That seemed to hit him like a punch in the face. Sal shut his eyes. Pinched his nose-bridge. His head sank. When he opened his eyes all he could say was “Oh, fuck!” He kicked something below, saying “Fuck … shit!” then walked away. After a minute, he returned, held a finger up like he was going to say something, but said nothing. Instead he grabbed his cranberry lemonade drink, added some vodka to it, and took a long hard swallow. He poured what was left down the drain, muttering fuck, fuck, FUCK….
By the time he had returned the TV had been turned up for SportsCenter. Our old pal Neil Everett, who used to work at the ABC affiliate here in town, was co-hosting. Talk shifted to Barry Bonds and steroids. And head sizes. I was hesitant to bring up Kay and Lino again. But I had to.
As I finished my drink, I stood up, saying, “Time to go.” Sal nodded. He was washing a glass.
“I’m gonna talk to Smokin’ Joe,” I said casually, yawning as I did so.
“Now why would you wanna do that?” He wiped and held up the glass. It sparkled.
“’Cause he’s my best lead.”
“Give it a day, David.”
“Why?”
“So I can check on something.”
“And you’ll call me?”
“Yeah, I’ll call you.”
“That’s an awful clean glass.”
Sal put down the glass and worked his way toward the other end of the counter. I started to walk away, then turned to look at him. When our eyes met I nodded. He blinked and nodded back.
Nice to see you again, Sal.
• • •
Back at the boat, since I had agreed not to talk with Smokin’ Joe yet, I weighed the merits of another foot-search of Kay’s favorite haunts versus a more computer-based search for her whereabouts and again pored through the articles and transcripts, this time not just pondering connections and relationships, but mapping out everything on sheets of paper. As I got sleepy, nodding off and leaving inkblots on places where I left off, I decided to call it a night and moved over to my bed. As I lay there, tired but awake, I could hear noises outside and had a vision of Rian chasing Meg around the boat, him in boxer shorts, her stark naked. Every now and then I’d hear a shriek, followed by some laughter. I then pictured Kay and Matthew docked in some harbor in the South Seas, doing just the same. Maybe they’re on a luxury cruise, having the time of their lives, oblivious to all the mayhem they’re causing back home. I took vicarious pleasure in this vision, too sedated from the booze and the inchoate promise of a rekindled spirit to need anything more.
15
(Day 5—Friday, May 25) I woke up with a nasty hangover. I took four Advil caplets, then hiked over to McDonald’s and treated myself to their allegedly large breakfast. I wrote out a day plan, then took my refilled cup of coffee with me as I drove over to the University of Hawai‘i, where I paid for parking in the upper campus lot behind Kennedy Theatre, and lumbered over to Hamilton Library. There, using Google and the IMDb database, I looked up everything I could about the various film festivals and who attended and who won prizes. No matter which site I gazed at, Kay’s film barely registered. There was an indie film website that mentioned the film, but this was set up for donations; nothing I could use.
I did a search for Amber Kane. It took me to a porn site; it wasn’t her. I looked up Gerard Plotkin. The guy had a nice list of credits to his name, mostly as an assistant director. He had graduated from the USC School of Dramatic Arts and had done further studies at the Berkeley, California, branch of the Drama School London. Worked in San Francisco before coming to Hawai‘i. I tried his name alongside Amber’s. Nothing.
It slowly began to sink in that this line of action was a dead end. As far as I could tell, Kay could be anywhere on this fucking planet. Had Mia told me everything she knew? Was she just parceling out bits of information for some reason? Was I missing something in the materials she had given me?
It was time to check in with Minerva.
Her house wasn’t what I thought it would be, and it made perfect sense. While her address put her in one of O‘ahu’s ritziest neighborhoods, the truth was Minerva lived in a modest townhouse just above Wai‘alae Avenue. She wasn’t poor; she was, well, OK. The furnishings were nice, clean, but dated. It was a two-bedroom, one-and-a-half-bath unit. Minerva, wearing a white wraparound skirt, a loose-fitting V-neck blouse, and those same diamond earrings, welcomed me in, apologizing for the mess. There was no mess. She showed me the room her daughter slept in when she stayed over. It was used for storage. Lots of clear plastic storage bins stacked on one another all along one wall.
“Your things or hers?”
“That’s mostly my junk. Things I should get rid of but can’t let go. Caroline keeps very few things here. When she sleeps over, she uses this.” Minerva pointed to the folded-up futon leaning against a wall. “Let me show you the computer.”
Minerva showed me into her bedroom. The Dell Inspiron sat on a small metal desk. I sat there and turned it on. And waited.
Minerva sat at the edge of her bed. “It’s slow to load.”
“Yeah. I know.”
“Caroline rarely used it. Just to check her e-mail, I think.”
When the desktop finally revealed itself I began the tedious search through every folder, followed by a quick look at the online history. Minerva said something now and then but mostly sat quietly and patiently while I peeked into her life and that of her daughter.
After a half hour search I was positive there was nothing useful on the computer. If there was, it had been erased. I turned off the computer and turned to Minerva. She stood up. This room let in a lot of light, and when she stood between me and the beam coming in from the window, it was like I had x-ray vision. I could see her underwear. Then she leaned over to slip on a pair of house slippers and revealed even more, her breasts practically spilling out of her loose bra, her diamond earrings dangling like exclamation points. Well into her fifties, Minerva was still a sensual creature.
We sat at a small table in her kitchen drinking some coffee she had brewed. It was OK, the coffee.
“Any clues yet, as to her whereabouts?” she began.
“First of all, I checked with that guy, Lim, at Missing Persons. He gave me some shit about range and jurisdiction. Basically, as soon as they found out she and Matthew had gone to Vegas, I think they breathed a sigh of relief. I don’t see them looking any further. Unless—”
“Unless what?”
“Unless they thought there was a criminal act involved.”
“I should have notified Vegas authorities.”
“You still can. It can’t hurt. What I do know is Caroline and Matthew left Vegas on or about May sixth or seventh. It seems that, rather than flying back to Hawai‘i, they headed to Arizona for some reason. They had been there a few days earlier, visiting with Les Biden…. The trail goes cold around Phoenix. If I went there—”
“Why don’t you?”
“Well—”
“Well what?”
“You know how in football, the quarterback, when he throws the ball, is throwing where the receiver is going to be, not where he is. And any good defensive back not only anticipates where the ball is going to be, so he can intercept or block it, but he also has to outmaneuver a guy who is working with the quarterback and has more information than he does.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I’ve chased people on the run, arriving in town after town one or two steps behind. I usually find them after a while, but it’s time-consuming and quite costly….”
I knew at that moment she’d cut in with The price doesn’t matter, so I held a hand up.
“What I’m trying to say is that before I start chasing Kay—Caroline—and Matt, if he’s with her—all over creation, I’d like to have a really good guess as to their destination. They were on the move. You give them a two-and-a-half-week head start, they could be anywhere.”
“If they’re moving at all.”
“Let’s not go there … I just want to talk with a few people here first. I don’t want to go to Arizona and find evidence they went to Tahiti, then find myself in Tahiti, only to learn that they’d left long before.”
What really kept me here was that lei on Lino’s grave. Could that have been Kay’s doing? And what if she was the person Mia was expecting that night?
“I keep seeing her in a room,” Minerva stated, in a sort of daze. “All alone. Wasting away.”
“That’s ’cause you’re her mother.” If Kay and Matt weren’t dead, they had to be in trouble. Enough trouble to go off the grid. They stopped using their cell phones at about the same time. What not only puzzles me but gives me hope is that Matthew had taken the initiative to call his mom on Mother’s Day. Would he have done that if the circumstances were truly dire?
“What’s your next step, then?”
“I have to talk with Les Biden.”
“I’ve talked with him. He has no idea.”
“I still need to talk to him. I want to know what he and Kay—Caroline—”
“You can say Kay. I know who you’re talking about.”
Minerva was sounding more and more depressed, and I wasn’t helping.
“I have to talk to Les because I need to know what he and Kay were talking about shortly before she left for the mainland.” I didn’t want to say argued. “And I’m also attending a play tonight.”
“A play?” She covered her mouth. “I’m sorry. Forgot that you have a life.”
“No, actually, it is work.”
“Why—?”
That’s exactly what I wanted to know. Why? Why did Amber Kane show up on my boat? I had to see if there was a connection. “It’s just a hunch. Something I have to go with…. I assure you, I’m on it.”
She just looked at me, wistful, disturbed, yet resilient.
“How’d you meet Lino?” I said to break the silence.
She reached for a cigarette pack. I had left mine in the car. “Mind if I smoke?”
“It’s your house.”
She lit up, didn’t think to offer. She placed her elbow on the table, put her chin on her palm. “People always had a hard time seeing us as a couple. Don’t get me wrong. I get it. I knew they were thinking, What does this woman see in this low-life? I could see it in people’s eyes…. I really did love him.”
“Heard you were an actress.” I was remembering that photo. Her movie star looks.
“That was a lifetime ago.” She took a long drag. “I never met anyone so romantic.”
She was talking about Lino. “You met him here?”
“Yes, here. This may surprise you, but I grew up here, in part. Attended Kailua High School. Had a thing for those ‘Waimanalo boys.’ Found them more interesting. I don’t know if this had anything to do with it, but when my parents saw me hanging out with those so-called mokes, they announced shortly after that we were moving back to California. Northern California. A place called Petaluma. That place is so white bread, that’s where they chose to film Pleasantville.”
“No kidding.”
“Petaluma’s where I first got the acting bug. Back when I was in high school, they were making a film there. It turned out to be American Graffiti. My friends and I crashed the film set. Oh, we begged them to let us be extras. Begged and begged. I got to be one of the bobbysoxers, in the dance scene. That experience whetted my appetite for more, and not long after I was on a bus headed for L.A. Just like in the movies.” She paused, took one last drag from her cigarette, then put it out. “I was one of the lucky ones—at least it seemed that way at first. Got the first role I tried out for. Got an agent. Hey, I was in the business, the acting business…. That good feeling lasted about a minute. I got screwed by my agent—in more ways than one. And yadda yadda yadda. I returned to O‘ahu because I remembered being happy here….
“I had some money,” she continued, “so I contacted a friend from high school who had connections with the Ilikai. I was able to sublease a condo apartment for a month while I figured out my next career move. I would sleep till noon. When I got up I’d go out and find a late breakfast, more like lunch, and then in the very late afternoon, when the sun was low on the horizon, I would walk the entire beach. That was my favorite time. Sometimes I’d just sit on the beach. It was … so peaceful. Sure, guys would hit on me, but I’d just ignore them. I was quite content to be alone….”
Minerva sipped her coffee. “One day when I walking by Kuhio Beach I came across this guy playing the ‘ukulele and singing. He had drawn an audience. I sat and listened. It was really something. I came back the next day and the next. I didn’t think he had noticed me, but the fourth time I arrived there he announced that he had written a song for the, quote, ‘pretty haole lady.’ He usually sang in Hawaiian, but this song was in English. The words really touched me.” She put a hand to her chest and shut her eyes. “I’m sorry, I—”
“That was Lino.”
She nodded, her eyes still shut.
That explained the ‘ukulele on his gravestone.
“It was just beautiful. We slept together that very evening, in my apartment. It was heaven…. Then reality set in. I knew nothing about this guy. Then I heard rumors he was part of the ‘local syndicate.’ After about three weeks of bliss, the lease was up and I had to decide. So I decided I had to go back to California. To L.A. I couldn’t stop thinking about him, though, couldn’t stop thinking about how happy I was during my time with him. How happy I was in Hawai‘i. Then I learned I was pregnant. I came this close”—Minerva held out her hand, her index and thumb almost touching—“this close, to having an abortion. Before I could think it through, I was on a plane, back to Hawai‘i. I found him and we talked, for hours and hours. We were up all night. I didn’t tell him I was pregnant. Couldn’t.”
“What did you talk about?”
“Everything under the sun. He told me all about all his wild days, the silly and stupid things he did that got him into trouble. He told me those days were behind him. You see, he had dropped out of high school, though he had been a good student. Just always with the wrong crowd. Funny part is, when I did meet his friends, those so-called miscreants, they were the warmest, sweetest guys. And they were very protective of Lino.”
“How did he find out you were pregnant?”
Minerva was pensive now. Tears welling up. “He proposed to me. That’s when I thought, I can’t lose this baby. This guy loves me.”
For a split second I shared in her joy, then I realized again how it all ended.
“So I told him. He was overjoyed. And his friends, when they learned we were getting married and that I was pregnant, they helped set him up with a union job.”
“When you say his friends, do you have specific people in mind?”
“Those guys he grew up with. Bill Soto, who died just last year; the Sperry brothers—you may have heard of them. Champion wrestlers…. Then there was Ron Akamine … it was Ron who got Lino the job with the union. And things were great for a while. We had Caroline. She was a joy…. We had a few good years together. We struggled at times, but it was mostly good.”
“What about his ‘ukulele playing and all that?”
“Oh, music was his life. I used to tell him, go for it. Quit your job, if you have to. But by then he was more into writing songs than performing them.”
“Did he quit, then?”
Minerva shook her head. “No. He just worked double-time. Luckily his union job was one of those do-nothing jobs. Lots of slack time. And he always took his uke with him to work. He must have written a hundred songs during that period. I used to find lyrics and music notations all over the place. Notebooks, napkins … even on the desk this one time. Literally. Guess he couldn’t find paper. Or didn’t want to lose what he had. So he wrote the lyrics and chords on the desktop with a felt pen. He promised to clean it up … and he did.”
Tectonic plates were shifting in my view of Lino.
“Bottom line is, he dare
d to want more for us. After a while he went back to school. Got his GED. He took night classes at the university. He was really trying to get away from the kind of world he had fallen into. Of course, I didn’t know he was dealing then. And mind you, this is what you’ll get from me and maybe no one else. Me. The person who knew him best. He never ever extorted anyone, never beat up on anyone. Lino never used a gun, period. Didn’t even own one. But he did deal marijuana. He drew the line there. No heroin. No crystal meth, which he thought was the worst thing ever. But because the police didn’t distinguish between a pakalolo dealer and a heroin dealer, and because he was associated with guys who did deal in the bad shit, guys who did far worse things, it was guilt by association….”
I guess we were going there. “Why would anyone want him dead?”
“I’ve been asking myself that question for eighteen years. But”—she looked at her watch and stood up—“look, that isn’t your job to solve. Caroline’s all I got. She deserves to live a long, sweet life. A life that’s fulfilling. I’ll put everything on the line to see to that.”
I stood up. “I better get going.”
“Yes.” She stood up too. “You have leads to follow up on. A play to attend.”
“By the way,” I said as I reached for the door, “you ever go to his grave?”
“Haven’t these last couple years. I hate that drive. We should’ve buried him at Diamond Head.”
“You know of anyone who would leave a lei at his grave?”
“Caroline always did that. She didn’t like those vases, the way they’d be stuck, filled with mud.”
“There was a lei. It was there the day you hired me.”
“Pikake?”
“Yeah.”
She looked pensive, dazed. “Caroline always put a pikake lei there, on special occasions.”
“Which occasions?”
“You know. May Day. Christmas. His birthday, or Father’s Day, since they’re close together….”
“None of those dates fit. The lei had been left there a few days before you hired me.”
For a Song Page 12