Tahoe Ice Grave

by Todd Borg

“In the winter,” Janeen said, “Phillip lives in his snowshoes. Every year, when the school has all the kids do a long distance run, Phillip wins the race. His fitness is partly why I am so strict about staying off the slopes. Where most kids stay off the mountains because they get so pooped climbing up them, Phillip would just run up them. Thos took him climbing last summer and said he did just that.”

  “Run up the mountain?”

  “Yes. Thos was always in great shape, but he said Phillip ran non-stop. He’d be waiting for Thos at each lookout.”

  We passed Jerry’s house. It was dark. We headed on out Cornice Road.

  “Tell me more about this tradition of the Kahale shrine,” I said.

  “I asked my ex-husband Jasper about it once. He said it had been going on for hundreds of years.”

  “Exactly how does it work?”

  “Whenever someone dies, the family assembles the person’s three most sacred possessions. There are no rules as to what they must be. The Kahales refer to the sacredness of the items and the place where they will be entombed, but it isn’t in a strict religious sense. It’s a personal sacredness. If the person didn’t designate their three items before they died, then the family chooses what they think was especially important to the individual.”

  “So the chosen things could be trinkets or a Bible.”

  “Right. I remember when one of Jasper’s aunts died suddenly of a heart attack. Everyone in the family knew that the three items most sacred to her were the photographs of the parrots she used to have. So Jasper took them up to the shrine.”

  “But sometimes an individual will designate their own items before they die?”

  “Yes. More often than not, I think.”

  “Can you think of anyone in the family who designated valuable items? Items someone might want to steal?”

  Janeen frowned. “I imagine there were valuable items now and then, but nothing comes to mind. One of Jasper’s uncles designated three little fish sculptures that he carved out of soapstone. Jasper’s other uncle said that the only thing he wanted put in the sacred cliff was his sketchbook. He didn’t sketch often, but over the years he’d nearly filled a thick hardbound volume with exquisite pencil sketches. Landscapes mostly, from what I saw. Before Jasper put it in the sacred cliff, he wrapped the book in several layers of thick plastic to protect it from moisture.”

  “Just one item?” I asked.

  “Right. As far as I know, the family didn’t add any items against his wishes.”

  “Who is in the inner circle, the people who are allowed to put items in the shrine? Family descendents expand to vast numbers after a few generations.”

  “They solved that problem by designating only direct descendents of the eldest son. Jasper was the eldest son, so both Shelcie and Thos are included. If Thos had had children then they would have been part of the group. But Shelcie’s children would not.”

  “Not very fair from Shelcie’s point of view,” I said. “That is, if she would want Phillip included.”

  “True. But doesn’t the eldest son always come before the other sons? Or the daughters, for that matter? These things weren’t designed for fairness. They were designed for efficiency in passing on kingdoms and such.”

  “And sacred cliff shrines,” I said. “What about spouses?”

  “Only the wife of the eldest son was in the inner circle. Presumably because her children were in line for inclusion.”

  “So you are included?”

  “I would have been. But I am the exception because I broke the covenant by getting divorced.” We came to a side road. Janeen turned down it. The walls of snow were so high it was like walking down a large white hallway.

  “Had Thos designated his sacred items?”

  Janeen’s face darkened.

  I wondered if she was finally resenting my questions.

  “No,” she said. “I can’t imagine that he’d even thought about it. I think he was still young enough that he didn’t sense his mortality. But then he wrote the note...”

  “This tradition,” I said, breaking an uncomfortable silence. “Is it spoken of freely among the Kahale relatives?”

  “I suppose it varies from generation to generation. I always had the sense that people didn’t find it that interesting. I imagine that everyone knows about it, even the cousins who don’t participate. But it isn’t an intense focus of interest. For example, my own kids always knew about it. But they never thought it interesting. For them it is just another strange thing about old people.”

  “What about when the grandfather dies?” I asked. “When the eldest son tells his eldest son the location? I picture that moment as an important rite of passage.”

  “Yes, I think it is a great honor to learn the location.”

  “Can the father just tell the son the location, or do they have to go there?”

  “They have to go there. We were just married when Jasper was told. He disappeared for two days and came back quite scratched as if he’d been climbing in the jungle.”

  “Did you get an idea of where the shrine might be?”

  “Not at all. The Na Pali cliffs are four thousand feet high and run for fourteen miles. There are no roads to them because they drop straight into the ocean.”

  “I remember,” I said. “There’s a foot trail along the base of them. Otherwise, the only access is by boat, right?”

  “Yes. Even boat access is cut off in the winter because the waves are too ferocious. So the Kahale shrine could be anywhere. I imagine you could search for centuries and never find it.”

  “Do you know for certain if Jasper told Thos about the location of the sacred place?”

  “Yes. It was after Jasper’s father died a month ago. Jasper needed to bring his father’s sacred items up to the shrine as well as show Thos where it is. I remember that I had tried calling Thos and got his machine several times. He didn’t call back for three days. When I told him I was worried, he said that his father had taken him to the Na Pali cliffs.

  “It was just in time,” she continued, “because when Jasper’s brother died shortly after, Jasper had a blood clot in his leg and couldn’t go to the shrine. So the honor went to Thos.”

  “Jasper’s brother died just recently?”

  “Yes. John senior.”

  “How?”

  “A car accident. He drove off a cliff on the Waimea Canyon road.”

  “How did it happen?”

  “It was at night. They think he had too much to drink and missed a turn.”

  “Janeen, Thos’s note says he was responsible for the deaths of three people. Jasper’s father and brother have died in the last few weeks. Could they be two of the people Thos referred to?”

  “Of course not. Jasper’s father died of lung cancer. His brother in a car accident. Obviously, Thos could not have had anything to do with either death.”

  Our walk brought us to a dead end. We turned around and started back.

  “Was John senior a heavy drinker?”

  “Not that I know of. More like Jasper. He liked to party, to have a good time. They tested his body for alcohol. I understand he wasn’t drunk, but apparently he’d had enough to misjudge a turn.”

  “Any idea why he was out driving on that particular road?”

  “Jasper thought that his brother had simply gone up there with some friends to watch the sunset and drink a few beers. But they never found any friends who would admit to drinking with him that night. Perhaps they felt some responsibility for his death and were afraid to come forward.”

  “Where does the road go?”

  “It climbs up the backbone of the island, right along the edge of Waimea Canyon. At the top, the road comes to a dead end.”

  “I remember, now,” I said. “There’s a lookout with a fantastic view of the Pacific and the Na Pali cliffs.”

  “Right. It’s really spectacular during the day. But there’s nothing to see at night unless there’s a full moon. And it was at night that Ja
sper’s brother died. So the only thing that makes sense is that he went up there to drink some beer and watch the sunset.”

  I wondered if the death of Jasper’s brother could have had anything to do with the shrine. “Is there any possibility that Jasper’s brother knew the shrine’s location?”

  “I don’t think so. Jasper seemed respectful of the tradition.”

  “Did Thos give you any idea of where the shrine is?”

  “I asked him about it and he would only speak about it in the vaguest terms.”

  “Now that Jasper once again is the only one who knows the location, who does the secret get passed onto?”

  “The system always favors the son next in line. If we had another son, then he would be given the information. Because we don’t, Jasper would normally give the secret to his brother. But because Jasper’s brother is now dead, I believe he is to give the secret to the eldest son of his brother.”

  “Who is that?”

  “John Kahale junior. Thos’s cousin who is two years younger.”

  “Where does John Kahale live?” I asked.

  “In Kauai. A little town called Kapa’a.”

  “What does he do for a living?”

  “He’s a helicopter pilot,” Janeen said. “Gives tourists rides around the island and into the crater of the volcano. Mount Waiale’ale.” She pronounced it Why-alay-alay.

  “Isn’t that supposed to be the wettest spot on earth?”

  “Yes. Rains all the time. I lived in Kauai for ten years and it seems like I only saw the top of the mountain a few times. The rest of the time it was in the clouds.”

  “Janeen, you said that Thos hadn’t designated what three things he wanted put in the sacred cliff. Will you and Jasper and Shelcie decide together?”

  She stopped walking and stood stiffly as if gripped by a new awareness of the finality of her son’s death. “I think Jasper already decided.”

  “Any idea what those items might be?”

  There was another long pause while she stared into space. She finally shook her head.

  NINE

  We’d come back to Janeen Kahale’s house and stood outside near the kitchen door. I asked Janeen for the addresses of some of her relatives, her ex-husband Jasper, and the young man next in line to learn the location of the secret shrine, Jasper’s nephew John Kahale junior. She went inside and came back out a few minutes later. She handed me a piece of paper with names and addresses on it. I told her I’d let her know as soon as I had learned anything new.

  We both looked around to see if Phillip was nearby. There was no movement in the snowy woods. Just snowshoe tracks that disappeared into the trees.

  Janeen grabbed a rope that hung from a ten-inch bell on the corner of the roof eave. She rang it several times. We waited.

  Phillip’s independence was impressive in an era when most kids seemed to stay inside and watch TV or play video games. Although I’d only been in the living room of the Kahale cabin, I saw no TV and there were even a few books. Janeen deserved credit for not giving in to all the brain-numbing toys of the era. Of course, Phillip’s bedroom may have had the standard electronic distractions, but I doubted it. The kid carried an abacus in his pocket.

  In a minute we heard sounds of movement in the forest. Phillip came into view, running on his snowshoes just as he had been when he left. Janeen and Phillip hugged when he returned and he whispered something in her ear.

  I said goodbye and returned to Spot and the Jeep. I stopped on my way out and rang Jerry’s doorbell, but there was no answer. So I headed back down Spring Creek Road, thinking about the secret cliff shrine.

  I was certain that many people would have a desire to find and examine the contents of the Kahale shrine if they knew of its existence. And once someone found the shrine, how tempted would they be by any artifacts with value? If the value was high enough, would someone kill for it? So far, it was the only thing I had to go on.

  As to whether anyone could have discovered the shrine, the answer seemed obvious. Secrets are hard to keep. Any number of Kahales may have leaked the knowledge over the years.

  I pulled out my phone and dialed Captain Mallory of the South Lake Tahoe P.D. This time he answered.

  “Mr. McKenna, keeper of the dog,” he said when I identified myself. “How is that hound anyway? Has he found any more mountain lions?”

  “If so, he’s learned not to drag them out of the woods. Tell me, Mallory, I’m wondering what you know about the Thos Kahale murder.”

  “Not much. Out of my jurisdiction. The El Dorado County Sheriff’s Office is in charge. They’re talking to me as a professional courtesy, but you know I can’t divulge details of an investigation.”

  “What if I addressed you as sir?”

  “That might help.”

  “Or Captain Mallory, sir?”

  “Much better. People ain’t even afraid of cops anymore. Never mind, respect them. Anyway, there isn’t much to tell. In fact, we know nothing about this Kahale murder. But maybe soon.”

  “How soon?”

  “Got a diver in the water looking for the slug. Should be running out of air in another thirty minutes or so. Maybe we’ll learn something then.”

  “You’re at Rubicon Point?” I asked.

  “Yeah. At the Rubicon Lodge. Come if you want.”

  “I’ll be there,” I said and hung up.

  When I got to the highway, I turned left toward Emerald Bay. I drove by where one of the forest fires had claimed a victim last fall, around Emerald Bay and the rock slide where Jennifer Salazar’s sister was killed years before, and on past the granite outcroppings of Bliss State Park.

  The turnoff to the Rubicon Lodge was marked by a small wooden sign. Apparently, the lodge’s elite guests know of its location or they are delivered by knowing limo drivers.

  I headed through a thick fir forest down a lane walled by snow and pulled up in front of a grand log building that had been used in one of the most memorable Marlboro ads. Wood smoke rose from a large cobblestone chimney, the smoke’s piney aroma giving the lodge and the woods a cozy, welcoming flavor. As I headed for the lodge, I scanned the parking lot for the vehicle the El Dorado Sheriff’s divers would use, but saw only a dented panel van that said Meyer’s Commercial Diving and Salvage. I headed inside.

  The thirty-foot-tall lobby was made for giants. It had huge leather chairs and couches sprawled in groups near a stone fireplace so big you could barbecue a moose in it. On the wooden floor were deep red rugs. On the walls were trophy game heads. A bear and a mountain lion stood on the lake side. They both appeared to snarl across the lobby at another bear and a large twelve point buck on the mountain side. On the fireplace mantle paced a stuffed wolverine and two coyotes.

  I glanced around and noticed that the only people in the lobby were standing at the lake-side windows staring out through the little panes at a group of people down by the water. I walked toward the windows, glancing back at the collection of dead animals.

  “Good afternoon, sir. Are you a hunter?” The voice was soft and husky, as though the vocal cords had been damaged years ago.

  I turned to face a bear of a man, nearly as tall as me and much wider but without visible fat. He had a rough red complexion under a thick shock of white hair combed straight back. His moustache was equally white and bushy as a fox tail. I could see that he had to shave his cheeks almost up to his sad eyes and his neck down to the top of his chest. His blue eyes were so watery it looked as if he’d been crying. I guessed him to be about 60.

  “No, I haven’t had the pleasure,” I said, trying not to sound disapproving. After all, like most people, I eat meat. Besides, it is not a good idea to critique other people’s hobbies. Some people would find my study of art pointless and stupid as well.

  The man reached out a hand that was the size of a bear paw and had nearly as much fur on it, white fur like a polar bear. “Brock Chambers.”

  “Owen McKenna.” We shook, giving each other a healthy squ
eeze.

  “Good to meet you, Owen. Do you have a room reservation? Or perhaps you are here for an early dinner?” He sounded hopeful as he gestured through an opening to another huge room filled with round rustic tables covered with white linen and what looked like fine crystal. Only two of the tables had diners at them.

  “No, actually I’m here to meet with Captain Mallory of the South Lake Tahoe Police.”

  Brock Chambers frowned. “Oh, that business.” He glanced toward the lake. “They’re outside.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “Are you the owner of the lodge, Brock?”

  “Yes.”

  “You must be proud of such a handsome establishment. I can assure you I’ll be back to enjoy your restaurant in the future. Perhaps a room as well.”

  “We’d be pleased to have you as a guest,” he said, his professionalism unable to mask what seemed a deep sorrow. He smiled like a perfect gentleman as I walked away.

  I pushed out through large French doors and walked down a shoveled walk toward the water. Two El Dorado County sheriff’s deputies were in the snow examining footprints in an area roped off with yellow crime tape. Mallory stood at the end of the pier looking out into the water, scanning back and forth. He lifted a can of Coke to his lips and took a long drink. The late afternoon sun was shining on the snow-clad mountains across the lake. The contrast between the brilliant white snow and the deep blue of the water was dramatic.

  I joined Mallory at the end of the pier.

  “The diver still out there?”

  He looked at his watch. “Yeah.”

  “Why a commercial diver instead of the sheriff’s dive squad?”

  “Detective Sergeant Richter is in charge of this investigation. He thinks no way would divers find a slug under water. Said it would be a waste of taxpayer’s money. I asked if I could send a diver down, and he said if I had money to burn, go ahead.” He looked out at the water. “I know a diver who works cheap.”

  “How is it you’re here, anyway?”

  “I busted a gang-banger in town a few weeks ago and he had a little carved totem in his pocket. I called Richter to ask if he’d seen anything like it. When Richter’s men found a totem floating near the body, he called me to come and look.”