Fire Dancer

by Linsey Lanier

  After several minutes, Parker made a turn into a residential area, drove past a shopping center, then through a wooded area where the trees hung over the railings shading the pavement.

  “It looks as though you learned something significant from the stage manager at the luau,” he said blandly.

  “Actually, he’s the creative director.”

  “I see.”

  Miranda gave him a sidelong glance. He hadn’t eavesdropped on her conversation with Wainani? Almost too good to believe, but he had stayed at the bar the whole time. And now he wanted to discuss what she’d learned?

  What was up with this new approach? He might be playing games, but he was still one of the best investigators ever born. If he wanted to help—even for ulterior motives—it would be silly not to avail herself of his skills. If that second pair eyes was good, so was a second opinion.

  She decided to loosen up a little. “I learned the creative director didn’t want Keola to put that Night Marchers stuff in the show.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Wainani argued with him about it. And when he did it anyway, the director went to Minoaka and complained.”

  “And that was when she dismissed him?”

  Miranda nodded. “She went ballistic and fired Keola on the spot. Even told him he’d never work in this town again.”

  Parker’s face lined with anger at that news. “That’s no way to treat a valued employee. That could have driven him to suicide.”

  “Maybe. He took it awfully hard, according to Wainani. But I also learned that the kid who replaced him wanted his job. Bad.”

  “A jealous rival?”

  “Could be. Might be a motive for murder.” She braced herself for his protest.

  Instead he nodded in that pensive way of his. “Mmm.” Was he coming around to her theory?

  Feeling excited for the first time since last night, she turned to him in her seat. “And you’ll never guess what else Wainani told me about Keola.”

  “What?” Parker pulled the BMW off the road and onto the dirt shoulder.

  Miranda scowled. “Why are you stopping?”

  “We’re here.”

  She shielded her eyes with her hand and scanned the grassy hill. “I don’t see a blowhole.”

  “It’s over that rise.” He gestured ahead.

  “If you say so.” She got out of the car and shut the door as Parker came around to her side.

  “What were you going to say?”

  “I’ll tell you later.” She didn’t want to lose any more time. Plunging ahead, she made her way through the tall grass with Parker keeping in step beside her.

  At the top of the crest, she stopped and sucked in her breath.

  Jagged lava cliffs loomed on either side of a large basin-like area, a massive stretch of ashen rock as sharp and spiky as shark’s teeth. Crammed with rough crevices, shallow spots and puddles, it looked like the surface of Jupiter. Except that it was all framed by a sea of heartbreaking blue. In the middle of the twisted mass, the blowhole sputtered, shooting its spray into the air.

  Miranda shook her head in amazement. “How did I get over there in the dark?”

  At her side, Parker shaded his eyes with his hand. “I wondered that myself.”

  She continued down the mossy slope about twenty yards until the earth became slabs of cracked rock and the soil between the slabs grew muddy.

  No sign the police had ever been here. The yellow markers were gone, too. Crap. “This area is huge.”

  “Yes. Too bad we don’t have a team from the Agency.”

  “You could fly a few people over.”

  He gave her a wry look. “Shall we get started?”

  “Guess so.”

  It was hard with no equipment, and you really had to watch your step, but she began picking her way over the boulders, head down, studying the crust at her feet, while the wind played with her unruly hair.

  She was surprised at the colors. Most of the rock was ashen gray, but some was mixed with shades of rusty reds and steely blues, reflected in the watery pools that were scattered about.

  She didn’t see anything unusual. No dark discoloration from bloodstains. She looked up and gazed at the surrounding mountain of dried lava. It looked like the teeth of a huge dinosaur. With a gush, the blowhole shot forth its spume.

  “I think I’m in the wrong place.”

  “Oh?” Parker raised his head. He’d been examining a spot along a jagged wall that ran along the northern edge.

  “I had to come in from there.” She pointed in the opposite direction. “And I ended up there.” She pointed at the blowhole. Then she took off for the geyser.

  “Don’t get too near,” Parker warned, anxiety in his voice.

  “I’ll be careful.” She would be. She was lucky she hadn’t been swept out to sea last night.

  Slowly she strode toward the sputtering fountain, feeling her clothes moisten as she neared. When she’d come as close as she dared, she studied the ground. “Keola was bleeding from his head.”

  “From hitting it against the rock around the blowhole, according to Balondo.”

  “Maybe. But if my theory is correct, he might have been bleeding before he got to the hole.”

  “Someone fought with him and forced him into it?”

  “Yeah. If you have a fistfight on these lava boulders and you get knocked down, you’re going to get sliced up. Everything’s so sharp.” The cuts on her hands and knees proved that.

  “And if you hit your head, it could kill you. It might have been a different kind of accident.” Parker strolled in her direction. “By the way, how are your injuries?”

  “I’m fine.” Her head had even stopped hurting now that she was on this case. She squatted down, peered hard at the wet surface. “But if someone got you down and bashed your head against these rocks—”

  “There’d be blood left. You couldn’t clean it up.”

  “Not unless you were where the ocean would wash it away.”

  “Possibly.”

  She raised her head and regarded the waves splashing up playfully from below. “So you have a fit of temper and you accidentally kill your friend. To cover it up, you stick him in the blowhole.” It seemed to fit.

  Parker was silent, no doubt trying to find the flaws in that explanation.

  “Wait. What’s this?” Still squatting, she squinted at the rock between her feet. It had a dark red splotch. “I think I just found blood. It’s farther out than where I dragged the body.”

  Parker came to her side and scrutinized the spot. “It does look like it.”

  She rose, took a few steps toward the direction she had come from last night. She gave a little yelp. “Here’s another one.”

  Scowling Parker followed her. “Surely the police found these spatters and swabbed them.”

  “I could call Balondo and ask. I’m sure he’d tell me.” If she pried it out of him. “There’s another one.” She was at the spot where she’d first seen the blowhole last night, almost to where the ground was less rocky and began to slope down again. She looked up and saw the back of the warning sign. Her heart froze at the sight.

  “Bingo,” she murmured.

  Parker hurried to her side. “What is it? Oh, dear Lord.”

  Two bloody handprints were smeared along the bottom half of the sign. Not one. Two. Miranda stared at them, her mind racing. Someone had reached out for the sign, maybe to steady himself. Someone else had reached for him.

  “He tried to get away. But his killer stopped him.”

  “Balondo’s team had to notice this.”

  “Even in the dark last night?”

  “Surely they must have come out here again this morning.”

  “I’ll find out.” She dug her cell out of her pocket and punched in the direct number on the card the sergeant had given her.

  He answered on the second ring. “Balondo here.”

  “This is Miranda Parker.”

  “Good afternoon
, Mrs. Parker.” He sounded as thrilled to hear from her as a phone solicitor.

  “I’m at the crime scene.”

  “Crime scene?”

  “The blowhole where Keola Hakumele was found. We found blood on the rocks.”

  His sigh rippled through the phone. “We did, too, Mrs. Parker. My team was out there earlier this morning. Rest assured, everything is being properly analyzed.”

  Man, this cop could be annoying. “Good to know. Did you find the handprints on the back of the warning sign?”

  There was a pause. She could see him rubbing his soul patch as he processed that one. “What are you talking about, Mrs. Parker?”

  “You know, the sign that warns us haloes about the blowhole? There are two bloody handprints on the back of it. If you use a little black magnetic powder and casting silicone, you might be able to lift them.”

  There was a long pause. And an odd sound. She thought he might have a bulldog in the office with him. At last he replied. “We didn’t go that far out. I’ll get a team on it.” Another pause. “Oh, and Mrs. Parker?”

  “Yes?”

  “You’re not leaving town, are you?”

  She looked down at the phone. This guy didn’t suspect her now, did he? If he did, he’d change his mind when the fingerprint report came back. “No, of course not.”

  “Good. Don’t. And keep in touch.” He hung up.

  “He’s sending out his people,” she told Parker.

  “We should wait for them to get here.” He sounded unusually grim, even for this situation.

  Should they? Miranda shoved her phone back in her pocket and folded her arms. She wanted to talk to Keola’s brother, but she wasn’t ready to go yet. Something was still missing.

  She stared at the area, so beautiful and bleak. The blowhole went off again. “Where did the murderer come from?”

  Parker considered the question a moment. “He could have come from anywhere along the highway.”

  “The police didn’t find any vehicle besides Keola’s truck.”

  “But there were tracks.”

  “Mingled with dozens of other tracks from visitors to the site.”

  “We should have a look at them.” He started for the road.

  She frowned. Parker knew they couldn’t discern which tracks belonged to the killer. “Why did Keola come here?” she called, trying to steer him in another direction.

  He stopped and turned back, raised his hands. “To meet someone? Or so your theory would say. It might have been someone he knew.”

  “But why here?”

  “It’s isolated.”

  “So’s a back alley in town.”

  His gaze swept the landscape and stopped short at the opposite cliff. He stood staring at it and she felt an odd twinge in her gut. He took off.

  Now she followed him, once more negotiating her way across the rocks and boulders, heading for the other side. “The killer could have come from that trail beyond the warning sign that leads to the beach.” She waved a hand behind her. “Maybe he took Keola by surprise.”

  He waited for her to catch up, as if he were guarding her. “Because he lured him out here to kill him?” She couldn’t tell if that was conviction or skepticism in his voice.

  “Maybe.”

  They reached the opposite wall. She examined the incline and found enough of a foothold to climb it. She put her shoe in the space, took hold of a rock with a grip that wouldn’t cut her hands and hauled herself up.

  “Be careful, Miranda.”

  “I’m okay.” She continued upward. She heard Parker grunt from below and follow her.

  It didn’t take long before they were at the top of the rise.

  She took in the high, jagged wall of the coast. A steep drop to the ocean below, the waves gently beating against an equally jagged shoreline. It was a breathtaking sight. And there, right where the wall curved, an opening. From here, it looked like it could be as tall as a house.

  If you were careful, you could negotiate your way down there, but you’d have to know the terrain like the back of your hand. Like an islander would.

  That strange prickly feeling slithered along the back of her neck like a salamander. “Is that what I think it is?”

  Parker peered over her shoulder, scanning the rocky surface. “A littoral cave,” he said at last, as if lost in thought.

  “A what?”

  “A sea cave. They’re formed over time by the erosion from the waves. They occur when there’s a weak spot in the lava. The force of the sea weakens the rock and creates fissures. Openings. The water and air in them is compressed and build to tremendous force.”

  “Resulting in blowholes?”

  “Exactly.”

  “So the blowhole might lead down to that cave.”

  “Possibly. Or there might be another cave under the water that feeds it.”

  “Thanks for the geology lesson, but I’m wondering if there’s a different kind of connection.”

  He nodded, his stern expression telling her that his mind was traveling the same course as hers.

  She pointed to the opening below. “A cave like that could be a nice little hideout for someone who just killed somebody.”

  “Or it could be a place to store…all sorts of contraband.”

  Her blood went cold. “Maybe Keola was into something that didn’t have anything to do with getting fired from the luau.” She thought of that brother of his. The one who’d recently been in trouble. Exactly what kind of trouble was that? Had to be big for his mother to kick a teenager out of the house.

  She needed to talk to that kid. Now. She lifted herself off the craggy hill and turned to climb back down.

  Parker glared at her in surprise. “Where are you going?”

  “Back to town.”

  “You don’t want to wait for Balondo and his men?”

  “They can handle it.”

  “I really think we should wait.”

  She shook her head. “Sorry. Right now, I’ve got something more important to do.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  They were already past the spot where Miranda had spent the night in the car and nearing the restaurants on the north side of town when Parker could no longer ignore the feeling of apprehension churning his insides.

  He stopped at a light. “Are you going to tell me why we’re headed back to Lahaina?”

  Miranda had that faraway look in her eye that told him she was concentrating deeply, putting the pieces together. He hoped to God they weren’t the pieces he was thinking of. “Wainani told me Keola has a little brother who’s been in trouble.”

  Parker’s gut clenched. There was a brother? “What kind of trouble?”

  “He didn’t say, but it was bad enough that his mother kicked him out of the house. Apparently, the dancer was worried about the kid. Wainani thinks Keola might have gone to see him after the show.”

  “And you think that might be the reason Keola went to the blowhole?”

  She pushed her lovely, windblown hair away from her face. “That’s my hunch. I’d like to talk to the brother and find out.”

  “How are you going to find him?” Was she going to talk to the mother? Surely Wainani didn’t give her Keola’s parents’ address. He hadn’t written anything down for her. But perhaps Miranda had gotten the address from Balondo.

  “The brother is staying at the father’s tiki bar. I guess the father’s a soft touch. His name is Pumehana. It means warmth and affection.”

  No, not the bar. That was far worse. She could come face to face with him. And she knew that nickname. Parker’s mind raced through the options. There were only two. Talk her out of this or tell her the truth. The truth would only hurt her. If he could save her from that agony, he would.

  A horn blared behind them.

  Miranda pointed up. “The light’s green.”

  He took his foot off the brake, made a right turn and pulled into the first parking lot he saw, which happened to be that of an apartment
building, shaded by coffee trees. He was glad for the privacy.

  He turned to her, trying to sound gentle. “I’m not sure this is a wise move, Miranda.”

  She turned to him, irritation on her face. “What’s not a wise move?”

  “Going to see Keola’s brother.”

  “Why not?”

  “I can think of a dozen reasons. A young boy. Unreliable testimony.”

  She frowned at him in disbelief. “We’re not in court yet.”

  He’d better come up with something better than that. “What if the brother was involved in Keola’s death? He won’t give you the straight facts.”

  Now her dark brows knit together in mingled confusion and annoyance. “Uh…didn’t I learn how to handle that in the Interrogation Methods class I took at your Agency?”

  Patience. He’d think of something convincing in a moment. He dared to lay a hand across the back of the car seat but didn’t let himself touch her. “I’m just saying it might be better to pass the information onto Balondo and let him and his team handle it.”

  Her breath grew measured. Her hands clenched. She was angry and visibly insulted. He didn’t blame her. “Balondo and his team will be busy at the blowhole getting the fingerprint and blood smear evidence.”

  His arguments weren’t working at all. They didn’t even make sense to him. He had to try a different angle. “The boy is grieving.”

  That softened her expression. “Yeah, the whole family must be going through hell. Especially the father.”

  He almost winched. “It’s not a good time.”

  “Of course, I hate to bother them right now, but I need answers. And I figure they’ll appreciate what I’m trying to do.”

  He was slipping. He tried again. “What if the brother was involved in the murder? What will that do to the family on top of everything they’re going through right now?”

  She stared down at her hands while she contemplated that. But then she shook her head. “That will be rough. Really rough. But what if he’s not involved? What if he knows why Keola went to the blowhole? Who he was meeting there? C’mon, Parker. We’re wasting time. Let’s go.”