Maui Magic

by Terry Ambrose

  Mrs. Nakamura adjusted the plumeria over her left ear. Her dark hair, thinned with age, had silver strands running throughout. “She did not work for Hisao—they were collaborating.”

  A subtle, and inconsequential, difference. “They were colleagues, then.”

  “Yes.”

  Chance had been staring at his beer glass during most of the conversation. Using his most casual laid-back style, he asked, “What did she do for the organization?”

  Mrs. Nakamura turned to Yoshiko. “Did he tell you?”

  Yoshiko stroked her stomach and shook her head. “No, Soba. I do not know what role she played.”

  Chance glanced at me. I could see he had another question in the queue and signaled him to go ahead.

  “What did Hisao tell you about the project, Yoshiko?”

  Her voice was soft, her words almost lost in the restaurant chaos. “He always talked about the cause and the importance of his work, but he never spoke of the details. He felt it would have been improper to reveal such information.”

  To his wife? Maybe to his opponents…uh oh…dare I ask? “Yoshiko, did Hisao trust you?”

  “Mr. McKenna!” Mrs. Nakamura glared at me. “Your question itself is quite improper.”

  Yoshiko shuddered and tears welled in her eyes. Did I have my answer?

  I glanced down at Benni’s hand on my arm. The look on her face pled for me to let this line of questioning go. I could do that…for now. “My apologies, Yoshiko. It’s just that in this sort of investigation, we must consider all possibilities.”

  Yoshiko sought refuge from my gaze by staring at the condiments again.

  “McKenna,” said Chance. “Maybe we should work on a different question. What are the charges against Hisao?”

  I settled back, curious—and hopeful. Maybe Chance could make progress. “The floor is yours. Go for it.”

  “Mrs. Nakamura, why do the police believe Hisao is guilty?”

  “The facts the authorities have are incorrect. This is why they pursue my grandson.”

  Chance caught my eye. Yeah. He didn’t like the answer either. I cleared my throat. Once again, more pitfalls. If Mrs. Nakamura was correct, a witness was lying. The other big option was one of misplaced trust. It could be the old woman didn’t know the real Hisao and her faith in him was nothing more than wishful thinking. “What facts do they have wrong?”

  She regarded Yoshiko for a moment, then spoke matter-of-factly. “His whereabouts at the time of the murder.”

  “Where do they claim he was?”

  “You should not conclude your sentences with a preposition, Mr. McKenna.”

  I felt a little surge of irritation. What happened to being equals? This was not fourth grade, and we were not about to get into sentence construction. It was obvious the others had seen my reaction. “You’re stalling, Mrs. Nakamura. Where was he?”

  Benni nudged me and frowned. “McKenna, this is hard for Auntie.”

  Mrs. Nakamura’s cheeks flushed with a rosy glow. “Do not worry, child. Mr. McKenna is correct. I was, as he would say, jerking his chain.”

  She snickered, then winked at me, which threw me off my game completely—again. Chance was relishing my predicament. I considered a quick retort. Something like—Watch it, buddy, you’re only the assistant. I dropped the idea. Why make the situation more difficult?

  “Nicely done,” I said, “but you have not answered my question.”

  “The police allege Hisao was with this Mandy Kenoi woman immediately before the murder.”

  I sat back in my chair and watched Mrs. Nakamura’s face. The cops didn’t usually move so fast. “So they’ve established a time of death already?”

  “They claim to have a witness who was able to pinpoint the time exactly.”

  “Which was…?”

  “Monday night. Ten-fourteen p.m.” Mrs. Nakamura said, then looked at Yoshiko and cocked her head in my direction. “Tell Mr. McKenna what you told me.”

  Yoshiko appeared to be growing more uncomfortable by the minute. She kept both hands in her lap as she moved her unseeing gaze from the condiments to her unfinished dinner. She raised one hand and toyed with a long strand of hair, twisting it around her finger as she spoke. “My husband was home at the time. We were both asleep.”

  She was a beautiful woman with dark eyes, fine eyebrows, and full lips. Her gray maternity dress, with its long sleeves and muted floral print, reinforced what little I knew of Yoshiko. It wasn’t much, and could be way off base, but from all appearances, she was also reserved and demur.

  On balance, I had to question everything the two women were telling us. Their entire argument relied on one premise—that Hisao had been home when someone killed Mandy Kenoi. If he’d been elsewhere, the cops would have no problem toppling their house of cards.

  Yoshiko turned away once again. Her failure to make eye contact concerned me. I smelled trouble in paradise. And Yoshiko could be at the center of it.

  Chance propped one elbow on the table and waited until she let her gaze flick up to his. “It sounds like you may be Hisao’s alibi. Yoshiko, why are the police still saying he was with the victim?”

  Mrs. Nakamura jumped in before her grandaughter could answer. “You would be advised to ask the authorities for their reasoning.”

  Nuh-uh. Not happening. And the old bag knew it. We might stand on equal ground now, but that didn’t mean I had to trust a word she uttered. She could easily be mistaken about Hisao and we both knew it.

  “You said they have a witness, Mrs. Nakamura. Did the witness claim to see Hisao commit the murder or are we talking about someone who puts him in the vicinity? Did they tell you anything?”

  “They claim Hisao was at a bar. They also allege several other witnesses have confirmed his presence.”

  “What’s the name?”

  “It is called The Pony Club. This is the location.” She handed me a small scrap of paper. On it was an address on Main Street in Wailuku.

  Well, well, the old lady had come prepared. What other cards did she have up her sleeve? “Mahalo, we’ll check this out. Is there anything else we should know?”

  “In a manner of speaking, I am casting you to the lions. This is an adult entertainment establishment.”

  “Hisao was with a hooker?”

  Oops. The words just fell out of my mouth and landed on the table. It must have been the final insult for Yoshiko because she buried her face in her hands and began to sob. Mrs. Nakamura closed her eyes and let out a deep sigh.

  “Mr. McKenna, please, there are some matters we do not discuss in public.”

  There’s a little demon who usually sits on my right shoulder. He eggs me on with wisecracks at times like this. I call him Bad McKenna and he’d whooped it up big when I blundered. Bad’s counterpart sits on my left shoulder. To keep things simple, I call him Good McKenna—and he was busy scolding me for my crassness. He was right, I’d gone overboard. “My apologies. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  Actually, I knew exactly what I was thinking—I just shouldn’t have let my comment slip. Hisao had gone to a hostess bar, found a woman, cheated on his wife, and then committed murder. Holy moly. Had I misjudged him or what?

  Our server was working her way toward us, but I waved her off. She had plenty of tables to work, I still had questions, and I did not want Nancy from Minnesota taking away what little momentum I had.

  Chance’s lips were zipped together tight enough to pinch the muscles in his cheeks. He was doing everything he could to avoid bursting into laughter. Benni had covered her eyes with splayed fingers. Lexie had turned her attention to the same condiments Yoshiko used earlier for her refuge. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear the bottles were going to dance.

  Yoshiko was about ten shades of red, most likely dying from embarrassment and ready to murder an impuden
t haole.

  Mrs. Nakamura was tough, though. She held my gaze, and after a moment, seemed satisfied I’d been sufficiently reprimanded. She nodded to herself and continued, “Hisao would never go to such a place. As I said earlier, the authorities are incorrect.”

  Right. He was home. With his pregnant wife. In bed. Watching TV or asleep. Got it. BS.

  It looked like Chance might have recovered from his moment of mirth at my expense. He had both elbows propped up and his eyes sparkled with excitement. “How many witnesses do they have?”

  Mrs. Nakamura straightened in her seat. “The police did not specify a number.”

  What? A roomful? The cops weren’t about to arrest a suspect so soon without compelling evidence. “What about motive? Why do they think Hisao is guilty?”

  “They claim the man and woman were arguing.”

  “What would Hisao be arguing with a woman about? Did they have anything in common other than the Na Wai ‘Ehā project?” And lust.

  “They had no other common interests.”

  We were in a rut. Call me naturally suspicious, but I’d become wary when someone had all the answers. I’m not saying Mrs. Nakamura didn’t know the truth, but she could be filtering out what she didn’t want to accept. It happened all the time. Desperate people chose their reality. And Mrs. Nakamura was out to save her flock. Would she do it at all costs?

  I kind of admired her in a way, but wondered if she understood the consequences if the authorities started digging for answers and Yoshiko’s story didn’t mesh with the evidence. It was a safe bet Yoshiko would crumble. After that, Mrs. Nakamura’s so-called reasoning would fall apart and the truth would come out.

  The old woman certainly knew Hisao wouldn’t be the first man to commit a crime of passion. The scenario was all too common. Two lovers meet in a bar. They quarrel. Tempers run high. Having the anger turn to murder wasn’t exactly the norm, but it did happen. And, if eyewitnesses placed Hisao with the victim just before her death, I feared we had only one play. We might forget about absolution and focus on a reduced sentence unless...

  “Our best defense is to prove it wasn’t Hisao. We can use the argument the couple was having. What were they arguing about?”

  “It is unlikely your strategy will work, Mr. McKenna.” Mrs. Nakamura’s expression fell. The lines on her brow deepened.

  “Why not? It was most likely a lover’s quarrel. Someone who looked like Hisao. Yah?”

  The old woman’s shoulders slumped; her lower lip trembled. For the first time, she appeared filled with despair. For some unknown reason, it hurt to see her in such pain. A lonely tear trickled down her weathered cheek. I’d only seen her cry twice in four years—and both times had happened tonight. She looked as though we’d stolen the last of her energy.

  “The witnesses are claiming the argument was over Na Wai ‘Ehā.”

  12

  Maybe in another time and place I would have enjoyed a trip to a hostess bar under the guise of doing business. Tonight, the thought gave me no great thrill. We had little choice in the matter. We needed to find out if Hisao had been there, but before we could run around asking questions, we needed a photo.

  It was only six-fifteen p.m. and the eighties outside had given way to mid-seventies. After four years in the islands, I found myself in the same boat as many other locals. We’d feel chilly and be bundling up in a few hours. At about the same time, the tourists would start calling the cool night air delightful and us wimpy for being so soft. I didn’t care though. The tourists had to leave, and I got to stay. What wasn’t to like?

  I leaned forward in my chair, planted both elbows on the table, and addressed Mrs. Nakamura and Yoshiko. “Chance and I will go to the Pony Club tonight, but we’ll need a picture to show around. Do you have one we can borrow?”

  “Perhaps you have one on your phone,” Chance said. “That would work, too.”

  Mrs. Nakamura rummaged through her purse as Yoshiko tapped on her phone. While they searched, I took a moment to gaze makai. Coconut palms swayed against a golden backdrop dotted with gray clouds. The sun had disappeared behind the building on the opposite corner, but the sky glowed with a golden tropical aura. This was paradise—the Hawai‘i the tourists enjoyed. If only the one we were about to dive into could be so pleasant.

  In another thirty minutes, the sun would drop below the horizon and we’d have a doozy of a sunset. It would be a nice change from a day filled with strange events and the introduction of more darkness.

  “McKenna?”

  It was Benni. Touching my arm. Pulling me back to the real world. She tilted her head toward Yoshiko, who was showing her phone to Chance. Mrs. Nakamura gazed on. She still kept a hand inside her purse, which was perched on her lap.

  “I can text it to you,” Yoshiko said. “What is your number?”

  While Yoshiko messaged Chance, Mrs. Nakamura packed up her purse and returned it to its spot on the floor. Chance immediately sent the photo to me. I scrutinized the image. This was a man with intensity. Dark eyes, a smoldering fire inside. I sighed at the task we were about to undertake.

  How did you prove the innocence of a man you deemed guilty? If Mrs. Nakamura were honest, she might even admit trusting in Hisao’s alibi was plain old wishful thinking. After all, the police had a roomful of witnesses. Yoshiko could claim her husband had been home, but the truth couldn’t be more plain. Nobody other than Yoshiko and her grandmother believed Hisao was innocent.

  I forced a smile and did my best to sound upbeat. “Got it. We’re good to go.”

  Chance and I would have to dig up the truth. We’d have to verify everything and hope fortune was on our side. In short, all we needed was a miracle.

  Of course, Mrs. Nakamura wanted to pick up the dinner tab, but Chance would have none of that. Despite her protests, he handled the bill and left a generous tip. I’d learned not to argue with the kid when it came to matters of money. It wasn’t that he felt his wealth made him superior, quite the contrary. He just liked sharing.

  There were times he’d been caught in the money pinch. In his case, though, it was “rich kid style.” For instance, one time he splurged on a fire-engine red Ferrari. His dad imposed restrictions. Chance whined. But, he got the message—even his money spigot had a limit. Still, at the end of the day, he had plenty—we didn’t. Simple as that.

  With the bill dispatched, our party made its way to the exit. Mrs. Nakamura and Yoshiko took the elevator to the ground level; the rest of us chose the stairs. With each step, the sounds of reggae music grew louder. Soon, we’d descended into a rabbit warren of sweaty, fragrant bodies. For the most part, these were carefree tourists out for a meal or entertainment. They shuffled with the flow of the music and the crowd, some with purpose, others simply going where they ended up.

  Those who had arrived early sat at green plastic tables near the bar in the central courtyard. The late arrivals waited in line for a table covered by a thatched umbrella. The umbrellas were more for show than shade. They gave the courtyard the appearance of a small tropical village—the kind the tourists dreamt of visiting. Koi ponds, palm trees, and bright colors completed the presentation. And don’t forget the alcohol…lots of alcohol.

  Benni and Lexie blended into the crowd first. Chance and I followed a few feet behind, bouncing around like pinballs as we weaved between bodies. “The natives are rocking.”

  With his head bobbing to the heavy beat of a Bob Marley classic, Chance said, “I can see why. Great party.”

  The further we went into the throng, the louder the music, the denser the crowd. Then, the noise and chaos cleared, much like passing into the eye of a storm. I tapped Chance on the shoulder. “We’ll need to visit that bar.”

  He peered at me for a second, seemed to process what I’d said, and glanced ahead. I looked where he did. No sign of Benni or Lexie. A broad smile crossed his face, and he winked
. “The Pony Club? For a moment I thought you meant this one. I hope the girls are okay with us going there.”

  A woman with glazed eyes sloshed wine onto the floor and cackled like a hyena as I slipped by her. I raised my voice to compensate for the distraction. “I’m not sure we can trust what they told us, Chance. Benni wanted me to take this case, so if she has a problem with me visiting a hostess bar—tough.”

  Chance’s shoulders shook with laughter. He dodged a table of young women where one of them eyed the kid like he was a freshly cooked steak. He must have known enough to avoid making eye contact because he never glanced in her direction. “You already talked to her, didn’t you?”

  Rats. He’d figured it out. Well, no way was I giving him the satisfaction of admitting he’d been correct. I pretended not to hear what he said and motioned at my ear.

  He snickered as he turned away and pushed past more people. The trouble with friends is they eventually see through all your BS. It sucks.

  Past the chaos of the bar and restaurant, we ran into the families and window shoppers. They filed through the front entrance of the shopping complex like swarming flies. Once inside, they dispersed to the outer ring of gift and souvenir stores. There, they lollygagged, ogled the island trinkets and more expensive options, or dove into the restaurant crowd.

  We threaded the last of the menagerie and met up with Benni and Lexie on the sidewalk. They both had big smiles on their faces.

  “What are you two so giddy about?” I asked.

  “Are you ready for some entertainment?” Benni flipped her hair back. She and Lexie both giggled and studied us with wide eyes.

  “After we drop you two off, sure,” Chance said.

  There was no need for me to get involved; the girls were both shaking their heads in unison. I jabbed him in the ribs. “What a chicken you are.”

  Benni cocked one hip to the side and winked at us. “We’re not letting two hunks like you go into a bar with half-naked women all on your own. No way, babe, we’re keeping our eyes on you two.”