The Business Expansion Fund register as well as the partnership checking account register were in business Box #3. According to the bank statements, Shapiro had saved almost $200,000 in his expansion fund, which he withdrew on February 16 and put into the partnership bank account. So, Shapiro had put in $300,000, Lau, $50,000, and Stone and Willows a combined $100,000. The $450,000 had been immediately withdrawn and sent to Cessna, who promptly arranged for the delivery of Shapiro’s new airplane and a bank note for the remaining balance. The bottom line was that the payments on the new plane would be less than on the old and Shapiro expected a lot of new business. He had the cash flow to pay down his loan early, then focus on getting out of the partnership. It all looked good to me. I still wanted to know who Stone and Willows were, but the fact that Daniels had a prison record kept leading me back to him as the main suspect.
A knock on the door startled me. I glanced at the clock. Sheesh, half the morning was gone and now some moron wanted something. Blow them off in a hurry, I thought, then back to this. I still had more pieces of the puzzle to consider. My back sent off a few twinges as I stood, reminding me that stretching was supposed to be a part of my daily routine. I resolved to stretch right after I ridded myself of the door nuisance, whoever that might be.
To my surprise, Harris stood there waiting. In her hand she held a check, the look on her face said that she felt better. I stepped to one side. “Come in!”
She nodded and handed me her rent check as she passed. “Thought you might want this.”
We both hugged and gravitated towards the controlled chaos on my dining room table.
She said, “What’s all this?”
“Shapiro’s records.” I wasn’t sure how much she wanted to know, but wanted to at least give her some details. “I’ve got his business records, photos, flight listing and more. I think I’ve got it narrowed down as to who his killer might have been.”
“Great! So what’s the deal, hon?”
I went through the whole story, telling what I’d learned so far. Her expression brightened when I told her about Daniels' drug conviction.
She was jotting the names on a piece of scrap paper, when the phone rang.
I picked it up and said, “McKenna.”
“Sorry, I must have a wrong number.”
The voice sounded familiar. It was someone that I’d spoken to in the past few days. I said, “Who are you trying to reach?”
“O’Brien. He’s at the Advertiser.”
“This is his message phone.”
“You sound a lot like him,” the voice on the other end oozed suspicion.
“Oh, yeah. People get us mixed up all the time. Don’t tell him I said this, but O’Brien ain’t the brightest bulb in the pack, if you know what I mean.” Jeez, I’d already picked up one of Meyer’s expressions.
I heard a kind of a snort. “He seemed a bit off to me.”
“So what’s your message for O’Brien?” Dumbass.
“Oh, that plane he was looking for, Bob Shapiro’s plane, its back.”
“What? When?”
“Dunno, I just came in from launching a glider and saw it. It was probably here all night. I didn’t hear him announce a landing on Unicom. Gotta go, customer.”
Harris said, “What was that all about?”
“The plane, it’s back at Dillingham Field.”
“We need to go check that out.”
“Why wouldn’t we let the cops do that?”
“Because it’ll probably be gone by the time they get there. Besides, didn’t you ever do field work as a skip tracer?”
The doorbell rang. Now what? “Hold that thought!”
I jerked open the door. Lately, I’d seen Alexander’s angry side, but I’d never seen him looking grim. Behind me, the phone rang. I said, “Crap. Come on in.”
I spun on my heel and ran for the phone thinking about Legs wanting to do a field trip. Didn’t she get it? These guys were dangerous; she couldn’t just hug her way out of trouble if they found us. I made it to the phone just before the answering machine picked up and was sure of one thing—this couldn’t possibly be good news.
Chapter 21
Between Harris in the living room, Alexander at the door, and the ringing phone, I felt like a duck in a shooting gallery. And right now, this little ducky damn near broke his neck getting to the phone. I also have a cordless in the bedroom, but there’s no way I could have made that before the machine took the call. As I lifted the handset, I caught another look at Alexander’s face. His normally healthy complexion had turned pale and splotchy. I kept watching him as I listened. The voice on the other end of the phone was almost inaudible, and I had to press the receiver halfway into my brain to hear what the caller was saying.
“It’s Meyer. There’s someone in my apartment.”
Oh crap, not again, I thought. But it was true; the tone in his voice said it all. He was scared. “Are you there now?” Duh. Of course he wasn’t, otherwise, he’d be tied up in a corner, stabbed or shot or lying dead on the floor—
Meyer’s hoarse whisper cut off my ruminations. “What? Speak up! I’m in Shapiro’s unit. Those yahoos from yesterday came back this morning. I heard them fiddling with the lock and ducked out the slider. I circled around and snuck up here.”
“Did you call 9-1-1?”
“No. Can’t you hear? I said there was two of them.”
I probably should have told him to stick his head out the window and yell, “Help, police!” But with his hearing, he’d probably think I’d told him to pack a valise. I finally yelled, “Call 9-1-1!”
He whispered, “That don’t work from a cell phone, does it?”
“Fine. I’ll do it.” The fact is, the emergency call would go through, but was he in the right frame of mind to give clear directions? For the life of me, I don’t know why I held the handset away as I spoke to Alexander. Meyer couldn’t hear me anyway. “Can you take me to Meyer’s? He’s got more visitors.”
He nodded and gave me a thumbs up.
“We’ll be there in ten minutes.”
Meyer whispered, “Hurry, looks like they might be coming this way.”
The phone went dead. I called 9-1-1 and reported what was happening. The dispatcher assured me that she would have a vehicle there shortly. I hung up the phone and said to Alexander and Harris, “Cops are on their way to Meyer’s.”
Harris said, “You two go check on your friend. I’ll file an update with this info for the cops. Then, I have a few errands to run. We’ll catch up this afternoon.”
Harris went back to her apartment; Alexander and I headed for his truck. Once on the way, I said, “What happened to you anyway? You look like you saw a ghost.”
Alexander’s normally a pretty relaxed kind of guy. He seldom gets flustered or stressed—he’s got “island-style” down pat. Sure, he’s got a little bit of a temper and had yelled a bit more than normal lately, but he blew that off quickly and didn’t hold a grudge.
So there was something big bugging him. We’d driven no more than a few blocks when he said, “My great-grandfather visited me last night.”
I was still focused on what might be happening to Meyer, so it took a few seconds for the words to register. I scratched my head. “Your great-grandfather?”
“Great-Grampa Kimu.”
“Kimu? Isn’t he the one that’s been dead for, like, ten years?”
“Twelve.”
“What’d you and Kira do, invite him over for dinner and he showed up late?”
Alexander snickered. “You very funny McKenna. You haoles don’t understand family. Our kupuna, every now and then, they come back to counsel us, cause we get off on the wrong path.”
So now Harris was acting normal, and Alexander had gone wacko. Since he was driving, and therefore in control of my well-being, I nodded my agreement. Sure, whatever you say. But the fact is; I was trying to figure this one out. Dead relatives as counselors. They show up when you take a wrong turn. Could I
call on one for directions? Maybe ask where were items that had been moved in the grocery store? I said, “You know, you Hawaiians have some great customs. I like luaus. Surfing’s good. Pretty girls in bikinis. Oh, that wasn’t you guys, that was the Greeks, but this dead ancestor thing is a bit much. You sure you didn’t spend too much time in the sun yesterday? Couldn’t be that, it rained. Maybe it was the stress of seeing a body thrown from a plane? Or that bullet exploded too close to your brain the other day?”
“He told me you wouldn’t believe in him. He said, ‘Watch out for McKenna, he’s a good guy, but he messed up. You go talk story wid him, give him lotta kokua.’”
“So that’s why you came to see me this morning? Because your great-grandfather told you I needed help?” Great, help from a crazy man, just perfect.
“His father was a great chief. When he say I need do something, I betta listen.”
I snickered. So the great chief was too busy playing checkers in the sky to do his own bidding. “So how come the great chief didn’t come visit me?”
“Maybe I misunderstood him. I dunno. Guess you not that important.”
I burst out, “What! I’m not important? Says who?”
“You need be more humble, McKenna. Besides, Great-Grampa Kimu say you need to know it was Cousin Roger got thrown out of the plane. The kupuna not happy about that. Roger was good family man. Very loyal to his wife and kids.”
Now, I wasn’t humble or important? These ancestors were beginning to—uh oh, I wondered if they could hear me. “I don’t think I like what your ancestors think of me.”
“See? It’s always about you. You didn’t hear nothing I said about Roger.”
“Yeah, yeah. Family man. Loyal like a Golden Retriever. Anyway, we already knew that.”
“Great-Grampa Kimu said he been trying to tell you, but you won’t listen. You need to pass along that Roger’s happy where he’s at to his wife.”
My jaw fell open. No great chiefs had visited me. All I had was an old duffer in green board shorts who wouldn’t let me sleep. “When did I graduate to middleman for the afterlife? Talk story with a dead man’s wife? Are you nuts?”
“Me? Pupule? Nope, I know just where I stand.”
“From where I’m at, the view’s different. I ain’t having a little chit chat with Roger’s wife. I can’t go back there; she’d kill me.”
Alexander kept his hands light on the wheel as he laughed at my reaction. He said, “You haoles, you got no respect for the past. You gonna live here, you gonna be a part of this island, you gotta learn to accept a few things. Some things you can’t see unless you open your mind.”
“Like dead ancestors visiting in the night.”
“Great-Grampa Kimu, he giving you an invitation. You should give it some serious thought.”
Serious thought? My life was turning around. I might have a relationship starting. That deserved serious thought. Talk story with dead people? I don’t think so. Just because I’d renumbered the apartments to get rid of unlucky thirteen didn’t make me a wacko. I decided to humor Alexander. “So what time did he—you—uh, visit?”
“Right before sunrise. Great-Grampa Kimu, he always like surfing at sunrise. I guess he didn’t want to miss it.”
I felt a sudden chill on the back of my neck. Surfing? Maybe it was just this talk about dead kupuna that was giving me a case of the creepy crawlies. Or the old surfer in the dreams.
Alexander said, “What’s wrong with you? Now you acting like you the one saw a ghost.”
This was too weird. “Me? Why would he visit me? I don’t believe in all that paranormal stuff, mumbo jumbo, dead guys—”
Thank goodness we arrived at Meyer’s right then; otherwise, I’d have been in a serious downward spiral headed for a crash landing. There was already a Honolulu Police Department car on the scene. We met the officer at Meyer’s door, and Meyer showed up a few seconds later. He spoke in his usual loud voice, “They left just before you got here.”
The officer had his little notepad at the ready. He said, “Are you the one who lives here?”
Meyer said, “Me? I’m Herschel. Meyer Herschel. I own this place, been managing it since the yahoo I’d hired upped and left without notice.”
“Well, Mr. Herschel, I checked the door and windows and didn’t see any sign of forced entry. If you’d like, I can check inside for you.”
Meyer pointed a spindly arm at the apartment. As usual, he practically yelled at the officer. “I don’t need the garage checked, they were inside the apartment!”
The officer scanned the three of us, then said, “Okay, Mr. Herschel. How about if I check the apartment?”
Meyer pulled out his giant key ring and put his key into the lock. “Good idea, but you ain’t gonna find nothing.”
Sure enough, the officer returned to the front door in less than two minutes. “There’s nobody inside. They must have been looking for something in particular, there’s very little disturbed. And your back slider was wide open.”
I translated for Meyer, “The coast is clear! Open slider!”
Meyer got a stern look on his face. “Check the street for suspicious cars, Officer. They might just be waiting for you to leave.”
The officer nodded and agreed to walk the street. He handed us his card. “If you find anything that’s missing, call me. I’ll go take a look out front.” The card had a nice little HPD logo on it. Very impressive.
We thanked the officer, and he went on his way, leaving us outside Meyer’s apartment. Meyer said, “I closed that slider when I went out. That means they figured out how I got away without them seeing me.”
That left us with the question of what to do with Meyer. I said, “You’re not safe here.”
“No, I ain’t got no safe here,” said Meyer.
I upped the voice level. “I said, you’re not safe here.”
“Maybe they got what they wanted,” said Alexander.
Meyer and I both shook our heads. I was sure that Meyer understood what we were saying because we were almost yelling.
I said, “No, they didn’t find what they were looking for because I’ve got it. All of it. So they’ll be back. And next time, one of them will be waiting outside the slider for you to slip out.”
Meyer looked at me, “Don’t suppose you got any room over at your place?”
I hadn’t thought about that possibility before, but the idea of sharing my little apartment with another old geezer, well, that just didn’t exactly set my heart on fire.
I swear I heard a satisfied whisper from one of Alexander’s ancestors in my ear. “Gotcha.”
I remembered standing in the living room last night talking to Meyer. Okay, that was one level of scary, but the thought of seeing this guy with the spindly little white legs dripping wet after a shower because he forgot to close the bathroom door was enough to make yours truly go find his own deserted island.
“You don’t have somewhere else to go?” I asked.
He got a sullen look on his face and stared at the sidewalk. “I got my home in Eau Claire.” He glanced up at me, then at the sidewalk. “Got a brother in Minneapolis.” There was another glance up, then he continued. “Got a cousin in—nope, wait, he died. Got—”
That spirit was back in my ear. A chuckle. A whisper, “Sucker.”
Alexander and Meyer stared at me when I swatted at my ear.
“You close the door when you shower, right?”
“Of course I showered today. Can’t you tell?”
“Fine.”
Meyer put a hand to his ear. “What?”
“FINE! My place is—fine.”
His face brightened and he smiled wide enough for me to see a mouthful of sparkly gold fillings. “Let me get my things.”
He went inside while Alexander and I hung out by the front door. Alexander said, “You been suckered, McKenna.”
“You’re the second one to tell me that.”
Alexander frowned. “You’re getting weird.”
“Yeah? I’d rather go talk story with Roger’s wife than share my apartment. But he’s got nowhere else to go.”
A few minutes later, Meyer was back with a brown, tweed suitcase that had leather strips on either end and a matching briefcase. The handles on both were brown leather also, but had discolored from skin oils and showed signs of wearing through. While the briefcase appeared to be in mint condition except for the handle, the suitcase leather on the ends had nicks, scrapes and one huge gouge. I hadn’t seen a suitcase like that since I was in high school. I said, “What, were you packed already?”
“Yeah,” he said, “I was pretty upset, too. The airlines really banged it up on the trip over.”
Somewhere in the back of my mind, a chorus of little voices was singing, “McKenna is a sucker, McKenna is a sucker.” I glanced at Alexander. “I think your ancestors are ganging up on me.”
He chuckled as he started to walk away. In a booming voice, he said, “C’mon, roomies.”
We went back to Alexander’s truck, Alexander leading the way, me following him, and Meyer shuffling along after me, baggage in hand. What had I gotten myself into now?
As we piled into the truck, Meyer yelled in my ear, “We headed back to your place, McKenna?”
I grabbed at my broken eardrum. “You don’t have to yell.”
In almost the same voice, Meyer said, “Sorry! So we going back to your place, McKenna?”
Alexander’s shoulders shook. He kept his back turned. I said, “Shut up.” To Meyer, I added, “No, we’re going to Dillingham Field to check on a hunch.”
Meyer patted my shoulder. “It’s okay, I don’t need anything for lunch yet. But thanks for asking.”
Alexander and I both groaned. Mine was because my new roommate couldn’t hear a word I said; his was most likely because Alexander is almost always hungry and he was missing an opportunity for an early meal.
Halfway to the airfield, Meyer fell asleep in the back seat. I was tempted to have Alexander stop and drop him off at Wahiawa park or something, but Alexander’s Great-Grampa Kimu would probably have disapproved, so I didn’t dare ask. Meyer did wake up about ten minutes from the airfield and looked around. He seemed dazed, so in the loudest voice I could muster, I said, “We’re going to Dillingham Field.”
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