The Samoa Seduction

by Alan L. Moss

  While Sammy could turn Michael over to the police, it seemed a remote possibility. Sammy was living a charmed existence in one of the most beautiful settings on earth. He would be crazy to become part of Michael’s sordid story and risk his twenty-four karat gold future.

  At ten in the morning Michael was at Sammy’s gallery perusing the imaginative store window. Interspersed among Sammy’s carvings, Rolex watches, and Majorca pearls sat several new pieces commem-orating Independence Day. They included sparkler cufflinks made of gold stems with diamond clusters; a gold necklace with fireworks of diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and other dazzling stones; and earrings of twisted platinum with fountains of garnets and sapphires. Michael noted a conspicuous absence of price tags.

  Sammy had come a long way from his rundown Pago Pago home and the black velvet cloth he used to show his carvings. Michael could see the jeweler through his store window, setting up for the day.

  Despite the heat, a chill ran through Michael’s body as Sammy removed the gallery’s closed sign, opened the door, and looked Michael in the eye.

  “Good morning. I’d be glad to serve you coffee and a fresh bun if you’d like.”

  “I don’t need the bun but black coffee would be welcome,” Michael replied.

  As he entered the store, Sammy glanced down at Michael’s shoes. He recognized the Gucci leather moccasins.

  This customer could be a great start to a profitable holiday.

  After serving Coal Creek Columbian in a Limoges coffee cup, Sammy began his pitch.

  “What may I show you? Is there something special you’re looking for or are you open to some of our more original productions?”

  Michael declined to answer. Sammy took a closer look at him.

  “Sir, if I may say so, you do look familiar. Have you visited us before?”

  Michael returned Sammy’s gaze. This time the intensity of his mission overpowered the affluence of his disguise and Michael could see concern emerge in the jeweler’s eyes.

  “Yes, I have visited you before. It wasn’t here in the lap of luxury, but in Pago Pago in a less than modest house. How is it you’ve jumped from one to the other? It wouldn’t have anything to do with the rigged minimum wage hearings we discussed back in June of 2001?”

  It took a few more seconds for Sammy to unravel his memory and place his visitor. Then, he reattached the closed sign to the door and invited Michael to sit with him on upholstered chairs in one corner of the gallery.

  “My God, Dr. Bloom, I read about your situation and couldn’t believe it. No man as caring as you could ever harm anyone, let alone a wife of many years. I don’t understand it. What can I do to help?”

  Relieved, but not convinced, Michael pursued his host.

  “Look, Sammy, I don’t care if you made money off the hearings. I need to know who was behind the rigging. That will lead me to my wife’s killer.”

  Sammy poured another cup of coffee for Michael and one for himself. He told Michael what he knew.

  “I know it looks like I might have been involved with whatever took place back then but the truth is I don’t know anything and didn’t make a dime off it. This deal in Molokai happened well before the hearings.

  “Believe it or not, I got here through a lucky hand of poker. This businessman was visiting Samoa to explore a possible purchase of the Rainbow Hotel. The guy wanted a night of poker and the Governor asked me to set it up. The man won thirty-five hundred dollars on one hand and to compensate me for his good fortune asked to see some of my jewelry.

  “He came up with the idea for Sammy’s Jewel Gallery. He was developing The Shops at Maunaloa Lodge and believed the gallery would be a valuable addition. He put up half the dollars to establish the business. I poured all of my savings into it and here we are. We’re doing quite well.”

  Michael became impatient.

  “Sammy, when we were in Samoa, why did you indicate there was much more to the hearings than met the eye, that I shouldn’t feel badly if I failed to increase the minimum wage significantly because unknown forces were at play?”

  Sammy got up from his chair and paced the marble floor.

  “I believe you met George Partain in Samoa. As you know, he was a private investigator from Honolulu who worked for the Justice Department. George was one of my best friends, an old golfing buddy. We planned to play the Kaluakoi Golf Course down the road as soon as I got settled.

  “Anyway, George told me if the hearings ended as they should, he and a few others would make huge profits. He never explained the details but claimed he had a client whose future depended on little or no increase in the minimum wage.”

  “I remember George,” Michael said. “Where can I find him?”

  Sammy stopped pacing and stared into Michael’s eyes.

  “That, my friend, is a question with no answer. George disappeared from the Agelu Lodge before the hearings began. They found his Jeep at the airport, but all his clothes remained at the lodge. The police think he fled Samoa for points unknown. Others claimed he met his end at the hands of Korean thugs over a gambling debt.”

  Sammy sat down and bowed his head.

  “George came to me and asked for a twenty-six thousand dollar loan just before he disappeared. I turned him down because I was putting all my money into this place. If I had known the consequences, I would have found the goddamned dollars.”

  Michael and Sammy heard a tapping on the glass door. They saw three anxious customers wanting to spend their money. Michael stood up and spoke with apprehension in his voice.

  “Sammy, that information gets me nowhere. I need to speak with someone familiar with George’s business. Can you give me names of his staff and where to find them?”

  Sammy let the tapping continue and faced Michael.

  “The only staffer I ever spoke with at George’s agency was Joy Luahine, his secretary. She was a University of Hawaii student in its criminal justice program at night. When George didn’t return, she got my name out of his files and called me. Bob Tagata, an investigator on George’s staff, was killed in a car crash not long after George disappeared.

  “I suppose Joy might be able to shed some light on the situation, if you can find her.”

  Sammy moved toward the door and Michael grabbed his arm.

  “Sammy, I want to thank you. However, I want you to know if I find out you told anyone I was here, when I’m apprehended I’ll make a strong case that you were involved in the plot to defraud the hearings. It may not be true but by the time that’s determined, your easy life in Molokai will be a thing of the past.”

  CHAPTER 18

  JOY

  July 4, 2004

  Honolulu, Hawaii

  Michael checked out of Maunaloa Lodge and caught the day’s last flight back to Honolulu. He checked into the Waikiki Hilton and began looking for Joy Luahine. She wasn’t listed in Honolulu’s telephone book, so, the University of Hawaii’s Honolulu campus would have to be his prime source of information.

  Early Monday morning on his way to the campus, Michael stopped at Hawaiian Telecom and explored a 2001 telephone book. An entry for Partain Investigations put the business at twelve ten Lolani Avenue. If he struck out at the university, he’d see if one of George’s old neighbors might provide him with a lead.

  The University of Hawaii’s Honolulu Community College was established in nineteen twenty. Its twenty-five buildings are located just off downtown Honolulu, clustered on an attractive campus. The school’s criminal justice program provides students with basic information for a wide range of careers including FBI agent, criminologist, private investigator, corrections officer, forensic scientist, police detective, and U.S. Marshal.

  Michael found the administration building, a sleek structure of five stories constructed of white stone blocks. Four deep-welled windows fronted each floor.

  Michael entered and spotted an information desk to the right, just in front of two elevators. A pleasant Hawaiian lady sat behind the desk reading a coll
ege textbook. Michael approached and waited for her to see him. After a few seconds, she marked her place and looked up.

  “Yes, may I help you?”

  “I hope so,” Michael said. “I’m looking for one of your graduates and I need some assistance. I promised a good friend that on my vacation here I’d look up his niece and see if she might be interested in doing some research for my next book, but I can’t find her in the phone book and I’m leaving tomorrow.”

  The woman assessed Michael’s appearance, noting the expensive clothes and white beard.

  What would be the harm in advancing the career of a recent graduate?

  “Of course. What did you say your name was?”

  “Oh, how rude of me,” Michael answered. “I’m Dr. James Green.”

  The lady seemed appropriately impressed.

  “Dr. Green, the easiest way is to take an elevator to the third floor and follow the arrows to our Career Services Division. They have yearbooks that go back many years. Often, students have landed their first job before the yearbook has been completed and their employer is listed under their name. If that’s not the case, I suggest you speak to department staff from her degree program.”

  Michael thanked the lady for her assistance and made his way to the Career Services Division. It was located in a large, open area that looked chock-full of career aids and job search information. Michael found two students using division materials but no staff.

  A bookcase in the corner held the yearbooks. Michael pulled the volumes from 2001-2003, and sat at a nearby table. The students were arranged by their major and the criminal justice section was about a third of the way back. He thumbed through the first two volumes with no luck but hit pay dirt with the 2003 edition.

  Joy Luahine stared out from the middle of page forty-one, an attractive Polynesian with long, black hair and inquisitive eyes. Under her photo was the information Michael sought.

  “Joy Luahine graduated with honors, earning a grade point average of three point seven nine. She has accepted a position with King Security and Investigative Services in Honolulu.”

  Michael picked up one of several phone books scattered around the room. He found King Security and jotted down its phone number and address. He took the elevator down to the lobby and walked to a pay phone he passed on his way into the building. He slid a quarter into the slot and dialed the number.

  “King Security and Investigative Services,” the receptionist answered. “How may I direct your call?”

  “Joy Luahine, please.”

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Luahine is unavailable. May I leave her a message?”

  Michael had no time to play.

  “I’m sorry. This is her uncle from the Mainland. I’ve been trying to reach her since my arrival here. I’m scheduled to leave tomorrow morning and really wanted to take her out to dinner before I go. Is there any way I can reach her?”

  A long silence followed.

  “Well, sir, I’m not supposed to do this. Joy is on assignment, but for a relative I guess I can transfer the call to her cell phone.”

  “Thank you so much,” Michael said.

  A few seconds later Joy was on the line speaking softly.

  “Uncle Horace, I’m so glad you’re in town. I can’t talk now but let’s meet for dinner at eight-thirty at La Vue. See you then. Love you. Bye.”

  The phone went dead.

  With a shocked look on his face, Michael hung up and tried to figure out what had just happened.

  Who the hell is Uncle Horace? Did Joy really have an uncle? Was she expecting a call from him? No way. That kind of coincidence didn’t happen. So what is her game?

  After striking out at the Partain Investigations’ old address, Michael made the dinner reservation at La Vue. It was a five-star restaurant in the Halekulani Hotel at the foot of Mamala Bay. The softly-lit room featured windows open to the sea breeze providing a beautiful view of Diamond Head. The menu brought south of France flavors to Waikiki Beach. Michael hoped Jim Green’s American Express card could endure yet another expensive meal.

  Michael purchased a sport coat, dress shirt, and slacks from the Sheraton’s men’s shop. He arrived at La Vue a little early and informed the maître d’ that his niece, Ms. Luahine, should arrive soon.

  Michael was led to one of several tables near the windows, each with an unobstructed view of Diamond Head and palm trees swaying in the breeze, creating a magical ambiance.

  He downed a complimentary glass of champagne.

  Karen would have loved this place. She would have spoken to the waiter in perfect French, dissected the menu, and ordered a gourmet feast with flawless precision. Then, she would have turned to me for my selection from the wine list.

  Michael could feel tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. He allowed himself to slip back into the regret and mourning that owned him before his flight from the police. It was a sad but peaceful place.

  A buzz from the maître d’ desk broke the mood and Michael looked over. Joy Luahine had arrived. She wore a tight, dark green cocktail dress, matching heels, and a pearl necklace. Although she was a beautiful young lady, she seemed as confused as Michael was on the phone.

  Finally, she followed the maître d’ to Michael’s table.

  “Sir, the young lady and I are somewhat perplexed. You said you were expecting your niece, Ms. Luahine, to join you. This lady says she’s Ms. Luahine but you aren’t her uncle. Can you work this out together or do you require further assistance?”

  Joy looked into Michael’s eyes and saw the sadness of his loss. She evaluated the expense of his outfit and the advanced years of his white beard.

  “I think we’ll be okay,” she said.

  The maître d’ sat Joy next to Michael and disappeared amongst the other tables.

  The waiter brought a glass of champagne to Joy and refilled Michael’s. Joy gulped down most of her drink with abandon and turned to her mystery date.

  “Do you want to go first or should I?”

  Michael smiled.

  “Why don’t you take the honor?”

  Joy finished her champagne and took a deep breath.

  “I have this boyfriend, Jerry Capuna. We’ve been dating for six months. He’s a law student at the university. Well, he gets upset when I’m on surveillance and can’t be reached. He’s such a little boy. Anyway, we made this bet. If he could get the receptionist to transfer his call to my company cell, which is strictly against policy, he would buy me a gourmet meal and I would, how to put it, allow him to …”

  “I don’t need the details,” Michael interrupted.

  “Well, he’s tried and never gotten to my cell or to third base, as you old-timers used to say, but this time, I thought he was clever enough to succeed. That’s why I suggested this restaurant.

  “So, that’s my story. But I don’t understand how you fit in, unless you’re working with Jerry?”

  Michael envied Joy’s youth and bubbly enthusiasm.

  “No, Joy, I don’t know Jerry. Actually, I’m interested in a man you used to work for, George Partain. My story is long and involved. I suggest we order dinner and I’ll walk you through it step by step.”

  Michael didn’t know why but he trusted Joy like a daughter. Maybe it was her openness or maybe he just needed someone to listen to him.

  Over salade Nicoise, basil-stuffed ruby snapper, filet of beef, coconut cake, and two bottles of French wine, Michael told his story. He began with his assignment to administer the minimum wage hearings in American Samoa and ended with Karen’s death, the middle of the night telephone call, and his meeting with Sammy Finn.

  He held nothing back, including his dalliance with Stephanie, her marriage to Paul Pecura, her appearance on the boardwalk, and the nightmare that haunted his sleep.

  When Michael described Karen’s death, tears flowed down Joy’s cheeks. When Michael dried them with a napkin, she got up and hugged him, patting his back with a daughter’s sympathy.

  Michael em
ptied his wine glass and said he had two questions for her. First, what was her assessment of his situation, and second, had there been a client of Partain Investigations who could have been involved?

  Joy said she appreciated the wonderful meal but needed to stretch her legs. She suggested continuing their conversation on the beach.

  Twenty minutes later, the two were walking along Waikiki Beach and breathing the ocean air. After ten more minutes of silence, Joy, shoes in hand, stopped walking and turned to Michael.

  “Dr. Bloom, first, you need to understand I’m not a seasoned detective. I’ve completed basic coursework and have only two years of experience with cases that don’t approach the complexity of what you’re involved in.

  “Also, you should know that if you came to our agency and told your story to one of our investigators, he would be obligated to refuse to assist you and turn you over to the local police. You’re a fugitive wanted for questioning in your wife’s death. Furthermore, you’re guilty of car theft and continue to fraudulently spend money from your neighbor’s credit card. If the police found that the agency assisted you, our license would be pulled.”

  Doubt shot into Michael’s mind. Had he been lulled into a false sense of security by the lazy ocean waves and Joy’s kindness? What had he gotten himself into?

  Joy continued.

  “But, of course, as you’re my uncle, the firm doesn’t need to be involved in family matters.”

  Michael breathed easier.

  “So, let me try to answer your questions. First, it sounds to me that you walked into the middle of a conspiracy that, for some reason, required a very modest increase in Samoa’s minimum wage. You aimed to raise rates significantly. Someone else, other than Samoan employers or the Samoan Government, depended on the continuation of a very low rate.