by Frankie Bow
“Oh, the in-laws. Yeah, that’s a whole ’nother kettle of worms.”
“Fish,” I said. “Kettle of fish. And ’nother isn’t a word.”
“Aw, come on Molly, that doesn’t make any sense. What’s bad about a kettle of fish? A kettle of worms, now that’s gross. Geez, and here you are an English major and everything. Anyway, my point is, if Gloria admits she was with Andy De Silva, her rich in-laws are gonna stop paying for her fancy lawyer, and then she’s sunk for sure.”
“That wasn’t your point, Emma. It was my point.”
“So you gonna go home and tell Donnie about this or what?”
“No, you’re right. Donnie doesn’t want to hear it. And I don’t want to go back home tonight.”
“You at least gonna tell him you found the earrings and the necklace?”
“Eventually.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
I met Emma as usual after Mass the next day. I should have been in a buoyant mood, having enjoyed another night of uninterrupted sleep at the Lehua Inn, but I missed Donnie. Emma was the only customer in the Pair-O-Dice. She had a copy of the Sunday paper and a pitcher of beer in front of her.
“You read the paper today?” she asked as I sat down.
“No. I drove right over to Mass, and then came here. I didn’t see De Silva at Mass, by the way.”
“Probably too shame to show his face after yesterday. You hear from Donnie?”
“I saw he sent a text yesterday afternoon saying De Silva was looking for me and he hoped I was safe.”
“You talk to him at all?”
“No. I was afraid if I called him, he’d take the opportunity to scold me for staying another night at the hotel.”
Emma smoothed out the newspaper in front of her. “You know the picture of the cock-a-roach in the Kung Pao Pizza Roll? At Chang’s Pizza Pagoda?”
“Oh. Don’t remind me. Yes, the one that drove all the customers back to Donnie’s Drive-Inn.”
“It’s on the front page.” Emma pushed the Sunday paper over to my side of the wobbly little table. The below-the-fold headline read, Chang’s Pizza Pagoda Victim of Corporate Sabotage.
“They did some CSI stuff on the photo and found out it’s a fake.”
“The County Courier did? I’m impressed. How?”
“It wasn’t too hard, actually. The location was embedded in the photo. Chang’s got some kind of experts to look at the post, and they found that it wasn’t even sent from Chang’s. The location information placed it at a ‘major competitor.’”
“Oh, no. I knew this would happen.”
“Well they didn’t come right out and say who the ‘major competitor’ was.”
“Emma, everyone’s going to know who it is. The County Courier doesn’t have to spell it out. Come on, this is Mahina. Donnie’s rotten kid just destroyed the family business.”
“Yeah, I know. Sorry, Molly. This is really gonna test your ‘for better or for worse’ clause, huh?”
“Yeah. It is. Maybe I should make an effort to be extra nice to Donnie right now.”
After the Pair-O-Dice, I stopped by the Drive-Inn. It was still crowded, so the news of Davison’s sabotage apparently hadn’t become common knowledge just yet. I ordered a diet soda and stood next to the pickup window until a space opened at one of the picnic tables.
Donnie eventually came out to say hello, looking grumpier than ever.
“Business is still good,” I said. “That’s a relief.”
“It doesn’t matter. My wife isn’t here to help me celebrate my success. What happened to for better or for worse?”
“Whoa, deja vu. Donnie, I’m not abandoning you. I just wanted to get some sleep. That’s all. Although my stay at the Lehua Inn hasn’t been quite as peaceful as I’d hoped.”
“Molly, are you sure you really want a baby? If Junior makes you want to run away from home, maybe motherhood isn’t for you.”
“Junior’s adorable,” I said. “Really. But if I’m going to have my life expectancy shortened, and make no mistake, having kids is associated with a shortened lifespan, I’ll do it for my own kid. You can’t expect me to take years off of my life for someone else’s.”
“I was looking into the sleep thing,” Donnie said. “There’s something called a white noise machine. It puts out constant noise to drown out things like babies crying and toilets flushing. If you can sleep through the traffic on Hotel Drive, maybe it can help you.”
“You were researching ways to help me sleep?”
“I was. Molly, of course I want you to be able to sleep through the night. And I want you back home with me. Yes, I miss you.”
“Oh. Well, thank you for saying it. I miss you, too.”
“Did Andy De Silva find you, by the way? He was looking for you. I had to tell him you were staying at a hotel.”
“I’m sure he had more important things on his mind than passing judgment on our marriage. Yes, he found me.”
“What did he want?”
“He wants to help your sister, Donnie. He was hoping I could think of something. That’s all. By the way, did you see today’s paper? About a competitor sabotaging Chang’s with that cockroach photo?”
“M hm. I already knew about it.”
“You did?”
“We’ve hardly talked about anything else at the MRA meetings.”
“The what?”
“The Mahina Restaurant Association. Whoever uploaded the picture really messed up. They didn’t realize the location information was embedded in the photo.”
“Did you say ‘whoever’ uploaded the photo? They haven’t traced it back to an individual yet?”
“No, but the location was Merrie Musubis.”
“See, I knew this would. . .did you say Merrie Musubis?”
“Merrie’s management says they had nothing to do with it, but they can’t deny the evidence. They’re going to have to pay a settlement to Chang’s, and publish a public apology. Molly, are you okay?”
“Wow. I guess he’s smarter than I thought.”
“What? Who are you talking about?”
“What? Oh, I was just thinking about what you said. About the, uh, the noise machine. The one to help me sleep. In fact, I’m going to stop by the store and get one right now. I’ll bet Galimba’s has them.”
“Does this mean you’re coming home?”
“Yes. Is it okay if I put the noise machine in our bedroom?”
“Of course it’s okay.”
I stood up, leaned over the table, and planted a kiss on Donnie’s mouth. It seemed to catch him by surprised.
“I have to run, Donnie. Checkout time’s at noon.”
I dropped my suitcase in the bedroom and went out to the kitchen to get myself a glass of wine. Davison was at the sink, running hot water over a baby bottle to warm it.
“Did you see today’s paper?” I asked him.
“Nuh uh. Too busy wit’ Junior.”
I uncorked a new bottle of Sangiovese. “It’s on the front page. You posted the picture of the Chang’s pizza roll from Merrie Musubi, and left the geolocation on. You slandered Chang’s, and implicated Merrie Musubis. You hurt your father’s two major competitors in one go.”
“Dunno what you’re talking about, Molly. That’s like evil genius three dimensional chess kine stuff. You think it was me, did all that?”
“It was clever, I have to admit.” I filled up my sixteen-ounce Chicken Boy mug about halfway.”
“Eh, Molly, there’s real wineglasses up there.”
“This is my preferred stemware.”
“You can call it stemware when it doesn’t gotta stem?”
“I don’t know. And stop trying to change the subject. Listen. You have to be a role model now. For Junior. It’s not just about you anymore.”
“Molly.” Davison shook the contents of the bottle onto his wrist. Satisfied with the temperature, he shut off the water and turned to me. “It wasn’t me. I’m serious. Guarantee.”
It took me a minute to register what he meant.
“Wait a minute. You’re not saying. . .Tiffany?”
He shrugged.
“Are you trying to tell me Tiffany Balusteros is the mastermind behind this?”
“How come you don’t believe me?”
“Davison, Tiffany tried to tell me once that the sun isn’t a star because stars have five points.”
“Eh, maybe she’s not some big time astrologer, but she’s real smart, that girl.”
“Astronomer,” I said, but Davison had already gone back into the guest room.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
It was nice to be back in my own bathroom, with all of my familiar unguents and supplies. I moved my head from side to side and watched the earrings sway and catch the light. They were a simple design. A round cut diamond at the earlobe with a long baguette suspended from it and a teardrop-sized diamond hanging from the bottom of the baguette. The necklace was a delicate platinum ribbon studded with tiny diamonds.
I had assumed Donnie had inherited the parure from his mother. But his parents had been taken suddenly. They hadn’t made a will, and probably hadn’t even thought about the disposition of family heirlooms.
It was much more likely, I realized, that the set came from Uncle Brian’s Royal Pawn inventory.
“I found such pretty things there,” Jennifer’s auntie had said, in the Galimba’s Bargain Boyz checkout line. “Better than the other stores. Nicer things even than Modern Jewelers sometimes.”
I removed my earrings, and unclasped the necklace. I held the jewelry in my hand, admiring how the diamonds sparkled under the bright pinpoint lights. I snapped open the velvet box and carefully replaced them. I hadn’t given it a second thought at the time, but now I wondered: Why did Uncle Brian’s pawnshop have a better selection than the other stores? Maybe it didn’t. Maybe Jennifer’s auntie had simply fancied Uncle Brian, and her assessment of the wares on offer at Royal Pawn was the result of some kind of halo effect.
Still, I thought it might be worth following up.
I dug out my phone and called Pat. This time he picked up. I caught him up on everything that had happened so far, shoving aside any concerns about any confidentiality contracts I may have signed.
“Did you try to search for information at all?” he asked.
“I’ve been staying at a hotel. I didn’t have internet there.”
“Why were you at a hotel? You and Donnie finally getting divorced?”
“No, we are not getting a divorce. I was dealing with chronic sleep deprivation, and I had to do something. It turns out, it’s hard to get your beauty rest with a crying baby in the house, not to mention four self-centered adult houseguests. Actually, Skye’s okay. I should say three self-centered houseguests and one bewildered brother-in-law who’s probably wondering what kind of nightmare he married into.”
“That’s harsh,” Pat snickered.
“Sorry. Anyway, don’t you have special journalist access to some database of court cases?”
“My special journalist access is I pay the subscription fee. Do you know the district or circuit where the case was filed?”
“No idea. Whatever it would be for Mahina, I guess. Although maybe I shouldn’t assume Malufau only operated in Mahina. In fact, the robberies must have taken place somewhere else. I’m sure he didn’t want buyers in Mahina recognizing their stolen jewelry.”
“Okay, I have his name. I can use the case locator to narrow it down.”
I heard tapping noises in the background.
“Hey, Molly, speaking of stolen jewelry, you ever find yours?”
“Oh, the jewelry. In fact I did find it.”
“Where was it?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Here he is,” Pat said. “Bingo. Ooh, assault, terroristic threatening, abuse of a family or household member, extortion. Nice guy, your stepson’s dad.”
“So? Was he active outside of Mahina?”
“He had one case over in Honolulu District Court. And before that, one in Maui. And those are just the times he got caught. Yeah, just from what I can see here, it looks like Malufau was operating all over the state. Not just in Mahina.”
As soon as Pat rang off, I called Mahina PD, and left a message for Officer Andrew De Silva. Then I called Emma.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
Emma parked in front of my house, and together we made the short walk downtown to Brian Gonsalves’ apartment building. It was a 1960s stucco box with lava rock siding, the walls surrounding a dim interior courtyard. In the alcove, an ancient black label with raised white letters indicated Uncle Brian’s apartment number. A locked gate blocked our access to the stairs. Emma and I loitered innocently and then slipped in behind the next person that came in, a young man in a fast-food uniform.
Uncle Brian seemed pleased to see us, and not at all surprised.
“Nice to see you again, Sherry.” He grinned, showing off his perfect dentures, and gestured us inside.
“Molly,” I corrected him.
“I’m Brian.” He clasped Emma’s tiny hand in both of his. “Brian Gonsalves. Donnie’s uncle. Although Donnie, don’t see him much no more. His boy Davison, but. Good boy, him. Getting married, you know. Gotta keiki too, him.”
“Nice to meet you Uncle. Emma Nakamura.”
“Nakamura? Oh, you’re Masuo’s girl. You still working at the pakalolo clinic?”
“No, that’s my brother Jonah. I teach at the university.”
“Ah, right. You’re the smart one.”
“You going somewhere, Uncle?” Emma asked. She indicated the hard-sided red suitcase sitting by the front door.
“Yeah, I’m going Vegas. Taxi’s gonna be here any minute. You girls like a quick drink?”
“Sure.” Emma caught my look. “I mean, no. No, it’s okay.”
My genius plan now didn’t seem so bright. Emma and I were standing in this man’s apartment, unarmed, and where was Officer De Silva? I went ahead anyway.
“Your niece, Gloria’s ex, Iulani Malufau, is dead,” I said.
He shook his head and clucked disapprovingly.
“I tried to tell her the boy was no good, but she never listen. ‘You’re not my father,’ that’s what she said to me. ‘You’re not my father.’ She shoulda stayed with the other boy, Andy. I liked Andy. Nice family. Father was a policeman, you know.”
“They arrested Gloria for murder,” Emma said.
This seemed to come as a surprise to Uncle Brian.
“Little Glory?” He stepped back from the door and sank down on the shabby tan couch that dominated the tiny living room. “They arrested Glory?”
“Uncle Brian, if there’s anything you know to help her?”
He gestured at us impatiently. “Sit down, girls. Sit down.”
Emma and I took our seats in two Danish Modern style chairs across the low coffee table from where Brian sat.
“Gloria didn’t kill anyone. If Iulani fell out of a window, it was his own fault. I would consider the possibility the man must have had too much to drink.”
Emma and I looked at each other.
“Uncle, how’d you know Iulani fell out a window?”
“You must’ve told me, ’as why.”
“I’ll be honest,” Emma said. “Sounds like the world’s a better place without Iulani Malufau in it.”
“He was a nasty piece of work,” I agreed.
“A what?” Brian Gonsalves said.
“Pilau,” Emma explained.
“Exactly,” I agreed. “He seems like the kind of guy who would break out of prison, track down his former business partner, and try to shake him down for money. No one would blame the former business partner for trying to defend himself. I believe it’s called justifiable homicide.”
“Young lady,” Brian said mildly. “That is quite an accusation. Are you saying I killed the boy?”
“If you was over at his place, they can tell now, you know,” Emma said. “Alls
they need is to find one little hair or skin cell or something. If you was there, you cannot keep it secret.”
That police-procedural level of scrutiny wasn’t going to happen, of course. Malufau’s death was just another run-of-the-mill domestic as far as the prosecutor’s office was concerned. The room where Malufau had spent his last minutes on earth had already been rented to someone else. Uncle Brian didn’t know that, though.
“Greedy baga,” Brian Gonsalves sighed. “Mean, too. Never could hold his liquor, though.”
A soft beep sounded from the street, and the old man rose to his feet.
“There’s my taxi. California Hotel, here I come. Eh, you wish me good luck, ah?”
He shooed us out of the apartment in front of him, and refused our offers to help with his luggage. We followed him down the stairs and watched him climb into the cab. It took the driver several tries to shut the taxi’s trunk over Uncle Brian’s massive suitcase.
“Looks like he packed for a long trip,” Emma said. “You think he’s still got some of the jewelry from back in the day? When he was running the pawn shop?”
“I’m sure he does. In fact, I’ll bet Uncle Brian gave Davison the enormous engagement ring Tiffany’s wearing. No way could Davison afford a huge diamond like that by himself.”
“Yeah. Seems like he’s pretty close to Davison.”
“From what I can tell, Davison’s the only family member who’s still speaking to him. So De Silva never showed up.” I glanced down the empty street.
“That’s okay. You want that old geezer in prison? Anyways, with De Silva here, Uncle never woulda told us what he told us.”
Emma and I stood on the sidewalk and watched the tiny white taxi drive off in the direction of Mahina Airport.
“I’m going to call the police department again.” I fumbled in my bag for my phone. “I should’ve gotten De Silva’s direct number.”
“No need. Speak of the devil.”
A police cruiser pulled up and parked next to us on a stripe of red curb in front of a fire hydrant. De Silva stepped out and joined us on the sidewalk.
“Got your message,” he said to me. “What’s going on?”