Fire Dancer

by Linsey Lanier

  Rubbing her eyes, she pulled back the covers and forced her body up as she stole a glance at the clock. Four thirty. Geez Louise.

  She plodded over to her suitcase, which Parker had placed on a folding rack, and searched for something appropriate to wear. She came up with an ash-colored tank top and an old pair of black jeans. That ought to provide some camouflage.

  Thinking how funny it was that Parker had never picked out her casual clothes, she pulled them on, yanked on her sneakers. After whacking at her hair with a brush a few times, doing little good, she shuffled through the living room to the marble kitchen counter and plopped down on a stool. Something smelled awfully good here.

  “Coffee?” she yawned.

  “At your service.” He handed her a cup.

  Grateful, she held it in both hands and swallowed a gulp, savoring the rich flavor. Her gaze strayed to the front door. A large carrying case sat at the ready.

  “What’s that?”

  “Equipment for our little excursion this morning.” He slid a plate of scrambled eggs across to her, put a fork in her hand. Slices of jalapeños lined the side of the dish. He knew her way too well.

  “When did you get it?”

  “Last night after you went to bed.” He set a bottle of hot sauce beside her plate. “You need to eat. Our trip will be strenuous.”

  Not to mention risky. She loved his talent for understatement. But he was right. “Okay.” She reached for the sauce, doused her eggs and dug in.

  ###

  Forty minutes later they were cutting through the waves along the Lahaina shoreline in a hard bottom inflatable motorboat—the only rig available that Parker thought would fit in the cave.

  Miranda could only imagine how much he had to shell out for it.

  Pulling her hair out of her face, she watched the sun coming up over the blue lava mountains in the distance, above a thick grove of palm trees. To the left of them, the island of Lanai sat still and motionless. A few other vessels were out, but they kept their distance.

  Behind her, Parker manned the steering wheel, his face set on their mission.

  After a few minutes, the coastline grew gray and rocky. A little farther a rocky wall rose up to greet them.

  Parker cut the engine and grabbed an oar—smart not to broadcast their presence to anyone who could be around that bend. Miranda took an oar as well and paddled as she stared up at the jagged barricade of the cliff beside them.

  The colors were amazing. Deep slates, dark greens, amber golds. Sunlight danced off some of the shapes, shadows hid others. A thousand spiky surfaces with not a smooth one to be found. She knew how sharp and painful those surfaces could be. They made for a strong fortress.

  Overhead, a whoosh sounded and a stream of water shot into the air. “There’s the blowhole.” She pointed upward. It was in a dip in the wall, maybe twenty feet above them where the rocks jutted out farther into the ocean.

  “I see it,” Parker said. “We’re close.”

  “It looks more like a bad water fountain at the park than a geyser.”

  “That’s because the tide is low.”

  Made sense. She rowed harder. They rounded another corner, floated into shadow and…there it was.

  The mouth of the sea cave yawned before them, dark and ominous.

  Parker stopped rowing and stared at it. “Do you still want to go in?” His voice was steady, but she sensed his apprehension. And shared it.

  But the image of Keola’s dead body in her arms—right in the area overhead—drove out any fear. Without taking her eyes off the cave, she nodded. “Yes.”

  She heard Parker’s oar dip into the water again and slowly they glided through the opening.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The air was cooler inside the cave, more humid since it was trapped between the cave walls. The waves became choppy. The cavern itself grew dark.

  Parker switched on the boat’s anchor light and it cast eerie shadows along the jagged surfaces. Miranda was awestruck by the formations along the floor and walls. Masses of them. The light bounced over blobby columns of inky blacks, deep reds, shimmering golds. The ceiling, as high as a small cathedral, was like a giant pincushion someone had stuck a thousand golden needles into.

  “I remember that old memory trick,” Parker said, pointing up. “Stalactites hold tight to the top.” He gestured downward. “Stalagmites might get to the top some day.”

  “That’s cute.”

  “My father taught me that.”

  “You went spelunking with Mr. P?” It was hard to imagine Parker’s father picking his way through a cave.

  “I think he read it to me in a book.”

  “Uh huh.” That sounded more like the sophisticated ladies’ man who had raised her husband.

  They rowed in farther.

  It was like fording an underground river. Surrounded by the eerie glow of the rocky shapes, she felt like she was on Mars. Or maybe trapped in a sci-fi flick. Up ahead the cave wall curved. As they slowly floated around it, nerves danced in her stomach. Ha’aheo could be waiting for them around the corner.

  The rig cleared the wall and from all appearances, they were still alone in here.

  But the river narrowed and the rocky walls, along with their peaks and spikes, closed in a little more. The light glistened on the dark green surface of the water.

  Then suddenly, the water stopped. Parker put down his oar and shined the light ahead of the bow. Waves washed over a stony surface.

  “What is that? A shoreline?”

  “The cave floor.” Parker directed the light over the solid surface, making its boulder-like form glisten. “I don’t think this is the cave that feeds the blowhole or there’d be more water in it,” he said quietly. “There’s not enough pressure.”

  “Really?” She didn’t know if that was good news or bad.

  “It’ll be covered when the tide comes in.”

  “You mean this whole place will fill up?”

  “Yes.” His voice echoed ominously off the cave wall.

  Bad news, she decided. “But that won’t be for a while.”

  “Not for several hours.”

  Okay, maybe it was good news. “Good thing you dragged me out of bed so early. What do we do now?”

  “Find whatever it is that we’re looking for. Here, I have those flashlights.” He handed her one.

  Carefully, she got to her feet and stepped out of the boat and onto the uneven surface. It seemed to be made of large, flattened pebbles, a lot like the area around the blowhole above. Parker handed her a line and climbed out as well. They stood, sweeping their lights over the walls and floor.

  The gray-gold floor rose as it went farther into the cave. Along part of a back wall lay a set of big, step-like shelves that reminded her of slabs of cement debris she and former coworkers used to produce after a couple of hours of jack hammering a sidewalk. A long dark patch in the wall indicated a small cavity. She hoped no one was hiding there.

  The stalactites—the icicle-like formations hanging from the ceiling—were thicker here. The stalagmites—the columns on the floor that “might” get to the top someday—were crowded in clusters near the walls. Big blobby bases rising up to pointy, sharp spires. Might make a good weapon, if they needed one.

  She gestured to one of the bigger ones. “Are those things sturdy enough to tie a mooring line to?”

  Parker stepped over to it and gave the base a kick. “Seems to be. Here.” He stretched out an arm and she handed him the line, helped him tether it to the stalagmite.

  “You’re good at this,” he said with the admiration in his tone that always made her cheeks warm.

  She shrugged. “I worked on a boat in Maine for a little while.”

  “Ah, yes. Harvesting crab.” She was surprised he’d remembered that from her resume.

  She busied herself with the line to hide the color on her face. “It’s snug,” she said, wiping her hands on her jeans.

  “It’ll do. Ready?�
� He reached a hand out to her.

  With a nod, she took it and they made their way over the jagged surface, their flashlights shining against the bumpy, blackish-gold walls, making them glisten like jewels. It was awkward trying to avoid the spears jutting up from the floor while wending over the uneven boulder carpet, attempting to find whatever might be hidden in here.

  “Not exactly in plain sight,” Miranda muttered, her heart sinking. She dared to whisper her doubts. “What if we don’t find anything, Parker?”

  “Then we’ll just call this a sightseeing trip.”

  “Very funny.” She cast her light back and forth. And stopped. “What’s that?” Her beam focused on a black surface just behind a cluster of stalagmites. It was smooth. Not at all like the jagged lava. She moved a little closer. “It looks like plastic.”

  “A plastic case.” Parker’s light swept the floor. “And there’s another one.”

  She pointed the flash about a foot away. “And another. One. Two. Three. Four. Five of them in all.” Each of them wedged behind the protection of the stalagmite fence. “Jackpot,” she grinned.

  Parker stepped closer to the first one. “They appear to be marine boxes. Waterproof, no doubt. They’re secured as well.”

  She set her light down on a jutting piece of lava and bent to examine the first case. A heavy chain was wrapped around it and secured with a padlock. The other end of the chain was attached to a spike that had been driven into the rock.

  “These look like the galvanized mooring chains we used to use on those crab ships.”

  “They are indeed.”

  “And the chains are held in place with padlocks. So when the tide comes in…”

  “The containers don’t float away.”

  Suddenly there seemed to be cold wind blowing in from somewhere that made her shiver. The hair on the back of her neck stood up. Odd since they were both sweating.

  “Did you feel that?” she whispered.

  “Feel what?”

  And just like that, it was gone. “Never mind.” She shook if off and squatted down to get a better look at the second box. It was bound as tight as a pirate’s chest. “There must be something valuable in these containers.”

  “Stolen goods would be my guess.”

  “Like maybe some matches to the stuff listed in those police reports? Sure would be nice to get a look inside one of them.”

  A familiar cocky look spread over his good-looking face. “I have the tools for that.”

  She grinned up at him. “You brought them along?”

  He reached into his pocket, drew out a small leather case and set it on one of the marine boxes. “Boy Scouts’ motto. Always be prepared.”

  “Yeah, you’re a Boy Scout, all right.” She’d seen him use the B&E skills that went with those tools and she wasn’t going to ask how he got them on the plane. But a problem crossed her mind. “Wait a minute. Won’t you leave fingerprints?”

  “Fingerprints will no doubt wash away when the tide rises, but just in case.” He pulled two pairs of rubber gloves out of his pocket, handed one to her.

  Her jaw dropped open. “You really did come prepared. Where did you get these? You didn’t call room service, did you?” Ha’akeo could have underlings planted all over the hotel for all they knew.

  “Of course not. I made a few stops this morning while I was getting the other supplies.” His eyes sparkled with that sly Parker smile. “This may be a tropical island, but they do have drugstores.”

  “Uh huh.”

  She could only shake her head as she slipped on the gloves and watched him bend down, remove two long, thin instruments from his case and go to work on the first padlock. It didn’t take long before something inside clicked and the lock was open.

  “Voilà.”

  Smiling, she helped him remove the chains and lift the lid. “Well, lookie there.”

  “A hidden treasure.”

  Inside were neatly placed stacks of a variety of items, each carefully wrapped in plastic bags and taped. “Here’s a bunch of cell phones.”

  “And a laptop. Watches. Jewelry.”

  “Look how straight this tape was placed on here. Ooh, here’s some cash. Wonder how much?”

  “This might tell us.” Parker lifted out a piece of paper and unfolded it.

  “Wow.” It was an itemized list of everything in the box, along with the estimated values. “This guy’s really anal.”

  “He seems to have good organizational skills. Too bad he isn’t putting them to better use.”

  “He’s a planner. He doesn’t make a lot of mistakes.” That could make him all the more dangerous. Was Keola’s death a mistake or planned? she wondered.

  “We’ll have to put everything back exactly as it was. A person this careful will notice if something is out of place.”

  “You’re right.” She got to her feet and scratched at her hair. “What do we do? Report this to Balondo?”

  “This isn’t exactly a motive for a murder.”

  She frowned. “Why not? If Keola found out about this place and threatened to tell the cops it would be.”

  “Those are a lot of assumptions and the penalty for this kind of activity is far less than for murder.”

  “You’ve got a point. So there must be something more valuable here.” She heard the waves lapping against the shoreline where they tied the boat. It was closer than when they first stepped onto it. “How long do we have?”

  “With respect to the elements? Several hours at least. The tide won’t be fully up until just before noon.

  With respect to when Ha’aheo might happen by to check on his loot, neither of them could predict. But the more evidence, the better. “Let’s keep looking.”

  “Agreed.” Parker picked up his tools and moved to the second case.

  Watching those lovely, moist shoulder muscles flex under that tank top, Miranda put a hand on her hip and pursed her lips. “You know, I don’t remember having a class in that particular skill at the Agency.”

  The side of his mouth turned up. “Would you like to learn now?”

  Could come in handy. You never knew. “Sure.” She bent down beside him.

  He handed her one of the tools, which was L-shaped. “This is the tension wrench. You use it to keep the cylinder in place.” He put it into the lock to demonstrate, pulled it out again. “Try it.”

  She took the tool and copied what he had done.

  “Excellent. This is the pick.” He placed the wire-thin instrument in her free hand. “Insert it into the keyhole and push all the way to the back.”

  She did as he said. “This is awkward.”

  “You’ll get used to it with a little practice. Now drag the pick slowly forward. The object is to push the pins inside the lock up. They’re held in place by springs.”

  “Okay.” She dug away.

  “Not too much pressure. Try to feel what’s going on inside.”

  She lightened up and tried to sense what she couldn’t see but after a minute, the pick slid out. The top of the lock hadn’t budged. “You make this look so easy.”

  “Patience. It just takes practice.”

  With a grunt, she put the tools into the keyhole and tried again. This time she came closer.

  “Turn the wrench.”

  “Too late.” She tugged the lock and nearly fell over on her backside. The padlock was still tight as a drum.

  “One more time.” Parker always had more patience than she did.

  But she took a deep breath, gritted her teeth and jammed the tools in again.

  “Gently.”

  “Okay, okay.” She lightened up. She worked the pick carefully, but just as she almost had it, she lost a pin. Livid, she jammed the pick in, shoved it up and zipped it out again. This time, she did fall backward and as she did, the lock came open in her hand. “Hey, I did it.”

  “That’s another method.” Parker reached out a hand to help her up, pride beaming on his face. “Let’s see what’s in this
one. You do the honors.”

  She put her hands on the marine box lid and lifted. Her breath caught.

  “Motherlode.”

  Parker’s voice was a low reverberation. “Now that is worth killing for.”

  Five large bags of white powder lay along the top of the box. There were more beneath. “I bet that’s not Hawaiian sugar cane.”

  Parker picked up a bag, gingerly opened it. He gave his gloved forefinger a lick, dipped in and took a taste. “It’s the real thing all right.”

  And he wasn’t talking about the soft drink.

  “Looks like he’s following in his father’s footstep.” Parker almost seemed sorry for the guy.

  She opened her mouth, about to say they should go straight to the police, when she heard the waves churn and the chopping sound of a boat motor. “Oh, my God, Parker. That’s got to be Ha’aheo.”

  “Go back behind that wall.” He meant the back part of the cave beyond the shelf-steps where there was a dark recess.

  “You’re coming, too, aren’t you?” she whispered. But it was too late.

  “Hold it right there,” a voice boomed through a megaphone.

  A floodlight blinded her. She raised her hands to shade her eyes. “Hey, put that light down.”

  “Who are you?” Parker demanded in a threatening tone.

  The light dipped and Miranda blinked, trying to see. The first thing she could make out was the white hull of a midsize speedboat—with the word Police stenciled on it. Relief rippled through her. “Sergeant Balondo?”

  “It’s Officers Andrews and Yamagata, Mrs. Parker.” Now she recognized that Brooklyn accent. “Someone reported they’d seen a boat come in. We came in to check it out. Didn’t know it was you.”

  She grinned giddily at Andrews as he grabbed a flashlight from Yamagata, splashed across the water and stepped onto the rocks.

  “Actually, we want to speak to an officer,” she told him.

  Andrews pulled up the belt on his uniform and swept his light over the spiky columns, casting long shadows on the knobby wall. “Uh, that’s good because Sergeant Balondo asked me to have you come in for—” His eyes grew wide as he spotted the open marine box with the cocaine bags. “What in the Sam Hill is that?”