“I’m only asking you to call him. We can meet here in the lobby if he’s concerned about his safety.”
She deepened her scowl. “I will allow you to leave a written message for the mayor. If he wants to see you, he’ll let me know.” I found it amusing that everyone still referred to Arthur Chesterton as “the mayor” even though he hadn’t been in office for a dozen years or more.
“So, I guess he does live here,” I said.
She shot me a don’t push your luck look as she handed over a notepad and pencil.
I wrote a note asking Arthur Chesterton to call if he’d be willing to see me. I signed it, and under my name I wrote ‘Philip Wilkerson’s daughter.’
I’d made it halfway back to Sunny’s when my phone rang. The caller ID read, A Chesterton.
I pulled over to take the call. After I answered, a reedy male voice said, “Phil told me you were smart. Seems he was right.”
CHAPTER 30
Arthur Chesterton said he’d be going to dinner in a little while so if I wanted to see him I needed to get there wiki wiki. The clock on the dash showed three forty-five. I made it back to Garden Island Manor in less than twenty minutes. When I came through the door I gave the gargoyle an engaging smile, but she wasn’t having any of it.
“So, Joy, seems the mayor is really looking forward to my visit,” I said.
“Don’t flatter yourself. These old farts run out to talk to the meter reader.”
I signed in and she pulled out a yellow plastic ‘visitor’ badge on a lanyard. “You’ve got to display this on your person at all times.”
I told her the mayor had said he’d be in the music room and I asked where that was. She pointed a hooked thumb toward a hallway on the other side of the lobby.
I walked down a closed-in hall that smelled like Shalimar perfume and laundry soap. At the end was a large room, painted an industrial shade of green and sporting a shiny speckled vinyl floor. Inside, a stooped man with a fringe of white hair was playing an electric organ. He leaned in toward the keyboard and then back out again as if he were on a rolling ship. His eyes were closed.
“Excuse me,” I said, interrupting an especially ambitious section featuring lots of chord changes with the left hand and his right hand fingers rapidly moving up and down the keys.
He lifted his hands from the keyboard and opened his eyes, blinking in the bluish glare of the fluorescent lights as if waking from a deep sleep.
“Do you play?” he said.
“No. I took ukulele lessons in school, but I never mastered much beyond “My Dog Has Fleas”.”
He shook his head. “Don’t know that one.”
“That’s okay. I don’t recognize what you were just playing, either.”
“Scott Joplin. The Entertainer,” he said. “Sounds better on a piano.”
“Sorry to interrupt, but you mentioned you’ll be to dinner soon.”
“That’s fine. I have a good idea why you’re here. I’d hoped to be long dead, but first it took Phil and then my Peggy. Seems like some kind of comeuppance, you know?”
I didn’t have a clue what he was talking about. Maybe the old guy did have dementia.
“Mayor Chesterton, like I said on the note, I’m Phil Wilkerson’s oldest daughter.”
“I know; I can read. I may be old but I’m not illiterate. Phil told me about you. He said he regretted never meeting you.”
“My mother told me he left after I was born. I guess he saw me when I was a baby.”
“Ah, yes. But that’s not the same, is it? Babies are all alike. It’s when they grow up that you get to see what you’ve created. Good or bad.”
“Ohana,” I said.
“Yes, that’s right, ohana.”
“If you wouldn’t mind,” I said. “I’d really appreciate it if you’d tell me what you remember about that night.”
He hung his head. At first I was afraid it meant he couldn’t remember. But then I realized he simply wasn’t looking forward to talking about it.
“It’s been a long time,” he said.
“Thirty years.”
“You better take a seat,” he said, gesturing toward a folding chair. “This could take a while.”
I dragged a gray metal chair over next to the organ bench. “Are you comfortable there?” I said. “Do you want me to get you a chair?”
“No matter where I sit I won’t be comfortable talking about this.” He took a deep breath and then released a series of dry coughs. “I’d only been police chief for about two months when a call comes in about a domestic disturbance up in Hanalei. It wasn’t unusual. There were a lot of drugs up there. We sort of let them be. If we’d try to bust every hippie for every little sack of pakalolo we wouldn’t have had time to do anything else.”
Another deep breath, another series of coughs.
“The island was different then. Everybody knew everybody. And everyone knew their place. My ohana got along okay. We were haole-looking, like you, but we’d been here since the plantation days. My father worked sugar up in Kilauea. He rose through the ranks until he was in charge of a big operation up there. But he never owned nuthin’. Never owned a house or a car. His whole life he knew he’d never be more than a hard-workin’ company man.”
Again, a few coughs, deeper this time.
“Anyhow, so this call comes in about a DD up north. I was just leaving a meeting up in Princeville, so I called in and said I’d take the domestic. Every so often, I liked to take a call. You know, there’s just so much paperwork you can do before you stop feeling like a cop. When I get to the incident address, I see a guy standing outside. He’s holding a baseball bat and he looks all wild in the eyes and like that.
“The neighbors were nowhere to be seen. Prob’ly the bat scared ‘em off or they didn’t want to get involved. I don’t blame ‘em. I had no idea what had happened or what the dude was thinkin’. I know I was thinkin’ I shoulda called for back-up.”
“Did you recognize the man?” I said.
“Nope. I was familiar with most everyone on the island; even a lot of those hippie-types up there, but I couldn’t remember ever seeing the guy before. Anyhow, I talked him into handing over the bat and then he started cryin’ and actin’ all sorry and all that.
A few more coughs. “I asked him to tell me what happened and he pointed to a little ohana out back. We went in and I saw two people on the floor—a man and a woman. Neither was movin’. Even so, I use my radio to call for a bus, you know, an ambulance. I turn around and see the guy’s on the damn phone. Now, two things come to mind. First, I’m the chief of police, and I’ve let a perp out of my sight for long enough to make a phone call? And, second, who was this kid calling? His lawyer?
Arthur went on. “So, I go over to snap on the cuffs and he pushes the phone at me and says, ‘My father wants to talk to you.’ To my dying day I won’t know why I took that phone.
Arthur was wracked by a long bout of coughing. When it ended, he pulled out a balled-up handkerchief and wiped his mouth. “Sorry. I’ve had a cold for a while now.”
I waited.
“And here’s where it goes bad,” he said. “Here’s where I come to that fork in the road you hear about.”
This time when he stopped talking he didn’t cough. Instead, he scrubbed his face with his hands. “I take the phone and the guy’s father said something I’ve never forgotten.”
We locked eyes.
“He said, I already lost one son. I’ll do anything if you’ll help me not lose them both. By then, I knew the ambulance was on its way. I had to think fast.”
He stopped and looked at me as if giving me time to put the pieces together. “Phil Wilkerson was the guy with the bat.” I said.
He nodded.
“And his brother, Robert, and my mother, Marta Warner, were the two people on the floor.”
He nodded again.
OMG. As the puzzle pieces fell into place, the picture that was forming was too horrible to imagine.
> Arthur Chesterton continued, “Seems your father had gotten wind that his former girlfriend—your mother—had up and married his brother. He came over to try and win her back, or anyway that’s what he told me, but he ended up killing them both instead.”
I couldn’t breathe. It was as if someone had clamped a hand over my nose and mouth and gut-punched me at the same time.
“But Sunny told me…” I said.
“Who knows what she knows? Phil didn’t come clean to many people. He told my Peggy, because, what the hell, she wouldn’t say nuthin’. Her old man was as guilty as him, maybe more.”
“Did Phil push Robert’s body off the cliff?”
Arthur nodded, “And I helped him. Even drove him up there.”
“But what about the ambulance?”
“We’d headed out before they got there. I radioed I was chasing down the alleged assailant, who’d taken off.”
“Why?”
“I already told you why. The old man wanted me to protect Phil.”
“I meant why did you agree to cover this up? You were the chief of police.”
“I was. But I wanted more. For my kids, my ohana. I wanted to be mayor.”
“And Phil’s father helped you?”
“He sent me three times more money than I needed for the campaign. And every year on the anniversary, I’d get a nice check in the mail.”
“Who came up with the story of Robert coming in with the bat?”
“That was Phil. While we were on our way up to Kalalau, he figured it out. He wanted to say he’d wrestled the bat away and had killed in self-defense, but how did that make sense with two people down? And, I was worried about the forensics. We had to get rid of the bat.”
“And so Robert committed suicide and took the bat with him when he jumped.”
I stared at the floor. My breath was coming in strangled gulps and my eyes stung.
Arthur took my hand. I didn’t pull it away. “I know what I did was wrong, but where was the hurt? I saved your father from prison and then his father saved me from a second-rate life.”
“You don’t believe that,” I said.
“I don’t anymore. But that’s what I told myself for years. When Phil asked if he could marry Peggy, you can imagine what I thought. I knew he’d killed before, and I worried about her every day. But it wasn’t as if I could say anything. And for what, twelve or thirteen years, they got along fine. Then he met that other gal and broke Peggy’s heart.”
“But Sunny said you all kept in touch.”
“Oh, you bet I did. You know what they say, about keeping your friends close and your enemies closer? Phil and I had a bond. It’s strange, but I grew to love him like a son. AJ used to throw fits over Phil always hanging around.”
“When I first heard about my mother being killed I thought AJ killed her.”
“No, AJ’s never loved a woman enough to do that.”
A cold shiver made me rub my arms. “I need to let you get to your dinner.”
“Mahalo for coming to see me,” he said. “I’m sorry about your mother. I’m afraid by the time I got there it was already too late. I hope you understand why I did what I did.”
I would never understand but there was no use spitting in his face. I thanked him and went outside to my car. Then I put my head in my hands and cried.
CHAPTER 31
When I finished crying, I wiped my face on my shirt sleeve and got back on the road to Sunny’s. I felt a white-hot flame in my chest that would only be extinguished by watching her squirm when I revealed how her precious Phil had been not only a liar but a murderer. And not just any murderer. He’d not only killed the mother of his child, but his own brother. As painful as it was to think about, I couldn’t help but pray Phil had killed my mother first, sparing her the anguish of watching her husband suffer and knowing her own fate was sealed.
I had to keep looking down at the speedometer. I was going over sixty on Kuhio Highway, but it felt like I was merely inching along.
I focused on my breathing. Sifu Doug was big on breath control. He’d had us practice until we nearly passed out. I hated breath training. It was boring. And in a match, when I got on the mat and lifted my head to face my opponent, breath control was usually the last thing on my mind.
But now I was acutely aware of my breathing. It was fast and shallow; the kind Sifu Doug cautioned against. I drew a long breath in through my nose and held it for a count of ten. Then I released it through my mouth, counting to fifteen. After a few controlled breaths I felt a little better. But only a little.
***
I roughed up the rental car as I careened down the bumpy track to Sunny’s, but managed to make it to the main house without breaking an axle. She must’ve heard me coming, because she came out on the lanai and waved. I got out and went up to meet her.
“Have a seat,” she said. “Where’ve you been? I was starting to worry.”
“Well, I’m afraid you’re not done worrying,” I said, taking a seat next to her. It wasn’t a great opening salvo but it would have to do. I was too eager to get to the knock-out punch to finesse my words.
She squinted.
“I was just over at Garden Island Manor,” I said. “I had a nice chat with your former mayor.”
That brought out a big smile. “Phil loved Arthur. Phil told me that after his father died, Arthur treated him like a son.” She reached over and patted my knee. “Tell you what, you’ve been gone all day and I’m sure we have a lot to talk about. Let me get you a mai tai. It’s my special recipe.”
I hesitated. “I haven’t eaten much today. Maybe I’ll have one later.”
“I’ve got dinner waiting, so I’ll just make it a short one. You look exhausted.”
She went in the house and came back carrying two ceramic cups shaped like pineapples. She’d garnished my drink with the obligatory paper umbrella and cherry-on-a-pick.
“Why didn’t you give yourself an umbrella?” I said.
“I save those for guests. And those cherries make my tongue itch. Cheers.” She held up her cup and we clinked. “Now tell me that’s not the best mai tai you’ve ever tasted.”
I took a sip and it was good. A bit on the sweet side, but tasty.
“Your dad taught me how to make these. According to him, Peggy was quite a fan before she stopped drinking.”
“Listen, Sunny. I’ve learned something you need to know from Arthur Chesterton.”
“You know, our former mayor lives in a nursing home for a reason.”
“It’s not a nursing home; it’s assisted living.”
“Whatever. But the man’s not, you know, all there.” She tapped her head.
“He seemed ‘there’ enough to me. He told me Phil went to college but then he came back in 1981 and discovered my mom had another baby and she’d married his brother and he—”
“Sweetie, you’re rambling. Drink up so we can go in and have dinner.”
I saw something in her eyes that made me change course. “You’re right, I’m so tired. Why don’t you go on in and I’ll finish up?” I said. “I need to wash up first.”
“Good,” she said. “See you inside.”
***
I poured the drink down the bathroom sink. After not eating all day the last thing I needed was a syrupy mai tai. I washed my hands and went into the dining room.
About halfway through dinner the room began to swim. I tried shutting my eyes but when I opened them again everything was in a different spot. I had a hard time gripping the fork and I dropped it at least twice.
“Are you okay?” said Sunny.
“I don’t know. My stomach feels a little off.”
I’d decided that as much I’d enjoy watching Sunny squirm, I should report Arthur Chesterton’s confession to Detective Wong about before I said anything to anyone else. Sunny chattered through dinner and never once asked me to finish telling about my visit with Arthur. As she blathered on, I got the sinking feeling she may already know
the truth.
“You look so wiped out,” she said. “Let me make you a cup of ‘sleep happy’ tea while I clean up the dishes. I love the stuff. After Phil died I used to have a cup every night to help with insomnia.”
“I don’t think insomnia will be a problem,” I said.” I could fall asleep right here.”
“But I want to hear what crazy Arthur told you. Why don’t you go on out to the lanai and put your feet up. I’ll bring the tea right out.”
“Can it wait until tomorrow?” I said. “I’m so exhausted.”
She looked annoyed. “Suit yourself.”
I staggered to the guest house with my stomach in an uproar. I felt drunk-sick even though I’d had less than half of the mai tai. I flopped down on the sofa. No way could I bring myself to sleep in the murderer’s bed.
***
On Wednesday morning the sun was streaming in the windows when I woke up. My stomach felt raw and I had a roaring hangover. Then I remembered my visit with Arthur Chesterton and I made myself get up.
I used the bathroom but it didn’t make me feel much better. I splashed water on my face and headed over to the main house. I tried the door, not bothering to knock. When I got inside, I heard Sunny on the phone in the back somewhere. The sound of her voice made my stomach hitch and I felt sick again. I nearly made it to the guest bathroom in time. Nearly, but not quite.
I’m not a sickly person, so vomiting always catches me by surprise. But there it was, on Sunny’s spotless bathroom floor. I felt a little better but my stomach still burned. I dragged myself to the kitchen to find something to clean up the mess.
I grabbed the edge of the sink and worked to control my breathing. When I’d regained a bit of composure, I opened the cabinet under the sink to look for a rag.
I moved a few things around and then I saw it. It was a bulky yellow plastic jug with an unfamiliar label. Unfamiliar, but not unknown.
I’d first come across anti-freeze when I was doing my final stint of air marshal training in Atlantic City, New Jersey. A fellow trainee had chided me for not ‘winterizing’ my car. He’d warned me that when the temperature dropped I’d come out one morning and I’d find my car had become a one-ton paperweight instead of transportation. On the mainland, people keep anti-freeze in their garage all year long. But I could think of no good reason to keep anti-freeze under a kitchen sink in Kaua'i.
4 Kaua'i Me a River Page 18