He shrugged. “Maybe I identify because Kamapua’a was half man and half monster.”
“That’s a terrible way to see yourself.”
“It’s not a matter of how I see myself. It’s how others see me.”
“I thought you had too much, I don’t know…intelligence to indulge in self-pity.”
“No, you didn’t. You were just relieved when I pretended not to notice your pity. I’ve come to terms with the man in the mirror and I wouldn’t trade skins with anyone. But I’m not oblivious to the effect my scars have on people.”
She didn’t know what to say without making it sound like a condolence. “Like you said, once a person gets used to you, you’re not so bad.”
He laughed that mordant laugh. “The early Hawaiians mutilated themselves with all kinds of gashes and burns to prove their devotion to a lover. Their scars were called alina and they were all the rage. I’d have been quite a knockout back in the day.”
Dinah was too squeamish even to get a discreet little tattoo. She didn’t think she would’ve gone for gashes or burns, however artistic or faddish. But with the moon beginning to slide behind a cloud and the Scotch seeping into her bloodstream, Jon’s alina were growing on her in a disturbingly paganish way. She eighty-sixed herself. “What were you doing next to red-hot lava without your protective gear?”
“I was testing a lobe of pahoehoe lava. Pahoehoe is beautiful. It flows in a smooth, rolling motion and as it cools and hardens, it looks like coils of twisted rope. It doesn’t radiate as much heat as a’a lava. If you’ve got sturdy boots and gloves and work quickly, you don’t need the full suit.”
“Were you angry at your father before the accident or did you fall out afterward?”
His body stiffened. “Who said I was angry?”
“Everything you’ve said to me about him contains a not-so-veiled distrust of the man. Claude Ann mentioned a rift and Raif said that you and Xander were wary of each other.”
“Wary’s a good word. Raif is surprisingly perceptive up to a point. My father and I have had our differences, some of them fierce. But he raised Lyssa and me single-handed, he took care of me when I was burned and sick, and I believe that he loves us. Some problems in life are insoluble. Dad and I try to steer clear of those. I’m happy he’s finally found somebody he loves and wants to spend the rest of his life with. It should happen to us all.” He belted the last of his Scotch and stood up.
“Give me your hand.” He pulled her to her feet and she was seized by an untoward urge, almost like a tic, to kiss him. Big mistake, she thought. Sexual curiosity mingled with compassion, ticklish in the extreme. But sex won out. She stood on her toes, closed her eyes, and kissed him on the mouth.
His response was more than she’d bargained on. When she came up for air, her knees were rubbery and her dopamine level dangerously high. So this was what it felt like to kiss a heathen descendant of a fire goddess.
He said, “That didn’t taste like consolation.”
She was casting about for words when something bumped the back of the tower. She looked around the side of the structure and saw a lanky figure in a billed cap limping hurriedly down the beach.
“How long do you suppose he’s been listening?” asked Jon.
“I…don’t…know.” She watched the man until he hobbled out of sight behind the hotel.
Sorrowing Jesus. Well, that solved the bucket of blood mystery and probably the missing gun, as well. So it wasn’t Eleanor or any of the local meanies after all. How could she have thought even for one second that Hank would stay at home and miss Claude Ann’s next wedding?
Chapter Sixteen
“I want his miserable tee-totalin’ liver on a stick. I’d like to rip his sanctimonious tongue right out of his head. I’d like to lop off his cracker balls and feed ’em to the fish. I’d like to…”
“Claudy, I take your point.” Dinah speared a chunk of the pineapple garnish off her plate and stuffed it into her mouth. Room service had delivered her breakfast eggs and bacon at six a.m. They sat congealing on the serving trolley and she hadn’t managed to eat more than two bites.
“Of all the lowdown, contemptible, dirty tricks. I wish he were dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead!”
Dinah held the receiver away from her ear until the tirade subsided. “I reported Hank’s appearance to the police and Marywave gave them the name of his hotel. By the time you’re released from the hospital, the police will have nabbed him.”
“What does Marywave have to say for herself? Did the little traitor cook it up with her daddy to put me in the hospital?”
Dinah looked at Marywave, her eyes rimmed red from crying and her lips quivering. “No, Claude Ann. Hank didn’t think you were reading his letters so he told Marywave he was going to leave you a message you couldn’t ignore. She didn’t know about the blood. She’s scared sick and worried about you and her father, too. We’re all worried about Hank. He’s obviously gone off the deep end and now he has a gun.”
Marywave sniffled. “Tell Mama it wasn’t my fault.”
“Marywave says to tell you it wasn’t her fault.”
“Ask her when he got here? How long’s he been spyin’ on me?”
“Do you want to talk to Marywave, yourself?”
“I can’t talk to her. I’m too keyed up. Tell her she’s a sneaky little piss-ant and a complete pain in the ass. And I love her.”
“Your mother loves you, Marywave.” Dinah ate another piece of pineapple. “The police think he got the blood from a luau or a hotel kitchen. They recommend that you apply to the court for an injunction in case he makes bail.”
“Sheesh! I don’t know how I can make it up to Xan. He’s walkin’ on eggshells because his deal’s gotta close right on time or else. His buyer was at the party last night thinkin’ we’re all nice as pie and along comes my crazy-ass, infra dig ex-husband and causes a bloody horror show. Xan’ll be here any minute and I don’t know how I can explain.”
It irritated Dinah that Claude Ann felt she owed Xander an apology. “You couldn’t possibly have foreseen that Hank would show up and assault you. And how can what happened to you make any difference to the Uwahi deal? Anyway, it’s not just Xander’s deal. It’s your deal, too. Phoebe says you’ve lent him a good deal of money.”
“Yes, I put up some money.” She sounded as if she might be about to cry. “And now I’ve balled things up. Everything would be perfect if I hadn’t brought my holy mess of an ex-husband from Needmore on my coattails.”
If the buyer was the eager beaver Steve said he was, Dinah didn’t see the problem. Hank, on the other hand, had shown himself capable of wreaking serious havoc. “I think you should postpone the wedding until after Hank is behind bars for good or has left the state. If he stays out of jail, injunctions are no guarantee that he’ll leave you alone. Hold off for a month.”
“I won’t, I won’t, I won’t! I won’t be bullied, Dinah Pelerin. Not by you or that ugly witch Eleanor or Hank freakin’ Kemper.”
“Come on, Claudy. Use your head for something besides a hairdo. Think about your safety. Think about Marywave’s safety and Xander’s. It can’t hurt to put off the wedding for a few weeks. I’ll stay. I received a message this morning from one of the professors I’ve been working for on Mindinao. Some journalists and politicians were beheaded a few days ago and the anthropology team has decided to call it quits and go home. I can stay on for a while and be your bodyguard.”
“You can stay as long as you want, but somebody’s gonna have to behead me before I call it quits. Yvonne was late sending our dresses to the hotel so they weren’t damaged. I’m gettin’ married bright ‘n early on the day after tomorrow no matter if God turns the whole bleepin’ ocean to blood.”
It was no use. Dinah had been down this road with Claude Ann before. Once she made up her
mind, she was like a stuck accelerator pedal—flat-out, headlong, full speed ahead. “How much time before we leave for Hilo?”
“Xander’s packed my things for me and as soon as the doc gives me my walkin’ papers, we’re outa here. We’ll meet the rest of y’all at the airport at ten-thirty sharp. We’re gonna fly on Avery Wilhite’s private plane. Jon’ll drive you and Phoebe and Marywave.”
“Tis not mine to reason why.”
“What?”
“Nevermind. I’ll see you at ten-thirty.” Dinah hung up the phone.
“Does she hate me?” whined Marywave.
“Of course, she doesn’t hate you. But what your dad did to her is hateful. I don’t know if he intended to hurt her, but if he didn’t, he showed a total lack of foresight.”
“I still don’t believe Hank did it,” said Phoebe, coming out of the bathroom. She’d been alternately throwing up and bursting into tears ever since Dinah had rousted her out of bed in the wee hours with the news that Hank was prowling around outside the hotel. When Marywave confessed to giving him a key card to Claude Ann’s suite and Dinah telephoned the police, Phoebe’s stomach had rebelled. Physically and emotionally depleted now, she drooped onto the loveseat next to Marywave. “Just because he went into Claude Ann’s suite, and grant you he shouldn’t have done that, it doesn’t mean he dumped the blood or took her gun. You said yourself this Eleanor woman is dangerous and a local person would know better than Hank where to get a gallon of pig’s blood.” Her shrill voice grated on Dinah’s caffeinated nerves.
“Get real, Phoebe. He’s been writing Claude Ann threatening letters, he sneaked into Hawaii without telling her, he had the key to her room. And as for the pig’s blood, Hank puts the husband in animal husbandry and always has.”
“You’ve never liked him.” Phoebe hooked her arm protectively around Marywave’s shoulders. “But you shouldn’t talk about him like that in front of Marywave.”
Big tears rolled down Marywave’s cheeks and Dinah eased up. “Your daddy’s been going through hard times since his car accident, Marywave. He may have sustained a head injury the doctors didn’t find. Maybe he needs to get checked out by a neurologist or a psychiatrist. Maybe if he pays restitution for the damage he did and agrees to get professional help, he won’t have to go to jail. At least, not for long.”
“You’re not much of a comforter, are you?” Phoebe stood up and took Marywave’s hand. “Let’s go back to my room and pack your things, sweetpea.”
“Wait.” Dinah held out her hand. “Give me your phone, Marywave. I assume Hank has your number, too, Phoebe.”
Phoebe was indignant. “I’m not giving you my phone.”
Dinah stared her down. “He’s wanted for questioning by the police, Phoebe. Aid and abet at your own risk.”
Marywave handed over her little pink Kajeet. Dinah opened the door and watched them walk down the hall and go inside Phoebe’s room, then closed her door and flopped onto the bed face-first. She tried to envision her butterfly self, any self at all with wings to fly her out of here in the opposite direction from Hilo. She thought about the next forty-eight hours and moaned out loud. “As God is my witness, I will never attend another wedding as long as I live.”
Chapter Seventeen
The coffee had left a bitter taste in Dinah’s mouth and she went to the bathroom to brush her teeth. Her face in the mirror looked like death on a cracker. A seedy, brittle cracker. She should go back to bed and try to sleep until Jon arrived to chauffeur her to the airport. But she was too wound up to sleep. Maybe when the caffeine and the adrenaline wore off, she could sleep this afternoon. She’d like to sleep all the way through until the wedding. Another party had been scheduled for tonight, but with Claude Ann in a cast and all of her clothes but the wedding dress splotched with blood, Xander would be wise to scratch the affair and barricade himself and his bride behind closed doors. Double-bolted steel doors.
Dinah finished brushing her teeth, spat into the sink, and chased the bad taste down the drain with a froth of tap water. The aboriginal kings of Hawaii preserved their saliva in a vessel studded with the teeth of their ancestors and kept the spittoon under heavy guard. They believed the essence of their spirit resided in their spit. If an enemy got hold of even a single drop, he could cast a spell and zap the king through sorcery. For Dinah, it was too late for precautions. She’d swapped spit with Raif Reid and Jonathan Garst and the way her head felt, she’d been zapped already.
She rinsed and spat again. She needed a hard run to clear the cobwebs. One of the “things to do” magazines on her bedside table recommended a sort of cave or blowhole. She thumbed through the magazine and found it—Spitting Cave. Terrific. It was less than three miles from the hotel. She could do a mile in a little over eight minutes. She could do six in an hour easily and be home and hosed by the time Jon showed up. She memorized the directions, threw on her running shorts and a tee, and set out.
The route took her along mostly residential streets. There were some lovely homes and magnificent trees, but she wasn’t interested in scenery. Her thoughts revolved around Leilani’s suicide and the mysterious phone call that preceded it; Eleanor’s crusade for revenge and her baffling allusion to Pash; Jon’s insoluble problem with Xander and his careless fall on the pahoehoe; the appearance of an unwelcome bookie at the party; Raif’s gambling and his allegation that Xander gambled, too; Claude Ann’s maddening disregard for her money and her safety; and a dead archaeologist that nobody claimed to know in a land where people took their ancestral bones very seriously. The fact that a jealous ex-husband was running around loose with a handgun was almost refreshing in its simplicity.
There were too many mysteries revolving around Xander Garst. Something was hinky. Could Phoebe be right and someone other than Hank was trying to derail the wedding train? Dinah wished she didn’t have such a suspicious mind. An old boyfriend who did brain research once diagnosed her problem with trust as the result of a chemical deficiency—some peptide or other that, produced in adequate amounts, induces faith in one’s fellow man. If Dinah’s brain was lacking in the stuff, Claude Ann’s brain must manufacture it by the gallon.
At the intersection with Lumahai Road, Dinah stopped to fish a stone out of her shoe and reconsidered. Why should she distrust Xander and swallow whole what Eleanor and Raif and even Jon had to say about him? They could be full of selfish motives. Raif was a proven sleazoid, Jon’s insoluble problem with Xander could be a disagreement over the U.S. invasion of Iraq for all she knew, and Eleanor’s cryptic admonitions didn’t inspire trust. Furthermore, it was patronizing to assume that Claude Ann wasn’t capable of vetting a husband. She and Xander had spent the last six weeks together and, apparently, he had exhibited no signs of treachery or corruption or deal-breaking kinkiness. It was Claude Ann’s heart and Claude Ann’s money and Claude Ann’s choice to make. To each her own. Everyone had flaws and if there was something flawed or fishy about Xander, it wasn’t Dinah’s place to point it out.
She turned down Lumahai Road and ran until it dead-ended. There was a sign to Spitting Cave with an arrow pointing down a steep dirt trail. Hair whipping in the breeze, she followed the arrow toward the sound of crashing waves. Where the trail ended, she was standing atop a bowl-shaped cliff of craggy, layered rocks that looked like brownie batter. Far below, where the waves pounded against the rock, a torrent of white water spat out of a cave and gushed into the turbulent blue water.
“The locals used to dive from here.”
Dinah jumped back and whirled around. A few feet to her right, Lyssa Garst perched on a rock like the Little Mermaid.
“Lyssa.” She blew out a breath. “You startled me.”
“I thought you’d seen me.” She adjusted her big, square sunglasses and turned her face toward the water. “It must have been exhilarating. Sixty feet into that maelstrom. They viewed it as a rite of passage.”
“It must have been the last passage for some,” blurted Dinah and kicked herself. Was this the cliff Leilani leapt from? Couldn’t be. The family lived on the Big Island at the time.
Lyssa said, “It’s a good place for thinking.”
It seemed creepily morbid for a woman whose mother died in a suicide leap to spend her afternoon perched on a precipice musing about the thrill of it all. It seemed like a good idea to draw her away from the brink. She was wearing a blue track suit and running shoes.
“Did you jog here? We could jog back together.”
Lyssa gathered her long hair on one side of her face and clambered to her feet. “I drove. May I give you a lift back to the hotel?”
“Sure.”
“Raif said you didn’t want to leave the hospital last night. I was asleep when he finally came in.”
Dinah was immediately on her guard. “Xander went back to the hotel and I didn’t want to leave Claude Ann alone in a strange place. I didn’t mean to inconvenience Raif.”
“I’m sure you didn’t. He’s a night owl.”
They climbed back up the trail together. Two cars were parked in the cul-de-sac. Dinah hadn’t noticed them on her way down. Lyssa pulled her key out of her jacket pocket, pushed the electronic door lock, and the tail lights of a red Ferrari 458 winked on.
Dinah slid into the passenger seat with a tweak of envy. “I like your wheels.”
“Raif bought it for me last year. He’s a Ferrari devotee. I don’t know why I haven’t had it shipped back to the mainland before now. It’s silly not being able to drive it except when I come to Honolulu. I wish Jon could enjoy it, but he almost never comes to the city.” She opened the console and pulled out two bottles of Cachi Water. “Thirsty? I always carry extra.”
“Thanks.” Dinah luxuriated in the soft leather seat and rehydrated.
Lyssa started the engine and pulled into the street. The vroom of all those powerful Italian horses under the hood sent a tingle up Dinah’s spine. It must be sweet to be able to afford a toy like this, and strange that the pleasure of driving it should be limited to periodic visits to the island. She recalled Xander’s little gibe that Raif was only a regional driver. What kind of money did a regional Nascar driver earn? She said, “Raif must be doing very well for himself. Who sponsors his racing team?”
Bet Your Bones Page 12