Dead at Diamond Head

by Kay Hadashi

  “Yeah, that figure is about as real as those lashes and hair.”

  She looked at a few more pictures, still trying to figure out who the girl was. As one of the senior cheerleaders, Maile had met everyone at the school, and knew them at least well enough to know their names. It wasn’t until she found an older image from not long after school, of the girl being in a singing competition that she recognized her. She was still mostly natural then, and that’s how Maile finally put a name to the face.

  “Laurie Long. Didn’t you have some sort of nickname, like Long-time Laurie? Oh, but Honey Thrust suits you so much better.”

  As much as she wanted to find out what made her old classmate tick, Maile returned to studying Oscar Swenberg’s life.

  “Californian originally, but he’s been here for a long time. Owner of Swenberg Promotions, listed as an advertising business. Also owner of Swenberg Talent, where he develops performance artists. That’s probably how he met Laurie, or Honey, whatever her name is now, when she performed a few things for him. But he doesn’t really do or make anything, he just collects money from people with unrealistic ideas about their own talent, and fills their heads full of baloney about becoming famous. But what’s that got to do with his two half-brothers?”

  Maile spent half an hour looking for images of the three of them together, or even any two of them. There was nothing. The time had slipped away from her, and it was nearly midnight when her mother came to the Manoa House library.

  “Okay, time to try on,” Kealoha said, handing over the dress.

  Maile slipped into it. “Wow, Mom, this fits perfect. The hem isn’t too high?”

  “Too high for Sunday,” Kealoha said, shooting Maile a dart. “But okay for party in fancy house. Why you go to this thing instead of take me to church tomorrow?”

  “Kenny will take you.”

  “Doesn’t answer my question. You hiding something from me?”

  “Not hiding anything.” Maile slipped out of the dress again. “It’s something I’m helping the police with.”

  “The police? You help them enough lately, and only get trouble in return. What’s so important they ask a nice girl for help with their stuff?”

  “Remember how I saved that man at the beach a while back?”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “When he was taken to the hospital, he somehow disappeared and his brother took his place.”

  Kealoha eased into a chair. “Sounds more like hospital trouble, something else you’ve had too much of lately.”

  “Maybe so. But the one in the hospital died from something unrelated to his brother’s near-drowning, either an overdose or an allergic reaction.”

  “Still sounds like hospital trouble.”

  “And they asked the police to get involved. There’s something fishy about him dying right after trading places with his brother.”

  “Why’d they trade places?” Kealoha asked.

  “That’s something else nobody can figure out. The brother that nearly drowned was only supposed to stay overnight for observation, but when his brother took his place, the brother got really sick and needed to go to the ICU. It wasn’t long after that when he died. The weird thing is that the brother has also died.”

  “In your old hospital? Better to close that place down, with so many people dying.”

  “Nothing to do with the hospital this time. This guy died at Diamond Head. Murdered, actually.”

  “How you know that?” her mother asked.

  “I was the one who found him this morning. Or at least my tour guest did.”

  “Real goner? Couldn’t save him this time?”

  “He’d been dead for a while, maybe all night.” Maile pinched her nose as an explanation.

  “I’ll say a prayer for him at church tomorrow.”

  “His name was…”

  “No need his name. Pray for his soul, not his name. That doesn’t explain why you’re going to a party tomorrow instead of church?” her mother asked. She had her jaw set as though she wasn’t budging from the chair until she got a satisfactory answer.

  “Those two brothers had a half-brother, a wealthy guy that lives in Hawaii Kai. The police think he might have something to do with the deaths of his brothers, or at least know something. They want me to go to his house and see what I can learn.”

  “Sounds like a job for the police to ask questions.”

  “They’re concerned he might not cooperate. They want to be a little sneakier than just knocking on his front door and asking for an interview.”

  “And you’re gonna flirt with the guy to get something from him? That kind of sneaky?” her mother asked.

  “Well, I guess if it comes to that, yeah, maybe.”

  “You’re gonna flirt with rich guy in this dress to help the police? Or to find a new husband?”

  “Mom!”

  “You coming to bed soon?”

  “In a few more minutes. I want to iron the dress and finish looking at something on the computer.”

  Kealoha pushed up from her easy chair. “That means stay up all night, then get two hours of sleep before going for a long run, then put on dress and go to party to flirt with a rich stranger to help the police.”

  “Next week, Mom. I’ll be at church next week.”

  “I’ll draw you a map to find the place.”

  Feeling thoroughly disappointed with herself for abandoning her mother for the umpteenth week in a row, Maile ironed the dress before going back to the internet. There was still something she needed to know about all three brothers, and she wasn’t quitting until she found it, whatever it was.

  ***

  When Maile woke in the morning, it was with the noise of her mother bringing orange juice and oatmeal to the Manoa House for her breakfast. Kealoha was already dressed for church, and Kenny was there grinning as he watched Maile wake up at her place on a couch.

  “Just like nursing school,” her mother scolded, setting down the tray of food. “Read all night and get no more sleep.”

  “I got sleep.”

  “How much?”

  “What time is it?”

  “Nine o’clock,” her brother said.

  “I didn’t know it was so late,” Maile said, drinking the orange juice down. “No coffee?”

  “Make you suffer without it,” Kealoha said. “Learn your lesson for staying up too late.”

  “Haven’t learned it by now,” Maile said, stirring her oatmeal. Saving her from getting a lecture was her ringing phone, with a call from Officer Turner. “Sorry, I need to take this. Don’t drive like a maniac, Kenny.”

  “In your car? Does it even get up to the speed limit anymore?”

  She threw her keys more at Kenny rather than to him before answering the call. “Brock! I mean Officer Turner. Glad to get a call from you, even if it is a little early on a Sunday morning.”

  “We have a few things to discuss.”

  “Yeah, I was wondering who’s stuck with taking me to Swenberg’s party this afternoon?”

  “I am. That’s what we have to discuss.”

  “Great!” That cheered her up as much as a cup of coffee could. Remembering that was overdue, she went to the kitchen to brew a pot. “I mean, at least I know who it is. You, in other words.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Maile.”

  “Either do I. What do we need to talk about?”

  “It needs to be in person. I came by your apartment, but you’re not there. Are you out on a run?”

  “Not yet. I’m here at the Manoa House using the computer. You could come by here, I guess.”

  “Now?”

  “Give me an hour to get in a run. Be sure to come around to the back patio.”

  She had to hurry to change into a jogging outfit, and still got only half the run that morning that she really wanted. By the time she got back home, Turner was already waiting on the patio.

  “Oh, you’re here already.” She led him to the aviary where King,
her cockatiel, lived. “I hope you don’t mind if I do a few chores while we talk?”

  “Okay with me. You still have that bird?”

  Maile went in the aviary, where King leapt to her arm. She took him outside and let him flutter to the ground, about all he was able to do with clipped wings. After rubbing his face on her shins for a moment, he hopped across the lawn to his favorite bed of shrubs. “He’s getting kinda old, but he still likes rooting around in the bushes for bugs.”

  Her next task was to get the lawnmower from the storage shed. With a couple squirts of lube, it was ready to go. The lawn behind the house was long and narrow, and required a simple gridwork pattern of mowing. She set off on the first row, pushing hard through the thick crabgrass.

  “Why do you use an old push mower?” Turner asked, walking along with her.

  “When the Manoa House fund can afford to buy me a power mower, I’ll use that. Until then, I get plenty of exercise doing this the old-fashioned way.”

  “Speaking of exercise, do you want me to do that for you?”

  She made the turn at the end and started back to the other side. “Why? Because I’m a weak female that shouldn’t be pushing a mower?”

  “Well, no. It’s just that…”

  “Brock, I’ve been mowing this lawn for twenty years, and I probably will for another fifty. Did you want to tell me about this party we’re going to, or nag me about being too masculine to wear a dress to it?”

  “Both, if I get the chance.” He got out a sheet of paper to read as he walked alongside her. “Detective Ota has come up with a list of topics he wants you to focus on while at the party. Most of all, he wants to make sure you don’t rush in, find Swenberg, and start an interrogation.”

  “You mean the way Ota does with me? No, I won’t do that.”

  “You do have a way of controlling an interrogation. How are you going about the task of getting an audience with him? Have you thought about that?”

  “By letting him come to me.”

  “How are you going to do that?” he asked.

  She turned around again with the mower. “I still have a few natural physical charms. Maybe not as charming as Honey Breathe-hard, but some men still notice me.”

  “It’s Honey Thrust, and how did you know about her?”

  “I spent most of the night doing homework. What might interest you is that she and I were classmates in high school, only a year apart. The year after I graduated, she took my place on the cheerleader squad. Considering what she looks like now, I doubt I’d recognize her, though.”

  “Think she’ll recognize you?”

  “Good question. I don’t look all that much different now than I did ten years ago. Just older. Same color complexion, same hair, same runner’s physique. I can put my hair up and wear a lot of makeup, which I guess the other women will be doing. I’ll be wearing a mint green floral dress, which is an unusual color for me.”

  “Maybe you can avoid contact with her.”

  “Where’s the fun in that?” Maile turned the mower to start mowing across the rows she’d just completed. “Something all girls learn in high school is how to avoid the people we don’t like and stick with the ones we do like. Unless we want to pick a fight. Then we go after…”

  “We want to avoid that at all costs. Why are you mowing again?”

  “You have to mow across the first rows to get everything even and flat. Don’t you know anything about mowing?”

  “Apparently not. Most of the reason you’re going today is to find out what kind of relationship Oscar had with his brothers. We don’t care about Honey. Were the three brothers close? Did they owe each other money? Why were the brothers even here in Honolulu? Did they have something to go back to on the mainland? Those sorts of topics.”

  “You want to know if they were deadbeat brothers leaching off their half-brother, and if he killed them because of it?”

  “That would be inductive reasoning, Maile. The police rely on the collection of evidence to form deductions.”

  “That’s fine for you. Women like to take wild stabs in the dark and make accusations, then watch what happens after. It’s more fun.” Maile finished mowing, and got out a rake and snow shovel. “Grab the wheel barrel.”

  Pushing the rickety old contraption, he followed her back to the lawn. “We have to rake all this up?”

  “I do. You only have to dump it in the compost pile in the back corner behind Mom’s house.”

  “What’s the snow shovel for?”

  “Giant dust pan. Do you want me to ask about the thing Carl took into the water at Hanauma Bay that day?”

  “Probably shouldn’t bring it up. He might not even know about it, and it might have nothing to do with the case.”

  She had grass clippings raked into a pile and pushed those into his shovel. “Two brothers are dead, one under suspicious circumstances at the hospital, the other with a knife in his eyeball at Diamond Head. They both had something to do with the box, and not long before their deaths. There’s something about that box that needs explaining, and I bet you anything Oscar knows what it is.”

  “Well, that’s a little more deductive, but I still don’t like it,” he said, before leaving with the wheel barrel of clippings. When he got back, he asked, “Anything else?”

  “Yeah, now we have to mow the front.”

  “No, I meant any other ideas about the box, or the brothers?”

  Maile started mowing the front, a much smaller area. “Ota said the knife was missing when the CSI techs got to the body, but I clearly saw one, and so did the girl that was with me yesterday. Any idea of what happened to it?”

  “If we figure out where the murder weapon went, we’ll find our murderer.”

  “It’s so weird that it disappeared so quickly. It was just a matter of a few minutes, and no one went past us while we waited for the police to get there.”

  “No one else was around the summit at the same time as you?” he asked.

  “No, we were the first two up. We made it a race, to see who could get there first.”

  “And you don’t know what kind of knife it was?”

  “Only that it had a shiny metal handle.”

  A pair of neighbors, an elderly man and woman dressed in their Sunday finest, walking along the sidewalk stopped and watched Maile push the mower. The woman gave Brock a stern look, wagging her finger at him.

  “Why are you making her do that?” the old woman asked.

  “I…well…she…”

  Maile stopped mowing. “I like mowing, Mrs. Kaga. You’ve seen me out here before.”

  “Is that the husband?” Mrs. Kaga asked.

  Maile laughed. “No, just a friend that’s come by to help.”

  “Standing there holding a shovel doesn’t look like help to me.”

  “I’ll put him to work pruning shrubs later. How’s retirement going?”

  “Busier now than when I worked.” Mrs. Kaga took her husband’s arm again. “And oith half the energy.”

  Maile and Brock watched the couple go to the bus stop at the end of the street and wait.

  “Who was that?” he asked.

  “My second grade school teacher. She taught for fifty years before retiring last year. Ruled the classroom with an iron yardstick. Never any question about right or wrong when she was around.”

  “I’m sure there were nicknames for her.”

  “We wouldn’t have dared.” Maile started mowing again. “There was one time when I was too noisy or something, and that yardstick came slamming down on my desk only inches from my knuckles. She never abused any of us, but she sure had a way of getting our attention.”

  “And you have a knack for that yourself, Maile.”

  Chapter Seven

  Brock had brought a white shirt and suit with him, blue and stylish in that the jacket was free of lapels or buttons. He showered and dressed in the Manoa House, while Maile got ready in her mother’s cottage. With little jewelry to wear, she tied
a sheer silk scarf around her neck as her only accessory. They were just leaving when her mother and brother were coming back from church and brunch after.

  “You’re that Turner boy, yeah?” Kealoha asked, looking Brock up and down in his suit.

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “Mom! He isn’t a boy. He’s a police officer, and just made sergeant.”

  Kealoha paid no attention. “You’re taking my Maile girl to this party?”

  “Yes, Ma’am. It’s not really…”

  “It’s not a date, Mom.” Maile grabbed Brock by the arm and led him toward the curb for escape. She was impressed with his car, a newer Ford sedan. “Nice car. I would’ve pegged you as a pickup kind of man.”

  “Not mine. This is used for stakeouts.”

  “Oh, yes, that’s right. This is a police job. Why are we just sitting here? We should get going before my mother tells me to put on a shawl.”

  “You are a little more exposed than usual.”

  She tugged at her bodice for a little more coverage. “Down boy, and start the car.”

  “First, I have something for you,” he said, reaching into his jacket pocket.

  “What? A corsage?”

  “No, this.” He held out a small nickel-plated pistol for her to take.

  “What’s that for?”

  “Mostly for making a lot of noise. Five shots, small caliber. Wave it around a little and it can give you a head start at getting out of trouble.”

  “Forget it. Not interested.” She nudged his hand away with the back of hers. “There won’t be any kind of trouble today. Not that kind, anyway.”

  “The likelihood you’ll need to use it is nil.”

  “Which is why I don’t want it.”

  “Maile…”

  “I thought you were going along to keep me out of trouble?”

  “That’s half of it. I’ll be asking a few questions of my own. The gun is more from Ota than me.”