From the Heart

by Eva Shaw

  I watched his cheeks puff in and out. “It’s probably just a freaky coincidence.” Yeah, and pigs fly and chocolate has no calories and I could fit into a size six. I didn’t need to see Henry’s frown deepen to know that this line of reasoning was dangerous and stupid.

  “You sit still, miss. What about the notes? The flowers? What were they, Nica? Little tokens of endearment, kissy, kissy, or filled with hate and meant to scare the pants off you? What are your theories behind them? Don’t you get it, baby girl? Far as I can see this is treacherous business.” He heaved himself out of the easy chair that he’d briefly landed in. He looked old and worn, like sneakers that you keep long after you’ve gotten a new pair.

  I didn’t like the old part or the worn. It had been just a year since I’d found him, but he and Jane were the only relatives who cared about me.

  Then he started pacing again. “Somebody really doesn’t like the way you’re messing in their business. You’ve been told to butt out. That’s what I’m getting from the notes and the calls and the flowers. Now what are you going to do about it?” He turned and stopped directly in front of me.

  I looked up from yanking at the shreds of my formerly favorite linen slacks to assure him I’d mind my own business. I wanted to say that I would spend a day or two shopping, looking for some knickknacks to take back home. I really wanted to. That’s want I would have said if I were any other person, other than FBI confidential informant and consultant Nica Dobson. That would have been the smart, safe plan. And it was okay, for about five seconds; after that the guilt would have come back, because it wasn’t true. For five, maybe six seconds, I convinced myself that the right thing to do would be to butt out. In fact if I’d said any of those things, they would have been big fat lies. I’d just asked for Henry’s forgiveness. How could I lie? On the other hand, I wasn’t going to let the vision of me as shrimp bisque change that. “What it says to me is that Jimmy March was murdered. For goodness sake, look at the evidence.”

  Henry flopped into an easy chair. Somehow he didn’t look that surprised and that surprised me.

  “Evidence? Proof? Who are you getting this proof from? Think about it, child. You’ve talked with a bunch of old geezers who like to fabricate anything that sounds more intriguing than what was on Access Hollywood or an afternoon soap that day. Sure, they’re like brothers, brothers who try to constantly outdo each other. They can tell a good story, some of which wouldn’t think twice to tell tales that would make even you blush. Well, it’s my opinion that you’ve stuck your nose in family business and family scandal. You’re a buttinski, Nica, just like your Cousin Jane. Normally, that’s a trait to be admired. But this time, the message is loud and clear: Buttinskis get their keesters kicked.”

  I didn’t have a rejoinder because he was right. A maniac pointed a two-ton weapon at me and used it. I was blessed I was sitting there, bumps and shredded slacks and all. I realized with my nosiness I was swimming with sharks of an especially deadly species. And the ocean was bloody already. With Jimmy’s blood. And these sharks were invisible.

  What if the situation were different? What if something terrible had happened to my adoptive parents? I knew that I had to continue to sift through the questions. Someplace there were answers. As for asking those who seemed to know what happened, perhaps I could be more subtle, then, say instead of charging in on Pinkie and demanding the scoop.

  In case you met Cousin Jane at one of the book events she’s always invited to in order to publicize her memoir, Games of the Heart, and heard her talk about me, it’s probably all true: I’m not a subtle person. Maybe the idea of finding the truth about this long ago death wasn’t rational to Henry, yet it worked for me.

  I moved the ice bag off my knee as Jane whooshed in. Even in the late stages of pregnancy, she made it all look beautiful in a glowing, motherly way. I bucked up again and gave her the Reader’s Digest condensed version of what had happened just an hour before and for the last few days. Unlike Henry, Jane asked more questions, questions without answers, including, “So how does your lover boy Payton Yu fit into all this?”

  “What are you talking about?” And it did come out as a snap. “Lover boy?”

  “He’d like to be. That’s obvious. I cannot believe you wouldn’t. If Tom wasn’t in the picture, honey, I’d arm wrestle you for the hunk. So, what’s your answer?” Jane asked, frowning as she sipped herbal tea. “It’s times like this when I need coffee. I am going on a coffee bender as soon as Baby Morales decides to enter the world.”

  “Payton? For the record, he’s not my lover boy. Really, Jane, I plain do not trust him.”

  “Nica, I hear your words, but I know people. I know love. Your body is saying something way different. Besides, when you were being stalked, you allowed him to put a big, strong arm around you, right?”

  I refilled the ice bag, grabbed some guava juice from the fridge and said, “You know, I want to believe that Payton is everything he says, all squeaky clean, but I still remember him from Kukui High. He was always working an angle.”

  She leaned closer, making sure Henry was still out on the lanai. “Do you think that Payton, fair-haired descendent of island royalty, is hiding something from you about Jimmy’s death and the disappearance of his body?”

  “You’ve got the facts now, Jane. He’s got the contacts. His family and Diamond’s have been connected since before statehood, and what if, well, what if one of Payton’s relatives was involved in getting rid of Jimmy’s body in order to protect someone else? It’s history, but not that long ago.”

  “Honey, have you thought of confronting him? You were trained in profiling, right?”

  “And if I find out that he’s not disclosing information about a murder, then what happens to Payton, even though he was just a kid when that murder took place?”

  “You’ll do the right thing,” Jane said, picking up my long empty coffee cup and smelling it, “For old time’s sake . . . I am sooooo going on drink sooooo much coffee after this baby is born.” She patted her bump and laughed. She crinkled her forehead and watching her do that made my head pulsate more. “You said that Babes Waller seemed more cognizant at times. What if you talk with him again?”

  “Will he remember me? What would I say?”

  “You’re asking me. I’m that nosey preacher from Vegas who made your life a living hell, remember?”

  “And Jane, if you were me, what would you do?” Yes, I’d come to that. My training had evaporated. When it came to dealing with these emotions, I was useless.

  She hugged me hard. Well, as hard as a nine-month pregnant woman can. “Take Babes his favorite treat . . . which is probably donuts. Musicians and donuts were made for each other. And sit and listen. Stop asking questions. Definitely don’t do as I do and jump to conclusions.”

  “Sure. What then?”

  “Then try to piece together what he’s not saying from what he’s said about the night Jimmy was last seen, killed himself or was shot.”

  “I can do that,” I replied, suddenly finding a smidge of comfort zone.

  “Then go back to Diamond and the Auntie Evil and do the same. When there’s silence, don’t interrupt it.”

  “Okay.” I stood up, gingerly testing my knee and wobbled, willing tears not to sprout from my eyes.

  Jane grabbed my hand. “Tomorrow. Do this tomorrow. By the way, did anyone suggest that you need to go to the hospital to see that everything is in working order?”

  “I’d know if it weren’t, Jane. I’m going to take a couple of aspirin and sit here.”

  “Gramps and I have to meet with the press; I’m taking him along for arm candy, actually. Figure if I have Doctor Daddy from Slam Dunk there, the press will lose interest quickly in what the vocal minority has rallied to hassle our homeless population. Besides, honey, you’re in no condition to go. Stay here, we’ll be back in a
few hours.”

  I nodded, but as soon as they waved their goodbyes, I slipped into my bedroom, pulled off the messy slacks and soiled shirt, and crawled between the covers. And the second my head hit the pillow, I was out—that is until my phone woke me at three. “Hello?” It wasn’t a number I knew.

  “What in God’s name happened to you, Nica?”

  “Who is this?” I might have been the hit in hit and run, but everyone I cared about was fast asleep in the adjacent suite.

  “Payton.”

  “Payton?”

  “Are you in the hospital? Are you delusional?” His voice was rough and came in spurts, higher than normal.

  “Oh, Payton. Whatever are you talking about? I’m fine, but with a whopping headache, so if you’ll let me get back to sleep I’d appreciate it.”

  “No way. Are you crazy? If you’ve had a concussion you shouldn’t go to sleep. Didn’t the doctors at Queen’s Hospital tell you that?” he snapped.

  “I’m fine, I’m just going to sleep for a while . . . ” And I clicked off the phone.

  I don’t know long it was, but the dreamless sleep was suddenly interrupted by hands on my shoulders, shaking me.

  “Nica? Nica, wake up. You can’t sleep. What harebrained idea have you gotten about sleeping after a head injury?” Payton was sitting on the edge of my bed, glowering over me. His dark eyes sparked and his forehead was filled with wrinkles.

  I rubbed my eyes. “It seemed like the logical thing to do.”

  “Only logical to an idiot,” he barked, pulling out my pillow, plumping it up and shoving it again the headboard. “Now sit up. I’m getting some coffee for you.” He stopped, stepped back, and grabbed a robe from the closet. “As delicious as you look in just panties and bra, I’m more concerned with what could be scrambled in your brain right now. Put that on.”

  “How did you get into the penthouse?” Like it mattered, but it seemed important then.

  “Cousin Freddy’s the night manager here.”

  I would have shaken my head about the Yu connection, but it hurt way too much.

  Two awful cups of coffee later, Payton seemed satisfied that the Sandman would never get his clutches on me. I tried to explain the full and real explanation from the sleuthing at Carlton Villas, to the visit with Pinkie and Mil Finger, to the creepy George Stratford. And the shrimp bisque episode.

  “Just because this place feels like paradise, Nica, doesn’t make it so. You grew up here, you know that.”

  “But why me as a target?”

  “Why not?” he replied, pulling two more pillows out of the closet, placing them against the headboard, and crawling over me to stretch out. “I could get used to this.”

  “What? Seeing the aftermath of me nearly colliding with a car?” We stared at each other. Sure, I knew what he meant, and you do too. Rather than enter that zone of no return, I looked at the ceiling instead of meeting his eyes.

  “No, this.” He pulled my hand to his chest. “Like an old married couple, lying here talking and knowing that no matter what happens in the world, we have each other.”

  “Can I trust you?” I asked in a far smaller voice that was supposed to happen.

  He ran a finger down my cheek and turned my face to his. “In your bed? In your heart? Or with your head?”

  Chapter 15

  I picked up my aching head and placed it on his shoulder. It was hard and firm. It felt right. “All of those things.”

  Payton gently lifted me off of him and turned to look at me. “Nica Dobson, I would gladly take care of you forever, but you’re not the type of woman who readily lets a guy do that, and we both know that’s the truth.”

  His big brown eyes were the only things in my world and I felt like a stupid, infatuated teenager again when he saved my virtue that terrible November afternoon underneath the bleachers. I pulled away. “Yes, no, you’re right, Payton.” I slipped off the bed and turned my back on him.

  “Okay, it’s crazy. You’re a confidential consultant with the FBI. You shoot people if you need to. You appear before Congressional hearings. You wear a badge. I’m an island boy, surfing and planning, already, to retire someday to a ranch on the Big Island.”

  I flipped around and nearly lost my balance. Payton grabbed me, inches close again. “What about this gig as the governor? Is this your goal or that of your parents?”

  “Parents? No, in case you didn’t notice, I’m a grown-up man now. It’s complicated, but I’m thinking of withdrawing from the race.”

  I shoved him away. “Withdraw? If you don’t stay and win, Governor Margaret Flint will have nuclear power plants dotting the islands and probably sell off state land for pennies on the dollar. Why by the time Tom and Jane’s baby goes to college the coral reefs will be dead and so will the aloha spirit.”

  “Wow, I didn’t know you felt this way. But it seems logical to stop now . . . ”

  I nearly spit and sat straight up. “Logical? For whom? What are you hiding, Payton?”

  “You.” He turned, walked through the living room, flung back the drapes, and stepped out on the lanai. Immediately the trade winds circled inside the suite.

  “Me? Whatever do I have to do with this?” I demanded, but there was no anger in my voice now, only confusion.

  He looked toward the city and where Diamondhead was, even though in the black of night, a faint image could be seen. “I’ve talked with my advisors. They want me to stay as far away from you as possible. It isn’t even this Jimmy March thing. Even if it’s just the mud ruthless Miss Margaret needs to stir up and plaster me with. And—”

  I didn’t wait for the next excuse. “And if I find, somehow, that your family was involved with the cover up of how Jimmy March was killed then your entire family will lose face. That’s it, isn’t it?”

  “You really did hit your head. Listen up, woman. I wasn’t going to tell you this, but I can’t and won’t lie to you. My campaign committee believes it’d be the kiss of death for my career if I marry a woman whose first two husbands died under questionable circumstances.”

  “I have no questions on how they died, Payton. I killed them both with my bare hands. No need to ask anyone. Oh,” I exhaled, “No. I am just lashing out. But what you have to do is just tell me to get lost. And I will,” I snapped.

  He didn’t turn but said, “I’m not about to lose you a second time.”

  Okay, since you already know after my treatments I became a marshmallow, hence why I really cannot return to the Bureau, I’ll just skip this part about my silly tears. And the kisses and the handholding and the talking that continued through until daybreak and when the sun finally peeked over Diamondhead.

  We kissed goodbye just as Henry opened the door of his suite. “Oh, hi, kids. Um, just off for a run.” The man lifted an eyebrow and said, “Guess you two are old enough to know what you’re doing.” Then jogged to the elevator.

  Did we? Did anyone? I pondered those thoughts watching Payton disappear down the stairs, saying he needed the exercise. I thought some more about “us” straight through a long, hot shower, a bowl of pink papaya, and an oatmeal muffin and out toward my car. Yes, I am pleased to say I didn’t even flinch as I walked near the scene of my almost demise in the dreaded parking garage.

  Quite honestly, after burying two husbands, I was shy about a commitment of any kind. My heart felt something for Payton, but as an adult, and you know what I mean, lust and love can feel much the same at the beginning of any relationship. There was no way I would ruin Payton’s chance to be elected Hawaii’s governor and stop the exploitation of Hawaii’s natural resources to satisfy my needs and desires. I was made of better stuff. I didn’t need Payton or another man to complete me that was certain. But what of want? Yes, I wanted him.

  It had to be my subconscious protecting me because while I wrest
led with wants and needs, where Payton was concerned, I was suddenly and unknowingly standing at my BMW. I unlocked it, crawled inside, and went through the plan I’d created while eating the fruit and muffin.

  Babes Waller, if he were in right mind, held some secrets that would reveal the truth, at least his truth. But there was one stop I needed to make before I drove toward my visit with Babes and that was at the Dupris mansion. I left the car in a parking spot just away from the front door, but by the time I climbed the white marble steps to the plantation style porch, the butler was there. “I wonder if he spends his day peeking out the side windows,” I thought.

  The morning was already in the high seventies, but his “Good day, madam” could have frozen boiling water. This time, the faces on Mount Rushmore were more animated than his.

  I tried to step inside, but he blocked the foyer. “The Misses Dupris are unavailable.” The faux-English accent was even more cultured. It was a big put on because I’d overheard him scolding Inez on my last visit, and the accent was more Brooklyn than British. He walked toward me and darned it all; I backed up, only to find myself on the porch.

  I jumped and stuck a foot in the opening. “Not in? Or unwilling to see me?” I asked, feeling the hair on the back of my neck prickle as an idea struck.

  “Although it is not necessary to explain their whereabouts, they are not at home. The Madam and Miss Dupris drove to the ranch on the North Shore,” he grunted and then looked liked he let the cat out of the bag, seemingly regretting that his ire had disclosed too much.

  “Oh, how silly,” I started and focused on my wealthy socializing matron personal which sounded like bad acting to my ears. “I am sorry. I didn’t ask your name?”

  “It is Everett.”

  “Mr. Everett, forgive me, I didn’t explain. It’s Inez I want to speak with.”

  “But Inez is the maid. She does not receive visitors in this home.”

  I put on my best “queen of the manor” look and stared at him. “Actually, it’s a private matter, but I’m certain we know some of the same people.” Well, I wasn’t lying, was I? We both knew that Everett person, and the Dupris women. I smiled, hoping he couldn’t tell I was now pulling at straws.