Fire Prayer

by Deborah Turrell Atkinson

  “Yes. I thought so, anyway.”

  “Was Tanner there?” He hadn’t moved, and his voice was so low she had to strain to hear him. But he had her attention.

  “I didn’t see him.” Storm stopped in front of the counter and regarded him. She decided not to mention the argument she’d overheard. “Do you know Tanner?”

  “He loves his boy.”

  “How about Jenny?” Storm asked.

  “She was nice to me.” He smiled sadly.

  “Was she nice to Tanner?”

  “I don’t think so.” Rolly pushed air audibly through his nostrils. Storm tilted her head. “She was angry with him. He wouldn’t control his disease.”

  “It’s probably hard to do.”

  “You have to try.” Rolly’s voice was firm, as if he had firsthand knowledge of the effort Tanner should have put forth.

  “I suppose.” Storm didn’t want to start an argument. In fact, his statements sounded oddly unsympathetic. She didn’t know how to respond to him, so she walked to the cooler against the wall and pulled out two bottles of water and a packaged sandwich. “What do I owe you?”

  Rolly didn’t move. “You think I don’t understand.”

  Storm stared at him.

  “I’ve lost a hundred forty pounds. My insulin requirements are a third what they used to be.”

  That was about what Storm weighed. He’d lost the body weight of a whole person. “That’s quite an accomplishment. You should be proud.”

  “Not yet.” Rolly picked up her items and punched in the prices. “That’s four dollars and eleven cents. I still have to lose a hundred fifty more.”

  “You’re well on your way. Good luck.” Storm handed him the money. He was harmless, she decided, but she didn’t understand him, and she began to leave. She almost missed his parting words.

  “Tell Tanner Luke’s got his meds.”

  She turned. “Luke was here? Do you know where he is now?”

  The huge man shrugged. “Nope.”

  “Did you ask where he was going?” She knew she was coming on strong, the big city lawyer type. Bad idea around here.

  “No way, lady.” Rolly looked affronted. He scooted his chair back further into the shadows.

  “Okay. Thanks, yeah?” Storm said. “I’m glad you’re Luke’s friend.”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  There was an old Firebird parked at Hawai‘i EcoTours when Storm pulled into the drive. It didn’t look like the typical rental car, so she hoped she was in luck and would find Skelly, Tanner, or anyone who could tell her where they were. The converted house was in a breathtaking oceanfront location, conducive to luring visitors on a water adventure, but she was too worried about Luke and Tanner to linger and enjoy it.

  Storm scanned the hours of operation by the door, knocked lightly, and walked in. A heavyset guy with bad skin and a swollen black eye turned to her. He was on the phone with someone, but bobbed his head and held up a finger in the universal just-a-minute signal.

  He finished the call quickly, remembered his black eye, and kept his head tilted so the good eye faced her. It made him look like a flounder. “Hello there.” He gave her a wet-looking smile.

  Not an opening to inspire confidence. Worse, his good eye had traveled from somewhere above her knees to her neck. It hadn’t reached her face yet.

  “I’m looking for Skelly Richards.”

  “And you are?”

  Storm waited until his one eye met her glaring ones and she thought she saw his Adam’s apple bob. Good. “Storm Kayama.”

  “So you’re Tanner Williams’ friend. The lawyer. I heard about you.”

  “And you are?”

  “Connor Richards.” He stood and held out his hand.

  Storm shook the damp fingertips. “I was supposed to meet with Tanner. You know where he is?”

  “What do you want with him?”

  “He’s an old high school friend and he asked me to get in touch.”

  Connor shrugged. “You’re not the only one looking for him. Cops are, too.” He leered and checked to see if this made an impression. He looked a little disappointed when Storm didn’t react. “He might be in Halawa with the tourists he’s taking out for us.”

  “You have any idea if Luke has shown up?”

  Connor tried to smile at her, but couldn’t quite pull it off. “You heard about that?”

  “I’m Tanner’s friend, remember?”

  He stacked the papers up, matching the edges. “We figure he’s probably gone to Tanner’s cabin.”

  “But Tanner’s with a group, right?”

  “Luke’ll be okay. The kid knows his way around.”

  Storm frowned. “He might be sick.”

  “I’m taking over this afternoon, so Tanner’ll be at the cabin before dark.”

  “That’s good. How about you? You know how to get to the cabin?”

  “What do you want to know for?”

  His swollen eye watered and Storm had the impression his tough act was all a bluff. For a brief instant, she felt sorry for him, and she softened her tone. “Tanner asked me to look into some things for him, and a lot has happened. I’m worried about Luke’s health.”

  “You and everyone else.” His shoulders dropped a bit, though he still didn’t meet her eyes. “Still, Tanner doesn’t like visitors.”

  “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think it was important for the boy. Tanner may not know how serious his illness is. Please, can you tell me how to get there?”

  He slumped in his chair. “I heard the cabin’s around Keawenui Bay. That’s all I can say.”

  “Luke knows the way?”

  “Sure. He’s been there a lot.” He fiddled with the stack of papers again, then pointed to a chair. “You want to have a seat? I can call the storage hut, see if Tanner or Skelly are there.”

  Storm sat on the edge of the chair seat and noticed that Connor seemed relieved to have an excuse to turn his head and hide the bruised side of his face. For such a bulked-up guy, he’d taken a beating. She wondered what the other guy looked like. On second thought, she’d always wondered what these over-muscled guys were compensating for.

  “Hi Jimmy, your dad around?” Connor said into the phone and waited a few minutes. “Bob, you seen Tanner yet?” Pause. “Skelly or Dave Niwa there yet?” Pause. “Thanks, yeah?”

  Connor hung up. “Bob said Tanner is pretty calm about Luke. Skelly dropped the group of tourists and is on his way back.”

  “How about Detective Niwa?”

  “Not there yet. He left here about a half hour ago.”

  Storm stood up. “Thanks for the help.”

  Connor tried another smile. “You ought to come back and rent a kayak. I’ll take you on a tour.”

  “Thanks, but I’ve got my hands full right now.” Storm smiled at him. “But I’ve got a question for you.”

  “Yeah?” Connor looked a little too eager.

  “Did you know Brock Liu?”

  Connor couldn’t hide the surprise on his face, and his skin appeared to grow more sallow. “Uh.” His Adam’s apple bobbed for sure this time. Storm waited.

  “Yeah, sorta. I mean, I’ve met him.”

  “When was that?”

  “I don’t remember.” Connor picked up the stack of papers and shuffled through them.

  “You looking for a reservation?” Storm gestured to the stack of papers. “Do you know if he rented a kayak?”

  He pushed the papers away. “These are today’s clients. I’d have to look back in our records and see.”

  “Could you do that, please?”

  Connor looked at his knuckles, which also looked bruised. He sighed. “I gave it to the cop.”

  “Detective Niwa? He asked you for it?”

  “His partner.”

  “So when did Brock take the boat out?”

  “Like two weeks ago. March 26.” Connor peered up at her. “My brothe
r doesn’t like me talking about clients, so don’t tell him I told you. Is Brock the dead guy in the woods?”

  “I don’t know. He’d been out there a while.”

  Connor’s good eye widened. “You’re one of the people who found him.”

  Storm nodded.

  “Cool.”

  “No, it was gross.”

  He looked at her with new respect. Must have a very boring life, Storm thought.

  “You sure you don’t want to have a drink?”

  “Can’t, but thanks.” She gave a wave and headed for the door, then turned back. “So what’s the other guy look like?

  “Huh?” He ducked his head and smiled. “Uh, he’s in the hospital.” The sad light in his eyes belied the stab at humor.

  Outside the office, Storm dug her cell phone out of her handbag and dialed Hamlin again. Still no answer, and she left another message for him to call. Damn, where was he? She was going to be out of range for a while, too.

  When she climbed into the rental car, she was glad she’d opened the windows and parked in the shade, because the sun was blasting overhead. She’d downed one of the bottles of water on the drive to the Richards brothers’ office, but left a wrapped tuna sandwich sitting on the front seat. It was still there—no mynah birds had made off with it, but Storm hoped that wasn’t because the mayonnaise had gone bad. She was hungry.

  It tasted fine, and she ate it one-handed as she negotiated the winding road east to Halawa Bay. At times, the road was only a few feet from the ocean; the only time she couldn’t see gentle waves lapping the shore was when a stand of trees or a house intervened. Homes were spread out, and there were no ostentatious stuccos, faux-haciendas, or trophy abodes. No condominiums at all. Not one. The sky was intensely blue, the sand blaring white, and palm fronds caressed one another in the breeze. From time to time, an outrigger canoe rested in the shade of a tree. Storm didn’t see any people. It was mid-day, too hot for fishing or outdoor labor.

  Fishponds in the style of the old Hawaiians were scattered along the shoreline, and some were quite large. The citizens needed these, she bet, because the drive to Kaunakakai would take an hour or more. Did the people commute, farm, have cottage industries, or live off welfare? Probably a combination. But she could see why they stood up for their lifestyle. Why the local people, of all different races, put bumper stickers on their cars that read, “Hawaiian Culture Not For Sale.” She wondered how many lawyers lived here, and what kind of cases they handled.

  The road climbed inland and soon she passed the park, which she’d heard was a place for people to catch rides, meet lovers, or buy drugs, and she slowed for a hairpin turn. Driveways on O‘ahu were wider than this. Storm had slowed to about ten miles an hour, which was a good thing, because a pickup was coming around the next bend. The driver grinned, waved, and crunched onto a barely existent shoulder. Storm could have hand-fed biscuits to the dogs in the back of his truck.

  The end of the road looked out onto the entire bay and valley, hundreds of feet below. The area at the end of the road had a wider shoulder, mainly because people had flattened the foliage, and Storm pulled the rental car as far off the pavement as she could, about three feet from the rear bumper of a police cruiser. She figured she was in good company, at least for avoiding a ticket.

  It was a hike down a steep embankment through lantana and other thick ground cover to the sand, and then another trek across the crescent-shaped beach. In the distance, abutting the beach, a long hut with a thatched roof nestled under an overhang of hau, palms, and keawe. Skelly must have greased some palms to have his canoe house on that spot; she’d lay odds the area around the bay was state or private land, and there wasn’t another commercial enterprise for miles.

  The sand on the beach was hard-packed and fairly easy going, but Storm’s progress came to a halt when she reached the river that bisected the bay. The mouth of the river had formed a delta, and the water was too deep to wade. A path wound inland along the banks of the river, probably maintained by Hawai‘i EcoTours so they could bring their customers in. About ten minutes later, Storm discovered the temporary board bridge that had been set up at a narrow point.

  Once on the other side, she headed makai, back to the ocean, and noticed four people milling around the boat shed. Two adults, one of them Dave Niwa, had observed her making her way across the hot sand. Niwa nodded a wary greeting. A tow-headed adolescent boy and girl were busy loading supplies into an outrigger canoe that sat on the beach. When she got closer, they grinned and approached.

  “I’m Bob Crowder.” The other adult, a tall, tanned man with thinning sandy hair, held out his hand. “These are my kids, Jimmy and Sara. They help out when they get their school work done, earn a little extra spending money.”

  Niwa greeted her with a handshake. He looked a little pale. “You get around, Ms. Kayama.”

  “Trying to keep my word to a friend. Tanner Williams and I went to high school together. He asked me to look in on his son, and I just heard the boy checked himself out of the hospital. Did Tanner leave? I was hoping to talk to him.”

  “He took a group of visitors to tonight’s campsite, but one of the Richards boys’ll go later this afternoon to relieve him,” Crowder said. He jutted his chin toward the boy and girl, who were busy balancing what looked like a hibachi, making sure it was secure and in the center of the shallow boat, next to a large cooler.

  Storm looked at Niwa. “Did you see him?”

  “Nope.” He didn’t look happy.

  “Do you know if Luke turned up?” Storm directed this question to both men.

  Bob Crowder shook his head from side to side and Niwa’s frown deepened.

  “Dave, Luke’s a really smart kid,” Crowder said. “We’ve got to trust him. Tanner does.”

  “He’s also a sick kid, and Tanner may not know how serious his condition is.” Niwa wiped sweat from his forehead with an impatient gesture. “Plus, Tanner’s illness can make him distracted, or out-of-touch with what the rest of us consider proper behavior. Like taking care of his son.”

  The web of crow’s-feet around Crowder’s eyes deepened. “I’ll call you if I see or hear anything of him.”

  “Call me the minute Tanner gets back.”

  “I will.”

  “Tell him I’ll have a ride waiting for him—and, I hope, Luke.”

  “How’s he coming back?” Storm eyed the outrigger canoe. “Can he paddle that by himself?” It had four seats, and supplies were packed under all but the rear one.

  “Sure, especially when the bay’s nice and calm like this,” Crowder said.

  “What’s the surf report?”

  “He can handle it.” Crowder seemed to be reassuring himself as well as Niwa.

  Niwa shook his head again, and looked toward the path that led across the bay and to the road. “I’d better head back.”

  “Wait, let me give you some cold water,” Crowder said. “Jimmy, run and get a couple bottles, will you?” The young man scampered into the hut, and the group could hear the slapping of cooler lids and the rattle of ice.

  Storm turned toward Crowder. “I’m also looking into Brock Liu’s disappearance on behalf of his father. He has proof Brock rented a kayak from you.”

  Crowder dug a toe into the sand. “Skelly asked me the same question.” He intercepted the cold, dripping water bottles from his son and handed one each to Storm and Niwa. “He didn’t go out from here. When I checked the rental slips, it looked like he was taking a kayak from the main office. We take boats back and forth, so I keep track.”

  “Any chance one of your kids could have outfitted him?” Storm asked.

  “No way,” he said. “They’re not allowed to let boats go out without my attendance. I have to be here.” He squinted at her. “March 26, right?”

  “That’s the date I was told,” she said. Crowder seemed like an honest guy, but Storm had been fooled before. “Could he have taken one on his own?�
�

  Crowder frowned. “He’d have to be pretty sneaky about it.”

  She glanced over at Niwa, who leaned against a nearby tree as if he needed the support. He’d downed most of the water. Crowder’s son noticed the detective’s thirst, and was back with another bottle before Storm could begin on hers. She thought Niwa looked paler than he had when she’d arrived. “Detective Niwa, I’ll walk out with you.”

  Bob Crowder had been eyeing the policeman with concern, and he looked relieved at her suggestion. Storm and Niwa waved their thanks to the Crowder family and headed across the beach toward the river. The sand, a fine mixture of black lava, silica, seashells, and coral, absorbed heat, and though Storm wore sneakers, she kicked up hot little rooster tails that stung the backs of her legs. Niwa wore long pants, which might have been worse in terms of dealing with the heat. Halfway across the beach, he was breathing heavily and when they were almost to the river, he slowed down and burped. “Haven’t had much sleep the last couple of days,” he said, and rubbed at his stomach.

  “Your stomach bothering you?”

  “A bit. Hope I’m not getting the flu.” He grimaced. “I don’t have time.”

  “You feeling nauseated?”

  “I’ll be okay.”

  Storm took that as a yes. “I hate it when that happens.” She had a strong feeling if she questioned him any more, he’d just deny any problem. She didn’t need to ask if he was short of breath. He was breathing a lot harder than she was, and they hadn’t started climbing yet.

  They reached the path along the river and made the turn toward the little bridge and the mountains. Storm tried hard not to keep looking over at him.

  “Want to rest a minute? It’s shadier here.” She sat under a hau tree, making sure to leave the place with the best shade for him.

  He lowered himself with a groan. “I wanted to talk to you about some things.”

  “I wanted to talk to you, too. I went to Jenny Williams’ house the afternoon before she was killed.”

  “That’s what I heard. I figured it was you, by the description.”

  “Hard to keep a secret in a small town.”

  Niwa sighed. “Seems like someone’s working at it, though.”