Maui Widow Waltz (Islands of Aloha Mystery Series)

by JoAnn Bassett

  I eased up on the gas pedal. The Boxster was raring to go, but if I’d downshifted and let it have its way I’d have overtaken Lisa Marie in less than a minute. By this point, apprehension wasn’t my goal. My curiosity peaked, I wanted to see where she was headed. I promised myself I’d intervene if her joyride threw her into the category of ‘harmful to self or others,’ but until then, I was willing to go along with her game.

  I had to move in closer than I’d liked as the highway approached Highway 377—the turn-off for Crater Road. Straight ahead on 377 is the farming town of Kula; a left turn feeds into the twisting, turning ascent to the national park, ending at the cliff rim of Haleakala Crater. Lisa Marie turned left. I checked the gas gauge on the Porsche. It was still nearly full, but by now the Geo would be hovering near the “E.” Even if it made it up the steep road to the summit, there was no way it’d make it back down again.

  I hadn’t been to the crater since I’d moved back to Maui after college, and I’d forgotten how much cooler and windier it was up there. I hung back so she wouldn’t see me, but I was fooling myself. Most likely by now, Lisa Marie had noticed she was being followed by a red car identical to her stepmom’s.

  I gripped the wheel while keeping an eye out for stragglers from the bicycle tour groups that coast down the mountainside every day. The number of injuries and even deaths from these alleged ‘easy rides’ from the top was a grim statistic rarely shared with tourists, but you sure as hell never see locals paying good money to risk life and limb on the narrow twisting roadway.

  At this point there were no more intersections or turnouts, so I kept back a quarter-mile to avoid being a constant presence in her rearview mirror. Every time I’d encounter a switchback I’d see a flash of green as the Geo relentlessly chugged uphill—a white plume of exhaust spewing from its tailpipe. Within seconds the exhaust mingled with the patchwork of low-lying clouds we encountered as we climbed higher.

  From the looks of things, Lisa Marie was heading straight to the top.

  CHAPTER 34

  About ten miles up Crater Road a big brown sign alerts drivers they’re nearing the entrance to Haleakala National Park. By the time I passed the sign the ground-level clouds had thickened and visibility was down to less than fifty feet. It dawned on me I’d probably have to pay a park entrance fee and I didn’t have my purse. Who was I kidding? Even if I’d had my purse I wouldn’t have been able to come up with the fee. I pulled off the road, throwing up a cloud of red dust that tinted the surrounding fog the palest of pinks. Rummaging through the minuscule glove box I found a wrinkled one-dollar bill and a diamond stud earring. The earring looked to be a carat, maybe more. In anyone else’s car I’d have figured it for a fake, but I was in Tina’s Boxster. No doubt the DeBeers diamond brokers could probably provide a pedigree tracing the sparkling gem from that glove box all the way back to where it was pulled out of the earth in Botswana.

  I pulled up at the park entrance kiosk and lowered my window. Along the road leading up to the entrance at least three signs had warned drivers to be ready to fork over ten bucks to enter the park. I couldn’t pretend I didn’t know about the fee so I figured I’d play “Let’s Make a Deal” with the park ranger. Maybe he’d see the upside of waiving the fee in return for surprising his wife with a big ol’ diamond on their anniversary.

  “Welcome to Haleakala National Park,” said a shivering female ranger in a short-sleeved dark khaki shirt and Smokey-the-Bear hat. She said Haleakala in the Hawaiian way, stressing the final ‘la’ with all she could muster. She was short, with a squat build and freckled skin. She looked like the kind of woman who’d been offered a long-sleeved shirt and maybe even a jacket, but refused, preferring to prove her mettle with bare arms in the chilly temps.

  “The park entrance fee is ten dollars,” she said, handing me a vanilla-colored brochure printed in brown ink. She leaned her head into the car window, ostensibly poised to take the fee. I figured the lean-in was also an effort to snatch up a little warmth while waiting for me to dig out the money.

  “I’m sorry, I only have a dollar. But I’m not staying. I’ll just be driving up and out again.” I’d given up on the notion of trying to dazzle her with the diamond. She didn’t look like a gal who was into bling.

  Her eyes surveyed the Porsche. “It’s ten dollars.”

  “I know. But I’m a local, and I just need to go up and turn around. I won’t use the bathrooms and I won’t toss out any garbage. If you’ll just let me pass, I’ll be in and out without causing any problems.”

  “You’re already causing a problem,” she said.

  An older guy in a ranger uniform opened the door to the ranger shack. I noticed he was packing a sidearm on his utility belt. “Need some help out here?”

  “No, thanks,” said the female ranger. “I’ve got it.”

  He nodded and disappeared back into the shack.

  “Okay,” I said, “here’s the truth. My purse was taken and the person who took it was the young woman who just went through here. She’s got shoulder-length brown hair, like mine. I’m following her to get my stolen purse back.”

  “There’s been no woman with shoulder-length hair through here since I came on duty, and I collect all the entrance fees.”

  For a second, I was stumped.

  “How about a skinny bald guy in a trashy green car with smoke pouring out the tailpipe?” I asked.

  “Well, yeah. A guy like that came through a few minutes ago.”

  “That’s who I’m talking about.”

  She stared at me. I stared at her. I thought about rethinking the diamond ploy, but knew trotting out Plan B would just cost me precious time in pursuing Lisa Marie. I was also pretty sure bartering the admission price was against ranger policy, and by the looks of things I was dealing with a hard-liner for Uncle Sam.

  Then I did something that reminded me why I’d never quite fit into the squeaky clean team at the U.S. Federal Air Marshal Service. I threw the car into first gear, popped the clutch, and fishtailed away from the ranger shack—tires smoking. Luckily there wasn’t a gate across the entrance. If there had been, it probably would have done some pricey front-end damage to Tina’s baby.

  But Tina’s baby was in second position to Marv’s baby. I already regretted not apprehending Lisa Marie when I’d had the chance. I’d abandoned any curiosity over what she was up to and just wanted to nab her and get her safely back to Olu’olu before Marv got wind of her leaving. Our little foray to the wig store and then her stealing my car had me concurring with Marv that her mental state was iffy. And he’d have every reason to hold me liable if she took a swan-dive off the crater rim.

  I drove as if the ranger was in hot pursuit and didn’t slow down until I glimpsed the Geo passing the Halemau’u Trailhead. The elevation marker showed we were at eight thousand feet. I stayed back, hoping to avoid pressuring her into a Thelma and Louise, but I never let the little green car out of my sight for more than half a minute.

  The road climbed and climbed. I’d forgotten how far it was to the top. At mile sixteen I approached a hairpin turn. The Geo was just above me, taking the sharp curve. I’m sure if Lisa Marie had glanced down, the shiny red Boxster would have stuck out like the proverbial sore thumb. Still, she kept up her speed. I wouldn’t have thought it possible for my little beater car to keep going at that pace. The engine must have been running on fumes and Lisa Marie’s sheer force of will.

  Just after the Leleiwi Overlook turnout, I lost sight of the Geo. I hadn’t noticed Lisa Marie pull into the parking area, but it’s kind of a tricky curve and I could have missed it. As I climbed out of another hairpin turn, I checked my mirrors. Nothing but open road behind me and ahead. She must have turned off. I hesitated, then whipped the car into a tight three-point U-turn and headed back to Leleiwi.

  Nearing the tiny parking strip for overlook visitors I saw the Geo. She’d pulled it into a spot at the very end, tight alongside a Jeep Wrangler. It had been impossible to see since a
nondescript beige van blocked it from view on the uphill side of the road. I parked the Porsche in the first available space, near the road, so I could make it out of there in a hurry if she decided to resume her travels. Across the street from the parking area was a sign marking the entrance to a rocky half-mile trail that led to the overlook shelter.

  I got out of the car and in a half-crouch made my way down to the Geo. I crept up to the back side window and looked in. The contents of my purse was strewn across the back seat. How embarrassing. All sorts of personal items were on display—an overdue notice from the Kahului Library, a creditor’s demand letter with the words Urgent Attention Required! in bright red letters on the envelope, and a tattered Tampax that had poked through its paper wrapping. My wedding emergency kit—a shoe box with safety pins, aspirin, super glue, and so on—was on the floor behind the driver’s seat. I looked through the driver’s window. My cell phone was flipped open on the passenger seat. I tried the door. It was unlocked. I leaned in and grabbed my phone, snapped it shut, and slipped it into my pocket.

  Right next to the Geo was a new black Jeep Wrangler with a soft top. The windows were down so I checked inside. There was a large wad of dirty clothes balled-up on the passenger side floor and a portable GPS on the seat. The keys were in the ignition.

  I looked in the back and saw a jumble of stuff. I pulled the door open to get a better view. Under a filthy tarp was a red and yellow metal can with an aluminum cap. I turned it over and the word Gasoline was written in a diagonal line across the can. Under yet more grubby clothes was a cardboard box—a banker’s box. Right away I recognized the white, pink and lilac-colored file folders I used to color-code clients, vendors, and service providers for “Let’s Get Maui’d.”

  I left the door hanging open and bolted for the trailhead.

  CHAPTER 35

  I picked my way down the trail to the overlook, moving as fast as I dared without twisting an ankle on the rock-strewn trail. How Lisa Marie had managed it in kitten heels, lugging her ever-present oversized designer handbag was a mystery. At about the halfway point, a guy Farrah and I would have dubbed a ‘tree hugger’ came into sight coming the other way. He nodded hello, I smiled in return, and we kept moving.

  As soon as the metal roof of the overlook came into view I scrambled up the rocks and advanced from above the trail. From that vantage I could see most of what was going on below, but whoever was on the overlook wouldn’t notice my approach. When I was a few yards from the end of the trail I ducked behind a large boulder and cautiously peered into the covered shelter. Lisa Marie was against the Plexiglas viewing window and a guy stood in front of her with his back to me. I couldn’t see Lisa Marie’s face very well because the guy was in the way, but on her arm she still carried the same black Dolce & Gabbana purse she’d had at the wig shop. The guy wore a blue golf shirt that looked too tight under the armpits and baggy khaki cargo shorts. The lookout offered a stunning vista of cloud-shrouded Haleakala Crater shimmering in the late afternoon sun.

  Lisa Marie and the guy were talking in low tones. Anyone coming upon them would assume they were just two nature-lovers taking in the spectacular view. From my observation point I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I had a decent enough view of what was happening. Lisa Marie came in and out of sight as the man shifted his position. She kept her arms crossed and she nodded a few times, but it appeared she wasn’t doing much of the talking. Since Lisa Marie rarely listened to anyone for very long without disagreeing or interrupting, it was fascinating to watch.

  I turned and surveyed my surroundings. The tree hugger guy was probably the driver of the beige van, and by now he’d left. That left only Lisa Marie, the guy, and me out here at the overlook. When I focused back on what was happening on the platform below, the man had moved in closer to Lisa Marie. He pulled a folded paper from his pocket, opened it up, and held it out to her. She didn’t take it.

  The sound of her mocking laughter carried to where I was crouching. He responded by yelling a word that would have been bleeped out on TV. Then he roughly refolded the paper and put it back in his pocket. Lisa Marie used the opportunity to duck around him. I finally got a good look at her. Her cheeks were red and her eyes fixed on the path out of there.

  The guy grabbed Lisa Marie by the upper arm and pulled her back. By now their voice levels had risen to a point where I could make out almost everything they were saying.

  “I thought you were screwing around on me,” he yelled. “Then I realize I’m the one getting screwed!”

  “No, no, you’ve got it all wrong,” said Lisa Marie. “Kevin said you were just being stubborn. He said you’d thank me later.”

  “I’d thank you? Well, here’s my thanks.”

  He grabbed at her purse. She tried to hold on but he was a lot stronger and within a couple of seconds he’d wrestled it off her arm.

  “Give it back,” screamed Lisa Marie. “Purse snatcher. Thief, thief!” She turned and looked toward the pathway, her eyes bulging in indignation.

  He dumped out the contents of the bag.

  “You’re so predictable,” he said, picking through the stuff at his feet.

  I caught a quick flash of sunshine glinting off chrome. I’d been trained by the TSA to identify handguns in an instant. We’d had timed tests where they’d flash photos of an armed perp and we’d have to write down the make and model of the weapon and then provide the basic stats—how many rounds it carried, what caliber, and so on. No one complained about the tedious training. It’d be a critical skill if we ever found ourselves facing an armed assailant thirty-five thousand feet up.

  The guy was holding a Beretta 92 S. Not a big gun, but certainly big enough at a point-blank range. He waved the gun in Lisa Marie’s direction and my mind downshifted. I didn’t need to see her face to guess her reaction. I slowed my breathing and ceased all movement as my body ceded control to my brain. I could hear Sifu Doug’s patient voice, ‘Matches are lost when we fall back on human instinct or emotion—especially if your opponent presents a superior weapon.’

  “Look,” the guy said. “I didn’t want to do it but he wouldn’t listen. If you’re smart, you will.”

  My thighs were burning in protest over maintaining the low crouch, but I couldn’t just jump up and startle a guy waving a gun around until I had a plan.

  He again pulled the folded paper from his pocket. “Sign it,” he said.

  Lisa Marie snatched the folded paper and tossed it over the overlook wall. I watched as the white square disappeared into the abyss below.

  “You crazy bitch!” He stiff-armed the gun and screwed up his face as if readying himself for what came next.

  I’d seen and heard enough. I stood up and picked my way around the boulder, trying to avoid alerting him to the sound of my approach. When I was six feet behind the guy, Lisa Marie ducked left and we made eye contact. Her eyes darted from him to me and he whirled around.

  I bent my knees to give me more power and leverage. I delivered a roundhouse kick to his ribcage that sent him staggering backward onto the floor of the lookout. The gun flew from his hand and came to rest near the far edge of the rock wall.

  As he pushed himself back up to a standing position, I raised my elbow and jabbed him hard in the solar plexus. I heard his breath stall in his chest, and he made an uh sound as his knees gave way. His head took a heavy hit as it slammed into the concrete floor. I cringed. Without a mat to soften the blow, a fall like that could be fatal. I calmed down a little when he started moaning.

  He curled into a fetal position and didn’t attempt to get up. I stood over him, studying his face. He’d lost some weight and his bad haircut was shaggy and uneven. The goofy goatee was gone and he wasn’t wearing wire-rim glasses, but there was no mistaking it: I’d just kicked the crap out of missing tech mogul Brad Sanders.

  “You okay?” I said to Lisa Marie.

  “Yeah. But Brad killed Kevin.”

  I looked at the crumpled man at my feet. His m
oans had become a kind of guttural breathing, but his eyes remained closed and he still wasn’t making an attempt to get up.

  “Lisa Marie, I need you to go over there and get that gun,” I said.

  She stepped over Brad and picked up the gun.

  “Hang on to it for a minute while I make a call.” I wondered why Lisa Marie had been packing a handgun, but I figured it’d all come out when the cops arrived.

  I pulled out my phone and called nine-one-one and reported an armed man at the Leleiwi overlook in Haleakala National Park. The dispatcher said she’d send a police cruiser, but it’d take a while since they’d be coming from Kahului. She told me she’d also alert park security.

  “You sure you’re okay?” I said to Lisa Marie after hanging up. She nodded. “Well, hang in there. Cops are on their way. It’ll be a while, though, so give me the gun. I’ll keep an eye on him.”

  “It’s my gun. Why should I give it to you?”

  “Suit yourself. But the police just released you as a suspect, and they’re probably not too happy about it. You want to be pointing a handgun at him when they get here? The State of Hawaii’s rather picky about who gets to pack heat.”

  She bit her lower lip and handed it over.

  “Now I need you to go up to my car and get some duct tape. There’s a roll in a shoe box behind the front seat.”

  “Duck tape? Like for taping a duck?”

  “No, like for keeping Brad still until the cops get here. It’s silver-colored, on a roll about this big.” I made a circle with my thumbs and forefingers to show her the size.

  As she trotted up the trail, I slipped the gun into my back waistband. I’d need both hands if Brad suddenly decided he didn’t want to stick around for the cops.

  A few seconds later, my cell phone rang.

  “Pali? You at the overlook?” It was Steve.