Lana'i of the Tiger (The Islands of Aloha Mystery Series)

by JoAnn Bassett

  Auntie Cora was sitting on her porch. She smiled as I approached but it didn’t look genuine.

  “How’re you doing, auntie?”

  She nodded.

  “Looks like you’ve got a lot on your mind,” I said.

  “Yes. Willie used to say, ‘I got a lot to think about, but nothing to worry about’. I miss him so much.”

  I had a hunch that I wanted to check out. “Was there someone here in Lana’i City who coveted Willie’s car?” I said.

  “What do you mean by ‘coveted’?”

  “You know, some guy who wished that car had been his instead of Willie’s? Maybe a guy he worked with, or a neighbor or maybe someone in his ohana? Was someone jealous of the car?”

  She smiled, and this time the smile was genuine. “Oh there were a bunch of jealous guys. One in particular. It was a big thing around here when Willie bought that car. The first day he drove it to work, his boss got mad. Told him he didn’t think it was right for a little Filipino foreman to have a better car than him.”

  “Was he was joking?” I said.

  “Not joking. When the boss got a higher-up job, he told the big boss that Willie was no good. Said to not give Willie the better job. Willie knew it was because of the car.”

  “Do you think maybe when Willie asked you to not sell the car, he really meant don’t sell it to someone here on Lana’i? Maybe he was afraid the boss man would buy it. Or maybe he thought if someone else bought it they’d have the same trouble he’d had. ”

  “I never thought of it that way.”

  “Auntie, would you mind if I stayed here with you tonight? I need to check out something before I leave.”

  “Ipo, you can stay with me as long as you wish. I like having you here. You’re a smart girl.”

  I went to bed that night feeling pretty certain there was a good chance Auntie Cora wouldn’t get kicked out of her house.

  ***

  The first ferry to Maui was scheduled to leave at eight o’clock. While I sat in the shadows of Auntie Cora’s porch waiting for Kate, I pondered what I did and didn’t know about Deedee Diamonte’s murder. She’d been killed sometime between six and nine in the evening, and that matched up with Stella’s account of finding Deedee’s body at eight o’clock. Tyler had been with me from about six-thirty until well after eight, but now the police allege his prints were on the murder weapon. How was that possible? And was there a link between Deedee’s death and the dead gossip reporter found under her balcony? Could it be that the local gossip was right and Tyler had found them together in Deedee’s room and killed them before coming down to the White Orchid? If so, Tyler was a better actor than I’d realized. He’d given an Oscar-winning performance of an innocent man.

  I was deep in thought when a silver Corolla pulled up. Kate rolled down her window and waved. I made a dash from the safety of the porch to the passenger side door and jumped inside.

  “You ever been to Maui?” she said.

  “A few times.”

  “You know your way around there?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Well good, because all I’ve got is an address in a town I’ve never heard of,” she said. “I looked it up on the Internet and it’s somewhere in central Maui. We’ll probably have to rent a car.”

  “What’s the name of the town?”

  “I can’t remember. Here’s the address.” She pulled a piece of paper from the console and handed it to me. The town where Marta was hiding—Pukalani—was only a few miles north of my house in Hali’imaile.

  Did I know my way around? Heck, I could’ve found the place blindfolded.

  CHAPTER 26

  We bought our round-trip tickets and had only a short wait before the ferry came churning into view. Even though it was the first trip of the day it looked like the ferry would be filled to capacity. But then, it was the last Saturday before Christmas. The gift-buying procrastinators and people stocking up for a big Christmas Day dinner were already lined up.

  As I looked at their faces, everyone seemed to be trying awfully hard to appear jolly. But I’d been in the wedding business long enough to spot the facial expression that appears to say, isn’t this fun? but really means I can hardly wait ‘til this is over. The holidays are like that. Lots of expectations, lots of anxiety, and a whole lot of thinking that other people are enjoying it way more than we are.

  We approached the gangway and the same ponytail guy was checking off the embarking passengers against the manifest.

  “Not you again,” he said as he looked up from his clipboard. “You gonna actually go this time?”

  “Yeah, I’m really sorry about yesterday.”

  “Is your auntie doing better?”

  “Mahalo, she’s much better today.”

  Kate shot me a quizzical look and I told her I’d fill her in later. We headed for the stairs to the top deck.

  “You okay with sitting outside?” Kate said.

  “Best ride on the boat.”

  The crossing was a bit rough, with sea spray crashing over the bridge and getting everyone sitting outside wet, but no one made a move to go inside. The sun was shining against a perfect cobalt-blue sky and the smell of the ocean was invigorating. I thought about Ono and our sail around Lana’i two days earlier. I felt a stab when I remembered him telling me about Farrah and Hatch living together. As eager as I was to be home, I wasn’t at all eager to face that mess.

  When Lahaina Harbor finally came into view it was all I could do to keep myself from bawling like a baby. Shops and boats and people—lots of people—could be seen out along the waterfront and along Front Street. The West Maui Mountains rose in the distance like immense green sentinels welcoming me home.

  We pulled up to the dock and waited for the gangway to be lowered and locked in place. I looked over at the marina hoping to spot Ono’s catamaran, the Maui Happy Returns. It was there, at the far reaches of the harbor, gleaming bright white in the morning sunshine.

  We disembarked. The ferry passengers made a beeline toward the line of waiting taxis and shuttle busses parked along Harbor Street. Kate started walking quickly to join them, but I put a hand on her arm.

  “Come with me,” I said. “I know someone here at the harbor. We may not need to rent a car after all.”

  We trotted over to the furthest area of boat slips where the Maui Happy Returns was docked. Ono wasn’t visible on deck, but Chico, a young guy who sometimes crewed for him, was scrubbing the “trampoline,” the netting at the front of the catamaran.

  “Hey, Chico,” I called. I felt a little alarmed at how politically incorrect that sounded, but hey, it was the guy’s name.

  “Hey, Pali,” he called back. It took me a second to realize he’d called me my real name. Kate’s expression registered confusion.

  “Uh, some friends from way back know me by my school nickname,” I said. I turned back to Chico. “Is Ono around?”

  “Nah. He’s gone to the other side,” he said. “Probably be back in a while.”

  “You got his cell number handy?”

  “Sure. You ready?”

  “Uh, hang on a second. I don’t have my phone with me,” I said.

  “I have mine,” Kate chimed in. She pulled a sleek black smart-phone from her bag and handed it to me.

  Chico rattled off Ono’s number and I punched it in. It rang until it went to voicemail and I left a message.

  Kate and I left the dock and went to sit on a bench in Banyan Tree Park. Kate said she needed to use the restroom and she got up and started toward the public toilets by the dock.

  “There’s a better ladies’ room on the second floor in there.” I said. I pointed to the old courthouse building that houses a visitor’s center and art gallery. “It’s open to the public.”

  “Looks like you really know your way around here. I thought you’d only been to Maui a few times.”

  “My auntie used to bring us over here when we were kids,” I said. “Lahaina’s stayed pretty much
the same.”

  She nodded but looked unconvinced.

  While Kate was in the restroom I looked around at the familiar sights and sounds of Maui. I was finally home. Even though I was on the opposite side of the island from my house, everything about the place felt normal to me in a way no other place on earth ever would.

  Kate walked back to where I was sitting; talking on her cell as she walked. She didn’t look happy as she hung up and stashed the phone in her bag.

  “I just talked to Marta’s sister,” she said. “We’ve got to get going. Marta’s leaving for Manila at twelve-twenty.”

  I scanned the harbor looking for Ono. Still no sign of him. We sat down and I outlined my plan for Kate. If Ono didn’t show up in half an hour we’d call for a cab. We’d take the cab to the airport and rent a car. From the airport, it was only a fifteen minute drive to Pukalani.

  “How do you know all this? I mean, if you were a kid when you were here, how would you know how long it takes to get to Pukalani from the airport?”

  “I guess I was a precocious.”

  Less than twenty minutes later I spotted Ono’s red and white VW bus making its way down Front Street. My heart leapt as I watched the little hippie van inch its way toward us in the early morning traffic.

  “That’s him,” I said getting up. I trotted over to Front Street to flag him down.

  ***

  Ono pulled to the side of the road. “Hey, what are you doing over here?” He looked up and down the street as if half-expecting a hail of gunfire.

  “Aloha, Ono. This is my friend Kate. We’ve come over from Lana’i to talk to someone here. Any chance you could give us a ride to Pukalani?” I stuck to the facts since I didn’t want to have to explain any more than necessary to either Ono or Kate.

  “Sorry, but I’ve got a big group going out this afternoon. Bunch of insurance agents. We’ll be gone until six. Can you wait until then?”

  “No, we need to go right away. The woman we’re meeting with is leaving for the Philippines in a few hours.”

  He shot me a look that had a million questions behind it but I didn’t bite.

  “Could we borrow the bus?” I said.

  Ono looked pained. I’d ridden with him before in his classic 1964 Volkswagen van. When it was cruisin’ flat out, the thing barely got up to forty-five. But Ono was as proud of his vintage ride as Willie was of his Shelby.

  “I promise to be gentle,” I said. “No gunning the engine and no muddy feet.”

  “Nah, it’s fine,” he said. He looked over at Kate. “I’m not a jerk. I let people drive the love bus all the time.”

  I leaned in the window, sniffing.

  “What’re you doing?” he said.

  “Checking for smoke. I’m waiting for your pants to catch on fire.”

  He got out and ceremoniously handed me the keys. I kissed him on the cheek.

  “We’ll be back by one o’clock,” I said.

  “Take your time. I’ll be gone by then anyway. Park it over there, in the lot by the school. You can leave the keys in the dock box.” He started walking away.

  “Aye, aye, Captain,” I said. “Mahalo. I’ll gas it up before I bring it back.”

  “She takes premium,” he said over his shoulder.

  “Of course she does.”

  ***

  Kate and I didn’t talk much on the ride up to Pukalani. Besides, it was hard to hear over the roar of the tiny VW engine reverberating through the chassis. I took the Honoapi’ilani Highway to the Kuihelani Highway into Kahului. Then I turned at the Hana Highway and then again at the road to Haleakala. It was weird to be driving the same roads I used to drive every day. And it was beyond weird to be only a few miles from my house and not go there. When I saw the sign announcing we were entering the town of Pukalani, I turned to Kate and asked for directions to the house.

  “I’m not sure how to get there,” she said. “Let me call Marta’s sister.”

  She called. It turned out we were only a few blocks away. We made a couple of turns and parked in front of a small brown house.

  The place looked deserted. The shades were drawn and the driveway was empty. Usually in family neighborhoods you see bikes or kids’ toys scattered around, but at that house the yard was completely bare. “Are you sure this is the right address?” I said.

  She checked her paper. “This is it.”

  We went to the front door and Kate knocked. I noticed there were no flip-flops or shoes on the porch—very unusual for a Hawaiian home.

  We waited. And waited. Kate dug around in her bag and pulled out her phone. But before she could punch in a number, the front door opened a crack and a tiny brown face peered out.

  CHAPTER 27

  The woman behind the door was less than five feet tall. Kate spoke to her in Spanish and the woman opened the door just wide enough to allow us to slip inside. Once we’d come in, she pushed the door shut and locked it with a deadbolt.

  Kate introduced me and I managed to recall enough of my high school Spanish to say I was pleased to make her acquaintance. Kate started talking in rapid-fire Spanish. I assumed she was telling her I didn’t speak fluent Spanish so Kate would be translating. A few moments later a second woman appeared in the hallway. To my untrained eye, the two women looked like mirror images.

  The first woman gestured for us to sit in the living room and, once we’d sat down, she began speaking in English. She said her name was Maria and she’d married an American ten years ago and had moved from the Philippines to Hawaii. Her twin sister Marta stayed behind to care for their elderly parents but now the parents were dead. Marta had come to the U.S. four months ago to join her sister. She said Marta was thrilled to find the housekeeping job at the Four Seasons Hotel on Lana’i even though it meant sleeping in a workers’ crash pad during the work week and only coming back to see her sister on her days off. Maria said Marta had hoped to stay in the United States and become a citizen, but she’d overstayed her visa and now she had to return to Manila.

  Maria said nothing about Marta witnessing a murder victim or being sought by the police, even though the Lana’i murders had been front and center on the Maui news for the past three days.

  Marta and Maria sat on chairs opposite us and it was like looking cross-eyed and seeing double. They even wore matching clothes—black pants and loud floral-print blouses. I looked at Kate and she looked at me. Seemed we were thinking the same thing.

  I asked Kate to ask Marta what happened that night. Marta bit her lip and began talking in a voice so soft I was amazed Kate could keep up. After a couple of minutes, Kate held up her hand in a “stop” gesture and turned to me with the translation.

  “She says she and Stella were going from room to room on the second floor doing turn-down service. They’d been at it for about half an hour. They’d park their cart in front of each room and knock. If someone answered, they’d go in when the guest opened the door. If no one answered, Stella would use her pass key. Stella always entered first. When they got to the ‘dead lady’s’ suite Stella told Marta to tidy up the sitting area while she turned down the bed. Marta crossed the sitting room to pick up a towel on the floor and when she looked up, she saw a man.”

  “Inside or outside?” I said.

  She asked Marta and Marta mumbled a couple of sentences.

  “Outside. She said she could see him through the window. He was outside on the balcony—the lanai.”

  “She’s positive she saw a man?” I said.

  Kate asked and Marta answered.

  “Yes, she said she’s absolutely positive because the man looked startled to see her.”

  Kate asked Marta to continue. After a few more minutes of back-and-forth whispered Spanish, Kate translated again.

  “About the time Marta noticed the man, she heard Stella scream. At the sound of the scream, the man tossed something off the lanai. I asked her if she saw what he’d thrown and she said she couldn’t tell, but it was small, like a wad of paper. Then th
e guy climbed up on the railing. She said she left to see why Stella had screamed so she didn’t see what the man did after that.”

  “So while he was up on the railing she went into the bedroom?” I said.

  “I think so, but let me check.”

  She asked Marta and Marta nodded. Her face looked crestfallen as if she blamed herself for not talking the guy down off the ledge. Of course, it would have been pretty difficult to talk him down unless the guy knew Spanish—or Tagalog.

  “So the guy tossed something and then presumably took a header off a second-story lanai. Why would someone do that?”

  “I don’t think Marta can answer that,” said Kate.

  “Right. I was just thinking out loud.”

  We sat in silence for a few moments while Marta relived the horror of that night. Maria reached over and took her sister’s hand. I sat there wondering what could’ve led to the bizarre events Marta had just described.

  “Would you please ask her if she went into the bedroom and saw Miss Diamonte?”

  Kate asked and Marta answered in the affirmative. She followed it up with a bit more hushed talk.

  “She says yes, she saw her. And she said she thought it was odd because there wasn’t much blood.”

  “What?” I said, “I thought Deedee Diamonte was stabbed to death. Ask her what she means by ‘not much blood’.”

  Kate asked. It took Marta a few sentences to answer. Then Kate translated.

  “She says the lady was face down on the bed and there was a knife in her back. But the wound wasn’t bleeding much. She said she knows about knives and bleeding because back home in the Philippines they used to butcher hogs on her father’s farm. And when they’d stick in the knife a lot of blood would spurt out.”

  By now Marta was looking really stricken and Maria looked anxious for us to leave. I turned to Kate.

  “One last question,” I said. “Can Marta describe the man on the lanai?”

  Again, my public school Spanish came through in a pinch. “Gordo,” said Marta—fat.