Lance stared at him in disbelief. “Helen?”
Roxanne began to whimper. I had trouble breathing. It was as if I’d stepped into a horror movie. Kealoha and the officers were frozen in place. But Monk didn’t seem to notice. He was puttering around in the kitchen as if nothing unusual were happening.
“What did I ever do to deserve such cruelty?” Swift said in that soft, otherworldly voice.
Lance fell to his knees in front of Swift and grabbed him by the shoulders. “Helen, if that’s you, tell them the truth. Tell them I’m innocent.”
“I thought we’d be together forever, but after what you’ve done, you’ll never join me here. You’re going straight to hell, Lance.”
And with that, Swift promptly fainted.
“Helen!” Lance screamed, shaking Swift. “Tell them!”
The officers grabbed Lance, yanked him to his feet, and handcuffed him.
“Book him, Dan-O,” Kealoha said. “Murder one.”
“No!” Lance yelled as one of the officers dragged him outside while reading him his rights.
“I’ve always wanted to say that,” Kealoha said with a grin.
The other officer led away Roxanne, who was crying softly and muttering, “This isn’t right.”
Monk stepped out of the kitchen with several plates, a knife, and a spatula. “Would anyone like some pie?”
“How can you think about pie right now?” I said. “Can’t you see that Swift has fainted?”
“Yes, it was quite a performance. I’m waiting to see his head spin completely around.”
Monk set down his things, went to his room, and came back out a moment later with a tape measure.
Kealoha called the paramedics on his cell phone. I put a pillow under Swift’s head, got a wet towel, and dabbed his brow.
Monk used the tape measure to determine the circumference of the plate so he could cut the pie into even slices.
“Did Swift really know about all of this?” Kealoha asked me.
I told him about all the images Swift had given us from Helen, how we’d later discovered their meaning in relation to the case, and how Monk had explained it all away as a con job. When I was finished, I could hear the siren from the ambulance as it raced toward the beach house.
“Your explanations for Swift’s so-called visions all make sense, Mr. Monk,” Kealoha said. “Except for one thing. How did he know that Helen was in the refrigerator?”
“He didn’t,” Monk said. “He was talking about the morgue. It was a lucky break for him that the refrigerator ended up being involved.”
Swift’s eyes fluttered and he began to regain consciousness.
“Awaking right on cue,” Monk said, carefully cutting the pie. “What a shock.”
Swift opened his eyes and seemed startled. He tried to sit up, but I gently eased his head back down onto the pillow.
“Relax,” I said.
“What happened?”
“You started speaking to Lance as Helen and then you fainted,” I said. “The paramedics will be here any minute now.”
“I was channeling her?” Swift said.
“She had some sex tips to share for your next book,” Monk said. “But no one was taking notes.”
“I don’t remember any of it. She must have completely possessed me.”
“That’s how it looked,” Kealoha said.
“I’ve never channeled a spirit so powerfully before, but these circumstances are unusual,” he said. “We’re in the place where she died. We were with the man who killed her. And her spirit is very forceful. I’m sensing her even now.”
“Is this where your head spins?” Monk slid a piece of pie onto a plate. “Or will you levitate? Because I’d like to see how you do that.”
The ambulance screeched to a stop outside our open front door and, a moment later, two paramedics rushed in, wheeling a gurney.
Monk sat at the table and casually ate his pie as the paramedics examined Swift and then lifted him up onto the gurney. At this point, Kealoha joined Monk at the table and helped himself to a slice of pie.
As Swift was being wheeled out the door, he took a last look at Monk.
“Helen wants to thank you. They all do. They are at peace now.”
If Monk heard him, he made no sign of it.
I walked alongside the gurney to the ambulance. Just as the paramedics were about to load Swift inside for the ride to the hospital, I took Swift’s hand and gave it a squeeze.
“Thank you,” I said.
“I didn’t do anything,” he said. “I’m just the messenger.”
“It was a message I needed to hear.”
“I have another one, but it isn’t for you,” Swift said as the paramedics lifted his gurney into the ambulance. “Tell Monk that I’m getting a strange image. It’s connected to him somehow. I don’t know what it means. It’s a hand with six fingers.”
And with that, one of the paramedics climbed into the ambulance, his partner closed the doors, and they drove off.
20
Mr. Monk Does a Favor
With the investigation of Helen Gruber’s murder behind us, there was nothing standing in the way of my enjoying everything the island had to offer. I changed into my bikini, grabbed a towel and my Kauai guidebook, and headed for the beach, leaving Monk and Kealoha with a quick good-bye as I raced out the door.
I went to the Grand Kiahuna Poipu activity hut to check out some snorkeling equipment and buy a Ziploc bag of fish food. While I was there, I made reservations for Monk and myself to attend the resort’s Sunday-night luau.
The best place for snorkeling, or so the guidebook told me, was a secluded little cove just past the resort property and right in front of the ruins of a condo complex decimated by Hurricane Iniki.
The condo complex was laid out in a staple shape, the courtyard in the center choked with weeds as tall as trees, the dry pool filled with sand, rusted chaise longues, and enormous chunks of concrete. The oceanfacing units were entirely stripped away; only the iron skeleton remained.
The tiny beach in front of the ruins was empty, too cluttered with black boulders and concrete blocks to be much of a tanning spot. The water in the cove was shallow and calm
