Prospect for Murder (Natalie Seachrist Hawaiian Cozy Mystery 1)

by Burrows-Johnson, Jeanne; June, Yasamine;

  Today’s tea party was merely a door opener. However, I knew I needed to impress Miss Wong sufficiently to be allowed entry to her inner circle. Perhaps my age alone made her feel as though she had something in common with me. Regardless of what had motivated her to invite me to her home, it was an opportunity to learn what I could about everyone and everything connected to the Makiki Sunset Apartments.

  Despite my professional background (and knowledge gained in oral history courses), I was as nervous. It was almost as if I were auditioning to play MC for a travelogue or interviewing for syndication of a column. While an interviewer can try to steer their subject toward or away from topics that might arise, there is no guarantee such efforts will succeed. The only thing I could do was go with the flow. I needed to insure that Miss Wong felt I was interested in whatever she chooses to share with her new tenant, while remaining poised to spring on anything pertinent to Ariel’s death.

  I left the apartment with sufficient time to check the mail and saunter slowly along the courtyard to arrive promptly at Pearl’s door. I was pleased there was a garbage can positioned near the mail boxes to facilitate swift dispatch of undesired junk mail. Today I found a letter addressed to Danielle Roberts in unit B406 who, presumably the previous tenant. This would make a good opening line of conversation about the complex. Had she been a student? Had she lived here very long? Did she have friends who are still tenants here? How far should I push my inquiries and how pertinent would the answers prove to be?

  Walking back into the courtyard, I saw a number of young men and women assembling for what looked like a major event. While assorted people pulled lawn chairs from the barbecue area, the volleyball net was being tightened by two guys whose physiques looked like they should be on an Olympic team of some kind. One woman was giving a practice overhand serve, just as Richard Bishop passed the far side of the net. When the ball bounced off his shoulder and out toward me, I bent to pick it up.

  “What do you all think you’re doing? It’s one thing to play volleyball, but those chairs are supposed to be around the tables in the barbecue area,” he said with displeasure.

  “Ah, come on Richard. Some buddies from our old ship are dropping in. This is the only time we can get together before we put out to sea,” moaned a short blonde guy with a dash of freckles across his sunburned nose.

  “Yeah, man. Chill out. We’ll put everything back. In fact, we’re going to be using these chairs in the barbecue area ourselves, aren’t we, Vic?” chimed in a tall African American guy I knew to be another tenant.

  At that moment, Al came around the corner from the parking lot to the left of Building A. He was carrying a couple of large sacks of groceries and did not look too pleased to see people standing on the path to his apartment.

  Without any attempt at politeness, he scowled at Richard and barked, “Hey, what’s going on? Are you bothering your aunt’s tenants again, Richard? You know what happened the last time you did that.”

  Richard sent an equally venomous look in Al’s direction. Then he turned and stomped off as firmly as one can on uneven grass. I tossed the ball to the girl who had served it, and Al continued on to his door. I watched for a moment as everyone returned to setting up for what looked like a great time for anyone spry enough to play the game or at least enjoy a barbecue.

  I would have stayed for the fun and to catch a few names and apartment numbers, but I had my own date with destiny. Despite the delay, I arrived at Pearl Wong’s at precisely four o’clock. I checked my elegant Princess Kai`ulani mu’umu’u and sandals for any signs of dirt or grass. I was glad to note I was still in pristine condition to play the role of a lady of distinguished background.

  Miss Wong opened the doors to her apartment widely. “Come right in, my dear.”

  She smiled and beckoned me inside, giving no indication that she had observed the altercation in the courtyard. She then indicated a two-tiered stand for me to add my shoes to her considerable collection. “Please be seated wherever you wish, Mrs. Seachrist,” said Miss Wong as she closed the doors behind her. She must have included double-paned windows in her remodel because none of the outside noise carried into her living room.

  “Please call me Natalie. You know that joke about a bride feeling like her mother-in-law when called by her surname. Bill was actually orphaned as a young boy, but I’ve always felt that name belonged to her.”

  Gesturing toward a sectional sofa covered in apricot-colored silk, Pearl said she would return in a moment with our refreshments. Nervous about maintaining my cover as a woman of substance, I sat down somewhat stiffly, feeling as if I were in a modeling class for adolescent girls. I faced a large, round coffee table featuring music boxes, crystal paper weights and jade eggs. The entire living and dining space was beautifully appointed with medium-toned rosewood chairs, tables, and a buffet with china cabinet filled with porcelain, silver and jade. Money was clearly not a problem in this household.

  Miss Wong returned shortly with a large silver tray with tea service, covered platter, tea cups and dishes in bone china. As she slid the tray onto the already crowded table, I reached forward with the envelope I had been holding.

  “Before I forget,” I began, “Here’s a letter I found in my mail box. It’s addressed to Danielle Rogers at unit B406.”

  “Thank you for bringing it to me. She was a student who completed her master’s program this spring. To save errors in postal re-routing, I have been collecting her mail and packages as they arrive. Periodically, I send everything to her.”

  I quickly absorbed the fact that the prior tenant could not have had anything to do with Ariel’s death. “I’m sure Danielle appreciates your doing that. It really simplifies life. I’m having my condo manager do the same thing for me.”

  She set the letter on the table to her left and passed me a plate, fork and napkin. “Perhaps you would care to pour?” Miss Wong asked, turning the tea tray toward me.

  At the moment I was focused on playing detective. Fortunately, I have poured tea in many settings and hoped to look like the world-savvy matron I had dressed to be.

  I carefully followed teatime protocol, asking whether she liked sugar, cream, and/or lemon. I was delighted when she said she liked her tea with nothing added to it. After a few opening pleasantries, we settled with napkins and plates of delicious hors d’oeuvres balanced on our laps and our cups ready to be raised to our lips politely.

  “I am so pleased you could join me today. Although I am happy the Makiki Sunset Apartments is home to many young people, I enjoy sharing a cup of tea with someone of your age and background occasionally. How fortunate for me that circumstances have brought you our way.

  “The pleasure is mine, Pearl. I look forward to enjoying a cooler summer than I would have had in Waikīkī. And as I told you, it’s so convenient for my volunteering at the educational center down on Wilder.”

  “Yes. That’s what you said when we first visited about the apartment.” She paused and set down her teacup. “I realize that by now you may have heard that we had an unfortunate occurrence here before you moved in. I want to assure you that nothing like that has ever happened before, and I’m sure it never would again.”

  I had not expected her to say anything about Ariel’s death. But being a logical and honest business person, she probably felt it was better to say something herself than allow idle gossip to worry a new resident.

  “Well, yes. I did hear something. I believe a young woman died in the parking lot?” I queried.

  “That is correct. One of our young sailors found her lying on our handyman’s car. We are not certain of the circumstances surrounding the girl’s demise, but the police are looking into the matter.”

  “That must have been difficult for…everyone here.”

  “Indeed. I shall be glad when the mystery of her death is solved, as will my insurance company. More importantly, I can only imagine what
her family must be going through. I met her for just a few minutes, but I could tell she was a very positive young woman with a bright future.”

  I controlled my desire to reveal the truth of being related to the deceased and the reality of why I had come to Makiki. But to do so would have completely undermined my ability to observe the surroundings where Ariel died without alerting anyone to what I was doing. Even if I could not imagine Pearl Wong being involved in Ariel’s death, there was no way of knowing who might have been. And since I could not prolong our discussion of the circumstances surrounding my grandniece’s death without revealing myself, I simply nodded like the uninvolved bystander I was pretending to be.

  “As you might guess, we have seen many things through our decades at these apartments.”

  “I can only imagine.”

  “When we are young, it seems that all of life is ahead of us. As the years progress, we don’t realize that time has caught up with us and the road ahead is shorter than that behind us. Sometimes when we look back, it is difficult to see how the turns in our journey have brought us to where we are.”

  “You’re so right, Pearl. I may be younger than you, but I can’t believe some of what life has brought me.” I was tempted to add, “and taken from me.”

  “Earlier, you expressed interest in learning about the history of our home here in Makiki. The story of these apartments—and even the necklaces my sister Jade and I wear—actually begins in China. You see, it is the parting gifts of our Chinese mother and Hawaiian father that have allowed us to have the living we enjoy.” She rubbed the large, silver-edged necklace on her chest as though it were a touchstone for conjuring the presence of the woman she clearly missed.

  I nodded enthusiastically. “I assure you I’m truly interested in all of your history…here.”

  “Then I will start at the beginning. The bounty which has allowed us to have these apartments started with our father, Hiram Wong. He met our mother, Yùyīng Sūn, in Shànghăi between the two world wars. It was love at first sight. She was the petite, pale and delicate Asian flower, and he the tall, dark and exotic stranger from Tan Heong Shan or Sandalwood Mountain, as Hawai`i was known.”

  She paused for a moment, as though envisioning their meeting. She then poured another round of oolong tea and passed a plate of the best almond cookies I had ever eaten.

  “As you may know, the ties between Hawai`i and China are long-standing. Even before the nineteenth century, Hawai`i was a supply point in the fur trade between the American Northwest and China. The Islands were also the source of sandalwood, which Chinese artisans used extensively in the early Nineteenth Century. You might remember the sandalwood fans offered to guests at high tea at the Moana Hotel in Waikīkī.”

  “I do recall them. As a little girl, it was thrilling to wear your best mu`umu`u and sit on the old fashioned veranda inhaling the scent of your fan while waiting for your server to bring the tea cart to mix your individual blend of teas.”

  She nodded, her eyes sparkling at my remembered joy.

  “Hawai`i was considered to be full of opportunity for enterprising Chinese. Many people do not realize that the Chinese were marginally involved in the start of the Hawaiian sugar industry. Of course, it was the arrival of steam power in the mid-1800s that brought the mass of plantation workers from Canton, now the Guǎngdōng province of China. Once their contracts ended, many returned to China. Others, like our paternal grandfather, stayed and married local women, thereby increasing the cultural mixture of Hawai`i.”

  I was surprised by the complexity of the history linking Hawai`i and China. “I have many Chinese friends here in the Islands, but I didn’t know about all the business connections.”

  “Oh, yes. The commercial ties between Hawai`i and China were, and are, quite considerable. I do hope you do not mind this bit of cultural history?” she questioned.

  It was true that I wanted to get to issues pertinent to today—particularly the death of my grandniece. But I replied quickly to keep her talking, “Oh, no. I have a minor in history and as a journalist I’ve travelled extensively in Asia.”

  I took a quick sip of tea and continued my response to her. “Following Deng Xiaoping’s reforms of 1978, the U.S. Consulate in Shànghăi reopened in 1980. I was part of a tour that visited Shànghăi. It was a last minute add-on to my trip to Hong Kong to begin my career in journalism. It was only a couple of days, but I remember parts of it vividly. I especially enjoyed walking along the waterfront area of the Bund. While time for shopping was limited, we enjoyed listening to the old-timers who had jump-started the renewal of the classic Jazz Bar at the Fairmont Peace Hotel. After that, I went on to Hong Kong, where I was to meet my husband, whose ship was to make a port call. Unfortunately, my Asian sojourn was cut short by his unexpected death.”

  “Oh, my...I am sorry to learn of your loss. It must still pain you to think of it.”

  Not wanting her to think too much about my personal tale, I rushed to move her back into her own story telling. “Thank you. It was a long time ago. Despite the outcome of my trip, I recall the excitement of my visits to both cities. Although I was supervised by the government’s guides at every step in Shànghăi, I was delighted to have made the trip. It was fortunate my passport didn’t show travel to any country in conflict with China, and that I didn’t have to disclose that my husband was a naval officer. During the Cold-War, either of those circumstances could have meant China would have refused to issue me a visa.”

  Pearl nodded. “Yes, there have been many periods of darkness in the land of our birth.”

  I hurried to finish the details of that first trip to Asia so we could return to her story. “In contrast to Shànghăi, I had complete freedom in Hong Kong, which was still under the control of the British. Like any tourist, I could go everywhere and see anything I desired. It was a wonderful experience: the junks floating in Victoria Harbor; the bustling movement of people and the mixture of their languages; the rich fragrance of garlic, ginger and dark soy sauce floating through the marketplaces. My favorite shopping was with the purveyors of jade and gems hidden in ornately-gated shops.”

  Miss Wong smiled at the recitation of my own vibrant memories. “Yes, Hong Kong is a delight for travelers of every taste. And I am glad that you saw at least a part of Shànghăi which is where my elder sister Jade and I were born.”

  I nodded silently, to keep from interrupting her memories.

  “I should tell you that what I know of life in Shànghăi in the nineteen twenties and early thirties is drawn from the stories told by our amah, Chú Huā Lee. You see, she raised our mother before caring for Jade and me. Telling the history of China and our family was her way of keeping our parents in our lives.”

  “I know how important that is,” I said, thinking of Ariel and Brianna losing their parents when they were young. Nathan and I had also brought stories from our family history into daily conversations with the twins.

  As Pearl moved into the lecturing mode of a teacher, I realized I was hearing the story of her coming to America with her sister Jade. Glancing at the buffet, I saw a picture I knew was of the Wong sisters as young women. Aside from the difference in their height, they looked very similar. Immediately, I knew why Pearl had looked familiar to me the first time we met. Her sister Jade—the mother of Richard Bishop—had been my first-grade teacher at Punahou School!

  It was during our stressful second, long-term, visit with Auntie Carrie. Prior to that time, Nathan and I had been inseparable. Even our year in kindergarten had been a shared experience. But when we arrived at Punahou, our parents were informed that in keeping with the latest sociological studies, it would be best for us to be placed in separate classrooms for first grade.

  I doubted that our auntie thought very highly of that analysis, but as a single woman and recent hire, she was in no position to rock the school’s administration. Nathan did not seem as negatively
impacted as me. In fact, I do not think he remembers the name of his teacher that year. But I have had no trouble remembering Jade Wong—primarily because she made a tremendous effort to make me feel comfortable in her classroom. In spite of her kind attention, it was the unhappiest school year of my youth.

  The reason I had not made the connection immediately was that Jade would have been single at the time, and would have been formally addressed as “Miss Wong.” I loved to collect rocks as a child—everything from the ones I picked up on the ground to gifts I received from those who knew of my fledgling hobby. But the stone I prized above all others was jade. I would have to check my jewelry box at the condo, but I was fairly certain that I still had a small piece of pale green jade Miss Wong had given me at the end of the school year.

  She probably thought I was thrilled to be advanced to the second grade. In truth, that was a minor issue for me. I was truly happy because I knew that I would soon be rejoining my mother and father. And, I was fervently hoping that in another school I might be allowed in the same classroom as Nathan.

  Biting down on a brittle piece of almond, my attention sharply returned to Pearl’s recitation of her family history. It was all the more interesting now that I recalled whispers among classmates and their parents about the mysterious Wong Sisters. I might not have understood what was unique about these women, but Jade Wong was a childhood heroine and anything mysterious about her or Pearl must have been very special.

  Hoping to get her tale back on track, I inquired, “Did your father enjoy his sojourn to China?”

  A faint smile softened the lines in Pearl’s face as her thoughts focused on an unseen distance…