5 The Elemental Detective

by Kirsten Weiss

  Kimo put his face in his hands, fingertips jammed into his black eyebrows, and sighed. He laid his hands on the table. “We’re half-brothers.” His lips twisted. “I’m the bastard son. Quite the cliché, eh? The dark-skinned outcast.”

  “Were you? An outcast?” Riga asked.

  “I didn’t find out about my father – none of us kids did – until after he died. He was like Washington with his slaves – knew it was wrong, but only set them free in his will.” He folded his arms across his chest. “But dear old Dad didn’t remember me in his will. Sure he stayed close, was always around to help my mother out – that’s how Paul and Dennis and I knew each other growing up. But then he left it to my mother to tell us the truth after he was gone.”

  “How did Paul and Dennis react to the news?” Riga asked.

  “How would you react?”

  Donovan glanced around. The stained wood floor, the peeling paint, the cracked linoleum counter. “I take it Paul and Dennis decided not to share the wealth.”

  “I don’t want his money. This restaurant, the boat, they’re mine. I built them. My sweat. My brains.” He mashed his finger on the table, beating out his point. He got out of the booth, stood. “But Dennis and Paul are okay. They’re my brothers.” Kimo laughed harshly. “Were my brothers, and Dennis isn’t okay. He’s dead, and now you tell me so is Mana. I don’t know what Mana knew, or what he thought he knew.”

  “Whatever it was,” Riga said, “someone thought it was worth killing for.”

  “Shit. I can’t believe this. Why would Mana meet you without telling me? I don’t know who anyone is anymore.” His mouth twisted. “You know even Townsend and I used to be friends? He’d sit right where you are, ordering up the eggs and extra bacon. Now he’s siccing the animal police on me. Things used to be good on this island. Now everyone’s gotten all bent up, turned around.”

  “Kimo,” she said, “if you know anything that might have a bearing on these deaths, no matter how strange or unimportant it may seem, please tell me, or the police.”

  “I wish I did. But sometimes, I think I don’t want to know. Enjoy your breakfast. It’s on the house.” He turned and shuffled to the kitchen.

  “What do you think?” she asked Donovan.

  “I think the banana macadamia nut pancakes look excellent.”

  Riga made a face.

  He pushed his menu aside. “I think it takes a remarkable person not to feel some resentment over being cut out of your father’s will.”

  “Can people even do that today? Usually children have some legal standing, regardless of the will.”

  “It depends on the state, and on how the will was written.”

  “If Kimo fought it in court, that will be a matter of public record.”

  He rubbed his jaw. “I’ll ask Ellen to check, but I doubt Kimo fought it in court. He doesn’t seem the type. Which isn’t to say he didn’t resent what happened.”

  “That George Washington comment – I wonder if it was really his father he was thinking of? Because unlike Washington, his father didn’t do the right thing in the end. Kimo said his brothers didn’t share the inheritance, but I wonder if Dennis has, now that he’s gone?”

  “Dennis didn’t have any children – at least not that I know of. He may well have left his half-brother something in his estate.”

  “If he did,” she said, “it’s a motive.”

  “I thought we were going on the murder by magic theory.”

  “We are. I am. Black magic killed Mana, and the seals or mermaids have been sacrifices. But… Why kill Dennis? Was he just in the wrong place at the wrong time? Or was there something else? And if Dennis was just a random killing, then what could Mana have possibly known about it that threatened the murderer? Was he a witness? Mana lives on the other side of the island – it’s unlikely he just happened to be wandering that beach when Dennis was killed. No, the murderer – our necromancer – is somehow connected to Dennis and Mana.”

  The waitress returned and they ordered.

  After her skirts whisked behind the counter, Donovan said, “All right. You’ve made a good case. We’ll talk to Mana’s girlfriend. Maybe she can tell us what he’s been up to. It’s a shame we can’t talk to Dennis, but I haven’t seen his ghost. Is it too soon to conjure it?”

  “It usually takes weeks, or even months, before a ghost will manifest after its death.”

  “Usually, but not always?” His eyes glinted.

  “Not always,” she said slowly. “It’s worth a try.”

  “I love it when you agree with me.”

  Riga laughed. “Is that the only time?”

  His eyes darkened. “No.”

  *****

  Mana and his girlfriend, Teresa, lived in a concrete apartment complex just far enough from the water to miss an ocean view. They learned from a neighbor that Teresa was a teacher, and at work, so Riga and Donovan played tourist, returning to the Spouting Horn.

  Leaning over the fence, Donovan’s arm around her waist, she watched the water blast through the hole in the rocks and into the air. Below her, just beyond the geyser, yellow police tape fluttered, the only sign of the murdered seal. Tentacles of the dark magic remained, cloying, and Riga shivered, turned away.

  Donovan followed her gaze across the parking lot, where vendors had set up stands sheltered by plastic awnings. “Retail therapy?”

  Riga checked her watch. They still had several hours to go before school was out. “It’s that or the beach, and I didn’t bring my suit.”

  “Which raises all sorts of intriguing possibilities.”

  She smothered a laugh. “Thanks for reminding me we’re on our honeymoon.”

  “If my masseur was right about love and happiness being the same, I’ll never stop reminding you.”

  “A honeymoon that never ends? That’s a nice fantasy.”

  “We’ll always have the real world to contend with, but let’s face it, your connection to the other world isn’t exactly dull. Why not make the most of it?”

  “Magic excites me,” she admitted. The mystery slowly uncovered, the surprises, the satisfaction of a job well done. And she’d never failed to solve a case. She thought of Mana and his words to her, his fear of dying. “But it comes with some dark baggage.”

  They walked across the parking lot together to the long row of stalls.

  Heat radiated off the asphalt, baking her feet through her thin-soled shoes, and she ducked quickly beneath the shelter of a plastic tarp.

  “You’re not responsible for Mana’s death,” Donovan said, turning her to him. “We’ll find the person who is.”

  “I know.”

  “But I can see a part of you loves the hunt.”

  “The mystery of that woman you met, the magic of that trail… It’s fascinating.” She laughed. “And I’d pay to see Brigitte covered in tiny handprints again.” She examined a rope of green-tinted pearls.

  “You’ll look better in violet,” he said.

  She shot him a look. The stand didn’t sell violet pearls. To the vendor, “I’ll take them.”

  Donovan shrugged. “I know about these things.”

  They frittered away more time with a walk along the beach, a late lunch at a local resort hotel. Then they waited in the car outside Teresa’s apartment until she came home, a heavy book satchel slung over one narrow shoulder. Her blue and white print blouse was untucked from her skirt, her head bowed, her mahogany hair tied in a loose bun.

  They watched her trudge up the concrete stairs, unlock her door, go inside.

  Reluctance fell like a wall around Riga, but she opened the car door, stepped out.

  Silently, they crossed the patch of faded lawn, walked up the steps.

  Teresa opened the door before Riga finished knocking.

  “Yes?” Her expression was wary, demanding, her eyes pink, the skin around them swollen.

  “My name is Riga Hayworth. This is my husband, Donovan Mosse. We were with Mana yesterday, when he di
ed.”

  Teresa bit her lip, appraising them.

  Riga pulled out her investigator’s license. “I’m a private investigator.”

  Teresa took the license and stared at it for a long moment, handed it back to her. “Come in.”

  Inside the apartment, light filtered dimly through the drawn vertical blinds. A recliner in an indeterminate shade of neutral and with a wide sag in the middle sat angled toward a small television.

  Teresa motioned them toward the nubby couch. She perched across from them, on the edge of the recliner, hands clasped on her knees. “You were with him? Was he…? Was he in much pain?”

  Yes, hell yes, Riga thought.

  “It was quick,” Donovan said.

  Teresa looked down at her shoes, black and coated with dust. “I didn’t know he…” She stood and went to the kitchen. “I’m sorry. May I offer you something? Some ice water?”

  “Ice water would be great,” Donovan said.

  “This whole day – this whole week – has been terrible. Did you know I had to break up a fight at school today? It was an actual brawl.” Theresa laughed shakily. “I’ve never seen anything like it. These are grade-schoolers!”

  She returned with their drinks, ice tinkling in the tall glasses.

  Theresa sat, tucking her skirt beneath her. “The police said it was an eating disorder. Pica? I had to look it up. He ate a lot.” She smiled at this. “But I never saw him eat anything strange.” She looked away, blinking rapidly.

  Riga leaned forward, unconsciously imitating the woman. “Teresa, did Mana tell you why he wanted to meet with us yesterday?”

  “No. He just said he had business. Why did he want to meet you?”

  “He told us he had information about the death of Dennis Glasgow.”

  She blinked. “The man killed beside the seal? That’s…” Her teeth pulled at her lower lip.

  “That’s what?” Riga prodded.

  “He was upset by the seal killings. Worried. Mana wasn’t a fan of the seals. He once told me that environmental group – the Protection Society – was a form of mainland oppression. But the killings disturbed him.”

  “Do you know why?”

  “They disturbed me too. They’re just innocent animals. I never asked Mana why.”

  “What else did he tell you about them?” Riga asked.

  “Not much. He was worried. He said someone was stirring up trouble. But I don’t know what information he’d have about Mr. Glasgow’s murder.”

  “Did you ever meet Dennis Glasgow?” Riga asked. “Or his brother?”

  “No.”

  Donovan’s hands dangled between his knees. “Is there anything else you can think of – anything Mana might have said about the seals, or Dennis Glasgow or the murder?”

  She shook her head.

  He rose, handed her his card. “If you think of anything, please give us a call.”

  “Was there anything… Did he say anything before he died?” Teresa asked.

  “He said…” Riga hesitated. “He told us he loved you.”

  Teresa wept.

  They said their goodbyes, and left. Riga and Donovan didn’t speak until they’d reached the Ferrari.

  Donovan started the engine. “That was kind of you.”

  “She shouldn’t have to remember him dying in fear.”

  “If his girlfriend is being honest, Mana was a much more nuanced character than I gave him credit for.”

  “Mm.” Riga buckled her seatbelt. “I wonder if the seal killings worried him generally, or more particularly? He knew something. The killings must have touched someone in his circle.”

  They looked at each other. “Kimo,” they said in unison.

  “What the hell isn’t Kimo telling us?” Riga asked. “Mana seemed to be protecting him when we met with Kimo yesterday. Was he meeting us to rat him out, or did he know something else?”

  “Whatever it is, he’ll spit it out eventually. I know his type. He’s thinking it over, weighing the pros and cons. But he’ll make the right decision.”

  Riga hoped he made his decision in time.

  Chapter 18

  Over Hanalei Bay, the setting sun turned the clouds to orange and violet flames. The police tape had vanished. There was no sign that days ago, a murdered man and mermaid had lain together on this spot of beach.

  With a stick, Riga drew a circle in the sand around the site. Other tourists had come to watch the sunset over the bay, but they stayed apart from Riga and Donovan, wanting their own private moments, or sensing the coil of death magic that Riga had begun to conjure.

  A beagle ran past, and Donovan herded the small dog away from her circle. “Maybe we should have waited until midnight,” he said.

  “Sunset is an in-between time, and if Dennis’s ghost is waiting to manifest, it’s in the in-between. Besides, I’m getting impatient.”

  “No argument there. This necromancer is really pissing me off.” He tilted his head, clapped one hand to his eye, and gazed at her work. “Your circle looks like Australia.”

  “Argh.” She kicked some of the sand away, redrew the circle with her stick, and added some protective symbols for good measure. They were misshapen in the uneven sand, but they’d work.

  He rubbed his jaw. “You’re not using blood this time, are you?”

  “For a summoning?” She snorted. “No. I could do this in my sleep.”

  “Good. So what would you consider a safe distance?”

  “Donovan—”

  “Can you blame me? The last time I was involved in a summoning it killed me.”

  She grimaced. “No, I can’t blame you.” She rummaged in the bag at her feet and tossed him what was left of the red salt. “Make a circle around you with the intention that it will protect you. And you’d better make it a small circle – you don’t want any breaks in it, and we’re low on salt.”

  She closed her eyes and called to the ghost of Dennis Glasgow, pulling from the in-between, envisioning him inside her circle in the sand.

  Her eyes opened.

  The circle was empty.

  Donovan raised an eyebrow. “Hm.”

  “I did say it was early,” Riga said. “His ghost just might not be available yet.”

  She closed her eyes, and thought of Dennis Glasgow. Thought of him sprawled on the sand beside the murdered seal, imagined him alive, striding through the lobby in his hotel jacket. Riga extended her senses, summoned. Her hair lifted, as if stirred by a breeze.

  “Now that was unexpected,” Donovan said.

  She looked. A figure glowed inside her circle, imprisoned by the symbols she’d drawn in the sand. Long, green hair. Pearlescent skin. Tail. The mermaid hissed, exposing pointed teeth, and with a thrust of her tail surged, snakelike, toward the edge of the circle. Riga took an involuntary step back but the circle held. The creature swayed, head swiveling to see what had trapped her, tail lashing angrily.

  Riga glanced toward the tourists admiring the sky. Unless one of them had the talent, they wouldn’t be able to perceive the mermaid’s ghost.

  Donovan stepped out of his protective circle and paced around the mermaid. “So that’s what mermaids look like.”

  “Dead mermaids.” She shouldn’t have thought of the seal, dammit. Oh well, pissed off mermaid was what she got, and she’d have to make the best of it.

  “Mermaid,” Riga said, “I’ve summoned you to learn who ended your life. My intention is to bring your killer to justice. What can you tell me about the person who did this to you?”

  The mermaid hissed, clawing at the invisible barrier.

  “Listen to me,” Riga snapped.

  The mermaid froze, head cocked.

  Riga sighed. Before she’d learned about her necromantic heritage, she’d taken it for granted that the dead obeyed her commands. Now, she wasn’t sure she liked it.

  “I want to find the human who killed you,” Riga said, “and stop him from killing any more of your sisters. Tell me what you saw the nig
ht you died.”

  Images flooded Riga’s mind. She felt herself flying with the current, cool against her skin. Breaking the surface, salt water streaming down her face. She wriggled onto the sand, and the sunlight on the beach turned to darkness. The crunch of sand beneath heavy feet. Garbled voices, one high-pitched, one low. A departure, and silence. A new presence. Low voices. Malice. A soft popping noise, unnatural. She looked up, interested. A figure loomed. Then darkness.

  Riga sighed. “She’s given me all she can.” To the spirit, “You can go.”

  The mermaid vanished.

  “Well?” Donovan asked.

  “It was dark, and she wasn’t paying attention until the end. Dennis was shot first, by a man, I think, using a silencer. The mermaid hadn’t understood their words, but their voices were deep, masculine.”

  “That narrows the field.”

  “But not by much.” She kicked the sand, breaking the circle, obscuring the symbols.

  “Come on.” Donovan pulled her against his chest. “Let’s get dinner.”

  “The hotel?”

  He nodded. “That’s where our prime suspect is.”

  “Paul. He is the man with the easiest access, isn’t he? I wonder where he was last night, when the second seal was killed?”

  “Mr. Mosse?” a woman’s voice called.

  They turned.

  Trudging through the sand, Sarah, Paul’s assistant, waved to them. She broke into a trot, her long, black ponytail bouncing behind her. “I thought that was you,” she said, panting. She handed Donovan a file folder. “Here are the documents you requested. Paul said he could go over them in the morning with you, if you like.”

  Donovan frowned. “He’s not free tonight?”

  “No, he has to go to Kapaa to meet with a supplier.”

  “Mm…” Donovan flipped through the file, squinting in the dying light.

  “How have you been doing, Sarah?” Riga asked.

  She swallowed. “Things are getting better. Paul had a meeting with the staff today and let them know that business was continuing as usual. I think it relieved some tension.”

  “I’m not surprised they’re worried,” Riga said. “A potential buyer, new heirs…”