Storm had to force her eyes back to the flat two-lane highway before her. In her bartending days after college and before law school, she’d spent the early mornings and late afternoons surfing. She still felt the pull of the cool, azure waters. She would have enjoyed stopping to chat with some of the attractive young men and women who stood on the dazzling sand, waxing their boards and studying the break, but she didn’t have time.
She found the first turn back toward the mountains, but when the road surface eroded to gravel, then to a dirt two-track with potholes the size of the calves that grazed lazily behind dilapidated fences, she consulted the notes she’d made.
Banana trees brushed the right side of the car. Their tattered leaves drooped around the vulgar purple flowers that preceded the heavy bunches of dangling fruits. An aroma of decaying vegetation filled the air. Between the cows, buzzing bees and flies, and the water-retaining banana stems, the fecundity of the jungle was almost oppressive.
The right front wheel of the VW dropped into a hole and splattered black mud over half the windshield. Storm nearly bit her tongue with the clonk of the undercarriage hitting dirt. “Shee-it,” she said with the bump of the car’s climb out of the pothole. But the VW still putted onward without any new rattles of protest.
She peered around and looked for the old bunker Bebe had described. There it was, a concrete pillbox, flaking with what must have passed for camouflage green in World War II. It was mottled chartreuse, a sterile wart among teeming grasses and flowering plants. At least she was on the right track. Boy, she’d have a great excuse for leaving early. She’d never find her way out of here at night.
Fifteen minutes farther down the trail, Storm saw a neatly painted, square cottage whose lanai stretched along the front and around the sides of the house. Neat bundles of plants hung at regular intervals beneath the eaves. A porch swing swayed among the drying herbs as if a benevolent spirit relaxed on it with a good book.
The homestead had a warm, inviting air. The wheel ruts of the trail ended at the rear of a vintage Jeep, painted bright pink. Storm pulled up behind the vehicle and turned off the VW at the same time a woman about Aunt Maile’s age trotted down the front steps.
Bebe Fernandez showed white teeth in a big grin, her walnut face framed by wisps of short gray hair. Her cheeks and eyes were creased into permanent smile lines like Aunt Maile’s. From there on, the resemblance ended. Bebe was tiny and thin. She was dressed in an oversized tee-shirt painted with outrageous red and pink floral designs. It covered all but the bottom three inches of neon green bike shorts. Knobby-kneed mahogany legs ended in a pair of what looked like wooden Dutch shoes.
“You made good time,” Bebe said. Her dark, sharp eyes scanned Storm’s face as if they could read her personality from her skin.
“Thank goodness for your directions.” Storm grabbed Maile’s wrapped carton and got out of the car. Mud seeped up the soles of her tennis shoes, sucking at each footstep. As she got closer to Bebe, she noticed that the bright yellow shoes were rubber. Bebe was a practical woman.
“Come on in.” Bebe took Storm’s elbow and led her on higher tufts of soggy grass to the house. “It’s really nice to meet you. I can see the family resemblance between you and Maile.”
“Did you know my mother, too?” Storm asked.
Bebe’s dark eyes met Storm’s squarely. “Of course. She was a beautiful person.” Bebe took Storm’s box and opened the front door. “I’ll get you a glass of iced tea. It’s a dusty drive, isn’t it?”
“Either dusty or muddy.”
“I still prefer it to the bustle of the city.”
“I would too, if I could. Does Tom Sakai come out here?”
“He used to, his wife would drive him. They’d bring the kids along, too. But he’s weakening and they have a baby now.” Bebe shook her head sadly.
“So he’s still really sick?”
“Yes. All I can do is ease his pain with lomi and ho‘oponopono, you know, massage and spiritual comfort. I help him with his diet, too, when I can get him to eat.”
She showed Storm to a comfortable koa rocking chair, handed her a tall glass of iced tea, and took a seat opposite her. “Maile told me you wanted to talk to him.”
“Yes, I want to ask him if he knew Miles Hamasaki, the lawyer. Hamasaki died recently and I’m trying to wind up some cases he was working on.”
“Tom’s being treated by Unimed. Is he going to sue them?”
Bebe’s directness would have surprised Storm if she hadn’t known Aunt Maile. They were similar in personality, if not looks. “Not that I know. Hamasaki left some papers with me and I’m tying up loose ends. Tom’s doctor was trying to get a bone marrow transplant for him and I thought maybe I could help.” She sighed. “You know, I started out with just trying to take care of Hamasaki’s affairs, and then I read Tom’s file. He’s just a little older than I am, he has kids, it just struck me that maybe I could do something to help.”
“I went to see him yesterday and asked him if he felt up to talking to you. He said he’d try to help, but he didn’t know much. He’s a friendly type when he’s feeling all right. If he’s not, you’ll have to try another time.”
“How about if I take his family dinner? At least I can do something for them.”
“Lani would like that, I’m sure. So would Tom, for Lani’s and the kids’ sake.”
“You think tomorrow would be all right?”
“Why don’t you give them a call and ask?” Bebe went to an old roll-top desk and jotted down a number, which she handed to Storm.
Before Storm left, Bebe explained how she and Maile shared plants that they could only find in their own locales, increasing each other’s repertoire of treatments. They also shared their experiences. “Your aunt is a talented kapana.” Bebe handed Storm a dried coconut husk. “Did you know the ashes of this husk heal burns and cuts?”
“She told me you were the best healer in the islands.”
Bebe’s dark eyes sparkled. She reached for Storm’s hand. “And you, you may have the gift, too.” She ran her own warm, dry palm over Storm’s, along her fingers. “Maybe someday, you’ll come and learn. There are too few of us left.”
Bebe led Storm around her garden behind the house, a large tract of lovingly cultivated land arranged in quilt-like blocks with different greenery. Bebe showed Storm plants that Storm had seen discarded by landscapers in Kahala. How many people knew that they had powerful medicines growing in their yards, around their mailboxes and dog dishes? Kailua dump was piled with coconut husks. Storm was going to look at plants with a more respectful eye.
The trip to see Bebe Fernandez left Storm with a lighter feeling, respect for the earth’s generosity, a feeling that humans participated in a bigger whole than they usually acknowledged.
She drove back to the city and noticed that Lorraine’s death did not rest on her quite so heavily, though from time to time, the image of Mr. Tanabe’s hunched and grieving figure returned to her. She’d try to go see him this week, but right now she was looking forward to some physical exertion and lighthearted competition with friends.
Storm’s timing was perfect; she pulled into the parking lot at Diamond Head tennis courts ten minutes early and dashed to put her name on the list of people waiting for courts. Leila had already staked out a spot and was sitting on a bench, smearing suntan lotion onto her freckling arms. Two more of their team members ambled in and the four sat and chatted while they waited for an available court.
Two sets later, the women drove their cars to Leila’s house where they showered and set out their contributions to the potluck dinner. The evening, on top of the uplifting trip to the country, was exactly what Storm needed to escape the feeling that catastrophe followed on her heels. She drank three beers over the course of the night and insisted on staying to wash dishes with Leila after their other friends left. Not only did she want to make sure she would be safe to
drive, she wanted to tell Leila about the weekend’s events.
As soon as she finished the part about the car-chase, Storm’s hand flew to her mouth. “Shoot! I forgot to return Aunt Maile’s call.” She looked at the kitchen clock. “Almost nine. I guess I can still do it.”
“Be my guest.” Leila gestured to the phone.
Maile picked up on the second ring. “Honey, you all right? I was scared to death.”
“Yeah, I tried earlier, then got busy and forgot. Aunt Maile, Bebe Fernandez was a joy to visit.”
“Storm, remember that guy in Hilo?”
“You mean the one that went off the road?”
“No, the other one.” Storm could hear a newspaper rattling. “Tong Choy. Yeah, that’s his name.”
“The guy whose car was stolen.”
“Yeah, that’s it. Some guys found him up near where we picked the koali. He was dead, had a broken neck.”
Chicken skin crept up Storm’s arms. She sat down on one of Leila’s kitchen chairs with a thud. “Who found him?”
“Some locals, looking for pänini, they said. Huh, fat chance they were looking for prickly pear with rifles. They were hunting wild pig. That’s illegal on private land. I’m glad we didn’t run into them.” Maile snorted her derision.
“For once, I’m kinda glad they had guns. How do the cops think it happened?”
“They’re saying he fell. You know Chief Mendoza, can’t find his ass with both hands. Storm, you know those fields. You could break your ankle, but your neck?” Maile’s voice dropped to a near whisper. “And he had scratches on his chest. One of the deputies told Keone it was like he’d been scored, raked by claws. Mendoza says he slid on some rocks before he hit his head.” Aunt Maile finally had to take a breath.
“Maybe he did.”
“Honey, he didn’t have any marks on his head. Uncle Keone asked the deputy. Storm, there was some ancient magic up there. It was Kamapua’a.”
“Now, Aunt Maile….” Despite her conscious rejection of the idea, the hair on the back of Storm’s neck stood up. “Kamapua’a had hooves,” she said. “How could he make claw marks?”
“With those teeth.” Maile sounded exasperated.
Storm caught her breath. There had to be other explanations. “Aunt Maile, some animal probably tried to eat him. There are lots of dogs around the area, some hawks, even the pueo…”
“No, the marks were different, and they were bleeding, so they were caused in a struggle before he died. This deputy is one Hawaiian guy whose family’s been here since Kamehameha I’s time. He told Keone those marks were different than a scavenger’s. And they found him last night, around sunset,” Maile continued. “The rain had stopped by then.”
“Right after I saw that thing.” Storm made an effort to breathe deeply, calmly. “Aunt Maile, what have the police said about Kwi Choy? Why did he go off the cliff?”
Storm heard more rattling of the newspaper and Maile cleared her throat. “Well, they said he had a blood alcohol level above the legal limit.”
“See, it was an accident.” Storm felt marginally better.
“Storm, Kwi’s friends said he came to Hilo only to visit and drink beer with his friends. That deputy that Keone talked to? He told him that Kwi had deposited a big check a few days ago.”
“He got a better job?” Storm’s voice sounded weak, even to her.
Maile didn’t even bother to refute that comment. “Something bad’s goin’ on, I feel it. I’ll do a chant to your ‘aamakaa, then talk to that deputy again.”
“Aunt Maile, thanks, but I want you and Uncle Keone to stay out of this. I’ll tell the police here.”
“Listen to me, Storm.” Maile’s voice had the tone Storm remembered from her early teens. She wasn’t going to heed any young upstarts. “I’ve been around a long time and there are some things which are real hard to explain with modern logic. Sometimes the old legends do a better job.”
“Aunt Maile, you’ve given me some ideas. I’ve got to look into some things over here.”
“You watch out, young lady. Or I’m gonna come over there and take care of you myself.”
“Aunt Maile, really, I will. I’ll talk to you later this week. And Aunt Maile? Thank you.” Storm hung up the phone and stared, wordless, at her reflection in Leila’s kitchen window.
Chapter 20
Leila placed a cup of coffee in front of her friend. “You don’t look so good. Someone else get hurt?”
“Got dead, you mean.” Storm kept her eyes on the blankness of the window.
“Jesus, who?” Leila dropped into the chair across from Storm. “What does Aunt Maile say?”
“It’s a guy from Hilo. He knew the guy who was driving the car that chased me. But Aunt Maile is taking her Hawaiian spirit thing too far this time.”
“She’s usually got both feet solidly on the ground.” Leila raised an eyebrow at Storm.
Storm tried to smile. “It’s hard to imagine a woman her size getting adrift on us, isn’t it?”
Leila grinned. “So, what does she think is going on?”
Storm knew she could tell Leila about the strange sights on the mountainside without Leila thinking she was nuts. Leila knew her family; she also paid attention to Hawaiian lore. Aunt Maile adored her. Storm related the rest of the story, including Aunt Maile’s conclusion that Kamapua’a had protected her from Tong Choy.
Leila sipped at her cup of coffee. “I don’t blame Aunt Maile for being worried. Why was that guy on the mountain with you? You need to tell Detective Fujita the whole story.”
Storm suppressed a shudder at the memory of that lonely road and the crash. “Leila, this has to do with something Uncle Miles discovered.”
Leila’s eyes were dark with worry. “You mean something that was on Lorraine’s list?”
“Someone has stolen or attempted to steal whatever papers Hamasaki might have given me.”
“And it all started with his death?”
“Yup.” Storm chewed a thumbnail. “Leila, it would be just like Hamasaki to make some subtle but threatening comments to Sherwood Overton at Unimed.”
“Why?”
“To get Tom Sakai better treatment. On the other hand, O’Toole probably swore him to secrecy.” She rubbed her eyes. “I don’t know! I’m too tired to think clearly anymore. I’ve got to go home and get to bed.” She pushed herself slowly to her feet.
Leila walked Storm to the door. “Are you okay to go home?”
“Yes, I asked Hamlin to drive by. He’d call if he saw anything suspicious.”
“Drive carefully, you hear?” Leila hugged her friend.
Storm’s sleep was disturbed with dark dreams. Hamasaki tried to talk to her, but she couldn’t hear what he was saying. Then she sat in a doctor’s office, where someone like O’Toole waved a syringe and ranted on a topic that made all the blood vessels in his neck stand out under his florid skin. Lorraine was there, too, with papers that Storm couldn’t read because for some reason, she couldn’t take her sunglasses off.
When the birds outside the bedroom window began to announce first morning light, Storm opened her gritty eyes with relief. Lorraine had been sitting right on her shoulder, whispering some message into her ear. But Lorraine was speaking a language Storm couldn’t understand and Storm’s heart was pounding with frustration and fear.
She hauled herself upright and shook her aching head. It was early, but she wasn’t getting any more sleep. She’d be better off at the office, distracted by work.
Storm didn’t even bother to turn on the lights in the reception area. In another hour, the rest of the staff would arrive. Let them handle it. Without looking at the chair Lorraine had occupied last week, Storm went to her office and closed the door. She dumped her laptop case on the desk, fired up the espresso machine, and slumped into her chair.
Twenty minutes and a half-cup of coffee later, sh
e began reading and preparing for her morning meeting with the partners. She was halfway through a list of questions for them when the pen she was using ran out of ink. Digging in her purse for her favorite pen, she came up with the Montblanc Uncle Miles had given her. When she pulled it out, a piece of paper was stuck under the clip.
Tom Sakai’s phone number. Oh brother, of all nights to have suggested taking dinner over. With a sigh, she checked her watch. Eight o’clock: with a baby, they’d be up. She picked up the phone and dialed the number. Maybe this wouldn’t be a good evening for them, either. On the other hand, seeing his predicament might jolt her out of her own self-pity.
A woman who introduced herself as Lani answered the phone and cheerfully accepted Storm’s offer. She mentioned that Bebe had told them Storm might call. “It’ll be nice to meet you,” Lani said. Storm could hear children laughing in the background.
She hung up. Lani sounded nice; the visit might not be so bad. She ruffled through a stack of papers and sighed. Maybe she’d make another cup of coffee before she got back to work. No, she’d be wired by the time the partners came by. Tea would hit the spot, the kind she always shared with Uncle Miles.
Somewhere in the corner of the office, she had stowed the box with Uncle Miles’s hand-painted mugs. She found it under a counter with a stack of files piled on top, a sprinkling of dust already covering them. She pulled out a mug and peered inside to see if she needed to wash it out. She did. In fact, coffee residue had formed a sepia stain over the white ceramic and she peered with disgust at what was certainly a cluster of cockroach turds in the goo at the bottom. “Yuck.” She could still smell the sharp odor of stale coffee. She pulled out the others. They were clean; she’d use one of those and soak the dirty one.
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