Pleasing the Dead

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Pleasing the Dead Page 11

by Deborah Turrell Atkinson


  Storm watched him pull away. He’d follow up on her question, but he probably wasn’t going to give her much information. She was curious about those Pachinko machines. Who ran gambling machines on this island? They probably weren’t in private homes. The back rooms of bars? Hotels? Storage facilities?

  Wait, she didn’t want to get into this. She’d retrieved Neko the kitty, and done her duty by telling Moana what she knew. Now all she had to do was finish setting up Lara’s corporation in a manner that protected her from liability and fraud. She could finish that project tomorrow morning and still have the rest of the day with Hamlin. It was perfect timing.

  Storm was getting in her car when her mobile phone rang. It was a Maui number, not one she recognized.

  “Storm? Is that you? It’s Stella. You have a few minutes? I’d like to talk to you.”

  “You caught me at a pretty good time. What’s up?”

  “Uh, is there any chance you could pick me up? Keiko took the car this morning and hasn’t come back and Lara wants me at the shop by noon.”

  Storm remembered how Stella had confided in her about Lara’s struggles with her ex-boyfriend. She’d also told Storm a friend had recommended her services to Lara, so Stella must feel a level of trust. On one hand, this could be a big fat hassle. On the other, Stella would be a good source of information regarding the dive shop.

  Storm stifled a sigh. At least she’d have a captive interviewee. Could be worse. “Where do you live?”

  She got the address, which was off Mokulele Avenue, not far from Kahului.

  It took Storm about twenty minutes to get there. On the way, she wondered why Stella didn’t just take a bus or a cab, but the edge to the woman’s normally easy-going voice made her think there was a reason for the call. Sure enough, when Storm got to the condominium, Stella was pacing in the parking lot. She pulled on a cigarette as if it were a pacifier.

  She ground out the cigarette and got in the car, flushed and sweating. The smell of smoke clung to her. “Thanks for coming.” Her fingernails were chewed to nubs. “I need to talk to you.”

  “Where’s Keiko?”

  “I don’t know.” Stella’s hair, usually pinned up with fresh flowers, hung limp. Dark circles underscored her eyes.

  “What time did she leave?”

  “Around nine, I think. I was having coffee and reading the paper. It took me a while to notice she was gone.”

  “She didn’t ask you for the keys?”

  “No, but they’re usually on the table by the front door. I thought she was in the bathroom. She liked to take long, hot baths.”

  “Anything unusual happen? Did she make any phone calls or receive any?”

  “I don’t think so. Not that I knew of.”

  “Does she take off very often?”

  “No, and I think it’s—” Stella drew a deep breath. “If I hire you, you’re bound to confidentiality, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can I hire you on someone’s behalf?”

  “Yes, but if you’re not my client, what you tell me isn’t confidential.”

  “Shit.”

  Storm thought a moment. “But personal is personal. It’ll take a subpoena to squeeze it out of me.”

  “Okay.” Stella slumped in the seat. “I have to talk to someone.”

  Storm put the car in park, but left the air conditioner running. “Is this about Keiko?”

  Stella nodded. “She’s had a hard life.”

  “What’s she done?”

  “I’m not sure. Well, I think—” She wrung her hands. “I have to give you some background.”

  “I’m okay with that.” Storm kept her voice calm and reassuring.

  Stella drew a deep breath. “She was in the mizu shobai. The water trade.”

  Storm didn’t know the term.

  “You know. Night-time entertainment.”

  “Prostitution?”

  Stella flushed. “Look, she didn’t have a choice.” Her hands were curled into tight fists.

  “Tell me about this.” Storm kept her voice very soft.

  “She’s Chinese,” Stella stared out the windshield at a distance Storm couldn’t see. “Her real name is Yuan Ling, and her parents sold her to cover debts.”

  Stella had to clear her voice twice, but she went on. “The Yakuza pays about $5000 for young girls in China and the Philippines. They’re told they’ll be given good jobs.”

  Her upper lip curled and her tormented eyes slid to gauge Storm’s reaction. Storm worked to keep the shock off her face, and the effort must have been effective because Stella kept talking.

  “The men like them very young, you know. Before they get their periods. They call it selling spring.”

  “Jesus.” Storm could no longer keep her dismay hidden.

  “They make the girls wear school outfits, like short pleated skirts and knee socks. Sometimes with high heels.”

  Storm winced and followed Stella’s gaze to the horizon. The older woman’s face was waxy and pale, and she seemed to be revisiting a memory beyond the cane fields.

  “How did you get Keiko away from them?” Storm whispered. She wasn’t just asking about Keiko, and Stella knew it.

  “I knew something about one of the men.”

  “Good for you.”

  Stella picked at a hangnail. “But Keiko tried to escape another way. She cut her arms and nearly bled to death.”

  “You were with her?”

  “No, I got out years ago. This was about eight months ago.” She chewed her thumb. “Someone called me about her.”

  “Someone from the, uh…”

  “Club. They’re called clubs.”

  Storm grimaced at the euphemism. “Who called you?”

  Stella looked nervous. “You wouldn’t know her.”

  Storm assumed it was one of the prostitutes. “Okay, but why you?”

  “Keiko is my goddaughter’s age. Twenty-three. The woman who called knew Angela.”

  “Angela was in the same business?”

  “Yes, and she died of a drug overdose. It was a means of escape.” Stella swallowed so hard Storm could hear it. “I’m afraid Keiko will try the same thing.”

  Storm found her own hands curling into fists. “Did something happen over the last few days to upset her? That would make her take your car and leave?”

  Stella returned from the world of the past, and turned reddened eyes to Storm. “Yesterday, I went to see an old friend of mine. It upsets Keiko—she won’t go inside.”

  “Inside her home?”

  “She’s in a nursing facility.”

  Hadn’t Damon mentioned that Lara’s mother was in a nursing home? Storm considered that connection.

  “You think that’s what made her take the car and leave?”

  “That and Hiroki Yoshinaka’s suicide.”

  “Because he killed his daughter?”

  Stella’s eyes slid to Storm. “She’s concerned about the sister.”

  Debts, Storm thought. “You think she might have, um, done something with Carmen?”

  “I’d like to check and make sure.”

  “Stella, is gambling part of the water trade?”

  Stella’s eyes grew round. “You know about Hiroki’s gambling debts?”

  “I suspected.”

  “It used to be part of the club scene, but I’m not sure anymore. Keiko ended up in the water trade because of her own father’s debts.”

  And Keiko preferred death over life in Obake’s establishment. Apparently, Hiroki Yoshinaka had made a similar choice. Would Keiko have the nerve to do what Hiroki had attempted? Storm put the car in gear, her grip tight on the steering wheel.

  “You want to go visit Carmen?”

  “I called the hospital earlier, and Keiko hadn’t been there.”

  “When did you call?”

  “Ten or ten-thirty.”

  Storm checked her watch. “Di
dn’t you say Lara wanted you in the shop by noon? You’re going to be very late.”

  Stella’s shoulders drooped.

  Storm felt for her. “Look, I need to call Lara to make an appointment to finish setting up her business. I can also find out if she’s expecting you right away.”

  The phone rang a long time. Storm was about ready to disconnect when Damon’s voice came on.

  “Did you get my message?” he asked.

  “Shoots, I’m sorry,” Storm said. “My purse got stolen sometime last night and I completely forgot to call you back.”

  “I thought you were mad at me.”

  “No, I got distracted. Why’d you call?”

  “I can’t remember now.” He laughed.

  “Okay.” If you say so. “Say, I’d like to talk to you. You free tonight after work?”

  “Are you asking me on a date?” Damon sounded a bit too eager.

  “Nice try. It’s a professional date. I don’t play golf.”

  He chuckled again. “Neither do I. The Fiddler Crab again? I can meet you at six.”

  “Sounds good. Is Lara around?”

  “She and Ken took a group of travel agents out diving. Good promotional opportunity, you know.”

  “When will she be back? I need to talk to her.”

  “Late afternoon, I’d guess.”

  Storm could tell that Stella understood the gist of the conversation. “Is there any reason Stella needs to come to the shop right now? She needs some personal time.”

  “She could come in and answer this damned phone,” Damon said.

  “She’ll be there in an hour. Meanwhile, practice your social skills.”

  Damon made a noise somewhere between a snort and a honk and hung up.

  Ten minutes later, Storm and Stella pulled into the hospital parking lot. They went past the nursing station, straight to Carmen’s room. The bed was rumpled and no one was in it.

  “She could be in the bathroom.” Stella’s words rang with concern.

  Storm had already turned back toward the nursing station. “We came to see Carmen Yoshinaka.”

  The desk clerk looked up with a practiced smile. “We released her to her auntie. Poor thing. Her only relative here in the U.S.”

  “What’s the aunt’s name?” Storm asked.

  The clerk fluttered through a pile of papers. “Here.” She handed a form to Storm.

  Storm grabbed the paper, and Stella looked over her shoulder. The signature was illegible to Storm, but Stella recognized it.

  “That’s Keiko’s,” she said.

  Stella waited until they were in Storm’s car to speak. “I’m afraid of what Keiko might do.”

  “How far will she go to protect Carmen?”

  Stella, her skin papery and grey, merely clenched her hands together.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “I’ll take the helm,” Lara said.

  Ken adjusted his sunglasses against the glare. “My turn in the cage?”

  She nodded.

  “You still spooked from the encounter with the reef shark?”

  “No.” She grabbed the wheel of the thirty-six foot Newton. “I went last time, remember?”

  Ken gave her a nudge. “That was a five-minute test run.”

  She cut the throttle on the twin inboard diesels to cruise. He waited for an answer, but she didn’t speak.

  “Suit yourself,” he said, and turned from the helm.

  “Did you drop some bait yesterday?”

  Ken glanced over his shoulder at the five people waiting in the stern seating area. No one was listening to them; the engine noise would make it difficult even if someone was trying to. One reporter and four travel agents peered over the side of the boat with a mixture of excitement and nerves. One of the travel agents cradled his face, which had taken on a greenish-gray cast, in his arms.

  “They know the sound of the engines,” Ken said. “Four showed up before I even dropped the fish over the side. But keep your voice low—we’re inside the intercoastal limit.”

  “One mile, three miles, you see anybody measuring?” Lara shrugged. “We’re out far enough.”

  Ken glanced toward the coast. The big new house on a bluff over the bay looked like an expensive toy. He wouldn’t want to swim, but he didn’t think they were three miles from shore, either. “Then this is the place. What’s the depth finder say?”

  “Three hundred feet.”

  “Perfect.” He peered into the sapphire blue of deep water. “I’m ready if you are.”

  “This is a good place, I think.” Lara put the engines into neutral.

  Ken climbed down from the helm and gave the seasick man a pat on the shoulder. “You’ll feel better when you get in the water.” He handed out snorkels and masks. “Put on a lot of sunscreen, because you’re going to be so enthralled you won’t realize when you’re medium rare.”

  The passengers tittered nervously. “You sure a shark can’t bite through that?” One of the travel agents gestured to the big cage hanging off the boat’s stern.

  “Absolutely.”

  “Can one jump into it?” someone else asked.

  “No way,” Ken answered. “There will be about two feet of Plexiglas and steel above the surface of the water. That baby is custom-made and professionally tested.”

  Lara turned off the motor. Birds and water slapping the hull were the only sounds. The boat rocked with the swells, and the sick man slumped in his seat, swallowing repeatedly.

  Ken gently lowered the big aluminum and Plexiglas cage into the water and tied it securely to a set of aft cleats. Once the passengers were inside, Lara would push the cage away from stern and keep it in place with flexible poles. Tubular floats kept the top edge out of the water.

  Ken put on a mask and snorkel and demonstrated how to get in and out of the cage. Soon he and the five passengers were in place, with their faces in the water. Every now and then, one of them would raise his or her head and point with excitement as the powerful sharks began to arrive.

  Lara allowed a smile of relief to cross her face. As her fishermen friends had told her, the sharks had been conditioned by the sound of the boat’s engine to expect food. Several weeks’ work was paying off. The travel agents loved it, except for the poor seasick guy, but that wasn’t her fault. He should have taken his Dramamine; Ken had warned everyone before they left the harbor. The reporter, to her delight, looked enthralled.

  A half dozen sandbar sharks already circled the cage. They were usually the first to arrive and ranged from four to six feet. Impressive, and about the same size as the three Whitetip reef sharks, which were easy to identify from the white tips on their first and second dorsal fins. Whitetips were fairly common; her scary encounter on Thursday had been with a Whitetip. They were far from that particular shark’s territory, so he (or she) wouldn’t be part of this group.

  Lara sat up a little straighter, and a thrill went through her. Two Galapagos sharks had appeared. These guys would seal the deal. How could people resist this kind of experience? Eight to ten feet long and three or four hundred pounds, the dusky brown-grey bodies of solid muscle slid through the water as pure and easy as sex.

  Fifteen or twenty minutes passed, and Lara relaxed enough to look toward land and gently reposition the boat. It took a shrill whistle from Ken to get her attention. “Bring the cage in. Steve is tired.”

  Oh yeah. Steve was the sick guy. Lara pulled the cage to the stern and reached out to him. He splashed frantically toward her.

  “Easy, I’ll get you,” she said. “Any one else want to take a break?”

  “Hell, no,” yelled the reporter, who raised his face just long enough to utter two words. None of the other guests wanted to leave, either.

  “Hold on,” Lara said to Steve, whose clammy grip had slipped from her hand. “Keep your mask on,” she added, but he’d already taken it off and was waving it around. Sure enough, it slipped from his gras
p and plopped into a gap between the boat’s transom and the cage.

  “Leave it,” Lara said, but he plunged both arms in to try and catch it before it sank. She grabbed at his upper arm. “Let it go,” she shouted. “It’s okay.”

  Idiot, Lara thought. She watched the mask sink, while Steve fished around with the effectiveness of a tea strainer in an ocean. He looked helplessly up at her, his face a pasty white.

  “Sorry.”

  But Lara was no longer looking at him. A dark shadow had passed under them. Huge. It looked as long as the boat. Water magnified objects, but it was twenty feet, at least. A Tiger or Great White. Jesus.

  She lunged at Steve, whose hand still dangled in the water. Surprised at her strength, he slid out of the cage and plopped onto the deck of the dive boat like a hooked mahi.

  “Thanks,” he said, and crawled off to a bench.

  The other five heads were staring at her, the whites of their eyes like stampeding horses. “What the fuck was that?” one of the travel agents said.

  “I’m ready to come in,” said the reporter.

  “You sure?” shouted Ken. He would have jumped up and down if he could. “This is the sighting of a lifetime.”

  “Thanks, but I’ll watch from deck,” yelled another travel agent, and lunged for the side of the cage facing the boat. She’d removed her mask and waved it in one hand, while the other hand gripped the cage so hard it looked like a claw.

  “No problem,” Lara said, and tied the cage securely to the aft cleats. “Though you’re quite safe.”

  She kept her voice calm and level. But inside, she rejoiced. The manō, her ‘aumakua, was on her side.

  Chapter Twenty

  Neither Ryan nor his father spoke on the way back to the elder Tagama’s residence. When Ryan pulled into the port chochère of his father’s luxurious Wailea condominium, he stopped the car.

  “We have to talk.”

  Tagama grunted.

  “Now.” Ryan steeled himself. He couldn’t ignore Obake’s comments about his father and the hooker. In fact, whether or not his dad communicated would predict their relationship. The uncertain gelato business was better than lies and manipulation.

  “Dad, if we are going to work together, we need to tell each other about past mistakes.”

 

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