Lana'i of the Tiger (The Islands of Aloha Mystery Series)
Page 20
“What’s going on?” he said.
“I can’t tell you.”
“You can’t tell me, or you don’t want to tell me?”
“I’m sworn to secrecy.”
“Okay. Well, I don’t need to know the particulars to still give you advice. You need to ask yourself, WWSDD. You know, What Would Sifu Doug Do? Whatever’s the problem, he’s your go-to guy, right?”
My problem was fear. I feared Farrah would never forgive me. I’d put her in the situation that got her beaten up, and then I’d accused her of stealing my boyfriend. And worst of all, I’d doubted her. I’d listened to gossip rather than trusting her decency.
But Steve was right, Sifu Doug was my North Star, my Yoda, my great and powerful Oz. I’d heard Sifu Doug’s philosophy on fear more than a few times. If you face your worst fears and survive, then fear will lose its grip on you. Fear, in all its forms, will fall away like red leaves falling from a tree in autumn. I was pretty sure he hadn’t made it up, since we don’t have autumn leaves in Hawaii. But regardless of who said it first, it was sound advice.
I drove my old green Geo down to Sprecklesville where Hatch, and now Farrah, lived. The knot in my stomach was so hot and gripping that every half-mile or so I felt like I might have to pull over and vomit. But I made it without incident.
I pulled into the long driveway that winds through the secure compound where Hatch lives. His home is the caretaker’s cottage, the first building you come to on the opulent property.
As my car scrabbled over the gravel parking area to the right of Hatch’s house, his dog, Wahine, came bolting out of a hole in the screen door in a fury of barking. Not far behind her came Sir Lipton, Farrah’s dog. Lipton is Wahine’s mother. The “sir” part of Lipton’s name was a result of Farrah miscalculating the plumbing on her dog when she named her. But even after the dog’s correct gender had been determined, Farrah still referred to the dog as “he.” I’d tried to get her to change, but it was a losing battle. While I opted for reality, Farrah preferred fairy tale.
Farrah came out on the porch and waved. From the look on her face, I guessed Hatch had told her about our conversation at Hargrove’s. She wasn’t wearing make-up and I could see traces of the bruises and cuts that were now nearly healed.
I walked to the porch amid a whirlwind of yipping and leaping dogs.
“Aloha,” I said as I leaned in to hug her. I was careful to avoid squeezing her too tight.
“Aloha ku’uipo,” she said. “I’m so glad you came to see me.”
I started up with the waterworks again.
We sat on the porch and talked and talked. Hatch never once came outside. I didn’t know where he was but I was thankful he’d allowed us this time to ourselves.
“So what are you going to do?” I said when we finally got around to acknowledging the reason for my visit.
“I don’t know,” Farrah said. “For now, Hatch has offered to let me stay in his back bedroom until I feel strong enough to live alone again. I hope you’re okay with that.”
I felt like crying again but fortunately, I was cried out. I simply nodded.
“Do you have anywhere to go for Christmas Eve dinner?” she said, changing the subject.
“You know, it doesn’t even seem like Christmas anymore,” I said. “So much has happened.”
“Well, it is Christmas, Pali. And since you’ve got to be somewhere, it might as well be here. And bring Steve. Tell him to make those killer pupus he makes with the little shrimps on top.”
I told her I’d love to come and I was pretty sure Steve would too. Then I got up to leave.
“There is absolutely nothing I can say to tell you how ashamed I am,” I said. We stood and held hands. I looked into her eyes and it felt like I hadn’t given her my full attention for years. “I hope you’ll forgive me. Someday.”
“We’re ohana forever, remember?” she said. “Nothing you’ve done needs forgiving. With ohana, forgiveness is pau’ole—it’s a done deal.”
I kissed her on the cheek and promised I’d be back later to help with the dinner. As I drove up Baldwin Avenue it struck me how much Farrah, with her clear, trusting eyes, long wavy hair and enigmatic smile looked a lot like the Virgin Mary in Renaissance paintings. Another woman who’d suffered in silence.
I pulled into my driveway and looked at my house. It was great to be home. Great to be back in the fold of the people I love. And most of all, it was great to be spending Christmas with my forever ohana.
EPILOGUE
A bunch of things got resolved after the first of the year. Auntie Cora sold Willie’s Shelby GT 500 for over a hundred-fifty thousand dollars to a rich guy in Kalispell, Montana. The guy who bought it promised to send her a picture of the car once he’d gotten it restored. She said she was going to hang it on her wall and show it to Willie if he ever came back to haunt her for selling it. She used half of the money to pay off her mortgage and she tucked the other half away in a credit union on Maui. Now she’ll be able to buy cookies for her tea any time she wants.
The Diamonte/Romano murder investigation also got wrapped up in the first quarter of the year. When the full forensics report was ready and the results of Deedee and Romano’s autopsies became available, the police pieced together the likely scenario.
George Romano had been infuriated with Deedee Diamonte for reneging on her promise of exclusive coverage of her wedding, so he went to her room to teach her a lesson. He filched a pair of latex gloves off a Four Seasons housekeeping cart, presumably so he wouldn’t leave any trace of being in the room. It’s unknown whether he’d planned to kill her or merely scare her, but she died of asphyxiation by strangulation so it really doesn’t matter what he had in mind when he snatched those gloves. After he strangled her, he placed her face down on the bed. Then, using the knife Tyler Benson had previously used to cut an apple, Romano stabbed Deedee Diamonte in the back—a crude allegory for what he felt she’d done to him.
When the maids showed up for turn-down service, Romano ran out to the lanai and tossed the gloves before falling to his death. Again, it’ll never be known if he had illusions of pulling a Superman and sailing off that lanai with nary a scratch or if he jumped in desperation. But when three hundred pounds of human flesh crashes fifteen feet to the ground below, it’s bound to take a toll. In this case, the toll was on Mr. Romano’s cervical spine. The autopsy showed he died from severe trauma to his third through fifth vertebrae.
Farrah’s back to tending the Gadda da Vida Grocery full-time now. She still startles when the bell on the door announces someone’s coming in, but she’s learned to mask it well. Hatch and I have both tried to talk her into pressing charges, but she’s determined to pretend it didn’t happen. She’s moved back into her apartment above the store and the only noticeable changes are a ridiculously bright security light that goes on when you hit the fourth stair, and a couple of heavy-duty deadbolts. When I visit I have to endure the blinding light and I must wait patiently while she fiddles with opening the locks, but you can bet I’ve never complained. I wouldn’t dare.
Hatch and I are closer than ever, due in no small part to our shared love and concern for Farrah. But aside from that, we’re working hard to build our relationship, brick by brick. We’ve spent the last few months negotiating boundaries, laying down history, and enjoying the physical intimacies that define a couple. I don’t want to jinx things by assuming too much or predicting anything, but I think it’s safe to say that if things keep going like they have been, I may be getting a new roommate soon. And, speaking from experience, he isn’t gay.
A few words of thanks…
I have the best writing gig in the world—writing about Hawaii and the people who live there. It was my pleasure to own a home in Maui for eight years, and when I’m writing, it’s almost like I’m there. I hear the ocean crashing on the breakwater; I smell the plumeria trees; and I feel the trade winds rattling the palms outside my window.
For those of you who enj
oy reading these stories and imagining yourselves in Hawaii, mahalo. Good times are always best shared with friends.
And speaking of friends, I’d like to offer a big shout-out to friends who’ve helped me in the writing process. In no particular order, I’d like to thank my early readers who pointed out the obvious and not-so-obvious problems so I could address them. These kind people include Diana Paul, Tom Haberer, Rebecca Dahlke, and Jackie Edwards. And I’d like to thank my fellow writers at misterio press: Kassandra Lamb, Shannon Esposito and Kirsten Weiss who edit, tweet, blog and post—all in the name of ‘one for all and all for one’.
I’d like to thank my supporters, both old and new, who read my books, write reviews (bless you!) and generally make me feel as if this may be a worthwhile way to spend my days, after all. Sue Cook-Goodwin, Wendy Lester, Linda Rosecrans Mitchell, Murphy Lieder, Connie Bannerman Bruyere, Cindy Rivera and Kaye Haberer. It would be impossible to thank all my website friends, but please know you are appreciated. You are the umbrella in my mai tai and the pupu on my platter.
If you enjoyed this book, please consider reading the entire “Islands of Aloha Mystery Series” starring Pali Moon. And don’t forget, there’s a special corner of heaven for readers who post a review on Amazon.
Aloha and mahalo!
JoAnn
The “Islands of Aloha Mystery Series”
Maui Widow Waltz
Livin’ Lahania Loca
Lana’i of the Tiger
Kauai Me a River (available 2013)
http://www.joannbassett.com
Table of Contents
Copyright © 2012 JoAnn Bassett
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
EPILOGUE
A few words of thanks…