From the Heart

by Eva Shaw

  “Yes. I was no longer going to live with regrets. I was going to reinvent myself if I had to and choose happiness.”

  “So?”

  “Well, he was the guy who spread the word about campus that I was one of those fast girls, you know what I mean.”

  Henry took a measured breath, smoothed the front of his Hawaiian shirt that shouted “tourist” and he looked like he bought it for that reason. Henry knew how to have fun. “Look inside you. What would you tell that beautiful lady who is you to do if she were your best friend?”

  “Are you always this astute? I’d tell her to go and kick butt if anyone was rude to her.”

  “That sounds like smart counsel. You need a date for tonight?”

  “Date? Why, I rather doubt if I could find . . . oh, you mean you. Professor Angieski, would you do me the honor of attending what will be one of the most boring but soul-satisfying evenings of my life?”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Dobson-Wainwright. I would love to.” We shook hands and laughed.

  “Now that this is settled, Nica, what else is up? I can see it in your face.”

  By now, we’d walked over to a coffee cart and with tall iced coffees in hand, we headed toward the beach. I slipped out of my sandals, as did Henry, and we stood in the shallow, warm waves and let the foam tingle our ankles. “I just heard from a woman who swears she’s Jimmy March’s daughter.”

  “Quite possible, wouldn’t be the first, would it? So?”

  “She’s sure Jimmy didn’t commit suicide, even though she doesn’t know where he was buried. She seems certain that he was murdered.”

  “Hog wash,” he sniffed.

  “That’s what I thought, too, but this woman knows more than regular people might. I could tell. She really believes what she’s saying. She wants me to find out how Jimmy died—well, more honestly, who killed him and where he’s buried.”

  “May I be the voice of reason? Have you thought what could happen if the Federal Bureau of Investigation got wind of how you may be interfering in a case that has long been buried? They might frown on what you’re doing, especially since you’re on medical leave.”

  “Henry, what do you believe?” I asked, dodging children dashing into the surf, then heading back toward the hotel. “What if I were to ask a few questions—which was all I planned to do? Could I sleep at night with Diamond fresh on my conscience if I didn’t at least do that?”

  “Yes, you could, but do you want to?” he asked.

  “What is it called when Christians only come to the aid of another when it’s easy?” I wondered out loud, wondering if I was in that group.

  Henry nodded. “Convenient Christian. Be careful, will you, honey?”

  “I’m careful.”

  “You are trained for investigations. Can you stop yourself with a few questions? Besides, who are you going to ask?”

  I dusted the sparkling white powdery-soft sand from my feet. “Maybe I’ve been hanging out with Cousin Jane too long, but would you introduce me to any musicians who are still hanging around the Island—that is, those who may have known Jimmy March after you kicked him out of Slam Dunk? Maybe some will have a different view on what happened to the infamous March Man. Maybe he really did orchestrate his disappearance. Maybe he really didn’t want to make Lanie Dupris his bride? Maybe others were after him? Will we ever really know?”

  He nodded and shrugged. “I do know one thing . . . I’m still in touch with a couple guys from the old days who live in the Islands. But let’s deal with that tomorrow because we’re going to a high school reunion. Shouldn’t I pretend to be your sugar daddy? Or I could be some foreign dignitary who doesn’t speak any language that these folks could possibly know. Better yet, since you’ve got more money than you know what to do with, how about if I’m a gigolo?”

  As we waited for the elevator, I gave my gigolo-for-the-evening a daughterly hug. “No wonder Jane, Harmony, and that little dog are nuts about you. You can make even my bad moods turn around.”

  “That’s my job, honey.” He chuckled.

  Chapter 3

  Have you attended your twentieth reunion yet? To call it “interesting” doesn’t even cover it, does it? It’s actually like being on the freeway, seeing a fender bender accident and watching the two drivers get into a fist fight. You don’t want to look, but you know you have to.

  Henry, my self-appointed gigolo for the evening, and I waltzed into the auditorium at Kukui High School arm in arm, as all good committed, even for the evening, couples should. The room felt about half the size as when I graduated two decades before. But instead of the senior-prom crepe paper streamers and tables with cheesy decoration, the place actually was decorated to look like a supper club, if one stretched their imagination. A lot.

  A case on which I was assigned before the one Pastor Angieski nearly blew, a sting operation that took years to set up, was to investigate a talent agency in Vegas that bilked pretty little high school girls out of their parents’ money. They even had pre-teen girls supposedly filming parts in a bogus soap opera to swindle more money, insisting if these children had just a bit more training they could be stars. Of course, the company sold this specialized training to the girls and their mommies and it certainly was not cheap. Back then, I’d been on more than my share of photo shoots and dumpy TV sets, and this looked just like one. We scribbled our names on badges. I placed mine beneath the square neckline of my little black dress and Henry’s went on the lapel of his dinner jacket. Surrounded in a sea of aloha wear, we stuck out, and in this crowd, I was relieved to see I had grown up.

  “Nikky? Oh, my, how you’ve grown. It’s Nikky Ticky right?” A bald man, round as he was tall, pulled me into an embrace and I thought Henry was going to get in there, too. But Henry was agile and smart, taking three steps back. The man continued laughing and talking. “I would have recognized you anywhere. You look just the same, except I think you’re taller. Oh, ha, ha, ha. You don’t know me, do you?” The hulk kept his hand over his name badge, then pulled it down and grabbed me closer. “Eddie Munro. I was on the football team—okay, I warmed the bench, but I got a jersey. And I was on the team with your sweetie, Payton Yu.”

  “Eddie, my goodness. It has been forever, and to put the record straight, I’ve never been nor will I ever be Payton Yu’s sweetie.” I stepped back and God bless Henry, he took my arm. Mind you, Henry is about three inches shorter than I, but he’s older and apparently Eddie respected that.

  “Not what he’s telling everyone.” And he pointed across the room.

  I could see his back, see him glad handing our follow graduates like he was running for election, and of course, there were a half dozen women around him, one with her arm over his shoulder.

  “Steady, girl,” Henry yelled over the band. “I’ll get us something to drink. Sparkling water, as I remember for you?”

  In the other direction, pulled away from the in-crowd, I thought I recognized a few of the kids in my nerd squad, and as I was about to head that direction, someone pulled my arm. “You made it,” Payton said.

  “Wouldn’t miss this for the world. I can’t promise I’ll be at the picnic and the beach day this weekend, but since I was in town . . . ”

  He was wearing Teva sandals, dark slacks, and a white silk aloha shirt that played up the amber color of his skin. In my four-inch strappy gold high heels, I towered over him and that, honestly, felt good. His face seemed to be glowing, probably from the idol worship he’d just lapped up.

  “You look wonderful, Nica.” He gave me the once over, not like a piece of meat, which I expected, but like a human person. That was a first.

  “As do you, Payton. Enjoying yourself, as always.”

  “As always? These are my people, you know. These were your people at one time,” he said and looked into my eyes. For too long, actually.

 
“Lots has happened since high school,” I replied and tried to break the spell, but in my heart, a tiny cloud of doubt formed. Had I, in my haste to leave all things troubling from my time in Hawaii, forgotten about the precious things I had learned?

  As if, darned it all, he was reading my mind, he said, “You might find a piece of yourself if you hang out with us. Besides, there,” Payton pointed, “is Skeets, I mean Brandon Breckenridge. He was valedictorian, remember? He’s now a pilot for Hawaiian Air and he and his wife, Maggie—think she graduated a year after us—just started a shelter for battered kids even though they have three of their own. And over there? Remember Cords Mueller? He’s a dad of six keikis, um, kids that is. Imagine having six little ones and he works for the Navy out of Pearl Harbor and married D’Sheila Walters, that girl he was always drooling over in homeroom and chemistry class. Ronda Yamaha is standing next to him, you’ve got to remember her. She was a cheerleader, the one that did cartwheels down the hall? Now she’s a cardiologist at Queen’s Hospital. Mini Pohaku, think he played guard on the team, yeah one of those guys who tumbles into everyone and he’s still bigger than three of me, well, he took over the family child care business when his dad retired last year and the company’s doing better than ever.”

  “Then there’s you, Payton,” I said, and since my cancer I try to always tell the truth so that is how it came out. The comment hung in the air. If Payton wanted to be rude, he could. I probably would have if someone had said that to me.

  His lips moved into a crooked and charming smile. His forehead crinkled and he winked at me. “Yep, good for nothin’ as always, Nikky. I think in the yearbook my title was: guy who would amount to li’ili’i or ‘little’ as we say in other official language of Hawaii—that is, English.”

  I happened to look across the room and there stood the two bodyguards from the earlier encounter. “Those guys must think you’re important.”

  “Naw, they’re here to humor me, but if you have about a week I could explain everything.”

  “I think I’ll pass on that,” I replied and started to turn away. Whatever Payton Yu had or had not done with his life in the last twenty years had nothing to do with me. I was going to find Henry and leave. Enough of the good old times. But that idea came to an abrupt halt because Henry was walking right up to us, with two glasses of something bubbly.

  He handed one to me and reached out his other hand to Payton. “I’m Henry—”

  “Henry Angieski, wow. The Henry Angieski of Slam Dunk.” Payton shook his hand so fast I thought Henry’s arm might be thrown out of its socket. “I cannot believe this. I’ve been buying your CDs for years. It was my sister, Alana, who turned me on to your music. What are you doing here?” Payton looked around and gestured at the high school auditorium.

  “I was getting this lovely lady a drink,” he said and then laughed. “You’ve got to be Payton Yu. Nica mentioned you.”

  And if you wonder, I wanted to sink right into the floor. Payton’s ego didn’t need to know that I’d discussed our meeting earlier that day and I actually saw the man’s chest puff up a bit. Could this evening get any more embarrassing? Don’t even ask.

  “Me? She talked about me? Oh, sure I was taken aback when we bumped into each other, especially here in Honolulu, but of course she’s here for the reunion.” Payton slapped his forehead.

  “She’s here for a holiday, too,” Henry said, and I felt my breathing regulate again. “I’m just happy to meet you, Mr. Yu.”

  Why on God’s green earth was Henry being so formal with this smart aleck who could barely pass chemistry—and I should know because I was his lab partner. But he just kept it up.

  Payton took a business card out of his shirt pocket, scribbled a number on it, and handed it to Henry. “Call me Payton. Everyone does. I know this is presumptuous of me, Henry, but if while you’re in the city you could do me a huge honor, I’d be really grateful. Alana, like I said, is a big fan. Could I have a car pick you up and you could come to the house to meet her?”

  Oh, goodie, the light bulb just went on. You see, since I arrived on the island and in my effort to totally relax and find myself for myself, I’d refused to watch any news programs or log on to MSN. But I’d seen the signs. They were everywhere. They screamed: Yu for Governor. Or: Make Yu Your Choice. Or: The People for Yu.

  Alana graduated from Kukui High two years before we did. She was the perfect blend of geek and society charmer. She was striking with long straight black hair, big almond-shaped eyes, and true joy about her. I thought back about when I was a freshman. My adoptive dad was a petty officer in the Navy, and we’d just arrived in Honolulu. Me? I was sporting a very bad attitude as a thirteen-year old that was so smart she was attending high school in a place she didn’t want to be. On the first day of school, when the dreaded lunch period arrived, Alana spotted me, came over, and I expected her to be rude, like the other cheerleaders were. Okay, like the entire student body of the high school seemed to me, but of course that was my insecure perception.

  Alana walked up to me, put out her hand, and said something like, “Gosh, I love your red high tops. You’re new, aren’t you? I’m Alana. Come on, Nica. You have to have lunch with me and my friends.”

  You could have knocked me over with a palm frond. She picked up my cafeteria tray and together we walked not to the cheerleaders, but to one of the other cliques, if a science club can be a clique. Within four hours of hating Kukui High School, I found a niche, and while it wasn’t easy being three years younger than everyone, it was because of her that I coped. Until she graduated, she always sought me out if I was alone and made sure I felt welcome whether she was hanging out with the cool kids or the geek squad.

  I finally made the connection. Of course Alana was running for governor of Hawaii. She was smart, I heard she graduated with a law degree from the University of Hawaii, and went on to Stanford for a doctorate international business.

  I realized while I was visiting Memory Lane, Henry and Payton had just made plans for a visit the next day. I didn’t want to wrangle an invitation, but you can be sure I was going to ask Henry all about Alana when he returned.

  “Come on over to the table, Nica and Henry. We’ll make room.” Payton motioned to where there was a gaggle of admirers turning to look and beckon him back.

  God bless Henry. No wonder Jane was devoted to the guy because when he said, “Sorry, man, Nica and I have other plans. And we don’t want to be late,” I wanted to kiss his wrinkled cheek.

  I couldn’t read the expression on Payton’s face, and remember I had tried to become a profiler. Maybe it’s because I still saw him as an obnoxious football player. Yet, for a second, I swear he looked let down. Then it fluttered away and back came a broad smile. Probably disappointed because he couldn’t introduce his new BFF Henry Angieski to his chums? That was my thought, too.

  “Then tomorrow, Henry. Nica? I hope you’ll let me take you to dinner while you’re here in Honolulu,” he said.

  I racked my brain for a good excuse. I’m having a yet another frontal lobotomy. Or, I’m on the next Mars mission and gosh, it leaves tomorrow. And then out of nowhere came, “I’d like that, Payton.” Honestly, it was all I could do not to throttle myself.

  “It’s a date then. You’re at the Hilton, Henry said. I’ll call you.” With that, he shook Henry’s hand once more and leaned forward to kiss me on the cheek, and I leaned into receive it.

  It was official. I was smitten and bitten by the spell of Payton Yu. “Aloha, Payton,” I managed but only felt the warmth linger.

  Chapter 4

  The breeze, the ocean, a view of Diamond Head, and a mug of Kona coffee should be the way to start every single day. I was in paradise. Actually Honolulu, but it’s the same thing, right? I tried to chase away the thoughts the reunion. Not one of the kids I hung out with in high school was there. Do geeks congregate, except
maybe at Comic Con and an opening of a new Apple store?

  After sipping my seltzer and witnessing the anything-but-reserved chatfest with Payton, Henry and I escaped to Bubba Gump’s at the Ala Moana Shopping Center to ingest enough fried food so the combined number on our cholesterol levels could circle the universe five times. Sure, it was yummy and Henry’s company was so easy on the soul. He’s one of those older guys you feel safe with and if he weren’t involved with the flamboyant Geraldine English, Senator for California and ultra-liberal livewire, I might consider making a play for him. Okay, not really, but I love being around him.

  Full disclosure? Henry couldn’t stop talking about Payton. I wonder if they were already friends on Facebook? No big surprise there. Payton was a charmer. Yet for me? That charm wore off at the speed of sound, as I told myself.

  The trade winds skittering around my lanai made the curls tickle my forehead, but tickles were better than not having hair, which was true when I was undergoing chemo. I looked down at my unpainted toenails and thought how my plans for the day were shaping up nicely. I was going to call the spa for a facial and pedicure for later that day, because as soon as the sun came up, I was headed for a long walk on the beach. Maybe a short swim or a nice time stretched out on one of those inflatable floaties. Nothing too strenuous. Then it would be straight to a lounge chair with umbrella, my e-reader to keep me company, and perhaps a nap.

  Lunch? Poolside served by a handsome hunk. My biggest decisions would be whether to have a shave ice, an island treat like a snow cone, or stroll to the ice cream shop for something creamy and tropical.

  If I were on assignment, I would be going over scintillating files like ten years of tax returns, financials, or cell phone records. I might be sitting at a stake out waiting for a crook to show up, my gun holstered and probably cutting into my hipbone. I would fluctuate between praying and sweating, and if others in law enforcement were honest, they’d say the same things, except those who don’t pray, and then they would complain.