by Kay Hadashi
“Just jab my toe with it.”
Sitting on the edge of the coffee table, he picked up her foot. “Where?”
“Anywhere.”
He gave the top of her toe a solid jab, causing her to jerk her foot back while swearing.
“Not so hard! I said jab, not ram it in.” She put that foot down and tried lifting the other. “Pick up the other and try it again. Not so deep this time.”
“Why am I hurting my wife?”
“Just do it, you big baby.”
This time, he gave her a gentler jab.
“Do it again, right at the end and a little more aggressively.”
He poked her again.
“Did you do it? I can’t feel anything.”
Josh lifted Melanie’s foot so she could see her toe. The pin was sticking out the end of it. “Satisfied?”
“Okay, never mind. Take it out. Now rub your thumbnail along the sole of my foot, heel to toe.”
He did as he was told while she watched.
“Just as I thought.”
“Why’d I do all that?” he asked.
“I think that bad disc in my back has finally slipped and is pushing on my nerve root. I can’t feel a dang thing in that foot.”
“Should I call an ambulance?”
“No, you should help me to the bathroom, before taking me for a massage and then to the chiropractor.”
Two hours later, Melanie limped from the massage room at Lailanie’s salon.
“Put me down for another massage tomorrow at noon, Lai. And then you can do something with this hair,” Melanie said on her way out the door to Josh’s waiting car.
“Any better?” he asked as they drove to Lahaina for her next appointment.
“Relaxed, anyway. Almost forgot I was pregnant there for a while.”
“Not much longer.”
“I know.”
“And when the time comes, you’ll cry your eyes out, and six months later, you’ll be wanting another one.”
“I might cry, once the cussing is done, but this is the last one for me. If you want more kids, you’ll have to find a girl on the side.”
“Cool. Fall term starts soon. Maybe a coed.”
“Did I ever show you my expert marksman medal from being in the Air Force Special Forces?” she asked.
“Every time a new term starts at school, just to keep me in line. Where’s this guy’s office again?”
“Her. She’s on Waine’e Street. Just let me out in front and then find a place to park. I can go in by myself.”
“Forget that. I’m going with you.”
“You’ll get a ticket if you park in the waiting zone.”
“I’m married to the mayor. How could the coppers give me a ticket?” He parked at the curb with his four-way flashers blinking and went around to get the door for her. “Just let me get you inside and then I’ll move the car.”
They struggled up the walk to a short set of steps. “Why in the world does a chiropractor have an office at the top of stairs?” she griped as they went up, one step at a time.
After filling out the paperwork and showing insurance cards, Melanie was led to a treatment room, something like a small gym. Not only was the place a chiropractor’s office but a physical therapy rehab center as well. She was just getting positioned on a bench when something occurred to her to ask.
“You’ve worked with pregnant women before, right?”
“Many times,” Dr. Rigley said.
“As much as I’m done with this pregnancy, please don’t break my water.”
“I’ll be very careful about that, I promise. I know some advanced techniques for women in your condition, and I’m ordinarily quite gentle. I’ve had quite a few women come in on their way to the hospital, just to have their hips adjusted right before delivering their babies. They swear by it.”
“Good for them. I just want to get as much done as you can without stirring up too much trouble. Maybe you can do my neck and shoulders also.”
Starting with her hips, the chiropractor adjusted Melanie’s joints, getting solid pops from each of them on her way up her spine.
“How do you feel?” Rigley asked once she was done with the back.
“Better. My leg feels warm like it’s waking up again.”
“That’s the idea. Ready for your neck?”
With her head turned to one side, Melanie saw Josh come into the room, watching what was being done. There was a twist and a loud pop, which echoed in Melanie’s open mouth. When Melanie groaned, Josh had the look of surprise on his face.
“Are you okay?” Rigley said, putting her head straight again.
“Fine. Wait for a sec before doing the other side.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t,” Josh suggested.
“No, it’s okay.”
Melanie’s head was cradled in Rigley’s arms and turned in the opposite direction, getting another loud pop.
“How about your shoulders?”
“Please,” Melanie mumbled.
“This is okay?” Josh asked, watching as the chiropractor got into position.
“From the sounds of it, this is way overdue,” Dr. Rigley said.
“This is great,” Melanie said. “I need to come back here more often.”
Once her shoulders were done, Dr. Rigley brought a chair over to sit while working on Melanie’s hands. “I saw your news conference earlier. That’s really a terrible shame what happened. The police don’t know anything more about the two surfer deaths than what you told the reporters?”
“Not much. You know how they always say the investigation is still ongoing.”
“What press conference?” Josh asked.
“You didn’t see it?” Rigley asked.
“See what?”
“There was a little press thing at Pohaku Park.”
“You went out?” he asked.
“Just for a few minutes.”
“I thought you were going to rest today?”
“It was official county business. I can’t stop being mayor just because I’m tired.”
“Can’t Trinh help? She’s your vice mayor, right? Isn’t that one of her duties, to step in when you can’t do something?”
“She’s watching over everything else, except these death investigations. Since I already know about those, I’m going to handle that stuff.”
“What do you mean, death investigations?” he asked, once they were in the car headed home. “I thought that Winston kid was beat up and murdered?”
“He was definitely beat up, but the police and the coroner haven’t come to the conclusion foul play was involved. That’s why the investigation is still being conducted.”
“What about the one today?” Josh asked.
“They don’t know much about him, either. Not even his name, the last I heard.”
“Can’t you turn this stuff over to Trinh?”
“On Thursday. Otherwise, I’m sitting at home in my pajamas and pace a rut in the floor to the bathroom. No more press conferences, no more nothing.”
“We have to take Thérèse in for her tonsils Wednesday, remember?”
“I forgot about that. We should’ve had that done earlier in the summer. With her starting preschool next week, we’ve run out of time.”
“We could put it off until winter break?”
“Forget it. Ten minutes in the OR and she’s done. She’ll sleep the rest of the day, be grumpy on Thursday, and be back to normal on Friday.”
“You’re up to it?” he asked.
“It’s not like I have to do any of the work. Trinh is on duty in the OR that day and has promised to take care of her during her surgery. Who knows? Maybe Kenny’s body will be released for shipment back to Arizona and Addie will be gone by then?”
“I almost hate to see her go,” Josh said. “She’s really good with Thérèse.”
“May as well just…”
“Just what?” he asked.
“Nothing. Let’s just focus on g
etting through this week one day at a time.”
He enumerated on his fingers. “House guest, murder investigations, museum thefts, tonsils, bad back, nine months pregnant. That’s some week.”
She patted his thigh. “Just remember, you’re the glue holding it all together.”
“Whatever happened with those stolen museum antiquities? That sort of got lost in the shuffle when the Winstons entered our lives.”
“That’s been resolved, mostly. The missing artifacts were located and should be returned in the next few weeks. I want to find a better security system so they are safer once they’re put on display. Especially the kahili.”
“You don’t need any more projects, Melanie.”
“I was actually thinking of handing that over to you.”
“I’m also not one of your lackeys. Let the museum figure out what to do with it. Who found it?”
“An investigator. It’s in a secure location.”
“You know more about it than that, don’t you?” he asked, making the turn off the highway onto their driveway.
“Maybe.”
“Which means yes, coming from you.”
“It’s still one of those police things that can’t be discussed.”
“Too many secrets with you, Melanie Kato.”
“Ha! That’s half the fun of being married!”
Chapter Ten
Tuesday morning turned quiet when Addie went for a walk through the grounds of the resort across the road, Josh holed up in their little office to work on the upcoming quarter curriculum for his classes at the college, and Thérèse invented a game involving dinosaurs on the living room floor. Melanie made a nest of pillows on the couch, her phone in her hand. Just as she was scrolling through her phone list for someone she could chat with that wasn’t at work, the phone rang with a call from Detective Nakatani.
“Please don’t tell me there’s been another death,” she said right off.
“Not that I know of. I was wondering if Mrs. Winston has come up with any names for her son’s friends or associates?”
“I know she’s been reading through her old letters to Kenny. She mentioned something about finding something interesting. I’ll have her call you once she’s back from her walk.”
“When is that supposed to be?” he asked.
“I have no idea. She wanted to see the resort grounds and go for a walk in the little neighborhood near here. I think she was looking for some privacy to think about what’s happened without being disturbed by us. She took her phone, so maybe she’s calling friends at home.”
“If she has any hunches at all, have her call me. There is a new development, though.”
“Whatever it is, I had nothing to do with it. I have alibis and witnesses for everything. And if I don’t, I can manufacture one.”
“So defensive,” he said chuckling.
“Not that being pregnant isn’t weird enough, these last few days of your investigations into the stolen artifacts and the deaths of the two young men have pushed the weirdness gauge to the limit.”
“Well, you won’t like this. More Hawaiiana has shown up in online auctions.”
“More museum pieces? I thought the museum has been locked up tight since the theft, and the library doesn’t have anything else to steal. Other than in people’s private collections, what else is there to take from Maui? Or did they get into the Bishop Museum on Oahu?”
“Neither. We’ve had techs analyze the images from the internet. These weren’t museum pieces, at least not yet. It looks almost as if they’ve just recently been collected from the environment.”
“What do you mean, from the environment?” she asked.
“They’re grimy, like they haven’t been professionally cleaned and restored. They look like they’ve been dug up or recovered from an outdoor location, wiped clean, and photographed for auction.”
“What kinds of things?” she asked.
“Battle weapons. Clubs, spears, something that looks like it might’ve been a shield or heavy fabric, but it’s pretty worn out. About a dozen things altogether.”
“The same auction site?” she asked.
“You just leave it alone, Mayor. You don’t need to do our work for us.”
“Just curious. I’d like to see what it is.”
“Don’t buy any of it. We’re working with the FBI on setting up a sting operation to get the perps behind all this.”
“What I’ve been curious about is why couldn’t investigators figure out who the sellers are if they were able to figure out who the buyer was of the batch of stuff I bought?” Melanie asked.
“Good question. We were working on that, both MPD and the Bureau, but somebody interfered by purchasing all of it before we could pin down the identities. All we got was a general location stemming from the Hawaiian Islands, but no exact IP address.”
“Oh. You mean somebody interfered as in me?”
“Right. That’s why it’s really important for you to leave it alone, Mayor. I appreciate your efforts in bringing those things back home to where they belong, but we need to get these guys. That means having this new batch of stuff left out there for as long as we can allow, just so we can build a trail back to the seller. That’s not nearly as easy as it sounds.”
“Why not?” she asked. “If you can figure out the buyer’s identity, ostensibly through an IP address, why not do the same with the seller?”
“Because we need to work with the auction house to get sellers’ private information, and so far they’ve been reluctant to turn it over.”
“Which means they’re probably complicit in the scheme?” she asked.
“That’s the assumption. If nothing else, they’re very protective of their sellers, making it appear to be a black market site.”
“What kind of auction history do they have? Have they been in trouble before for doing the same thing?”
“That’s something else we’re looking into. We’re trying to determine how ethical their site is in conducting business, and trying to determine what their sellers are like. Some of these auction sites are completely legit, selling bona fide art or historical objects whose ownership has been verified. Other sites are not so ethical. They’ll put up anything for auction, no questions asked. Bogus trash that was manufactured in someone’s garage over the weekend, and legitimate historical objects that have been passed from hand to hand but should never have entered the marketplace. We think this one might be one of those.”
“The FBI can’t just shut it down?” she asked.
“They probably could, with a court order. But they’d need probable cause and would need to meet a few other parameters. But as soon as we shut them down, the auction house would know they’re being investigated, and they’d disappear. Keeping the site open and the auctions live keeps them from knowing they’re being watched. Hopefully.”
“But what if someone buys something? Wouldn’t it be lost to them?” Melanie asked.
“We might still be able to get it back, by claiming it as stolen goods. But if the buyer is anonymous, or uses a fake ID like you did to run us around in circles, it might be lost forever. You have to remember, buyers can be just as unethical with the purchase of fine art and historical objects as sellers are.”
“I see. Well, keep me informed,” she said, starting to feel tired just from the phone call. “Anything new about the deaths?”
“I sent an officer to Gonzo’s Surf Shop for a second round of questions. They let him nowhere near their rental merchandise to see if they were short a board.”
“Which means they felt guilty about something, right?” she asked.
“Probably feel guilty about a lot of things, including having merchandise completely unrelated to surfing, if you know what I mean.”
“If we’re lucky, maybe we can shut down a pusher.”
“They’re known pushers. What we’d like to do is catch them manufacturing the stuff. That would make the police department very happy. Once again,
please have Mrs. Winston give me a call as soon as she gets in. And Mayor?”
“Yes?”
“Please stay away from the auction sites.”
After promising she would, she made another call to someone she rarely called. For this call, she moved to the floor and put her puffy feet up on the couch to help drain the fluid. As soon as she was there, she became a part of Thérèse’s game.
“Bruce, this is Melanie Kato. I have a big favor to ask,” she said to the man who ran the day-to-day operations of one of the businesses she inherited from her father. It was a security and intelligence company, a group that collected data and prepared intelligence packets for private companies and also for government agencies. It made millions of dollars for her and Trinh every year, something only their lawyer and few others knew about. Even Josh knew little about them. “And it might not be entirely legal.”
“Cool. What’s up?”
Melanie explained about the recent thefts on Maui, and the auction sites where the stolen articles were being peddled. She gave him a list of the latest stuff that been put up for bidding.
“A site named ArtifactsEmpire?” Ben asked.
“How’d you know?”
“When we discovered the shipment to your father’s library, we checked it out. Then we saw the recipient name of Aiko Murata, and figured you were behind it. We weren’t sure what was going on, since you’ve never shown an interest in things like that, so we put together a little packet already.”
“Does everybody know that was my mom’s alias a long time ago?”
“You’ll have to be sneakier than that to get past us, Melanie. We still keep a pretty tight lid on your father’s affairs. Yours, too.”
“I guess I should be grateful. Is there a way you can dig deeper into who the sellers are? MPD and the Bureau are already trying to figure it out, but maybe we can help them somehow without interfering?”
“First, MPD doesn’t have the resources for something like this, and honestly, the Bureau couldn’t find their own heads in their own rear ends after a gassy meal.”
“Thanks for that visual,” she muttered.
“I’d be glad to do the work myself. It sounds interesting.”
“Is there a way you can do it so nobody notices? Because I’ve already been warned off from interfering by the police, and I really don’t want FBI agents coming around being pests.”