The Howling Cliffs (Sara Mason Mysteries Book 2)

by Mary Deal

  He seemed surprise. “You really should stay. You need a bit more respiratory therapy. You probably inhaled a lot of effluent when the airbags exploded.”

  “I need to go home.”

  “You really should stay and rest, Sara. You have a serious concussion.”

  Sara returned to her room but determined that she was breathing just fine. If her concussion could improve in a hospital bed, it could do it in her own bed as well. Against the doctor's order to stay at least one more day, she checked out and took a taxi home.

  Chapter 23

  Her garage door opener, which had remained tightly clipped to the sun visor, and her purse were retrieved by the police, who also found her cell phone under a back seat. When the taxi pulled into her driveway, she had to smile. Birdie stood pretending to be gardening but nonchalantly peered over the fence. Sara's head was not bandaged, the gash left to heal in the open air with the hair around it shaved. Her left arm remained in a sling. She limped, thinking the force of lying on the seat belt latch might have dislocated something in her back. Maybe she just ached all over from being tossed like a green salad. The cab backed out. Sara motioned for Birdie to come over. Sara fumbled in her purse and brought out the garage door opener. As she headed toward the inner door to the house, Birdie all but flew into the garage behind her.

  “What the hell happened to you?” She almost grabbed Sara's bandaged elbow. Sara flinched and pulled away quickly, then slowly turned to face her. Birdie jumped back as if she'd seen a monster. She finally crept close and eyed the low-grade black eye and stitches on the side of Sara's scalp. “Hey, you're wearing hospital scrubs.”

  Sara's blood-soaked clothes were discarded at the hospital. She smiled weakly. “I need to wash my hair.” Though most of the blood had been washed away around the gash, some remained caked in much of the rest of her hair. She couldn't stand the stench.

  “No shit!” Birdie suspiciously looked around. “Your car… you had an accident?”

  “Got ran off the road.”

  “No shit! Your new car? How? Who?”

  “Big black pickup that sat high off the road. That's all I know and it was intentional.”

  Birdie's mouth flew open. If she was going to say no shit again, Sara felt she would scream. Instead she asked, “Intentional?”

  They had entered through the laundry room and then into the kitchen. Birdie acted right at home. She pulled out a chair and made a strong motion for Sara to sit. “Coffee or tea?” She began opening and closing cabinet doors.

  “Lilikoi tea.” Sara pointed to the end cabinet. She had to smile. Birdie never ceased to amaze with an attitude that could bust up a roadblock.

  Someone tapped on the glass of the sliding lanai doors. Birdie went to see and led Hien into the kitchen. Over tea, Sara told them both what had happened out by the bank of mail boxes.

  “Someone tried to kill you.” Hien seemed high-strung. He couldn't sit still for long and wandered about the kitchen.

  Sara gasped. What kind of a statement was that? Someone played road tag and got a little rough. How would Hien know if someone meant to kill her? Hien excused himself after listening to the description of the crash, saying how sorry he was and that he had a commitment to visit a friend. His attitude was icy.

  Birdie went home to feed Ka'imi. She soon returned carrying pajamas. “I'll be sleeping on your couch. You don't look none too keen.”

  Later, Sara sat propped against the bathroom basin while Birdie washed the rest of the blood and dirt out of her hair. Then Sara removed the sling from her left arm and stepped into the shower. Birdie's shadowy image waiting beyond the glass doors was reassuring.

  She refused to take pain killers. A fitful night of sleep left her aware that every muscle ached worse than after the most strenuous workout she'd had at any gym. There was no comparison. She could barely roll out of bed, all the while noticing the many bruises starting to show over her body. Then she heard a loud rapping at her patio door as it slid open.

  “Sara!” Birdie called out. “Sara!”

  Sara, managed to wrap herself in a sarong and made it downstairs as Birdie, red-faced and angry, waited inside. “What's up? Certainly not me.”

  “I've called the police.” Birdie had risen early to go home and feed Ka'imi. Now, clearly upset, she motioned wildly and seemed as though she couldn't say what she wished to tell.

  Sara almost smiled. Birdie Crew without a voice? “What's wrong?”

  Birdie offered her hand as if to lead. Sara stepped out onto the lanai and followed Birdie around the garage to the front of the house.

  Hien's rental car was gone. He'd probably already left the island.

  Birdie watched her curiously. She seemed lost for words and could only point to have Sara turn to look.

  Sara's mouth flew open. “What… is that?” On a portion of the house front, scrawled in big dark letters, were the words Ha'ole go home.

  “It's Maleko. I'll bet it's him.” Birdie's occasional derogatory opinions about Maleko made him out to be a real bottom feeder. She wished Birdie would stop the blaming.

  Then the morning sunlight revealed a scary sight. “It's red.” Sara stepped into her flower beds to get a closer look. “This can't be!”

  “Red?”

  “It's blood. I'm sure it's blood. I can smell it.”

  “You smelling your own blood?”

  “Not this time.”

  Shades of red had deepened to nearly black and caked in the thickest drips, showing the scrawling was, indeed, blood. Smears had dribbled down the facade and into the flower beds, the message angrily warning from the pale blue wall.

  Sara turned in time to see the man at the house across the street duck behind the yellow Hibiscus hedges. Perhaps he didn't realize it, but his form was clearly visible like a shadow through the hedge. That man was beginning to unnerve her.

  “Wonder why he feels the need to hide.” Sara discreetly used her eyes to direct Birdie's attention.

  “Hmph!” Birdie avoided looking across the street. “You think he knows something?”

  As Sara watched, a woman came out of the house and she and the man got into their car and drove away without looking in their direction.

  The police arrived without sirens. The scrawled writing sent a nasty message. The officers checked around the property searching for clues as to who might have perpetrated the misdemeanor that edged on being a threat.

  Birdie had to speak. Of course she knew something. “Last night while you slept, your house guest went next door and played music with your crazy neighbor.” She motioned to Maleko's house. “Must have finally recognized Leia's brother after all.”

  “Hien went next door?” Sara felt complete exasperation. Thanh had said Hien had a taste for macabre friends. Hien didn't seem surprised to learn the Aka family had not sold the house but had taken it back from renters. He also showed no surprise that she moved next door to the house from where Leia went missing. Hien had also been on the island when that happened, and last night he went next door to play music with Leia's brother. Why would he maintain friendship with that weirdo? The thought of it was unsettling.

  The police studied the ground below the message.

  “I stepped in there.” Sara walked close and pointed. “Right here… and there.”

  The officer walked the length of the house front, checking the flower beds. “The person or persons dug up their footprints. There's fresh digging here and there. Yours are the only prints.”

  “Let me tell you the next thing you need to do.” Birdie was almost in the officer's face. “Go question the guy next door.” She thumbed over toward Maleko's house. “Maybe check out that Hien guy, too, that stayed in Sara's cottage this weekend. He's palsy-walsy with that nut case over there.” When the officer only responded with a look of disbelief, most likely at Birdie's attitude, she continued. “Maybe check the guy who lives over there behind those yellow flowers. Why should he always have an interest in what's going on over
here?” One thing was certain. Birdie wasn't afraid to let the right person know what she knew, police or anyone. Sara saw in Birdie what she knew about herself. Either would get their point across, but Sara would do it with a lot more tact.

  The officer eyed Birdie as if not liking her giving orders, but he quietly wrote his notes.

  Sara had a revelation as she stood staring at the suggestive ha'ole message. The young guys at the howling cliffs displayed their belief in Hawaiian taboos and feared the forbidden kapu symbolism of the pig skin. All had turned back and left the area. They knew she had gone past the warning sign and beyond on what was to them considered a forbidden trail. They had scoffed that she was a ha'ole, pronounced and spelled the same way as the message on the wall.

  Chapter 24

  Huxley was not responding to Sara's phone calls. If he was in meetings, he would return calls in the evenings. After turning over the MIA's remains to a military forensics lab to be identified, he planned to catch a little R&R with his family in Oregon. Two days had passed without a word from him.

  Sara carried her cell phone out into the back yard. Maybe she shouldn't tell him about the accident. He thrived on the peace of being with his family. More than once, he had commented that he wished he could spend more time, not only with the rest of his family, but specifically with his son and daughter whom Sara had seen in pictures and met only once. At times he had twinges of guilt at not being with family to help with the farm business, but all agreed on the urgency of looking for Rockford. Huxley's schedule was hectic, traveling between Sacramento, San Francisco and Washington, D.C. He deserved some quiet time. She was strong-willed, made it through the accident and would soon heal. Yet, her head hadn't cleared per the doctor's prognosis. Depression had crept in. She needed the support that only Huxley could give.

  The dizzy spells that made her nauseous persisted. Standing and gazing out over the Wailua River and breathing the fresh tropical air was welcome and refreshing to the soul, but she needed exercise and decided to walk around the block.

  She first went to Birdie's back patio. Birdie always started the day with hot coffee and some island-kine delicacies.

  “The police took their photos and then said I could clean the blood off. I wasn't ready to pressure wash until I repainted but, Birdie, you said you knew someone who would do just the front for now?”

  “Yeah, I know a few people. It'll take pressure washing to get that mess off before it stains your wall.”

  “Well, I'm going for a walk.” Sara was not one to waste perfect weather. “Let me take Ka'imi.”

  “You'd best not go far if you're not well.” Birdie could be such a mother hen. “Have a manapua with your coffee and see how you feel.” She placed the white bun on a plate and was pouring coffee before Sara could resist.

  “You say your friend makes these?” Sara could only give in and accept the caring gesture. Time was not important at that moment. “Manapua, you called them?”

  “Used to mean pork bun. Yours is filled with bean cake.”

  A little square of white paper lay on the edge of Birdie's plate. Sara felt a piece of paper steamed on under her bun and peeled it off and took a bite of the white rice bread. “It's ono!” Sara tried using Hawaiian whenever she could. She didn't mean to gobble, but it was ono and the coffee gave her a nice boost. “I'd better get going, before my energy fizzles.” They stepped out onto the patio and Sara grabbed a leash off a hook. “Come, Ka'imi.”

  “If anything happens, send Ka'imi back. Just say 'Go, Birdie!' and she'll come home. We'll find you.”

  Sara made her way to Kuamo'o Road and headed in the direction of the Arboretum, although she didn't plan to walk that far. Plants and trees on Kauai maintain a year-round luscious shade of green. Various flowers and fruit grew wild island-wide.

  Spying a thick clump of wild Surinam cherry bushes, she reached deep into the vines to find some not laden with road dust and picked a few of the deepest red-colored fruit. She gently rubbed them clean on her tee shirt and bit into one to test the taste, which was sweet and delicious. She tasted more. The fluted cherries contained a single seed that grew wild into thick bushes or could be manicured to grow into small trees. She put the seeds into her pocket and just might consider starting a few plants for a corner of her property. The walk was at first restorative.

  Lavender morning glories covered the shoulders of the road, also sprawling Wedelia with its tiny cheerful yellow flowers amid sticky leaves and vines. Overhead, the fifty-foot tall African Tulip trees offered a profusion of red-orange blossoms that opened their petals to the brilliant morning sun. Rainbow Eucalyptus trees lined an empty lot, and six foot tall buffalo grass too.

  Another dizzy spell forced her to drop on the curb to sit till she regained equilibrium. It would be best to return home. Once there, she telephoned her doctor, who told her to return to the hospital immediately and enter by way of the Emergency area.

  “I'm glad you don't have a car to drive in the condition you're in.” Birdie drove and would wait till Sara was examined and bring her home.

  The doctor had other plans. “You should stay another night.” He cast a dubious look over the rim of his eyeglasses. It was amazing how young the doctor was, as well as the medical staff. Many could pass as college kids and they were telling her what to do.

  Sara had not thought about her age before but felt every bit of it at that moment. Another dizzy spell forced her to nearly collapse and to reluctantly allow herself to be readmitted. It was best that she have additional tests the doctor ordered, but why did she have to stay overnight in the hospital? She would feel more comfortable at home. Why had the doctor immediately ordered her into a hospital bed? Doctors kept too many secrets, something she had to tolerate.

  Being admitted to the hospital, meant turning off her cell phone. In the evening, Sara wandered downstairs to the lobby and out the front door to check for messages. Huxley's soft, yet husky voice stirred her feelings.

  “I'm in D.C.” His voice was warm and loving, even recorded as it was. “Our next trip to Nam ran into a snafu with the government over there. But get this, Sara.” His voice elevated with excitement. “Thanh heard through his cousin in Nam that a young Yard boy wears a key on a string around his neck! A key, Sara! Where would a Yard boy living in a jungle get a key? Too much going on. We have to get another trip approved. I need to see that key. I miss you! We need to be together.” After a pause, he quickly said, “I so in love with you, Sara.” Then the message ended.

  The necessity of getting the next trip approved was an understatement. She heard the elation and hope in Huxley's voice when he mentioned the key. She felt it too. At the moment, the hour in Washington would be six hours ahead. She called anyway, got no answer and simply left a message saying “It's me, Hux. I love you too. I'll call you soon.”

  Back upstairs, Sara wearily climbed into bed and wondered if she should have left a longer message telling about her accident. Then again, maybe not. He had too much on his mind.

  She wasn't well. All her muscles ached. If Huxley learned what had happened, he would drop everything and come running. Sara didn't want him to do that. No way would she ever come between him and the search for his brother. She missed him but she'd suffer it. Depression reappeared. She lifted the bed covers and flopped them down forcefully. If she could, she would have thrown them across the room.

  Chapter 25

  Sara began to analyze her thoughts as she lay in the hospital bed with eyes wide open and staring at the ceiling. Her accident and not feeling well was creating the depression. She was attributing the mood to missing Huxley. True, she missed him with all her heart, but she was a strong person who could handle what came her way. She had to get on with life with her usual positive outlook. He and she were available in the other's thoughts, even though separated by great distances. She just needed to heal and get back to being her usual self.

  Her physician came into her room the day following the new tests. “The MRI re
vealed no further bleeding in the brain.”

  “Did you suspect bleeding?”

  “Well, you're not. We had to make sure.” He seemed to not know what to do with his hands and arms since he wasn't carrying anything. He stuck his hands in his pockets and rolled back and forth on the balls and heels of his feet. “What you have is a touch of Post Concussion Syndrome. That's why you have fatigue, depression and feel dizzy and nauseous at times. Luckily, though, you have none of the more serious problems of one-sided body weakness, unequal pupils or walking problems.”

  That was a great relief. “Walking… it's okay if I walk then?”

  “It's recommended.” He motioned for her to sit up and then listened to her heart and lungs while talking. “In fact, every day, twice a day, a short walk as your energy allows.” He checked her pupils again.

  He kept her in the hospital for one more day for observation, leaving her still wondering what the good doctor was not revealing. Her impatience flared.

  Once back home, the regime of walking took precedence. Work on her house would have to wait. This was not a time to bother with contractors buzzing in and out of her property.

  Huxley finally called at an opportune moment. Sara told him everything. Huxley sighed with disbelief. She heard frustration with him not being close by for her. She assured him the worst had passed and told him not to suddenly show up on her doorstep. She reminded him that what was most important now was that she had lived through the experience.

  “One day our lives won't be apart.” He couldn't hide the sadness in his voice through the phone. “We will be together, Sara, I promise.”

  Sara wanted to ask when that might happen. They were a couple with difficult pursuits to reconcile. However, this was not the time to talk about togetherness and marriage plans and both knew it.

  She tried not to let her voice show that she was nearly in tears, not from her accident but from wishing Huxley could be with her at that moment. He might misconstrue that she was feeling weakened and she would surely see him at her door in the morning. It was a great sacrifice to live the lives they lived with him looking for MIAs and her so far from home, but it was temporary. After the call, she hugged herself and wondered from where all her bravado originated.