by Kay Hadashi
“I checked at the college the other day and they have GED completion classes. The counselor made it sound like I could finish in just a few months. She said it would probably be free for me, also. But I think she said that when they saw the kids with me. She might’ve got the idea I’m a teenage mother.”
“Ha! Well, for several hours a day five days a week, you are a single mother, I suppose. Mother to somebody else’s kids.”
“They even gave me all these brochures about staying off drugs and cleaning up my act, and how there are all kinds of therapists and group therapy stuff I can join.”
The mention of ‘group therapy’ took Melanie back to her high-stress Air Force days.
“Have you been using? I mean…”
“Am I stoned when I have your kids? No. I don’t use, Melanie. My mom would kill me if I did, and so would Uncle Nate. But even so, I don’t have interest in that stuff. I saw too many kids at school who got too screwed up with that stuff.”
“Nothing at all?” Melanie asked, hesitantly. She wasn’t sure why she bothered asking since Georgie had already been hired and was fitting in well.
“Maybe I tried pot once or twice but that was a long time ago. It just made me dizzy. I have no idea why people take pills or smoke meth. Seems stupid to me.”
“Me too. You knew a lot of kids that smoked it?”
“A few. Melanie, why is it the worst kind of drug to use is one of the cheapest?”
“I don’t know. I wish it were a hundred times more difficult to make and buy. People might quit using the stuff.”
“It’s even cheaper here on Maui than in Honolulu. Even when I had the kids with me, some dude came up and tried selling me the stuff outside the mall the other day. That happens to me all the time.”
“Did you report him to mall security?” Melanie asked.
“They went to look for him. I just wanted to get the kids away from that guy.”
Melanie was uncovering a new layer of responsibility and maturity in the girl she didn’t know was there. “You know, it might be your dreadlocks and facial jewelry that attract those people.”
“That’s what Mom’s always saying. But just because I have dreads doesn’t mean I’m turning tricks so I can buy a fifty dollar bag of meth.”
“Is that how much it costs?”
“Those little gram baggies, yeah. Sixty in Honolulu.”
“How much do the big bags cost?” Melanie asked.
“What big bags?”
“Like sandwich bag size?”
“Dude, wow! Nobody buys it in that size! Only mules move meth in bags that size. Who has that much of the stuff?”
“Oh, I heard some gossip about a large batch of meth that had been found.”
“How much was there?” Georgie asked.
“Four sandwich bags filled with the smaller gram packets, each a quarter pound.”
“A full pound of meth? Dude, that’s like twenty thousand dollars on the street! I bet it was going to Honolulu in a private boat with a bunch more.”
“You’re right. It was found in a boat.” Melanie decided not to go into the details of the dead con artists.
“That totally sounds like something Cabbie would do.”
“Cabbie?”
“Yeah, Carlos Cabrera. He’s like Hawaii’s biggest drug mule, taking stuff from one island to another in his cabin cruiser.”
“If he’s so famous, why don’t the police do something about him?” Melanie wasn’t sure why she was asking a seventeen-year-old these questions and not her uncle, the police detective. “Or the DEA?”
“They usually move the stuff late at night, trying to look like fishermen.”
“Fishermen?” Melanie asked.
“Yeah, you’re vegetarian, so you don’t know about fishing. I know a kid in Honolulu whose dad fishes a lot when he’s out of work. He goes out at night because the fishing can be better then, and comes back first thing in the morning with his catch. Drug mules use the same kind of boats as the fishermen, even putting poles and lines out to look legit. The fishermen use real boat ramps, but the mules dock at public marinas or at little docks in the middle of nowhere, sometimes just at the beach.”
“How do you know all that about drug mules?”
There was a moment before Georgie answered. “I guess I knew other kids whose dads…people have to make ends meet and Hawaii is expensive. Not everybody does things legit, you know?”
“Unfortunately, I do know. None of this is new, Georgie. The drugs might be different, but the methods are still the same.”
“Talk to Uncle Nate. He’ll tell you how smart those guys are. I bet he even raided Cabbie’s boat once or twice when he was still working HPD nark.”
“So, this Cabbie guy has been in business for a while?”
“For as long as I can remember. Uncle would know all that, though. But Melanie? Be careful around those guys. They’re some pretty scary dudes.”
“I don’t plan on going anywhere near them.”
Melanie’s next call was to someone she had never met in person but knew quite well. He was the man who managed her father’s old intelligence and security company, something she now owned but in name only. Bruce was good for favors every now and then. They caught up on news about the baby and Thérèse.
“Bruce, you didn’t need to send my mother-in-law flowers. She was thrilled to see the sender name of the Melendez family, though.”
“I know, but how else am I supposed to brownnose the owner of the company if I never see you in person?”
“Just keep digging into people’s pasts for me. In fact, I have a name you can look into, if you have the time?”
“I always have the time for you.”
“It’s Carlos Cabrera, aka Cabbie, age unknown, maybe Filipino, location is somewhere in the Hawaiian Islands.”
There was the clacking of his fingers on a keyboard. “What’s his story?”
“Anything to do with meth, especially trafficking.”
“New boyfriend? Josh not exciting enough for you?”
“I’m ready for a little less excitement from Josh and his family. Think you can find something on this Cabbie guy?”
“Give me a day or two to build a file. It might not be much. I do have some good news for you, though.”
“I’m ready for some. What is it? You’ve found Ozzy Simpson’s current home address?”
“Not that good. I’ve found Colleen Anderson’s trail. She was in Phoenix up until two weeks ago and has since disappeared again.”
“What is she running from?” Melanie asked. “She wasn’t responsible for what happened at the golf course a while back.”
“Maybe she thinks she was. Plus, there is nothing in her background that would make her return to Maui. She started out in San Francisco, then LA, then Maui. Then it was Phoenix for a few months. I doubt you’ll ever see her again.”
“It’s almost like she’s on her own little pro tour, but she seems like she’s running from something.”
“Or someone,” Bruce said. “I’ll send that file in the next couple of days by email.”
She called Detective Nakatani back to discuss what she learned from his niece, Georgie.
“Cabbie Cabrera has been on our radar for a long time, Mayor. I really don’t want you concerned with him.”
“I’m not going to go look for him. Honestly, I’m too tired and too busy to go chasing after your perps.”
“Mayor, I appreciate all your help, and for digging through those reports, and finding out about the teddy bear coming from that toy store, but please stay out of the rest of the investigation. You’re not a suspect. That means don’t cause trouble for yourself by snooping around in my investigation.”
She ignored him. “What did you learn in the pharmacy? Were you able to decipher the signature?”
“What did I just say about staying uninvolved?”
“Come on. Just tell me what you think of the name and I’ll leave you alone.”<
br />
“Okay, to me, it looked like it could be Simmons, Sampson, or even Simpson. It’s just a little too swirly to read the tail end of it.”
“But the first name is definitely Katie?”
“Mayor, you do realize I’m home now and would like to enjoy my dinner with my family for the first time in a week?”
She laughed. “That’s more often than I see mine!”
Chapter Twelve
By the time Melanie was home on Monday afternoon, all she wanted was a nap. Before she hit the bed, she had a couple of calls to make.
“I just picked up Thérèse from preschool and we decided to have ice cream in Lahaina,” Georgie said. “Ice cream is okay, right?”
“Just one scoop. How’s Chance?”
“He’s fine. He sure likes going out in his backpack carrier and meeting people.”
“He’s already turning into a charmer. Should I come meet you guys somewhere?” Melanie asked. It was a trade-off between spending part of a quiet afternoon with the kids and getting a long overdue nap.
“We’re fine. See you at dinner.”
Next, Melanie called Josh.
“You’re already at the hospital? You should’ve called me when you got there. I just got home.”
“The nurse said you visited Mom a couple times today. How is she doing? Really?” he asked.
“Still doing just fine. You need to listen to her doctor and not me. I’m not taking care of her, just visiting whenever I can. I thought you and Pop had checkups this afternoon?”
“In light of what’s happened to Mom, we decided it was best to stick close to her. We can reschedule.”
“Josh! You know better than that. I also know you’re trying to use your mother as an excuse for not going to your doctor appointments. If anything, you should now see the value of having a regular physical.” Melanie shook her head, irritated by his resistance. “Is it too late for one of you to go see Doctor Reyes?”
“The appointments were about an hour ago.”
“Are you able to be an adult and reschedule?” she asked.
“Why? Are you worried about something?”
“Of course I’m worried. You and Pop have a great big ol’ lesson in an ICU bed right in front of you. Be smart and learn from it.”
Next, she called Detective Nakatani.
“Did you look into that Cabbie Cabrera’s activities on the island?”
“From what we can tell, he’s still active. The good news is that some of the prints we collected from that rowboat were his. Our current thinking is that he was using that to ferry drugs back and forth between beaches and his cabin cruiser. We’re checking out a few other beaches around the island for rowboats.”
“And then confiscate them?” Melanie asked.
“Can’t really do that without probable cause related to a real crime, but if they happen to get big holes punched in the bottoms, we wouldn’t be heartbroken.”
“What if the boats are owned by legit citizens?”
“We check them for fingerprints on the spot. If we find any prints left by known mules or pushers, too bad for the boat. Most likely the thing had been stolen anyway. It won’t solve any trafficking problems, but if we can quietly and unofficially harass the jerks a little, it might rattle them just enough to make a mistake. That’s all unofficial, of course.”
“Of course,” she said. “I have a question about the baggies that you found my fingerprints on. Were they the large sandwich size or the small individual one-gram packets?”
“The larger size. Why?”
“Heavy-duty with green and yellow double zip locking?”
“If I remember correctly, yes.”
“Well, I checked and that’s the size we use at home.”
“I know. My crime scene investigators found a large box of them the day they collected evidence at your home a while back. That doesn’t mean much, though. What’s meaningful to me is how two of your fingerprints got on the inside of one.”
“I’ve thought about that a dozen times and I just can’t come up with anything. Unless they took one from the trash in the hospital cafeteria after I threw it away. But I generally take them home to rinse out and use a second time.”
“Mayor, are you for real?”
“What do you mean?”
“You honestly reuse plastic sandwich bags?”
“Sure, if they’re not too grubby. We live on a small island out in the middle of the ocean and I need to set an example in reducing the amount of trash we Mauians generate. Anyway, if you’ve ever been out surfing and came across plastic crap floating in the water, you’d know what I mean.”
“Back to something I understand. Can you think of any other way somebody might’ve got their hands on your sandwich bags?”
“You make it sound dirty, Detective. But honestly, no. That box of baggies has been there since I was a teenager growing up in the house. I bet if your crime scene techs checked, they could find my mother’s fingerprints on it. There have been various other residents in the house over the years, mostly while I was in the Air Force and again while I was on the mainland for medical training. One of my cousins lived here for several years, and Trinh lived with me until Josh moved in after we were married. I trust my cousin and Trinh not to be drug mules, and as much of a pain in the butt he is lately, I seriously doubt Josh could ever be implicated in something like that. He’s such a Boy Scout, I doubt he can even spell meth.”
“Anybody else ever live in the house with you? Long-term guests? Live-in boyfriends?”
“No. I had exactly three boyfriends before Josh. Michael Collins, my old CO, and he’s dead. Some other guy I dated so briefly that I barely remember his name, and he never did spend the night at my house.” Thinking of the third man felt like slamming into a brick wall.
“Who’s the other one?” Nakatani asked.
“Andrew.”
“As in Andrew Carson? He lived with you?”
“Is this a part of your official investigation or are you looking for gossip?” she asked.
“A little of both, if I can manage it.”
“He would spend the weekend sometimes. More often, I’d spend time at his condo.”
“Why more at his place?”
“He didn’t like my house. He thought these older houses weren’t dignified enough for him. And that was when Trinh was still living with me, along with her kids. He didn’t like them at all.”
“Why not?” he asked.
“Her son, Wilson, was sort of kolohe as a little guy. Still is a little rascal if he doesn’t have enough to do, something Thérèse is learning from him. The kids were noisy, and for whatever reason, he really doesn’t like Trinh at all.”
“I’ve always liked her. The couple of times I’ve been around her kids, they seemed as well-behaved as any other kids these days.”
“That doesn’t carry much weight with Andrew. To him, kids are to be seen, not heard, and in a private boarding school in another state would be best.”
“Getting back to sandwich bags, is there any reason for him to have some of yours?” Nakatani asked.
Melanie heard Trinh park her car outside and waved for her to come in.
“Sure. I remember sending leftovers home with him. That’s what girlfriends do, send crap home with the boyfriend because we feel insecure.”
“Insecure about what?” he asked.
“We’re afraid he might forget about us and we don’t know what to do about it.”
“First, you don’t strike me as ever being insecure about anything, and second, he doesn’t strike me as the type to eat leftovers.”
“He’s not. In fact, there were a couple of times that I found the leftovers I sent with him in my trash can outside the back door the next day.”
“That’s rude.”
“That’s Andrew.”
Trinh came in and Melanie filled her in on what she was talking to Nakatani about with the sandwich bags.
“Don’t you remem
ber that time right before you guys broke up, when Scarlet was into beads?” Trinh said. “She was making all kinds of bead stuff for people. Beaded key fobs, beaded belts, bead bracelets. Anyway, she was halfway through making some little thing for him when he decided to go home. But she insisted on sending the thing with him, along with all the beads he would need to finish it. She even put the different colors of beads in separate bags.”
“What kind of bags?” Melanie asked.
“Oh, you gave her some of those sandwich bags in the kitchen. What is that, a box of a million?”
Melanie went back to her phone call with Detective Nakatani. “Did you hear that?”
“I heard enough of it.”
“But you seriously don’t think he’s a part of some meth operation, do you?”
“Stranger things have happened. Mayor, thanks again for your help. What you just told me gives this investigation some new direction, just when it was looking like it was coming to a dead end. Thanks.”
“What’s that all about?” Trinh asked, once Melanie was done with her call.
“Nothing. Want to go for a swim?”
“Pool or ocean?”
“Pool. I need laps and the surf is flat today,” Melanie said.
When Trinh went home to get her things for a swim, Melanie found a green and purple competition swimsuit, perfect for taking laps at the local pool. She tossed it in her gym bag along with a pair of goggles and a stretchy green vinyl cap. She felt nostalgic seeing the colors of her old high school.
“You know what?” she muttered to herself. “Nakatani told me not to get involved but I can’t help it.”
She started digging through a hall closet for a box. Dragging that out, she poked around until she found her old high school yearbooks. She went to the index at the back of one.
“Katie Simpson, Katie Simpson, where are you? There. Kathryn Simpson. Page one-eighty-seven.” She went to page 187 and found Katie’s picture. There was even a cutesy message handwritten below the picture. “Yeah, I guess I remember you. But were we good enough friends that I let you write something in my yearbook? What did you write?”