by Frankie Bow
“So what, then?”
Donnie shook his head.
“Come on, Donnie. You know all about my family. You’ve met my parents. Why are you being so secretive?”
Donnie blew out a breath.
“My father had a drinking problem. He was trying to find his way back. Make things right. He enrolled in a program. They didn’t call it rehab back then. They called it ‘drying out.’ He talked our mother into taking him back.”
I nodded, which was pointless. Donnie was watching the road.
“When he came back, it was supposed to be a new start for all of us. We were going to be a normal, happy family. And we were, for two days. Then on Saturday, Uncle Brian had us over. All four of us, a few of Uncle’s friends. Gloria and me, we ate and watched TV. When it was time to go, Dad was drunk. He wanted to drive. He insisted on driving, and he was mean when he didn’t get his way. No one could argue with him. I couldn’t do anything. I didn’t have my license yet. Next thing I remember was waking up in the hospital.”
“Mahina hospital? Where we just were?”
“M-hm. And I found out my mother and my father. . .my little sister’s in intensive care, and my parents are gone.”
“Oh Donnie, I’m so sorry.”
“Did you know that when you detox, your tolerance goes down?”
“I have heard, yes.”
“Well, Uncle Brian didn’t know. Neither did my father, it seems. They thought you could pick up where you left off. You can’t.”
Donnie and I came home to find Tiffany at the dining room table, doing something on her phone while she nursed the baby. An empty glass sat on the table in front of her.
“Let me fill this up for you,” I took the glass to the sink.
“Eh, thanks, ah?” She glanced up from her phone. “Makes me so thirsty, this thing. Like one termite, him, always hungry.”
“Where’s Davison?” Donnie asked.
“He’s in the room.”
“Okay, I have to go back to work.” Donnie gave me a quick kiss and left.
“I see you’re wearing your ring,” I said to Tiffany. “It’s nice. That’s quite a diamond.”
“Oh, yeah, my hands not so fat anymore. I could wear it finally.” She held out her hand, and I leaned in to admire the ring.
“Davison got it for you?” The band was rose gold, supporting what looked like a round three-carat diamond.
“Yeah, it’s so big. I hope I don’t lose any more weight, otherwise the thing’s gonna get too loose and fall off.”
Junior began to make cranky noises, jerking his head back and forth.
“Ow, ow, greedy baga.” Tiffany pulled her hand back and switched Junior to the other side. He settled in and resumed gulping.
“Eh, Professor, one a my friends says they saw you at the birthing class.”
Apparently, the news had managed to reach her faster than Donnie and I could drive the mile and a half back down the hill.
“Yes, we were there.” I set the full water glass in front of her. “And you might as well call me Molly. Davison already does.”
I heard Skye’s voice from the guest room:
“Someone saw you there.”
Gloria shouted something, but the only words I could make out were,
“. . .think he is.”
I pretended I hadn’t heard.
“Where did Davison find the ring? I didn’t see anything like it at Fujioka’s Music and Party Supply.”
Tiffany glanced down at her left hand, which now supported Junior’s round head.
“I dunno. I wasn’t with him when he got it.”
At least he’d fenced my jewelry for something of comparable value. The diamond looked huge on Tiffany’s delicate hand.
“Something, something lawyer,” Skye shouted.
A door banged open and Gloria stormed into the living room.
“Well you weren’t doing nothing about it, were you? And that stupid lawyer doesn’t know when to shut up an’ mind his own business.” She glared at us.
“I’m going out,” she announced, to no one in particular, and shouted one more time back toward the guest room, “And nobody’s perfect, you know. Nobody.”
She stomped out and slammed the door behind her. Junior wrenched his head away from under Tiffany’s shirt and started bawling. Tiffany yelled out a bad word and clapped her hand over her chest.
“I’ll take him.” I held my arms out. “Here.”
Tiffany hurried off to clean up her injury. I held Junior and walked around the living room. He was inconsolable. He wailed furiously as I tried walking, rocking, sitting, and standing. Finally, I hit on something that worked: deep knee bends. Junior relaxed, cooed, and spit up on my shoulder as I pliéd frantically.
Tiffany eventually returned from the bathroom, relieved me of Junior, and repositioned the baby under her shirt. I sank down onto a chair, my quadriceps trembling.
My good angel reminded me Gloria had been through quite a lot lately and could hardly be expected to be on her best behavior, what with the violent ex and the murder charges and all. My bad angel disagreed, pointing out that Gloria was an entitled pill who probably deserved to rot in prison. I thought my bad angel had a point. Everyone was trying to help Gloria. Her husband’s family was shelling out a fortune for the best lawyer around. What was she doing? Pouting and slamming doors.
Davison came shambling out of the back room.
“What happened?” He rubbed his face and looked around warily. “Sounded like a bomb went off.”
“Your Aunty Gloria. She wen’ left an’ slammed the door.”
“I’ll get the rice started.” I stood up and busied myself in the kitchen. Davison sat down next to Tiffany.
“Get me more water, baby,” Tiffany said, and Davison did.
Skye came out of the back bedroom.
“Everything okay?” I asked him.
“No. No. Everything is not okay. We have to have to step up the fight. There’s a terrible injustice happening.”
“Did Gloria say where she was going?”
“She just went out to get centered.” Skye went over and stood behind Tiffany and Davison.
“I’m not going back to California until Gloria is a free woman,” He put one hand on Davison’s shoulder, and the other hand on Tiffany’s. “I’m staying in Mahina for as long as it takes. And I know Davison and Tiffany are with me on this. Right?”
“Yeah, sure.” Davison sounded like he was still half-asleep.
“Whatever,” Tiffany agreed.
“Okay. I’m going to check on Gloria.” Skye went out the front door.
“You two have lunch yet?” I asked.
Tiffany and Davison shook their heads.
“Rice’ll be ready in about half an hour. I’ll heat up some leftovers. Davison, could you please refill Tiffany’s water glass?”
“I just did.”
“Eh, you wanna do this?” Tiffany pointed at her chest with her free hand. Davison got up and took her empty glass to the sink.
I wondered whether Pat would be able to find anything useful about Gloria’s whereabouts during the time of the murder. I hoped so. Otherwise, my houseguests were never going to leave.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
I’d managed to get a few hours of sleep the previous night, so I woke up the next morning feeling optimistic.
Gazing out across the lanai onto the quiet street, I realized I had a lot to be grateful for. I lived in one of the most beautiful places on earth. I had a loving husband, good health, and tenure. This situation with Gloria would be straightened out eventually, and things would go back to normal. Skye and Gloria would return home. Tiffany and Davison and little Junior would find a place of their own. My earlier impulse, to move out and stay at a hotel, now seemed like a petty overreaction.
I padded out to the kitchen, humming to myself and not watching my step. Halfway to the coffee machine, I tripped over a noisy baby toy, setting it a-jingle. Startled, I stumbl
ed sideways, planting my foot firmly on a squishy used diaper and squirting the contents in all directions.
I cleaned up the diaper mess and washed my hands with soap and water, running the water until it was as close to boiling as I could stand. Baby poop aroma tickled the roof of my mouth. I realized the smell came from the kitchen rubbish can, so I took out the garbage and put in a new liner. Then I washed my hands again, scalding myself with the now-heated water.
By the time I made it to the coffee machine, my good mood was gone.
As I sat down to start work on my book chapter, I heard a key turn in the lock. Gloria and Skye came in through the front door.
“Good morning. Did you go out for breakfast?”
“We had to find a pay phone to call Feinman,” Skye said. “I didn’t want Gloria using the cell phone again.”
Gloria ignored Skye and me and stomped back toward the guest room.
“That was an early call.”
“I know.” Skye went into the kitchen. “Feinman’s still in Costa Rica. It’s four hours later there.”
Junior was up now. I could hear his babbling coming from Davison and Tiffany’s room. The adorable baby sounds set me on edge. I knew they could escalate without warning to eardrum-shredding shrieks.
I stood up from my workstation.
“Skye, I’m going to the store. Do you want anything?”
“I’ll come with you,” he said quickly.
“You want to come shopping with me?”
“If you don’t mind, yes. Can I bring my coffee?”
“I’ll wait while you finish it. I don’t have cup holders in my car.”
Skye didn’t say anything when we pulled into the parking lot of Galimba’s Bargain Boyz. I hoped he wasn’t disappointed. The building’s corrugated siding was touched with rust, and the “temporary” Galimba’s banner had hung over the entrance for the last decade. None of this had dissuaded Mahina’s thrifty shoppers. The parking lot was packed.
“Molly, this is great.”
“It is?”
“It’s the real Hawai`i. The one the tourists never get to see. I wish I’d brought my camera.”
We got out of the car and followed the crowd to the entrance. I yanked a gigantic shopping cart free and wheeled it to Galimba’s audio section as Skye followed. I picked out a pair of noise-cancelling headphones. They cost more than I had planned to spend, but if they worked, they would be worth it.
“So, any other insights from Feinman?” I asked Skye. “What’s the latest?”
“It’s not going great. Feinman was trying to tell Gloria that she’s automatically going to be a suspect, because of her history with the deceased. They always look at the ex first. That’s what he said.”
“I’ve heard the same thing.”
“Well, Gloria didn’t like it when he told her she had to come up with an alibi. And then Feinman said it was her own fault she was in trouble to begin with, and she should never have given false information to the police.”
“She gave false information to the police?”
Skye shrugged. “I don’t know what he was talking about. Anyway, she told him to mind his own business and do his job.”
“I don’t understand why she needs an alibi.” I eased the cart back from the headphone display and headed down the aisle. “Even if she was right there when he fell out of the window, she could easily say it was self-defense.”
“She says she wasn’t there at all. She claims she never even saw him. I believe her. This whole thing is so frustrating.”
“I get it. Do you need anything while we’re here?”
Skye bought a cheap pair of rubber slippers (he called them flip-flops), a box of loose green tea, and a twelve pack of Mehana Mauna Kea Pale Ale.
As we stood in line with our giant shopping cart, I heard, “Oh, I thought it was you.”
I turned around to see the woman from our childbirth class. I had forgotten her name, so I introduced myself and my brother-in-law, Skye.
“I’m Jennifer,” the woman said. “This is my aunty. Sorry, I forgot your name. So much to think about, getting ready for baby girl’s new baby.”
Jennifer wielded a cart loaded with super-sized boxes of baby wipes, canned formula, and newborn diapers.
“Your daughter’s due soon then?” I asked.
“Oh, any minute now. What about you, Molly? You barely even showing yet.” Jennifer patted her own flat tummy.
Skye started moving the contents of our shopping cart to the counter, turning the UPC labels face-up to make the items easy to scan.
“What a beautiful necklace,” Jennifer’s aunty said to me.
I touched my throat to remind myself which necklace I was wearing. It was a costume piece made of base metal and glass bits colored dark gray to resemble marcasite. On especially muggy days, it left traces of green on my skin, but I liked the style.
“Is it an antique?” the older woman asked.
“It’s vintage. I bought ages ago, at a little consignment store on La Brea.”
“It reminds me of the things you could buy at the shop, before they closed.” Jennifer’s aunty wrinkled her forehead. “What was it called? They always had the nicest things, even though it was just a pawnshop. You remember the place, Jen? From when you were small?”
“You mean Modern Jewelers?” she asked.
“No, no, no, Modern was the Shigeokas’ place. Royal Pawn. That’s the one I’m thinking of. The owner was Brian Carvalho. So charming, the man, and always dressed to the nines. Was it Carvalho?”
“I don’t know what store you’re thinking of, Aunty,” Jen said.
“We’re up.” Skye bought his items, and then I paid for my headphones.
“It was nice to see you, Jennifer,” I said. “Best of luck with everything if I don’t see you in class.”
“You too, ah?” She nosed her brimming cart forward.
“It was Gonsalves,” Jen’s aunty exclaimed.
“What?” I turned around, surprised to hear the familiar surname, although Gonsalves isn’t exactly uncommon in Mahina.
“What I’m saying, Carvalho.” The older woman frowned. “It was Brian Gonsalves, Royal Pawn. I can see the name written on the glass door. Remember, Jen?”
Jennifer was busy hauling items from the cart onto the counter for the cashier to scan. Diapers, six-packs of formula cans, and something called a noise machine, which seemed a little coals-to-Newcastle for a household with a new baby on the way.
“I don’t remember, Aunty.” She lifted a pillow-sized pack of gauze burp cloths out of the cart.
“Royal Pawn. I remember now. Too bad he went out of business. I found such pretty things there. Better than the other stores. Nicer even than Modern Jewelers.”
“Brian Gonsalves is my husband’s uncle,” I said.
Jennifer moved the last item from her cart. It was a lavender magnum of baby wash, enough to shampoo a battalion of infants.
“Oh yeah, Aunty. Her husband is Donnie, from Donnie’s Drive-Inn. Small world, ah?”
“Home of the Sumo Saimin Bowl and the Lolo Lunch Plate,” I said.
Jennifer’s aunty smiled apologetically.
“You know, we mostly go Chang’s Pizza Pagoda now. Cannot beat the two-for-one specials.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
My phone started to ring as I was unlocking the Thunderbird.
“Hey, Pat.” I slid into the driver’s seat and reached way over to open the passenger door for Skye. “Everything okay? What’s up?”
“I dug up some interesting information about your sister-in-law,” Pat said.
I glanced over at Skye. He was busy with the seatbelt.
“Listen, Pat. Can I call you back? Maybe in about twenty minutes?”
“You can try. Why, is someone there?”
“Absolutely.” I clicked the phone off and dropped it back into my bag.
“Are these the original seat belts?” Skye got the two sides lined up and clicked them s
hut.
“No, but they’re the closest thing. The original seat belts were rotting. I had to mail order these from the ends of the earth, and then find someone to install them. It wasn’t easy to find them in turquoise.”
“They look like they belong in the car. Very authentic. Almost like airplane seatbelts.”
“They’re exact reproductions of the originals. And thank you for noticing. Hardly anyone appreciates this car as much as I do. Donnie keeps telling me I should get something newer and more reliable. And Earl Miyashiro, my mechanic? Don’t get me started on him—”
My phone rang again. I dug into my bag to find it.
“Sorry, Skye, let me get this. It’s Donnie. Uh-oh. He never calls when he’s at work. Donnie, what’s going on? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Where are you?”
“I’m in the parking lot of Galimba’s Bargain Boyz. Skye is with me. What’s up?”
“Can you come by the Drive-Inn?”
“Can we stop by the Drive-Inn?” I asked Skye. “Do you have to be anywhere?”
Skye shook his head.
“Okay. We’re on our way.”
I turned the key in the ignition and pumped the gas pedal twice, lightly. The Thunderbird’s 352 cubic inch V-8 rumbled to life.
“Is there a gasoline smell?” Skye asked.
“Earl says it’s an oil leak, which is impossible to fix completely because of the way some joint is configured or something. He says he can do a workaround, but I’d have to get a custom part made, and it would be really expensive. So I just top up the oil every week or two. I admit it might not be the best thing for the environment.”
I pulled out of the parking lot and turned right toward downtown.
“What’s going on at the Drive-Inn?” Skye asked.
“I don’t know. I hope nothing bad has happened. You know, business at the Drive-Inn has been, well. . . Remember what the lady at the store, Jennifer’s aunty, said? They’ve stopped going to the Drive-Inn, and are going to Chang’s Pizza Pagoda instead. Unfortunately, it’s not the first time I’ve heard the same thing.”
“I can’t believe she came right out and said it to you. Although, no offense to Donnie, people really shouldn’t be eating that kind of food all the time. How’s the other place getting your customers anyway?”