“That’s a relief,” I said. “He’s one scary guy to have running around our neighborhood. Was he faking his paralysis from the start?”
“I don’t think so. I spoke again with his doctors. The beating he sustained in prison didn’t sever his spinal cord, but there was enough nerve damage to put him in a wheelchair. People with this type of injury do sometimes recover over time. But considering Pinpherk’s age and all his other health issues, doctors didn’t think it was likely he’d ever walk again. It seems he defied the odds.”
“Must’ve been sheer force of will that got him back on his feet,” Freddy said.
Henry dipped a summer roll in peanut sauce, bit off half, and spent some time chewing. “Revenge is a powerful motive. Of course he still maintains he had nothing to do with Vargas’s murder, but he’s lost his credibility. Now that he’s in jail, he’s given up the farce of using the wheelchair and oxygen tank.”
“You think you have enough to convict him?”
“A lot of what we have is circumstantial. A good lawyer could get the case thrown out. I’m still hoping for a confession.”
“What’s gonna happen to his dog?” I asked.
“We called the Humane Society to pick it up. It’s a good looking purebred. I have a feeling it’ll be adopted in no time.”
One Month Later
Beach chairs and coolers were scattered across the grass. Parents, aunties, and uncles had gathered to watch the first Little League Senior Division game of the season. Younger siblings, more interested in their own games, chased each other and climbed trees.
I dodged kids who zoomed along on scooters and in brightly colored plastic cars. Sage insisted on stopping to inspect a collection of duffle bags strewn to the side of the baseball diamond. I used my hand to shade my eyes from the afternoon sun and took the opportunity to watch a bit of the game taking place on the other side of the chain link fence.
The girl on the mound pitched a fastball. The crack of metal bat against ball split the air. Raucous cheering broke out as the batter ran for first, kicking up clouds of red dirt.
Dust choked the dry air, settling in my nose and throat. I turned away from the wind. That’s when I noticed Charlie in the dugout, sitting alone on a bench. He was quiet, watching the game with keen concentration. This was the first time I’d ever seen him focused on something other than his own inner world, the closest I’d seen him come to engaging with other people.
So, Charlie liked softball. I smiled to myself. It seemed a great step forward. Whether through therapy or new medication, it looked as though the weeks spent in the psychiatric ward at Queen’s had done him some good after all.
Sage tugged at the leash, ready to explore new ground. Before moving on, I took one more look at Charlie.
His gaze was locked on the pitcher, a girl of about fourteen with a sweet face and a figure that couldn’t be hidden by her jersey. The gleam in his eyes seemed much too intense for someone interested in a mere ballgame.
Laurie Hanan
Laurie Hanan grew up in the picturesque islands of South Pacific with a father who pioneered air travel to some of the remotest parts of the world. Laurie eventually settled in Hawai‘i, where she had a career with the Honolulu Post Office. After retiring, Laurie began writing her Louise Golden mysteries, about a mail carrier in Kāne‘ohe on the Island of O‘ahu. When she isn’t writing, Laurie enjoys vegan cooking, photography, swimming, and yoga. Laurie lives on O‘ahu with her husband, youngest son, an obese Westie, and a bipolar cat.
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Curse of the Lost Tiki
Jill Marie Landis
“We’re ready, Uncle Louie. Open the door, stand back, and let ’em in.”
“Will do, Sophie.” Louie Marshall smiled at bartender Sophie Chin, certain she had everything in hand as he headed for the front door of the Tiki Goddess Bar and Restaurant on the North Shore of Kaua‘i, an establishment he’d owned and operated since the ’70s.
Louie turned the lock, swung the door open, and flipped the closed sign to open, then stood aside as the line of tourists of all shapes and sizes filed in. He was still amazed folks lined up for lunch. Tuesdays were known as Tour Bus Tuesday at the Goddess. Ever since the bar was featured in the short-lived Trouble in Paradise reality television show, the Kaua‘i TV and Movie Tour Company booked the Goddess as a weekly lunch stop.
Louie greeted every guest the way his late wife, Irene Kau‘alanikaulana Hickam Marshall, had taught him by giving each and every one a genuine smile and a hearty aloha.
“Where you folks from?” he would ask. When they answered, he always had the same response. “Well then, lucky you come Kaua‘i.”
If someone asked Louie for his autograph, he’d grab a napkin off a nearby table and graciously oblige.
The burly guide in a TV and Movie Tour Company aloha shirt gave Louie a nod and a big aloha. Then he paused in the middle of the room, and as the tourists settled into their seats, he shouted, “Folks, this is the Tiki Goddess Bar made famous by the reality show featuring those madcap Hula Maidens.” He gestured toward Louie. “This is owner, Uncle Louie Marshall, who ranks right up there with Trader Vic and Don the Beachcomber.”
Louie took a bow, waved and smiled. He’d spent most of his life sharing his slice of paradise with people from all over the world, and he was proud of the place he and Irene had established over forty years before. Sure, the bar was located in a sagging old building that had been around since plantation times, but that was all part of the charm. Faded tapa cloth lined the ceiling, and woven lau hala mats covered the walls.
Even during the day, huge glass Japanese fishing floats crafted into hanging lamps cast a soft blue, semi-twilight hue over everything. Tiki masks, Polynesian war clubs and paddles, posters and photos of presidents and celebrities who had stopped by over the years vied for crowded wall space.
Louie handed out the lunch menus and then went back to the bar where Sophie finished filling plastic cups with water. She passed them around as she took the food and drink orders. Sophie was worth her weight in gold. In her early twenties, she’d been an asset to the place since the day Louie’s niece, Em, had hired her. Sophie wore her hair short, spiked, and dyed the colors of a neon fruit cocktail. Small silver rings and studs pierced one eyebrow. Sophie was smart as a whip. No one ever put anything over on her.
The lunch orders were sent in to Kimo, the head cook. Louie manned the bar while Sophie delivered his legendary tropical beverages. When he had a second to pause and look around, Louie noticed a grizzled old haole with a short white beard standing in the doorway. He was wearing a faded billed cap and ratty T-shirt with a faded fishing logo on it. The man nodded at Louie and walked in carrying a small navy blue duffle bag. He slid onto one of the carved tiki barstools.
“Hey, Captain Jack. Long time no see.” Louie grinned. “How you stay?”
Jack nodded, glanced over his shoulder at the tourists, and settled his forearms on the koa wood bar.
“Howzit with you, Louie?” Captain Jack nodded. His skin was bronzed from years at sea, his eyes bright blue above his beard.
“Always good. What’ll it be? Pirate’s grog?” Louie laughed at his own joke. Jack didn’t crack a smile.
“Jack and soda,” the captain mumbled.
“That’s right. Forgot you’re into Jack Daniels.”
“My first name’s on the bottle.”
Louie laughed and made Jack a two-fisted double. “You still running your fishing charters?”
Captain Jack nodded. He’d been in the charter fishing business for as long as Louie could remember, which was farther back than most people would believe.
“Yep. Got the Nanilani moored in the bay right now.”
The Nanilani was a custom, thirty-four foot, power catamaran Jack designed himself a few years back.
“Chuckie Robbins is still crewing for me.” Jack nursed one drink until he ordered a second, apparently in no hurry. As soon as the lunch crowd in the bar polished off their meals and Mai Tais, they were herded back out to the air-conditioned mini-buses waiting in the parking lot.
“So, what’s up?” Louie asked Captain Jack as quiet descended over the bar. He’d never seen Jack looking so down in the dumps. Then again, he hadn’t really seen the man for a hefty handful of years.
“I might have found some trouble,” Jack said.
“Better than trouble finding you.” Louie smiled.
Captain Jack didn’t smile.
“Fishing bad this year? I heard the water’s too warm. Is that true?”
“Fishing’s okay, but these damn hurricane scares don’t help. I’ve spent more days with the boat tucked in the harbor waiting for storms to materialize than I’d care to count. It’s not that.”
“I’m a good listener,” Louie said.
The captain glanced over his shoulder again. Only two tables were occupied. At one of them, four women were having lunch and chattering like mynah birds. A young couple at another table was trying to keep a toddler entertained. None of them were paying any attention to the old man seated at the bar.
“I need a favor.” Jack met Louie’s eyes. “You’re the most honest man I know, Louie. There’s nobody else I can trust.”
Louie shrugged. He liked to think anyone could count on him for anything.
“I try,” he said. “What do you need?”
Jack reached down and pulled up the navy duffle. “I need you to keep this for me, no questions asked. I’ll pick it up in a couple days.”
“Sure thing.” Louie started to reach for the straps.
The captain pulled the bag back a few inches. “Promise me you won’t open it. No matter what.”
Louie frowned. “Okay. As long as you didn’t rob a bank or something.”
“Nothing like that.”
“I get it. No opening the bag.”
“No matter what.” Jack pushed the bag toward Louie.
When Louie picked it up, he was surprised at the weight. He carried it into the office, put it in the bottom of an empty file drawer, and walked back into the bar.
Captain Jack finished his drink and shoved the glass toward Louie.
“Mahalo, Louie. It means a lot to me that I can trust you.” Jack got off the bar stool and paused a second before he added, “Listen, if anything were to happen to me, bury that bag. Bury it deep, and don’t look back.”
Louie tried to laugh off the dire warning, then had second thoughts. Keeping a bag with an unknown item for a guy he hadn’t seen in years might not be such a brilliant idea.
Louie lowered his voice and made sure Sophie was busy before he spoke. “You’re not into drug running are you?”
“Nothing like that. No way. It’s just better you don’t know what’s up. I’m not really sure yet myself.” Jack tipped the bill of his cap, tossed a twenty on the bar and walked out.
Louie watched him go. Having second thoughts, he picked up the empty rocks glass and automatically wiped down the bar. He didn’t know his niece had walked up beside him until he turned around and saw Em. Attractive and in her mid-thirties with blue eyes, and long blonde hair, Em had been managing the place since she’d moved to Kaua‘i after a terrible divorce a couple of years back.
“Who was that?” she asked as she watched Jack walk out.
“An old friend. Captain Jack Parsons. Runs Parsons’ Fishing Charters. Haven’t seen him in years.”
“You looked worried when I walked in. Everything okay?”
Louie hesitated, trying to figure out how to tell her something, and yet say nothing.
“You didn’t loan him money, did you Uncle Louie?”
“Oh, no. Nothing like that.” He nodded, hoping she believed him. Em had come down hard on him for handing out money to anyone and everyone in need of a loan. When she moved to Kaua‘i and began managing the place, she balanced the books and reminded him that he was not the Bank of the Tiki Goddess. They were running a business and she was determined to make it profitable.
“I don’t see the harm in helping folks out,” he said. “I see it as living aloha.”
“You are living aloha. Most of the people who borrow from you aren’t. Hardly anyone ever pays you back.”
“They do the best they can.”
“Uncle Louie, bags of mangos, papayas, bananas and fish aren’t currency.”
He didn’t bother to argue. She’d never understand.
“You sure everything is all right?” Em looked worried.
He put on his best smile. “Captain Jack was just telling me how these close-call hurricanes have cut into his business. Don’t worry about me, honey. I’m seventy-three, I’ve got most of my hair, all my teeth, and I live on Kaua‘i. How could life be anything but great?”
Ever since Em moved to Kaua‘i and took over management of the Goddess, Louie started sleeping in until at least seven-thirty. On Wednesday, he awoke to an overcast sky and a lack of the usual trade winds which added to the oppressively hot, sultry air. Because of an El Nino weather pattern, the islands had dodged four major storms already this hurricane season.
After his usual breakfast of scrambled eggs and coffee laced with Kahlua, Louie mixed a tall jigger of his special version of a Bloody Mary he’d named Tiger Shark Attack to commemorate a close call while surfing Hanalei years ago. The mini portions of V8 Juice, Vodka, Worcestershire, Wasabi, and lime were for his taste-testing parrot, David Letterman. His fine feathered friend had a knack for knowing when a new cocktail recipe was spot on. Louie’s concoctions were world-famous. Dave deserved to be spoiled.
Louie grabbed the television remote before he walked over to Letterman’s cage. “You want Animal Planet or Discovery Channel?”
“Yo, ho, ho. Brrreakfast.” The macaw squawked.
Louie tuned to Animal Planet and set the volume on medium. He walked back to a small rattan tiki bar in the living area and picked up the jigger. David Letterman watched attentively as Louie poured the contents into a small cup attached to the bars of the parrot’s cage.
There was no sneaking out of the house without giving Letterman his morning pick-me-up.
He left the house and headed to the bar, where Em was filling the ice bin. Though they weren’t officially open until ten, a group of older women was already gathered around three tables in front of the long banquette seating. What the Hula Maidens lacked in dancing talent, they definitely made up for with enthusiasm for hula. Ranging in age from ninety-two to late forties, the women were at the Goddess almost as much as they were at their homes. Louie not only gave them permission to meet and practice in the bar, but to perform there, too.
Only one of the Maidens was Hawaiian. Most of the others were long-time residents. The newest member was a transplant from Ohio. Kiki Godwin, Chef Kimo’s wife, was their self-appointed leader. Kiki liked nothing better than to be up on all the island scuttlebutt.
Uncle Louie was arranging tiki mugs behind the bar and not paying much attention until he overheard Kiki say, “So did you hear they found that old guy, Captain Jack, dead on the beach this morning?”
“The fisherman,” Flora said.
Louie dropped a tiki mug.
“What did you just say, Kiki?” He was barely able to get the words out.
“Some old guy washed up on the beach. Captain Frank, I think. No, wait a minute. I was right before. His name was Captain Jack something. That’s suspicious. A body on the beach.”
Louie bent over to pick up the pieces of the broken mug, which was easier than collecting his shattered nerves. He glanced at the clock behind the bar. It was nine-fifty-five. Sophie was due in at ten.
Kiki’s cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkled. Louie could see her mind turn
ing.
For the past couple of years, Kiki and the Hula Maidens had inexplicably found themselves caught up in more than one high profile crime case on the island. Somehow, they’d actually managed to outwit the perpetrators and solve the crimes. They’d even received commendations from the Mayor of Kaua‘i.
“We need to find out if there were any suspicious circumstances surrounding Captain Jack’s drowning,” Kiki said.
“Not again,” Maiden Suzi Matamoto protested. “I’ve got too many pending escrows to get involved with another murder right now.”
Hawaiian Flora Carillo, owner of a souvenir shop in Hanalei that sold Tiki Goddess trinkets, protested as well. “You know every time we get involved, nothing good happens.”
“Say what you will, we always get our man, or woman, depending on who done it,” Kiki reminded them.
While she tried to convince the other Hula Maidens they needed to get to the bottom of Captain Jack’s death, Louie waited out the longest five minutes of his life. Thankfully, Sophie was always punctual. When she walked in at ten, Louie immediately headed for his office.
“I need to leave for a few minutes,” he told Em as he hurried by. “Gotta go on an errand.”
In the process of tying a hairband around her long blonde ponytail, Em merely nodded his way. “Be careful, Uncle Louie. Try to get back before the place is slammed for lunch. Looks like it’s going to rain, and you know what that means.”
Once rain started falling, tourists left the beaches in droves and headed into shops and restaurants to hang out until the sun reappeared. At the rate it had been raining this summer, the Goddess was packed more often than not.
Louie headed straight into the office and made sure the door was closed before he pulled open the bottom file cabinet drawer. He stared down at the navy blue duffle, took a deep breath and picked it up. He made sure there was no one in the parking lot before he hurried over to his beach house a few yards away.
Paradise, Passion, Murder Page 19