"It's a storeroom." Amelia stopped turning and went for a box. "Mr. Reynolds didn't lie. They did put everything in storage."
"It looks like more than that." Josie turned from Emily and held the light up so Amelia could read the labels.
"James. 1967. Sterling. 1972. These are the names on dad's list."
Amelia opened up a box and took out some small vials, a large jar half filled with white powder, and some ancient blister packs. She held them up like a handful of treasure for Josie to see.
"Medication. I guess it's what was left over from the people who died."
"I suppose," Josie muttered. She joined in and opened another box. "Files. All sorts of them. This one is Traini. He was in the army."
Amelia opened another one. "More pills in this one. I need more light."
Josie turned the phone her way but caught Emily in the shaft. Her head hung low and she was shivering.
"Hold on. I think we need some blankets. Do you have anything over there we can use?"
Amelia found one under the stored table and tossed it to Josie who wrapped it around Emily.
"She's freezing," she muttered
"At least it's dry in here. She'll be better soon."
Amelia went back to the boxes. She pulled one out, opened it, and came up with wicked looking syringes.
"No wonder Emily doesn't like needles. This is her box."
Josie walked over to take a look. The vials were marked E. Bates and they also were printed with a number. If there was a box of medication then there had to be a box of files just like the others.
"Amelia, hold this." Josie pushed the phone into Amelia's hands. "Shine it over here."
Heaving and grunting, Josie pulled box after box down from their stacks, reading the labels as they landed with a thud.
"Ha Kuna House files. Resident files. Here's one that looks like it had something to do with your dad's research." Josie pulled again. "Here, I have the year Emily was admitted."
Sitting cross-legged on the ground she opened it as Amelia came up behind her, holding the light high. Josie flipped out a file and set it aside. She found another and muttered:
"Supply logs. Building permits to add the caretaker's house." Josie dug in again and came up with a diary. She tossed it Amelia's way while she took out a calendar. "Robert Cote's."
"He was the director before Mr. Reynolds."
Amelia joined her, setting the flashlight on one of the boxes so they could both read. Behind them, Emily began to hum but Josie paid no attention.
"I'm going back to the house."
"Why? For what?" Amelia caught her arm and pulled at her but Josie wouldn't be swayed.
"We need Emily's medicine. We can't give her this stuff. Who knows how long it's been here. We don't know how long we'll be here or what will happen to her if she doesn't get it. Where do you keep it?"
"In her bathroom. There's a week's worth. There should be more in Mr. Reynolds' office, but I'm not sure where." Amelia's eyes filled with tears. "Don't leave me alone with Emily. What if something happens? What if you don't–"
Josie swooped down and took Amelia by the shoulders. "This isn't Washington. She isn't your father. I'll be back. I will."
Josie went back the way they had come, swallowed up in the dark before Amelia could talk her out of it. Behind her Amelia shined the light on Emily and that's when she saw the battery on Josie's phone was dying.
***
Drenched, confused, and fearful, Josie watched the house from the edge of the tropical forest. She saw nothing and could only hope that whoever had been in there left once they finished their grisly task. Josie wanted to go back to Emily and Amelia but she couldn't, she wouldn't. It wasn't just the need for the medicine that drove her on; it was her desperate need to understand all this. If there was something in that place that could not only explain her mother's disappearance and her father's betrayal, she wanted it.
Crouching in a runner's stance, Josie decided that if she was going to go, the time was now. Intellectual commitment, though, was far different from physical action and she fell back more than once. Finally, calling on every ounce of fortitude she possessed, Josie counted to three, pushed off and sprinted toward the house. She kept low even when she slipped through the back door.
Josie paused, listened, and heard nothing except the sound of her own ragged breathing. She bit her bottom lip and realized that she had lied to Amelia. She did pray. That very second she was praying that the sound of her breathing didn't reverberate through the old house; she was praying that she would see Archer and Hannah again; she was praying that this night would end soon.
Josie pushed away from the wall and threw herself into Reynolds' office. One look at him sitting behind his desk, a neat shot between his eyes, told Josie that he knew who had done this. Unless she stumbled over Johnson's body, she had to assume he was the shooter. Like a bull, Josie breathed hard through her nose. As she worked, she thanked God that the light was minimal so that she didn't have to stare at Bernard Reynolds' sightless eyes. In seconds Josie had ripped the office apart: dumping drawers, pulling open cabinets, and rummaging through his desk after she gathered the courage to push Reynolds' chair away.
There wasn't much but Josie took what she could carry: the calendar, a stack of papers, a small address book. She stuffed these things into a bag she found in the closet. She would sort it all out later. Then she noticed the trashcan and went back to grab the crumpled papers inside. She plucked them out, smoothed them as best she could, and then held one up to the window as she tried to make out what was written on it.
***
Johnson dumped his gear in the trunk of his car. Positive he hadn't left anything in the cottage, he sat on the edge of the trunk and finished off the bottle of Johnny Walker he and Reynolds had been drinking earlier. It was probably the best drink of his life because if he hadn't taken it he wouldn't have been looking at the back of the main house and through Bernard's office window.
"Well, well, Ms. Emily. Look at you. Got all the way downstairs by yourself."
He chuckled at his good luck, tossed the empty bottle into the car trunk, and took out the one last thing he needed to tie up a loose end.
***
Josie went past the girls' bodies, slid across the floor, grabbed the bannister and flung herself onto the stairs. She took two at a time. On the second floor, she pushed open all the doors to see if there was anyone inside who might have been overlooked and been left alive. Most of the rooms were empty, their beds stripped to the mattresses, their owners long gone, and no new resident expected. Finally, she opened a door and saw Mr. Traini, hurried to the bed, and put her fingers on the pulse point. He was gone but there was no wound. He seemed to be asleep. Quickly, she ran her hands over the bed, down the side of the body and found what she wanted: an empty powder bag and then another. She tossed them in the bag she carried.
Josie went back down the hall, found one more body and two more plastic bags. She took the short flight of stairs to the third floor and did the same. Room after room was empty except for the one next to the room where Amelia had been sleeping. Josie paused in the doorway of that room. The sense of urgency deserted her. Slowly, she walked to the bed where the old woman lay. Josie had expected no less but seeing this nameless woman dead only doors down from where her mother slept moved her as nothing else had. It could so easily have been Emily.
Josie put her bag down and took the sheets in both hands. She smoothed them over the lady's chest, tucking them in around her. She stroked her hair, cotton soft, more white than grey.
"I'm so sorry," Josie whispered. She picked up her bag. It was time to get Emily's medicine and be done with all this but before she could leave the room she heard:
"Emily? Emily, sweetheart, where are you? Come on now."
***
Peter Johnson's voice traveled upward in such a fashion that Josie knew he was in the foyer, at the bottom of the s
tairs, his face raised to see if Emily would come at his call. Her mind raced forward and backward, trying to figure out what was going on. There was only one explanation. He had seen her – crossing the open space, rooting around Reynolds' office, stealing up the stairs – and mistaken her for her mother. Now he was after her and he had a gun but that didn't mean he had the advantage. Let him think that Emily was wandering mindlessly through the house. He would be off his guard, confused when he couldn't find her, and that would give Josie enough time to get out of the house and back to the cave. When morning came she would try her phone again. If she couldn't summon help that way, she would walk the miles to the harbor and get it. All she had to do was survive until then.
She crept to the door of the old woman's room and listened. The rain was loud but Johnson's heavy boots on the uncarpeted stairs were louder still. He was on the second floor, walking up and down the hall.
Four steps.
Silence.
Three steps.
Silence.
Four Steps. Silence.
He was looking into the empty rooms the same way Josie had but wasn't stopping long enough to check the bodies. He already knew those people were dead.
He started up the stairs that would take him to the third floor, her floor. His foot hit the landing. There were three doors on her side of the hall and she was number two. Her head whipped right and left. She couldn't see into the darkest corner of the room but that didn't mean Johnson wouldn't see her cowering there. He might notice a glint of skin or note an unintentional flinch of anticipation. Hiding in plain sight was not an option. Knowing she had no other choice, Josie went back to the bed, put her bag on the far side, and crawled in beside the corpse. She shuddered, bit her lip, and pulled herself close. Her knees were bent so that her body was exactly the same length as the dead woman. If Johnson didn't look too closely, if he didn't touch the bed, he would pass her by. Just as she crooked her knee and got her head further under the covers, the man pushed the door open wide. Josie held her breath. She closed her eyes and clutched the dead woman's nightgown. She didn't want to die alone.
A second later Johnson moved on. Looking into the small room where Amelia had slept on the couch. Josie raised her head and listened. She could hear him roaming around Emily's room, working himself into a lather. She heard a crash. It had to be the rocking chair going through the window. Josie listened to him curse and call out for Emily and then she heard him coming back down the hall. He came slower, his steps not as pronounced as they had been on the way up. Josie ducked her head just as he came parallel with the door to her room. She hoped he didn't see her move and she prayed the smell of fear wouldn't catch his attention.
She needn't have worried. The only thing either of them could smell now was gasoline.
***
"Stephen! Stephen! Wake up. Wake up!"
Stephen Kyle reached out, took Malia by the waist, and pulled her into him. She landed atop his round belly with a humph. Her Brooklyn came out faster than water from a spigot and she pushed herself off.
"Stephen, it's me!" Malia slapped his chest that was covered for sleep in a Keoloko T-shirt emblazoned with Whales do it on Hump Day. "Come on, get up."
"Malia, love. I was dreaming of a goddess and there you were." Stephen mumbled. He pushed himself up in his big fine bed, the covers falling to his lap. He rubbed the top of his head as if the friction would bring him to his senses. "Are you all right? Crimey, Malia, it's barely light out. Oh wait! It's still dark out. Stupid me."
"Stop complaining," Malia ordered. "Turn on the TV, Stephen."
Befuddled with sleep, Stephen wasn't fast enough so Malia crawled over him, grabbed the remote, and pointed it at a flat screen sprouting from an antique trunk at the foot of the bed. He turned his eyes away with an 'oomph' of protest at the glare.
"Isn't that where Josie is?" Malia demanded.
Stephen cracked an eye then bolted upright. He snatched the remote from Malia as the other girls came to sit on the bed and watch the pictures an early morning hiker had taken, and the local news had run, of Molokai on fire. Well, only a very small part of Molokai – the part where Ha Kuna House was.
CHAPTER 26
"Hello. Hello? Is this Josie's man? If this is his phone, call Stephen Kyle. I am a friend of hers. I have some bad news. . . My number. . . " – Voice Message, Stephen Kyle to Archer
"This is Aolani. Stephen can't talk right now because he's upset. Our number is 808-478-5482. You can talk to any of us. Just call us back soon."
– Voice message, Aolani to Archer
Aolani sat cross-legged on the bed, the phone still in her hand, her eyes wet with tears as she patted Stephen's broad back. Anuhea had her head in his lap and while he stroked her long dark hair. She pulled Kleenex out of little square box and handed them around to anyone who sniffled. Malia was sitting on the floor, her back up against the foot of the bed. She was the only one who didn't cry, but no one doubted she sorrowed.
"We need to go over, Stephen. We need to go now."
"Ah, Malia, I don't think it would help anything. The authorities have it well in hand," Stephen said, accepting yet another Kleenex. "We'd be in the way."
"You can't just leave Josie there," Malia insisted.
"The newsman said they found bodies. I can't claim her. We have to leave that to her man. He'll get back to us–"
"No," Anuhea sat up and pushed her long, long hair away from her face. "Malia's right. We should go."
"'Ike aku, 'ike mai, kokua aku kokua mai; pela iho la ka nohana 'ohana." Aolani dipped her head and looked at Stephen. She widened her eyes, pressing him to the right decision.
"Yes, yes. You are correct. Family first. Go on now, girls. Get dressed. We'll go find Josie." Stephen shooed them away. He gave a great sigh and turned to look at the gardens beyond his window. "Or what's left of her.
***
Woodrow Calister rolled over in his bed, half asleep but only half. He hadn't slept well since Ambrose had dropped his bombshell. Life had gone on. No one had known of his distress. What kind of politician would he have been if he was that transparent? And as the days went on, he started to think that Ambrose was reconsidering. Jerry had not been named, there had been no meetings between the two men that Woodrow knew of, and certainly Jerry would have crowed about it if there were. Lydia was still making sounds as if she believed Woodrow was the favored son. So Woodrow kept his counsel just in case this was a test. He answered the phone half thinking that it would be Ambrose calling to tell him he had passed. It wasn't. Woodrow sat up and turned on the light as he listened to his briefing. He hung up and dialed Eugene Weller. Eugene picked up and sounded as if he were wide-awake.
"There's been a fire in Hawaii."
"Bad?" Eugene asked.
"Yes. It's all gone."
"Is there anything to do?" Eugene asked.
"I've taken care of it. Everything should be wrapped up by morning."
"Thank you, Senator."
"I think we can rest easy," Woodrow said.
He hung up, turned on his side, and smiled. It didn't matter what call Ambrose made. Woodrow Calister was pleased that the man would be safe. He was pleased, because Ambrose was his friend. He must never forget that. There were so few to be had in Washington.
***
Malia had been at the helm of the No Problem, sailing it across the still turbulent sea under a bright sun. The storm from the night before had left the island sparkling and vibrant and Molokai never looked more beautiful. Sadly, Stephen couldn't admire it. He was hanging over the side of the boat looking nearly as green as the island.
Aolani and Anuhea, sat in the deck chairs with their feet up, silently watching the horizon, lost in their own thoughts until the boat pulled up to the dock. When it did, Aolani jumped down and caught the rope that Anuhea threw. When the boat was secure, Malia put her arms around Stephen who fell into them.
"I wish that God would take me.
Throw me overboard. To the sharks," he moaned.
"We're docked, Stephen. Five minutes and you'll be okay. Breathe deep."
Malia got him on his feet and Aolani helped him down. He crashed onto the dock. Anuhea hovered, Malia jumped down. If he fell backward it would take all three to get him up again, but he didn't. The twins took his arms, one on each side while Malia went on ahead.
"There's only the truck, Stephen." She called this over her shoulder.
"I want the big car, Malia," he grumbled and the girls looked at one another.
"Josie must have it, Stephen," Anuhea said.
"Ah. All right then." Stephen lumbered down the dock and climbed into the passenger seat of the blue truck. He put his head back but already the color was coming to his round cheeks. "One of you will have to drive the other one back when we find it. Are there an extra set of keys in the Harbor Master's office?"
"I don't think so, Stephen," Aolani muttered.
"I think you're right, my love. Perhaps someone will have found them. Josie's purse. Perhaps, they'll have found something." His voice trailed away. He rolled down the window and looked out as Malia started the engine.
She drove toward Ha Kuna House while Stephen gulped air and tried to imagine that the wind was blowing raindrops off the trees onto his cheeks and not tears out of his eyes.
***
Stephen stood outside the fire department perimeter trying to engage anyone who passed his way. The men who did, though, had no interest in talking. That didn't surprise Stephen. Not only was their task grim, they were not locals. These blokes wore white jumpsuits to sift through the ash and rubble of what had once been a beautiful house. Actually, though, they weren't sifting at all – they were carting away everything including the ash that had been watered down and cooled to a paste.
In the distance, Stephen heard the thump of helicopter rotors. More than likely it was only a local tour taking in the spectacular view of the cliffs, but it gave him the chills to hear it as he was looking at such horrible scene on the ground.
The Witness Series Bundle Page 171