5 The Elemental Detective

by Kirsten Weiss

  Slowly, she came closer.

  The tiny kupua removed his fisherman’s hat and ruffled his thick white hair. “Peppermint?”

  “Sure. Thanks.”

  He pulled a blue, foil-wrapped candy from his hat and handed it to her with a flourish.

  “Got any rabbits in there?” She unwrapped the candy and popped it in her mouth.

  “No rabbits. But I hear they’re good eating.”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Riga said.

  “There’s a lot you don’t know. You’re a beautiful woman, but willful ignorance is not attractive.”

  “That’s the first time I’ve been accused of it. Of course, you could always enlighten me. I’m an excellent listener.”

  He laughed. “You’re not listening to anything! The trees, the birds, the flowers, the water, they are all speaking to you, trying to tell you their story. You listen to nothing!”

  “Is that why you sent me to the Kalalau trail? I didn’t see anything there.”

  “You saw what you needed to see. Why are you so scared of admitting it?”

  “I’ve got xenomagicusphobia.”

  His brow wrinkled. “What’s that?”

  “Fear of strange magic. Though technically, a phobia is an irrational fear, and there is nothing irrational—”

  “Pah!” He waved his hand dismissively. “And now you hide behind jokes. If you don’t understand what’s going on, it will swamp you.”

  “You said sacrifice had been on the island before, that kings used the deaths to increase their power. Is that what’s happening now?”

  “This was not the first place where rulers used murder to make themselves more powerful. And it won’t be the last. The First World War fueled the rise of the Second. The Second World War fueled the great Russian bear—”

  “Stalin? Do you mean Hitler used necromancy?” He’d been known for an interest in the occult. But Stalin, too? He’d been a genocidal maniac, but the occult angle was new to her.

  “You sound surprised.”

  “Is that why this necromancer is killing? Just to develop personal power?”

  “You haven’t been listening.”

  “I’m listening now. So tell me.”

  “Don’t be so lazy. Listen. Watch the waves, read them. Your future is written in them. Mine too. Read the stories they write on the sand. Look.”

  Riga looked. The waves left quicksilver trails. She studied the lines of foam, the ebb and surge.

  “Now see,” the kupua said.

  She relaxed her gaze. The barrier of her skin seemed to fall away, and she saw. Each line of foam was a sentence, each droplet gleaming on the sand a universe of ideas. And she was underwater, moving smoothly with the ocean current, hair streaming behind her. Dreamlike, she didn’t question her ability to breathe, or her command of the element. One flick of her powerful tail thrust her along the reef, past schools of nighttime fish and jellies and octopi. She was free, flying beneath the water, the tiny adjustments of her fins effortless. The sea caressed her skin, flowing across her scales. And her sisters waited, calling to her, voices low and musical. Their song thrummed in her blood.

  She rounded a bend and they were there. Seals. Coats lustrous, pale gray. Twisting effortlessly in the water. And then reality shifted again and they were women with long, green tails, hair cascading behind them in the ocean current.

  A rumble, thunderous, and the reef broke apart, rocks tumbling toward them, coral splitting. Fish darted past, panicked. Her sisters bolted in opposite directions, their songs turning to shrieks. Lava seeped from the newly formed cracks, fluorescent orange. The ocean boiled. Her skin peeled, blistered.

  Abruptly, she was sitting on the beach, alive, human. Hands trembling from the memory of the vision, she pressed her palms against the cold rocks beneath her. Yes, this was real.

  The little man looked up from his seat on the rocks. “You see now.”

  “The dead seals are mermaids?” Her voice cracked. She knew the answer, should have known it sooner.

  The kupua was right. A part of her was still avoiding this case, letting Donovan take the lead, telling herself sharing the load was a part of being married, when she’d really just been pushing the magic away. Why? No, the why didn’t matter. What mattered was that she’d done it and had to stop.

  “The wahine hiuia, what you call mermaids, are precious to water. And their murder is angering the water elementals. They are acting up. Now they’re rubbing up against other elementals.” He sighed. “Angry elementals are not good for people.”

  “I know,” Riga said grimly, remembering another time, another place.

  He chuckled. “Yes, I suppose you do know.”

  She looked out at the waves, their blackly glittering surge and swell. “The visions I’ve been having – the earthquakes, the tidal waves… Those aren’t symbolic. They’re prophecies, aren’t they?”

  “Those are just the beginning.”

  “What else…?” Reality shifted, panes of glass sliding past each other. The sky darkened, and he was gone. Wind blew her hair into her face, and she clawed it back with her hands, shivering.

  Riga stood, brushing the damp from the back of her slacks, and picked her way across the tumbled rocks.

  The path beside the banyan tree was ghost and menehune-free, but she hurried by, the lights in the bungalow urging her forward to warmth, to safety. She came to a sudden stop, rooted to the spot. The glass door on the deck was open.

  She’d left Donovan behind on the beach.

  Someone was inside their bungalow.

  Her muscles grew taut, body ready to run. The smart move would be to watch and wait. Whoever was in there would come out eventually, and she’d identify the enemy.

  But Riga wasn’t feeling smart.

  She was feeling angry.

  Chapter 10

  Heart thundering, Riga crept toward the patio. She kept to the shadows, brushing against birds of paradise. The leaves stabbed at her hands, and she jerked her fists away.

  Donovan passed before the open window, cell phone pressed to his ear, and Riga’s shoulders relaxed. She blew out her breath, willed her heart rate to slow. He must have taken a different path to the bungalow. Riga shook off her irritation with her own stupidity. Putting on a smile, she ran lightly up the steps to the patio.

  Donovan turned, his expression mingled surprise and relief. “Never mind. She’s here now,” he said into the phone, and pocketed it. “I was starting to get worried about you.”

  “Why? It’s only been…” She looked at her watch. “Twenty minutes.”

  “Your watch must have stopped. It’s been over an hour.”

  “What?” Riga checked her watch, its second hand ticking away. It read 10:17. She looked at the digital clock on the nightstand: 11:49.

  Paling, she sat heavily on the bed.

  Missing time. Freaking missing time.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “I was on the beach, on that pile of rocks, talking with the kupua. It seemed like just a few minutes. But it wasn’t. My watch… I experienced missing time. Which means he’s not a human kupua.” She covered her mouth with her hand.

  “Riga, what is it?”

  “He’s a fae. A Hawaiian faery. Dear, God, I’ve been taking advice from a menehune.” And she hadn’t even been able to tell the difference. She wanted to scream with frustration.

  Donovan rubbed the back of his neck. “I can’t believe I’m saying this. And if you tell anyone I’ll deny it. But maybe it’s time you got past your issues with faeries.”

  Her jaw slackened. “After everything… Are you kidding me? You know how horrible they are! They have no sense of right or wrong – it’s all about what’s in it for them at the moment, which is terrifying when you think about how much power they wield. And they’re faeries!”

  “So what did this one do?”

  “He taught me how to read the waves and warned me that we’re in much bigger trouble than I though
t.”

  “So he taught you something useful and gave you a warning we can use. Definitely the work of an enemy.”

  “Do you know what’s worse than a faery who’s out to get you? A faery who’s out to help you.”

  He grunted. “How much bigger trouble are we in?”

  “I feel like such an idiot. The seals aren’t just seals, they’re mermaids.”

  Donovan’s eyebrows shot skyward. “Mermaids? They exist?”

  “Think of them as a sort of water fae – in other words: dangerous. I should have guessed. Cultures around the world have myths about mermaids turning themselves into seals.”

  “But they’re not myths?”

  She got up and paced across the bamboo floor. “Apparently not. I glimpsed the truth when I saw the dead seal on the beach, but didn’t understand it. Once the mermaid was dead, her magic went with it. And then I saw it in my vision and the kupua – or menehune, or whatever he is – confirmed it.”

  “At the risk of sounding callous, why are mermaids getting killed big trouble for us?”

  “Mermaids are closely connected to water elementals,” she said. “The dark magician must be killing the mermaids to set off water, which is in turn agitating the other elementals. And which is why I’ve been seeing earthquakes and tidal waves in my visions.”

  “But what’s the necromancer’s game? What does he gain from this?”

  “I don’t know. Is triggering the elementals part of a larger spell? Does he want to kill lots of people for one massive necromantic sacrifice?” She twisted the wedding ring on her finger. Necromancers could control the dead, and necromancy used blood or death to fuel spells. If a necromancer was trying to kill people on a mass scale… She blanched.

  Riga whirled to face Donovan. “No more playing tourist. We need to track down whoever’s doing this fast. We’ve got two good leads – the woman, Petra, who handed off the seal watch to Dennis, and Kimo, the Hawaiian who’s been agitating against the seals. We need to talk to them tomorrow.”

  “We’ve got an appointment with Petra in the morning,” he said. “She lives in old Koloa, and Kimo’s restaurant isn’t far from there.”

  “How did you…?” When had he had the time to track them down, much less nail appointments? She shook her head. “Never mind.”

  He ran his hands up her arms. “I thought you’d be pleased.”

  “I am. Wait – we’re meeting with the kupua tomorrow morning.” Ha! Mr. Perfect Detective wasn’t so perfect after all.

  “And we’re meeting with Petra after we meet the kupua.”

  “Oh.”

  “Riga…”

  “It’s just…” She began to laugh. “Half the time when I try to meet with a witness or suspect, they tell me to piss off. And you just snap your fingers and voila! Date set. It’s making me feel insecure.”

  “We have an appointment with Petra – not Kimo. He may still tell us to piss off.”

  She smiled. “Something to look forward to. So what did you learn from Sarah?”

  “She’s distressed by Dennis’s murder. It seems they were quite close.”

  “How close?” Riga asked sharply.

  “You’re thinking an affair? It’s possible.”

  “But if Dennis was cheating on his wife, why is his wife feeling guilty?”

  “Sarah told me that Dennis and his wife were estranged.”

  “But still living together.” This was sounding more and more like the my-wife-doesn’t-understand-me gag. There was a good reason why it was a cliché, and Riga had heard it far too often. “Did she tell you what the problem was?”

  “Just that his wife didn’t understand him.”

  Riga rolled her eyes.

  Donovan’s eyes twinkled. “It does happen, you know.”

  “What about the brother? Paul?”

  “According to Sarah, he’s not as engaged with the hotel, left most of the work to Dennis. Now he’s shifting it to Sarah, and she’s struggling.”

  “This is all so vague. Does the hotel have a business center?”

  “Of course. Why?”

  “I’m going to do what I should have done yesterday – research. All we have now are vague hints. Was Dennis having an affair? What does his wife have to feel guilty about? I need to build a dossier on everyone involved.”

  “I might be able to save us some time.” Donovan went to the closet, pulled out his small leather case, and unlatched it. He rummaged through the compartment in the lid, and pulled out a thick file, handed it to her. “My background research on the hotel, as well as on Dennis and Paul.”

  Riga thumbed through it. “This is great. But we need more on the minor characters – Sarah and Deidre and the folks at the Aquatic Protection Society. What do you think? Split the work? You go through these files and see if there’s anything relevant to the investigation, while I do some online research?” It was nearly midnight, but she knew she’d never get any sleep with these questions bumping through her brain.

  “I already know the files and there are two computers in the business center. Why don’t I tell you about the files on the way, and we’ll do the research together?”

  “Is the business center even open at this hour?”

  He nodded, rueful. “Twenty-four hours, just like the gym. It’s a global economy and business never sleeps.”

  She tucked her arm inside his. “Lead on, MacDuff.”

  They locked the glass door to the deck behind them, and strolled around the bungalow to the river-rock path.

  “Profits at the hotel have been down for the last two years,” Donovan said. “The mystery is why. When I talked to Dennis, he chalked it up to increased competition. And it’s true, one of their competitors completed a major upgrade last year. But my analysts can’t confirm that’s the cause. Expenses have been bumping up as well, and unexplainedly. I’m starting to wonder if sabotage and work slowdowns are to blame.”

  Something rustled in the darkness of the banyan tree, and Riga flinched, extended her senses, felt… nothing. A mongoose darted from the tree and raced down the path. She cleared her throat. “So the brothers might have good reason to want to unload the hotel.”

  “Mm. Combine that with Paul’s gambling problem… He could use the cash.”

  “Gambling problem? Not in your casinos?”

  They passed a clump of ginger plants, lit from below.

  “As far as I know, he’s never set foot in Vegas. His debts are closer to home.”

  “To whom?”

  “He’s in to a loan shark in Lihue for over one hundred grand.”

  “Ouch. Lihue… That’s where the airport is, right?” All the Hawaiian names were starting to sound alike.

  He nodded.

  “And what about our murder victim?”

  “Dennis? Clean, as far as I could find. And no rumors of philandering.” He stopped to open a heavy wooden door to the main section of the hotel.

  They went to the business center and spent the next two hours researching their other suspects.

  Eyes burning, Riga arched her back, stretched her hands high in the air.

  Donovan made a note on a piece of hotel stationary. “Had enough?”

  “I had enough an hour ago.”

  “Why didn’t you say something?” he asked.

  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “Are we competitors now?”

  “No.” Yes. Riga’s skull buzzed, and she rubbed her temple. She was being petty. What was wrong with her? “What did you find?”

  “The Aquatic Protection Society was founded ten years ago, but didn’t accomplish much until its most recent executive director, Townsend, began running the place three years ago. I couldn’t find anything on Jay, the kid we met there. Townsend grew up in Minnesota, moved to Kauai not long before he took over the society, and his mug is plastered all over the papers for charity events he’s either attended or hosted.”

  “Big fish, small pond?”

  “Somethi
ng like that,” he said. “One of the articles alludes to a tragedy in his past, but I’ll be damned if I can find any mention of what it was, exactly. What did you find?”

  “Not much,” she admitted. “Dennis’s widow, Deidre, used to be a model. The two met when she was on a shoot in the islands. Love at first sight. Some hints of drug use in her modeling days, but nothing concrete, and it’s probably not relevant. I got nothing on his assistant, Sarah. A few pictures of her at hotel events, but that’s all.”

  He stood, and extended a hand to her. “We’re not much further ahead, are we?”

  She took his hand, stood. “Of course we are. There was one thing – I checked the weather for the night Dennis died. Whatever Jane saw on the beach that night, it wasn’t lightning. We already pretty much knew necromancy was involved in his murder. If that flash was magic, it gets us closer to a time of death.”

  He opened the wooden door, and Paul sprang away from it.

  The hotel owner blew out his breath. “Wow. You startled me. I didn’t think anyone was here.”

  “Neither did we,” Riga said. What was he doing lurking outside their door, she wondered? Not their door – she corrected herself. The business center was a public area.

  “You’re working late,” Donovan said easily.

  Paul ran a hand through his hair, and the red birthmark on his face darkened. “You know what they say, no rest for the wicked.”

  “That would explain why we’re always so busy,” Donovan said.

  Riga laughed. “Speak for yourself!”

  “Well.” Paul shifted his weight. “I don’t want to keep you two.”

  Donovan nodded to the hotelier. “Goodnight.”

  “Yeah, you too.”

  Donovan led her off.

  “That door isn’t exactly soundproof,” Riga said.

  “Think he was listening?”

  “I know he was.”

  Chapter 11

  Riga had over-indulged on the macadamia nut pancakes at breakfast, and now, as Donovan rocketed around the bend in the Ferrari, they settled unpleasantly in her stomach. The hillside road was narrow, the foliage thick, allowing occasional flashes of the Pacific, sparkling in the morning sunlight. She rested her hands on her stomach, willed it to behave.