A Walk Through the Fire

by Marcia Muller

  “I spoke with my friend,” he said. “Glen dropped the camera off before noon yesterday. She told him she planned to do some shopping and spend the night in Waikiki. She had a return reservation on the first Hawaiian Air flight this morning.”

  “So you were right about her needing to get away for a while. She should be back soon.”

  He shook his head. “First flight’s at five-thirty, gets in at six-oh-five. Even if she overslept and caught a later one, she’d be here by now.”

  “Maybe she made a stop on the way back from Lihue.”

  “Where? None of the shops’re open that early, and she doesn’t know many people. I’ve already called the ones she does, like Russ, Sue, and Eli, and they haven’t seen her. I’m worried.”

  He might have cause for alarm after all. “Okay,” I said, “are you sure she was flying Hawaiian Air?”

  “My friend seemed sure.”

  “Then the first thing we need to know is whether she was on any of their flights.”

  “Will they give out that information?”

  “Probably not to me, but somebody in RKI’s Honolulu office will have an airline contact.” I got up and went into the house, Peter following. On the scratch pad beside the phone were several numbers scribbled in Hy’s hand, one of them the office on Oahu. I hadn’t wanted to call there yesterday, but now my sixth sense told me Hy was on his way home. I punched out the number, identified myself, and asked to speak with one of the specialists.

  “Ms. McCone, this is Jerry Tamura. I was planning to call you later. Before he left for the mainland yesterday Mr. Ripinsky gave me a local address and phone number to trace for you. I was working something else, so I didn’t get to it till this morning, but I have some information.”

  So that was what had happened to the scraps of paper I’d found at the sugar mill. As hurt as he’d been at the time, Hy had taken them with the intention of doing me a favor.

  “Thanks for checking. What’ve you got?”

  “The address is a house near Sand Island Access Road. It’s owned by the Sunshine Corporation, which buys up and leases cheap properties all over the island. I’m working on finding out who’s occupying it. The phone number is unlisted, but I’ve got a call in to a contact at Hawaiian Tel who’ll get me the name and address of the subscriber.”

  “I really appreciate this, Mr. Tamura. But I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask for something else.”

  “No problem. Mr. Ripinsky asked that we assist you in any way possible.”

  “This shouldn’t be too difficult. A woman named Glenna Stanleigh had a reservation on Hawaiian Air’s five-thirty flight this morning. I need to know if she was on it, or any later flight.”

  “If you want to hold, I’ll get on to my contact at the airline.”

  “Mahalo.” To Peter’s anxious look, I said, “He’s checking.”

  In a few minutes Tamura came back on the line. “Glenna Stanleigh was on the seven-thirty flight, arriving Lihue at eight-oh-five.”

  I thanked him again and ended our conversation. “Well,” I said, “she arrived here at a little after eight.”

  “Now I’m really worried.”

  “Let me check one more thing. What’s the license-plate number of your car?”

  He wrote it on the pad while I looked up the number for Lihue Airport security. When a man answered, I identified myself as an operative of RKI and asked them to check the parking lot for Peter’s Volvo. He called back in a little while, said it wasn’t there.

  “Where the hell did she go?” Peter asked.

  I shook my head, very concerned now. It was a drive of no more than an hour and fifteen minutes from the airport to the Wellbright property; even if Glenna had made multiple stops, she should have been here by now. “It might be a good idea for you to go back to the cottage, in case she tries to call,” I told Peter. “She may have had car trouble or some other problem. What time is your mother’s service?”

  “Two o’clock, at the church in Waipuna.”

  “Maybe Glenna will turn up there.”

  “Maybe.” But he sounded about as optimistic as I felt.

  After Peter left, I went down the hall on the opposite side of the house to the room where Glenna slept when she wasn’t with him. It was a slim chance, but I hoped she might have left something behind that would give me an indication of her present whereabouts. The door was closed, and I hesitated briefly before opening it.

  I’m not big on prying into other people’s personal space, but in my work it’s a necessary evil. All the same, I had to work harder at it now, in the aftermath of the intrusions that had nearly wrecked my life two months before. After a moment I pushed the door open and stepped inside.

  Chaos reigned there, just as it did in Glenna’s office at the pier. The bed was unmade; linens were rumpled and pushed to its foot, indicating that her nights here were as restless as those spent at La’i Cottage. Clothing was draped over every conceivable surface, including the head of a two-foot-tall Japanese statue. Half-empty cups and glasses stood on the nightstands, growing mold. I began searching, ending up on my hands and knees going through piles of books and papers on the floor by the bed. One of the stacks toppled, and I had to reach under the bed for it.

  My hand encountered something that felt like a suitcase. I lifted the dust ruffle, looked under, and saw a briefcase—tan, with a combination lock. It had seen hard and frequent use; the leather was scratched and scarred. I dragged it out, noticed fading gilt letters above the latch: A.J.C.

  Not Glenna’s, but it looked like the one Jillian had described to me. What was it doing here?

  The latch wasn’t locked. I looked inside, saw an unlabeled manila folder. It contained only three things: a browning cream vellum envelope, a boarding-pass stub, and a China Airlines ticket. The used portion of the ticket showed that Ms. A. Carew had flown from Taipei to Honolulu on September 6, 1992; the unused portion was for a flight from Honolulu to JFK on September 11.

  The day of Hurricane Iniki.

  The boarding-pass stub was on Aloha Airlines, from Honolulu to Lihue on September 6. There was no return ticket. I opened the vellum envelope and slipped out a sheet of folded stationery. It contained three words in a backward-slanting hand: “Please forgive us.”

  Forgive who? For what?

  Maybe Peter could tell me. The case must’ve come from his cottage, since Jillian had been looking for it there.

  I put the folder back inside, closed the case, and headed for the cottage, but when I got there I found it deserted. Dammit, where was he? I’d suggested he stay there in case Glenna called. Maybe she had, asking him to meet her somewhere. Or maybe he was responding to another family emergency.

  I went back to Malihini House, changed into a skirt and blouse that were suitable to wear to a funeral. Then I went to see if one of the gardeners could give me a ride into Waipuna, where the Datsun was still parked outside the Shack.

  The woman at the helicopter tour office next to the grocery told me Russ was out on a flight but would be back to attend the service. To pass the time I went into the deli section of the store, ordered a pastrami sandwich topped with a ferocious assortment of condiments, and took it to a bench in the shopping plaza across the street. Children were playing on the swings and jungle gym while their mothers watched them from nearby picnic tables. Small-town life was going on at its pleasant and unhurried rhythm, and it seemed to me that I was the only one out of sync with it. I tore into the sandwich, realized I was gobbling out of frustration, and made myself eat more slowly.

  When I finished, I balled up the wrapper, tossed it into a trash basket, and sat down again, watching the kids. One of them reminded me of Casey at the age she would have been when her mother died. Casey, the child Elson Wellbright had given up to Tanner. I recalled a passage from his journal, written on the day the public records showed she was born: “This is the saddest day of my life. I’ve gained, but lost. Irrevocably.”

  Why had Wellbright f
elt he had to give up all claim to his daughter? Why hadn’t Russ told Casey her real father’s identity? Was he waiting till she was older, or would he keep the secret forever?

  Well, he’d promised to explain, and Russ was a man who kept his promises.

  “Ms. McCone?”

  I looked up, saw Donna Malakaua standing next to me. “Hello. How are you?”

  “Today I’m better. Buzzy called me last night.” Her round face beamed with pride.

  “Oh? Where is he?”

  “Honolulu. He got himself a job driving for some rich guy. And Amy, she workin’ for him too. Buzzy says they gonna be on easy street soon.”

  How many times had she heard that before? And yet she continued to believe. “Did he give you his address or phone number?”

  “Said he would, soon as they got settled. Right now they stayin’ in some house the guy owns. He got a big place, back of Diamond Head. You gotta have megabucks to stay there.”

  “Well, it sounds as if the two of them have got a good thing going. If… When he gives you the address or phone number, will you let me have it?”

  “Sure. You still stayin’ at the Wellbright place?”

  “Yes.”

  She shook her head. “Poor people, the mother goin’ like that. I see they gettin’ ready for the funeral over at the church. She musta been pupule to do what she did. ’Course, she was a Ridley, and those girls always were nuts.”

  I sat up straighter. “Oh? Why?”

  “Well, the oldest killed herself—something to do with a busted marriage. The next one went schizo, died in a nuthouse on the mainland. Guess old Celia was the best of the lot, but look what happened to her. The brothers turned out okay, though.” Donna pivoted, shading her eyes with her hand. “Look, there’s the limo with the family. Pretty soon they be givin’ old Celia her big send-off.”

  The small church was nearly full when I stepped inside. A mahogany casket covered with a blanket of plumeria stood on a trestle in front of a simple altar flanked by floral arrangements. The air was fragrant with their perfume. Stephanie, Ben, and Peter sat in the first row of pews, but Matthew apparently had been detained in Honolulu. Russ, Casey, and Mona Davenport were seated directly behind the family. I scanned the assemblage for Glenna, but didn’t spot her.

  Russ looked around, saw me, and motioned for me to join them. I hurried down the aisle, slid in next to him, nodding to his daughter and Mrs. Davenport. Casey smiled, but Mona returned my nod stiffly and looked away. Probably afraid that somehow I’d managed to ferret out her secrets.

  Russ said in a low voice, “Sorry we didn’t get to talk last night. I guess you heard I had to fly Matt and Jill to Oahu.”

  “He didn’t come back with you?”

  “Nope. He said he’d catch a commercial flight back to Kauai today. Too bad he’s going to miss the service.”

  Peter had turned when he heard my voice. Now he whispered, “No word from Glen.” The anxiety in his eyes told me he cared more for her than he’d previously admitted.

  “Don’t worry. We’ll find her.”

  A murmur at the rear of the church drew my attention away from him. I glanced back there, saw a rumpled and breathless Matthew striding down the aisle. He slid in next to Peter. “Sorry I’m late.”

  “Doesn’t matter, you made it.”

  A door to the side of the alter opened, and a white-haired man in minister’s robes stepped out. Time for Celia’s big send-off.

  The minister said the usual things: devoted wife, loving mother, steadfast friend, servant of the community.

  The children said the usual things: she nurtured, she loved, her death will leave a terrible void in our lives.

  The friends said the usual things: always willing to lend a sympathetic ear, there when you needed her, a tireless volunteer.

  No one said that Celia Wellbright had been inattentive to her children, had drunk too much, had been flagrantly unfaithful to her husband, had played the imperious queen of her own small dynasty.

  No one dared to suggest there had been something wrong with this last of the Ridley girls.

  That’s the hypocrisy of funerals: don’t speak ill of the dead, no matter what.

  No matter if they deserve to be spoken ill of. No matter if they’ve hurt people and alienated their own families. Better to lie, because it eases everyone else’s survivors’ guilt.

  I sensed that the family and friends of Celia Wellbright would suffer a long time in their various and separate ways for the damage she’d done during her time on earth.

  As the mourners gathered at the graveside, Russ took my arm and said, “I don’t put much stock in burials, and I’m sure you feel the same. Let’s go talk.”

  “As long as it’s not about us.” I let him lead me around the church to a stone bench set under an arbor draped with fragrant yellow flowers. We sat silent for a moment, and then he said, “What a crock!”

  “The service, you mean.”

  “Yeah. A saint she wasn’t, but they made out like she’s sittin’ up there at the right hand of Mother Teresa.”

  “I noticed you didn’t speak.”

  “If I’d been asked to, they’d’ve gotten an earful. Hey, what’s this about Sweet Pea goin’ missing?”

  “She went to Honolulu yesterday, flew back early this morning, but never turned up at the estate.”

  “Christ, that’s all Pete needs on top of Celia dying, the deadfall burning, and Jill cracking up.”

  “Speaking of Jillian, how did she seem on the flight to Oahu?”

  “Pretty well sedated. I don’t think she said a word the whole way.”

  “Matthew tell you where he was taking her?”

  “Nope. I’m just the hired help to the lord of Pali House.”

  “Hired help whom he must heartily resent on account of his father’s will. You want to tell me about that now?”

  “I do. In a way it’s a relief to be able to speak out after all these years. Only other person who knows what happened is Mona, and we’ve never talked about it. You were right on the money about most of the story, but you’ve only got the bare facts. It’s the rest that matters. I’ll start back before it all happened.

  “Liza Santos was the little sister of my best friend. He got killed in a surfing accident right after high school. Liza was havin’ a rough time growing up; her family life was kinda ugly, and she got in trouble with the boys, too. But she was smart and pretty, like Casey, so I tried to look out for her like a big brother. After a while she turned her life around, like the good ones do, and got a full scholarship to the University of Hawaii.”

  “She was studying there when she met Elson?”

  “Right. Worst thing I ever did was take her to Pali House.”

  “He seduced her.”

  Russ winced. “That’s kind of a harsh word. He was lonely and felt that his life was over. And Liza was no innocent. Plus she needed affection and caring of a kind I couldn’t give her. Elson was a gentle man, the father figure she’d never known. I thought that was all there was to it, didn’t figure out what was goin’ on till way too late.”

  “When you found out she was pregnant.”

  He nodded. “Elson was a nice man, but he wasn’t strong. Certainly not strong enough to risk the flak he’d take if he divorced Celia and married her. And Liza didn’t have it together enough to cut it as a single mother. Elson was scared, both for her and for the kid, so he came to me, asked me to marry her, be a father to the kid, protect them. And he gave me the money to start the charter service, not only because he wanted me to be able to support them properly but also because he knew it was my dream.”

  “But your marriage failed.”

  “Was a given. Liza really loved Elson, or maybe she just thought she did, but what’s the difference? Point is, she didn’t love me, and she didn’t want to be a mom, and she hated living in what she called a shitty little house with a husband who was gone a lot of the time. She started doing grass and coke and hangin�
�� with the wrong people. By the time I figured it out, she was hooked on heroin.” He laughed harshly. “Seems like I was always a little slow figurin’, when it came to Liza.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up over that, Russ. You were doing what you could, what you had to.”

  “Maybe. It wasn’t enough, though. At the end of four years Liza ran off with another druggie and I filed for divorce and custody. A year later she OD’d.”

  “Sad.”

  “Yeah, it was.”

  “Did anybody besides you and Mona know Elson was Casey’s father?”

  “Matt has always suspected. Liza told me he saw the two of them together in Elson’s forest once, and he followed her a couple of times to meetings with his father. I suppose when I took Casey to Pali House the other day, it clicked. You saw the way he backed down about contesting the will.”

  “I also saw the way you reminded him who Casey’s mother was.”

  He grinned wryly. “Guilty as charged. When you’ve spent your life knucklin’ under to the likes of Matt Wellbright—”

  “I hear you. Is there any way the family can contest that bequest?”

  “It’s pretty airtight. And as backup I’ve got an affidavit from Elson sayin’ he’s the father.”

  “Smart of you.”

  “No, smart of Elson.”

  “So that’s it?”

  “No, there’s more. The important thing is why Elson thought Liza and the kid needed protectin’.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Celia. She had a history of violence. Nothing major, but she was full of pent-up anger. Elson told me it came on early in the marriage. Jealousy, suspectin’ him for no reason. Later there was stuff with the kids. Shouting, slapping.”

  “Child abuse.”

  “That’s what we call it now. Back then people weren’t as aware. And she and Elson’d get into it, only she was the one got physical first. Mona saw her beat horses at the ranch at Haena. She was legendary for gettin’ drunk at parties and lettin’ fly at anybody. Was Mona who told Elson Liza and the kid needed protectin’.”