Isle Be Seeing You (Islands of Aloha Mystery Book 9)

by JoAnn Bassett

  Farrah stepped back. “Wait a sec. I thought you said the moolah was gift, not a loan. You pullin’ a switch-a-roo on us?”

  I wanted to shriek that I was tired of talking about the money and I wished I’d never offered to help. But instead I patiently explained that it was indeed a gift. “As godmother to Hatchie, I insist on you getting your house blessed. It’s for her safety. So the money is a gift to my god-daughter.”

  Ono crossed his arms. “Oh, yeah? Well, what if she’d rather put it in her college fund instead of giving it to a witch doctor?”

  “Don’t go there,” Farrah muttered.

  I broke in to ward off another spat. “Look, this is important to me. I want you to get your home blessed. We can talk about college when the kids are old enough for kindergarten.”

  Farrah brightened. “Will you be coming to the blessing?”

  “I’d love to. When is it?”

  “He said he could come on Friday.”

  Ono wheeled around and headed to the back room. Over his shoulder he said, “Don’t expect to see me there. I think this whole thing’s a scam. That dude looks like a time-share huckster.”

  After Ono was out of earshot, Farrah said, “Ono’s just sayin’ that ‘cuz the kahu’s a babe. Big muscles, groovy bod. I think my man’s jealous.”

  I didn’t want to weigh in on that so I asked her to call me after she’d confirmed the date and time of the blessing.

  “Will do.”

  I was almost out the door when she called me back. “Well, duh. I almost forgot what I was gonna tell you.”

  As I walked toward her, she crooked a finger indicating she wanted me to come closer. “Don’t want big ears and even bigger mouths to hear this.” Since there were no customers I figured what she meant was she didn’t want her husband to hear.

  “Remember I tol’ you Finn called Ono the other night?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Ono doesn’t know it, but I heard what they said. Walls in our place are super-model thin.”

  “Okay.”

  “Your man asked my man if he knew a lawyer.”

  “What? Is Finn in trouble?”

  “Don’t think so. I heard Ono say, ‘what kind of lawyer,’ and then he kinda yelled, ‘A divorce?’ Then there was a pause, like Finn said something.’ Before he hung up, Ono said, ‘I’ll ask around and get you a name.’”

  I stumbled out of the Gadda as if I’d been sampling the wares in the liquor aisle. Finn was looking to hire a divorce lawyer? I had to force air into my lungs as I walked back to my shop. In ten minutes James would be arriving for our trip to the jail.

  James pulled up in front of the shop and honked his horn a few minutes later. I usually take offence at guys honking and expecting me to skip outside, but then again, this wasn’t a date.

  “Sorry about not coming in,” he said as I slid into the passenger seat of his fancy Mercedes. “There’s never any parking around here.”

  “You can park in the alley.”

  “The sign says it’s private property and I’ll get towed.”

  “Since when do attorneys follow rules? Isn’t that what they teach you in law school—always try to get away with everything you can?”

  He shot me a stern look. “Do you have any idea how sick I am of people putting down lawyers?”

  I mumbled an apology and told him he was welcome to park in the alley anytime he wanted. It seemed everyone in my life had suddenly become incredibly thin-skinned. Or had I somehow lost my aloha?

  We rode in silence for a few minutes, allowing the sting of the squabble to pass, and then I asked, “Can you bring me up to speed on what you hope to accomplish this morning?”

  “I want to get my stubborn brother to retract his confession and plead ‘not guilty’ at the arraignment.”

  “And why did you ask me to come along?” I was fully prepared for him to say something churlish like, “I’m sorry I did,” but he surprised me.

  “Because you’re his closest confidant. He trusts you. If anyone can get him to talk about what really happened in that garage, it’s you. ”

  Whoa. I wasn’t expecting such a vote of confidence. I couldn’t help but wonder what my sifu had told James that gave him the notion we were such close friends. Sure, we shared hush-hush tea now and then, and I’d been training at the PoP longer than any other black belt, but didn’t Doug have a guy friend higher up the pecking order?

  “Do you know if the police went after Doug because he’s the spouse or is there more?”

  “Unfortunately, there seems to be a lot more. The cops found a recently fired handgun at the scene and it has my brother’s fingerprints all over it. ”

  “Where would Doug get a gun?”

  “It’s an M9 Berretta, the service weapon issued to Army Rangers. Doug must’ve got it when he was in Special Forces.”

  “They get to keep their guns?”

  “No, they’re supposed to turn them in, but since Doug stayed on in the reserves, it probably fell through the cracks.”

  We turned into the jail parking lot and James found a spot right away. Without saying anything, he opened the console between our seats and took out a small white box the size of a fat stick of butter. He ripped the box open, shook out a roll of gauze and began wrapping his right hand like a boxer getting ready to put on the gloves.

  “What’re you doing?”

  “Hang on, you’ll see.”

  With his hand completely swathed in gauze, he gestured to the back seat. “You mind carrying my briefcase? I’m kinda laid up here.”

  We got out and I opened the back door and pulled out an expensive-looking calfskin briefcase. It was starting to dawn on me what he was doing, but I held off saying anything since I was pretty sure the jail not only had surveillance cameras but maybe even sensitive listening equipment, as well.

  He took long strides and I had to hustle to keep up, especially since I was favoring my burned foot. When we got to the door, he leaned in. “I’ll do the talking.”

  We stood there as if waiting for the door to magically open before James said, “Mind getting the door?”

  I pulled the door open and waited as James entered first. Although I firmly believe in women’s rights and the new world order, it felt odd to stand aside and hold the door open for a guy my own age. Especially one with a fake injury.

  James approached a plate glass window with a uniformed guard sitting behind it. He leaned down to speak into a round metal piece in the glass. “I’m James Kanekoa, attorney for Douglas Kanekoa. I’m here to see my client before his arraignment hearing this morning.”

  The guard said something I couldn’t hear and pointed at me. James went on, “This is Pali Moon, my paralegal.” He held up his bandaged hand. “I’ve banged myself up a little and she’ll be taking notes for me.”

  James’ little fib slipped from his tongue like honey dripping off a hot spoon. I couldn’t help but wonder why he’d taken such offense at me chastising him about the reputation of the legal profession when he was already planning this audacious bit of playacting. But then again, truth often bites deeper than fiction.

  The guard looked wary as he asked for my ID. I slid my driver’s license through the slot in the window and he peered at it as if trying to decide if it was fake.

  “What’d you say your name was?”

  I sighed. My name is an ongoing point of contention. My legal name is a long jumble of astronomical gibberish my parents foisted on me at birth. They’re both deceased, but their pakalolo-fueled hippie legacy lives on.

  “That’s my birth name, but I go by Pali for short.”

  He pointed at the license. “What kinda language is that? Russian?”

  “No, actually I think it’s Greek.”

  “You’re Greek? Like the yogurt?”

  I looked at James, hoping he’d jump in and stop the inane discussion of my name, but he appeared amused rather than eager to help out.

  “I never knew you had a classy Gree
k name.” He motioned to the guard to return the license. “Let me see that.”

  “It’s not ‘classy.’ I was named for a group of stars.”

  He stared at my license. “Ah, the Pleiades. I remember studying the Seven Sisters in astronomy.”

  I shot him my most winsome look. “Mr. Kanekoa, I think our client is waiting.”

  “True.”

  After leaving our cell phones and “weapons” (which in my case was a tiny Swiss Army knife I carry for wedding emergencies) at the jail entrance, we were led to a ten-foot-square room with a metal table and two straight-backed metal chairs bolted to the floor. The guard asked if we needed another chair.

  James declined. “We won’t be long.”

  When the guard left, James said, “Have a seat. Does your foot still hurt?”

  “Probably a lot more than your hand.”

  “Point taken. Anyway, I want you sitting since you’ll be the one taking notes. And, be prepared, Doug will be shackled.”

  I sat down and stiffened my spine as Doug was led into the room. His head was down and he was dressed in a baggy orange jumpsuit that hung on his body like a kid wearing his dad’s pajamas. James had told me to be prepared. Unfortunately, there was no way to prepare for what Doug was about to ask me to do.

  CHAPTER 14

  “Why’d you bring her here?” Sifu Doug demanded right off the bat. “I specifically told you I didn’t want visitors.”

  James shot a furtive look at the guard outside the glass door. “Keep it down. She’s my paralegal.” He held up his bogus-bandaged hand. “I brought her along to help me take notes.”

  Doug’s eyes bore into me with the same intensity he reserves for final tournament matches. I’d never been on the receiving end of his “you’re a dead man walking” glare, and I have to admit it’s exceedingly effective.

  “Your arraignment is this morning,” I said by way of attempting to focus on the task at hand.

  “You don’t think I know that?”

  “We don’t want you to plead guilty.”

  Doug looked up at James. “I can’t think straight with the both of you here.”

  I began to stand up.

  “No, you stay. I want my brother to leave.”

  James leaned on the table and spoke in a whispered but urgent voice. “I’m your lawyer. The only reason we have this private room is because of that fact. You kick me out and she’s nothing more than a jailhouse visitor, like that.” He snapped his fingers. “No more privacy, no more unlimited time. So, if you want me to leave, I’ll leave. But we leave together.”

  Doug glowered at James. “You’re a friend of the court, right?”

  “No, I’m an officer of the court. Big difference.”

  “But you’re sworn to uphold the law. If I say something incriminating, you’ll be forced to tell them.”

  “Okay, brudda, that’s not how it works. First of all, you’ve already confessed so there’s not much more you could say that would make things worse for you. And second, I’m your attorney. We have attorney/client privilege which means I can’t be forced to disclose what you say to me while I’m representing you.”

  James hooked a thumb my way. “Which is more than you have with Pali. She can be forced to testify against you.”

  Doug leveled his gaze at me. “But she wouldn’t.”

  I squirmed. The clock on the wall ticked like a countdown to Armageddon.

  After about six ticks of the clock, Doug went on, “Okay, how about this? I’m going to ask Pali to do something for me. I want her to write it down and follow it exactly as I say it. Meanwhile, I want you to back off. Don’t ask her what it means, and don’t badger her about it later. Understood?”

  I was glad I was on the receiving end of the secret request because it would’ve killed me to have been in James’ shoes. I’m not good with letting sleeping dogs lie. In fact, I’ve been known to kick a metaphorical sleeping pit bull in the private parts even though there was no doubt in my mind that the resulting bite was going to hurt—a lot.

  “You ready?” Doug said.

  I poised pen to paper like a mid-century secretary about to launch into shorthand.

  “Tea stash at guan. Pink key. Empty it.”

  “Pinkie?” James echoed.

  Doug shook his head. “Pali knows what it means.”

  I wrote it down even though there was no chance I’d forget those eight words. I looked up and said, “Okay, but what about your arraignment?”

  “What about it?”

  I looked up at the clock. “It’s in a little more than an hour.”

  “Yeah.”

  James chimed in. “Are you willing to plead ‘not guilty’?”

  “I’ve already confessed. Isn’t it a little late to go claiming I’m innocent?”

  “No, because it’s always smart to keep ‘em guessing. If you plead ‘not guilty,’ we have a shot at getting the confession thrown out.”

  “I’m not going to change my mind.”

  “Fine. But let’s not burn any bridges, okay? Will you let me enter a ‘not guilty’ plea?”

  Doug blew out a breath. “It’s your show.” He turned to me, “In the meantime, do what I said. You’ll understand once you see what’s in there.”

  I promised I would. I reached across to give Doug’s hand a squeeze, but James gripped my forearm to stop me. “Don’t touch the client.”

  I checked out the guard, who was seemingly catching a few winks as he leaned against the thick glass window outside. “Like he’d notice.”

  James nodded toward the upper corner of the room where a steady red light about the size of a pencil eraser glowed almost undetectable against the dark metal corner beam.

  “I thought you said this was a private meeting,” I said.

  “Private, but they watch on video. They don’t record voices but they keep a close eye on everything that goes on.”

  “So, then it’s not private, is it? I mean, if they’re watching your every move.”

  “Welcome to the Alice in Wonderland world of American criminal justice.”

  ***

  James dropped me off at my shop obviously peeved Doug had trusted me, rather than him, with vital information.

  “You know, clients are sometimes their own worst enemy. I’d like a call when you find what he sent you for.”

  I didn’t respond.

  As I slid into the driver’s seat of my own car it dawned on me it was fortunate my sifu had been arrested at work rather than at his home because the house had been sealed by the police. Breaking into a crime scene is a big-deal offense.

  I pulled into the alley behind the PoP. The notice cancelling all classes was still on the door but thankfully the door wasn’t sealed. I used my pass key to get in. The place had been locked up for more than three days making the aroma of sweaty feet and disinfectant more pungent than ever.

  I went straight to my sifu’s office hoping he’d left his keys on the desk. I sifted through a clutter of bills, equipment receipts and martial arts newsletters hoping to hear the clink of metal on metal, but no luck.

  Then it occurred to me. He must’ve hidden his key ring. What had he been thinking in those last moments before he’d been whisked off to jail? They’d processed the scene after he’d been arrested, so maybe they’d taken the keys as evidence. But evidence of what? It wasn’t a crime to have keys to your own home and business, even if you’d just confessed to a heinous act.

  Tea stash, pink key. Just for the heck of it I tried opening the bottom desk drawer but, as expected, it was locked. I started rifling through the file cabinet when I heard someone at the back door.

  “Aloha, anybody here?”

  I shoved the file drawer shut and entered the practice room to see who’d come in. I couldn’t immediately put a name to the face, but I recognized the woman as one of the mothers from the keiki class I’d taught the week before.

  “Aloha, can I help you?”

  “Do you know when
Sifu Doug will start up classes again?”

  I was about to say something snide, like, “You want a wife killer to teach your kid martial arts?” but then realized not only would that be rude, it didn’t ring true. I didn’t believe Doug killed Lani, but I had a hunch he knew who did. And he was protecting them. The thorny question was: who? Which led to an even thornier question: why?

  I held out hope I’d be able to answer both questions once I found that bright pink key.

  CHAPTER 15

  After a few minutes of reassuring the keiki class mom that everything would be back to normal in a week or two, she left and I got down to the serious task of tearing the guan apart. I emptied drawers, upended trash cans, and rolled up the practice room mats checking to see if Doug had deliberately hidden his keys from the cops.

  Once I was certain the keys weren’t in the practice room, I turned off the lights and headed back to the office. Forget the keys. I’d try jimmying the flimsy drawer lock. I began digging through my beach bag purse trying to find a screwdriver, letter opener or any other tool capable of picking a lock. As I dug, a memory flashed to mind like one of Doug’s annoying fluorescent tubes sparking to life after a half-dozen flickers and sputters.

  The metal coffee can on the back shelf.

  Doug’s main stash was in the drawer, but he always kept a ready supply of tea in that can.

  I pulled the coffee can off the back shelf, shook it, and was rewarded by a metallic clink. I snapped off the plastic lid and retrieved the wad of keys hidden under a layer of pungent vegetable matter.

  “Doug’s pakalolo tea always calms me down,” I whispered to myself. “I hope whatever’s in that locked drawer can do the same.”

  I flipped through the keys until I located the one with the bright pink plastic cap. I peeked out into the dark practice room just to be sure another black belt hadn’t quietly slipped in while I was muttering to myself.

  I unlocked the bottom drawer and fished around for the plastic bag containing the pakalolo. It didn’t seem reasonable that, under the circumstances, Doug was all that worried about the police finding his marijuana stash but it was a good place to start. I dug out a jumbled mess that included crusted plastic containers still holding remnants of lunches brought from home, a bag of brightly-colored mouth guards, and a stack of equipment catalogs. The bag of pot was tucked at the very back of the drawer. There were also two manila envelopes. I was about to take them out and see what was in them when I heard someone at the back door.