asks, Are you interested in botany or murder?

I’m interested in a lot of things. How murders are committed is definitely one of them.

You have an interest in serial killers, then?

I’m interested in all killers.

Ah, you’re either an amateur sleuth or a writer.

Neither. I’m a homicide detective. Investigating murder is my business, as is bringing the killer to justice.

Have you caught many murderers? chirps the woman who silenced her table companion. She angles her deep cleavage toward Will while she seductively caresses her neck with her long, pointed, shiny, blood-red nails. "It must be so exciting to catch a killer." She practically purrs the last word.

There’s a certain amount of satisfaction in arresting a murderer. Getting them off the streets is the goal. He turns away from her and finishes his wine.

The dessert cart arrives and Will and I select two decadent concoctions and two brandies. Will tells the server that we’ll have them outdoors at one of the small tables on the restaurant’s balcony. The sun is setting soon and we want to be outside and enjoy it. I look around the room. Very rich. The rays of the descending sun shine through the open floor-to-ceiling windows on those dining here. Jewelry worn by the guests looks like glittering sparkles. The crystal wall sconces shimmer from the sunlight. The effect is magical.

As we get up to leave, Ms. Deep Cleavage grabs Will’s arm. We, she waves a hand at the other women at the table, "are members of the Make Mine Murder Society. All of us amateur sleuths. You know—we read about real-life unsolved murder cases, follow the clues, and then try to figure out how to solve them. We even have a diamond tiara as a grand prize to be awarded to the person who solves the most murder mysteries. It was donated by a wealthy couple in Los Angeles who are avid followers of Mr. Arnold. It’s in their wall safe just waiting for the winner. So far, I’m in the lead. I’m all over social media, people love my murder mystery podcast, Case Solved. She points to the man who had spoken to Will. Mr. Arnold is our guest speaker. He studies murder cases as a hobby. He knows so much! She turns coy and breathy. You’re a homicide detective you said? How very exciting! We’d love to hear about some of your most interesting murder cases. Care to join us?"

I cough discreetly and smile at her.

"Of course, I mean you and your dinner companion," she hastily adds, eyeing me jealously.

Oh yes, please do, chimes the woman with the rhinestone glasses, slurring her words.

What do you say, Detective? asks Ms. Cleavage, drawing out the word ‘detective’ in a sultry way. Please say you will join us. A pouty look meant to be sexy is directed at Will. My guy is catnip for all women.

Sorry, but no, Will smiles charmingly, politely declining the invitation. We’re on vacation so no shop talk permitted. Have a pleasant evening.

He puts his arm around me as we walk through the open doors of the balcony and toward the soft sounds of the waves. The Hawaiian night is beautiful.

* * *

I sip my brandy slowly and with pleasure. Life at this moment is good, very good. The moon is just a sliver, a brushstroke against the pastel night sky, so delicate that it makes the scene look like a skillfully painted landscape. The beauty of nature isn’t something I see a whole lot of in New York City. Oh, sure, there are trees in the parks and trees enclosed by low metal brackets on the sidewalk outside my brownstone, but this wild, natural beauty in Hawai’i is literally breathtaking.

One floor below us is the resort pool, shimmering in the moonlight. I look at Will leaning against the balcony railing next to me and say a silent thank you to the universe for the simple fact that he is alive. Nothing remains of his having survived a shooting, a concussion, and major surgery a few months ago in NYC except a long scar on his chest and a permanent slightly raised bump on the back of his head.

I’m not religious at all, but I’m also not averse to believing that there are forces for good at work in the universe and that sometimes, all you have to do is ask them for help. There were so many people invoking whatever and whoever they believed would help save Detective William Christopher Sutton Benigni. My best friend Melissa, an elegant high-paid NYC ‘escort’, calling on the magical symbols of her New Orleans childhood, including the help of her Tante Anjali, a woman of ‘powerful magic’, who sent spells and ointments to aid healing and keep away negative energy. Will’s partner Javier praying to Saint Jude, the Patron Saint of Hopeless Causes. Me making desperate deals with any Higher Power who might listen—all of us spinning positive energy for Will.

Then there were the people who kept me sane during that time. Myrtle, my self-appointed secretary dispensing her no-nonsense advice and loving attention. Her husband Harry with his never-ending supply of homemade pastries to soothe the stomach and the soul. She and Harry are like second parents to me. And Giles, the NYC medical examiner I dated after my divorce from Will and who I know still cares for me more than he should, overcoming whatever feelings of jealousy he may have had toward Will to lovingly comfort me and assure me that everything would be all right.

So you’re on a vacation from murder?

The male voice interrupts my thoughts and I turn to see the man who had been at the table next to us, the one expounding on poison.

I’m on a vacation from my job with the NYPD, says Will facing the man. Still polite, still with his impeccable prep school manners intact. The only difference is the hard steel look in his eyes. Wary, on guard, his detective skills solid.

Ah, New York City. Crime central, I believe.

Actually one of the safest cities in the country. And you’re from—where? Will lets the word hang challengingly in the air.

Oh, here and there. I travel a great deal with my fans. Lots of little societies like the one here tonight. The ladies are all fascinated with murder it seems. He gestures toward the table where the women are deciding on dessert. Travel expenses are part of my fees. Very lucrative for me and the women are so nice. They’re bored and wealthy so they make for excellent students of the art of murder.

He pulls out a cigar and looks at me. You’re not in homicide are you, my dear?

Private investigation.

The words ‘my dear’ rankle. Condescending ass. I don’t like him. I can’t explain it but there’s something a bit corrupt about this man.

"Hmmm. Interesting line of work. Has to be boring though. I mean a pretty little woman such as yourself more than likely does not get involved in the crime of murder or the viewing of actual murder victims. My skills of deduction have me see you as someone whose specialty is finding—lost pets."

Next to me, I feel Will’s body tense up. He knows me and knows that I’d like to throw this overbearing idiot off the balcony and into the pool below for that belittling comment. I touch his arm lightly letting him know that I’m okay—I’ll handle this jerk as politely as possible. Will smiles at me and winks a ‘go-ahead babe, you got this’ wink.

Your deductive skills are way off and your language is atrociously sexist. Looks deceive. I can, and have, dealt with murder and its victims. I have no problem with that.

He laughs and lights his cigar. You are a little spitfire, aren’t you, my dear?

I’m about to risk getting thrown out of the resort for the simple pleasure of grabbing this idiot by the throat when one of the women inside calls his name.

Mr. Arnold? They’re serving that special coffee you ordered. You don’t want yours to get cold now, do you? She waves coquettishly to Will and says, You’re more than welcome to join us.

Thank you again, but no, smiles Will.

Mr. Arnold looks at us one more time as if he has something else to say. Then he shrugs and turns toward the women waiting at his table.

As he walks away, I impulsively reach forward and pluck the cigar from his hand. "Didn’t you see the signs posted here, my dear? Smoke-free resort." I drop the cigar into one of the glasses of ice water on our table.

A look of disbelief and anger crosses his face. As he goes back to his table, Will says, in a carrying voice, The sign should say ‘idiot-free resort’ as well, don’t you agree?

Wholeheartedly.

"Let’s take our brandies and go for a walk on the beach. I want to be alone with my sweet wahine uʻi." Will smiles at my questioning look. My pretty lady. Learned it from the barman today.

He winks again, I melt, and we walk out hand in hand toward the steps leading to the beach.

chaphead_3

We have our own sex-on-the-beach party for two. A cove, partially hidden by lush foliage and lava rocks, with the sound of the waves lapping the sand is where Will leads me. It is made all the more exciting by the fact that we could be discovered at any moment.

Afterwards, I relax snuggled in Will’s arms as we watch the horizon and listen to the sound of the waves. What is it about Hawai’i that allows people to be so free as to literally have sex on the beach? It’s a beautiful way to live.

It’s not just Hawai’i, babe. There’s a perfect little place on the Isle of Capri for this activity.

I stir in his arms and get to a sitting position. The green-eyed monster who lives inside me makes me give him a questioning look. Really? There is?

So I’ve heard, he says quickly pulling me down against his chest.

I know Will had a pretty healthy and active sex life before he met me, and I’m pretty sure he wasn’t celibate in between the time of our divorce and when