Maui Widow Waltz (Islands of Aloha Mystery Series)

by JoAnn Bassett

  “What should we do now?” Farrah said.

  “Well, you might want to consider a fire sale.” He grinned at his own lame joke, then looked around and saw nobody else sharing the humor. “Seriously, you have some pretty extensive smoke damage in there. I think you should call your insurance company. But you came out better than your neighbor here. I’m estimating that side of the building at a near total loss.”

  He glared at me as if hoping I’d clap my hands and say, ‘Goody’, so he could be the star witness at my arson trial.

  “I’ve run a successful business here for over two years,” I said.

  “Well, the investigator’s on his way from O’ahu, so I’m not going to speculate. And, like I said, old wiring and ancient wood’s a bad combination. We get calls on these plantation-era buildings all the time.”

  “Can I go in and look around?” said Farrah.

  “I’d rather you wait until the investigator’s had a chance to get here, but if you need to go upstairs to pick up a few personal effects, I can have a firefighter go with you.”

  I lobbied to go into my shop as well. Since I’d pretty much cleared out everything on Friday, I wouldn’t have lost much, but I wanted to grab my address book and my box of vendor files.

  “Wait ‘til we can escort you.”

  When Farrah was finished upstairs, the firefighter asked me what I needed from my shop.

  “I’d like to go in and get some things from my desk.”

  “Still too hot in there. Tell me what you need and I’ll get it.”

  “Okay. I need the cardboard box from the bottom right-hand drawer of the desk. And if my address book is still on the desk, I’d appreciate it if you’d grab that too.”

  He put his plastic face mask back on and went in. When he came out, he handed me my address book—soot-covered and wet, but intact. He flipped up his mask.

  “Thanks, I said. “But what I really need is that file box.”

  “There’s no box in the desk.”

  “The right bottom drawer,” I said. “It’s the big one—a file drawer.”

  “Nothin’ in there.”

  We stood there, staring each other down, until he blew out a breath and flipped his mask back into place. Then he went inside. When he did, I peeked in behind him.

  The odor knocked me back on my heels. I’d expected it to smell like a luau pit or maybe a bonfire, but it didn’t. The wet charred wood smelled dank and sulfurous. The air swirled with particles and with the windows smoked over it was dark as night. There were plate-sized holes punched in the walls.

  The firefighter came out lugging two file-size drawers—one in each hand. He dropped them at my feet. They were both empty.

  He flipped up his mask. “Anything else?” His tone said he was done playing fetch for me.

  “That’s all,” I said. “And I really appreciate you looking.”

  Farrah came over and put an arm around me. “You get what you needed?”

  “No, and it doesn’t make sense. The drawers were both in pretty good shape. How could everything inside them just burn up?”

  “Maybe the investigator guy can tell you.” We walked over the small pile of clothes and personal belongings she’d piled up near Lipton’s box. “Steve says Hatch rescued Lipton. Is that true?”

  “Yep. Pulled her and the pups out of your closet and then gave Lipton mouth to mouth once they got outside.”

  “You jealous?”

  “Of Hatch sucking face with your dog? Trust me, it’s a good thing it was Lipton. If I’d been the one trapped in a burning building, he’d have let me croak.”

  “What’s with you two?”

  I shrugged.

  “What do you think Tank’s gonna say when hears about this?” she said, gesturing toward the still-smoking building.

  “Who cares? He’s tearing it down, remember?”

  By now, a small crowd of neighbors had come into the alley. They swarmed Farrah offering condolences and help in getting the store back in business. I walked out to Baldwin where my car was parked and checked my cell phone. Tank’s cell number came up as a missed call. I set my crap detector to ‘maximum’ and dialed.

  He answered on the first ring. “Don’t even think of trying to cash that check, Pali. I knew you girls weren’t happy to sell out but I never thought you’d do arson on me.”

  Ha! I wanted to tell him if I’d figured I could have gotten away with ‘doing arson on him’ I’d have picked up a can of gas and a Bic lighter three days ago.

  “I didn’t do it, Tank. And neither did Farrah. The fire almost killed her dog.” The conversation was absurd, since he was planning on taking down the building anyway. What did he care if the walls were punched in and the floor warped by water damage?

  “Da kine, no skin off my nose. You girls did me a favor. When the city condemns the building I’ll get it for half of what I was willing to pay. But Noni tells me you swiped those business files I paid for. She says when she went by this morning they were gone. So forget the five grand. In fact I already stopped payment on it. Oh yeah, and have a nice day.”

  He clicked off.

  There were a few ways to look at this: Noni stole the files and lied to Tank; Tank has the files but doesn’t want to pay me for them; or someone else took them. But who besides Noni and Tank would care about a box of ‘Let’s Get Maui’d’ files?

  My money was on the fat man. He’d already proven himself to be a cheat. Now I could add ‘liar’ to his list of regrettable qualities.

  I checked the time on my phone—almost noon. I’d been gone from Olu’olu for over three and a half hours which made me more than two hours overdue. I called Josie and told her I’d had an emergency come up but I was on my way back. She said Marv had called from his plane and he’d sounded upset that I’d left so soon after arriving. When I inquired about Lisa Marie, Josie told me she was napping.

  “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” I fibbed, knowing full well the drive to Olu’olu would take at least twice that long.

  “Maybe you call Marv now,” she said. “He not know where you are when you call on the cell phone, right?” The woman was a lifesaver. She gave me Marv’s cell number and I memorized it. I knew I might need it again in the near future, so it seemed like a good investment to spend a few brain cells making it permanent.

  “Prescott,” he said, answering the call. He had to know it was me. There was no way a guy like Marv doesn’t check caller ID before picking up.

  “Hello, Marv. Josie tells me you called.” I willed my voice to sound upbeat, as if I’d just lathered up with sunscreen and was pulling up a chaise next to Lisa Marie.

  “Where are you?”

  “At your place. It’s a gorgeous day here.”

  “Josie said you left hours ago.”

  “I had a quick meeting regarding Lisa Marie’s situation. I can’t promise too much yet, but it’s looking better and better.”

  “You’re supposed to be watching her, not traipsing around the countryside. If you need to talk to someone—that’s what phones are for, Ms. Moon.” He let a beat go by so I could offer an apology, but I didn’t. He went on, “What’d you find out?”

  “It appears the only evidence they have against Lisa Marie is tainted.” I gave myself a mental pat on the back for coming up with such an official-sounding word—tainted. Seemed like the kind of word a real private investigator might use.

  “What the hell does that mean—tainted?” Ah, pearls before swine, for sure.

  “It means it’s messed up and the prosecutor won’t be able to use it. I can’t really give you the particulars, because the information’s not been released yet. I promise I’ll call as soon as I hear more.” I passed two dawdling cars I’d been following for the past couple of miles. Soon the road would start curving and the center line would change from dashes to double solid.

  “Put Josie on.”

  Busted.

  “Ah, she’s not out here right now.”

&n
bsp; “Where is she?”

  “She’s around the house somewhere, but not where I am.”

  “Go get her. I’ll wait.”

  I took the sharp curve just before the little tunnel on Honoapi’ilani Highway. In about five seconds, the rock walls would suck up any transmission microwaves, effectively putting an end to the call.

  “I’m not sure where she is. It may take me a minute to track her down.” I said. I’d entered the dark passage. Water dripped from the slate gray walls.

  “You’re breaking up. Where are you? You better not be lying to me, Ms. Moo—?” And then he was gone.

  CHAPTER 31

  I gunned it past Papalaua and Punahoa Beach and passed four cars in a row in the straightaway near Ka’ili’uli. When I arrived at Olu’olu I roared up to the gate, my bald tires grappling for purchase as I slammed on the brakes. I didn’t even have time to start the ‘mother may I?’ routine with George on the speaker box when I saw the gate slowly grinding its way open. I waved my thanks in the direction of the gate house and scratched to a stop just beyond the front door. I felt like every second I gained was a little chit in my favor. As if Marv would consider my lying less egregious if I called him back in eight minutes instead of ten.

  It was Lisa Marie who answered my quick rap at the door.

  “Oh good, you’re up,” I said. She stepped in front of me, blocking my way.

  “Yes, I’m up. And I’ve been up for hours. Why do you smell like that?” She leaned in and sniffed me like a dog.

  “Well, I’ve had—”

  She held up her hand. “No one cares, okay? Anyway, it’s good you’re finally back because I need to go out.” She cupped my elbow in her palm and steered me back outside.

  “Wait. Your dad gave me a message for Josie.” I pulled my arm free. I don’t like being physically restrained, and I found her bossiness offensive. As of this morning, I now worked for Marv, not her.

  “Hang on,” I said. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  I sprinted down the hall. Through the tiny window in the kitchen door I saw Josie sitting on a stool at the counter. She popped up quickly when I entered.

  “Hi Josie, sorry to burst in like this, but Marv Prescott wants you to call him on his cell phone.” My voice sounded out of breath, but I wasn’t. My lack of oxygen probably stemmed more from recalling the way Marv and I had left it—him accusing me of lying and being correct.

  Josie’s narrowed her eyes in a confused look. “I just talk with Mr. Prescott a few minutes ago. He ask if you are here. I told him your car was outside but I was not sure where you were. I said I would find you and he say ‘forget it’—no big deal.” She said deal like dill, but I got the drift.

  “Mahalo.” I put out my arms to give her a hug, but she stepped back, ducking her head as if uncomfortable with public displays of affection by deceitful co-workers.

  “No worries,” she said. “Everybody who work for Mr. Prescott we take care of each other.” She glanced over at the cook, who shot me a pinched smile and a one bob nod.

  “I’ll remember that.”

  I walked quickly back outside. Lisa Marie was leaning against the driver door to the Geo, her arms crossed.

  “Not nice to keep me waiting.”

  “Where’re we going?” I said.

  “I’m sick of people staring at me,” she said. “I want you to take me to buy a wig.”

  Wig? I’d lived on Maui almost my entire life, but I’d never run across a wig store. I rubbed my forehead in contemplation.

  “I have no idea where to buy a wig. You may need to order one from Honolulu.”

  “Get in, I know where.” She slid into the driver’s seat. When I didn’t move, she leaned over and cranked down the passenger side window. “C’mon. I looked it up on the Internet. It’s over on the other side, near the hospital.”

  I reluctantly got in. “Do you know how to drive a stick?”

  “A stick? You mean a shifter car?” She rammed the gear shift up and down a few times without putting in the clutch. I winced.

  “Doesn’t seem too hard.”

  It took four tries to get out of the gate. Lisa Marie would kill the engine, scream a cesspool of expletives, and then try again. After the first kill, I tried to coach her, but she slapped my hand off the gear shift knob. I resigned myself to mutely riding shotgun.

  Once we’d made it onto the highway and were cruising along in third gear, she turned to me.

  “See? I’m a fast learner. My dad says there’s nothing I can’t do, and he’s right. And besides, if I mess up, big whoop. Money can fix ninety-nine percent of all screw-ups. Did you ever think of that?”

  “Not in so many words, but you’re probably right. Money’s the next best thing to having friends.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean? Are you saying I don’t have friends?”

  “Lisa Marie, since you’re in a philosophical mood, consider this: everything’s not always about you.”

  “Well, consider this Pali: it’s never about losers like you.”

  Deep breath, deep breath.

  When we approached the stop light at Ma’alaea, Lisa Marie failed to push in the clutch as she braked. The engine shuddered, then shut down.

  “What’s wrong with this piece of crap?” she shrieked.

  “It’s going to be harder for you to drive the stick in traffic with all the stopping and starting. Do you want me to take over?”

  “No! Back off, bitch. I can do this if you’d just shut your yap.” She was at full volume now. Cars behind us had started to honk. She threw a middle-finger salute out the window with her left hand while trying to shove the gearshift into first with her right. The steering wheel was on its own.

  I stared out the side window, trying to imagine myself sitting on my porch at sunset—Steve sitting companionably alongside.

  The final four miles to Wailuku were a series of stalls, blue language, and grinding gears. The starter was sounding like it was contemplating a strike. As painful as it was, I managed to stay silent.

  The shop near the hospital was called “Rx for Beauty.” The window display included a dozen white head-only manikins with placid features and an array of wigs in different colors and hairstyles—black ringlets, a chestnut-red pageboy, and a mahogany brown bob. Three of the manikins wore jaunty small-brimmed caps, and two modeled silky gypsy-style headscarves. I wondered what it would be like to work in a shop where everyone who came in—except, of course, cue-ball-by-choice Lisa Marie—had been to the gates of hell and back.

  “That one’s cute,” Lisa Marie said as we gazed at the window display. She pointed to a platinum pixie cut, which I thought would look good on her.

  “Let’s go in and you can try it on,” I said.

  “No, it’s cute, but I’m going for a more natural look. I want something that just hangs there. Like yours.”

  My reflection in the store window showed my shoulder length hair in deep distress. Frizzy, split ends cried out for a trim. My bangs hung down past my eyebrows, making it look like I lacked a forehead. This was the look she was going for?

  “Are you sure? There are some pretty cute short styles here.”

  “I know exactly what I want.”

  We went inside and a plus-size local woman with russet-colored skin came out from the back of the store. She was wearing a red and black mu’u mu’u and knee-high nylons she’d rolled down to her ankles. On her feet she wore a pair of blue mule-style bedroom slippers. Even though her dress was billowy, it was obvious her chest was washboard flat. I figured she’d chosen to forgo the breast prosthetics to show her customers she was walking the walk.

  “Oh my dear,” she cooed, fixing on Lisa Marie’s bald pate. “And so young.”

  “I’ve been through a lot.” Lisa Marie put two fingertips to her lips and triple-blinked a couple of times, as if holding back tears.

  “You just let it go, honey. We’re all survivors here; we honor your journey.”

  “Thank y
ou. You’re so kind. Unlike some people who’ve been making fun of me.” She nodded in my direction, and the store clerk gasped and shot me a nasty look.

  I sidestepped Lisa Marie’s con game. “You’re looking for a mid-length wig, right?”

  She turned to the clerk. “Even though my older sister here has been calling me stuff like ‘slickie sickie’ and ‘baldy-locks,’ we’re still family. No matter how mean she gets, I love her anyway. You know, when we were little girls our mother dressed us in matching clothes and we always had the same haircut. When I was in chemo I’d keep myself from barfing by thinking back to those happy times with my big sister. Do you have a wig that looks like that?” She pointed to my hair.

  The clerk shot me a second contemptuous look. No doubt she believed the wrong sister had been stricken with cancer. I silently repeated to myself, ‘a hundred bucks a day, a hundred bucks a day’.

  The clerk waddled to the back of the store and brought out a shoulder-length wig of light brown hair. She gestured for Lisa Marie to take a seat in a fussy little boudoir chair facing a gilt-edged mirror. Using a wig comb, the clerk smoothed and tucked the hair until it was a tidy long bob that just grazed her shoulders. As I stood behind her, my reflection in the mirror brought to mind a “before” picture for a hair conditioner capable of miraculous results.

  “How’s that, honey? It looks ten times better than your sister’s, but it’s nearly the same color and style.” She made no effort to pull the punch, shooting me yet a third look of disapproval.

  “It’s fine. I’m kind of worried though,” murmured Lisa Marie. “It’s so nice, I don’t know if I can afford it. Can you tell me the price?”

  “This one’s a classic, so it’s very reasonable.” The clerk went to the cashier desk and consulted a battered three-ring binder. “Let’s see. Yes, the Patti Pageboy is only fifty-nine ninety-nine. It’s not real hair, you know.”

  “Oh, that much?” Lisa Marie started up the blinky-eye thing again. “I only have forty dollars to spend.”

  The clerk bit the side of her lip.