Big Island Blues

by Terry Ambrose

  “Damn,” Carla said.

  So far, I’d met several people here on the Big Island I really liked. Benni, for sure. And even though we’d never met, I’d taken a liking to Andi. The kid had spunk. Carla, in the short time since we’d met, seemed genuine. However, I was beginning to really dislike Shaw Hardy and his Martin guitar—a lot. How could he suddenly pop back into the lives of a mother and daughter after walking out on them more than twenty years ago? I pushed down the anger, wondering what Carla might be willing to tell us about her future husband. “So you and Shaw are pretty serious.”

  She laughed. “We’ve already set a date. The wedding will be here at the B&B and I’m going to be a June bride.”

  “This June?”

  “Just over two weeks.” Carla held out her hand—the rock on her finger was huge. “Shaw wanted Andi to sing at the wedding. Have a seat. I suspect we all have a lot of questions.”

  I sure did—including how a cowboy could afford a diamond about the size of a golf ball.

  Carla left us at the table and returned about two minutes later with a pitcher of lemonade and three glasses on a tray. Dabs of sunshine filtered through, and I imagined Hawaiian music playing in the background. This would be incredibly peaceful, unless you were being chased by a madman named Art.

  Thirty seconds of small talk, then we’d move on. “You said you met Andi just recently?”

  “It was Tuesday—no Monday. You know, sometimes the days just blend in together.” The ice cubes cracked as Carla poured golden liquid into the first glass. She paused with the pitcher held in midair, then continued. “Shaw said it upset Benni quite a bit when he called them. Still, I’m glad Andi came.”

  “Did you two get along?” I asked, mentally counting the seconds I’d allotted for this part of the interrogation.

  “That girl is adorable. She’s got her head on straight and really knows what she wants.” Her eyes brimmed with moisture and her jaw quivered. “To see those two meet each other for the very first time?” She paused for a deep breath. “It brought tears to my eyes.”

  Carla smiled weakly before pouring a second glass and handing it to Alexander. She sniffled. “Sorry, I lost my parents early on, so seeing Shaw get a second chance with his daughter is truly a blessing.” She settled back in her chair, then took a slow sip. A moment later, she wiped at her cheek. “You said Petie sent you out here?”

  Good, right on time. I wondered if she’d ever met “Petie.” What was his secret? I grumbled, “Him and Donny Radisson.”

  At the mention of Donny’s name, Carla smirked. “Andi wouldn’t talk about him. I think he’s pretty hung up on her. Of course, I can’t really blame him. She’s gorgeous.” Carla laughed. “Andi’s got that perfect bronze skin, hair straight out of a TV commercial and a body that would make a sixteen-year-old boy wet himself. She’s a heartbreaker, I tell you.”

  I stole a glance at Alexander. He was nodding in agreement, apparently not bothered by a woman describing his niece in such graphic terms. I suspected if I said the same thing about his sister, he’d take me on a one-way whale watching tour. With no desire to tread water fifty miles offshore, I cleared my throat to move on. “You almost sound jealous.”

  “Me? Not at all. I’ve found the man of my dreams, and he’s her father. I’ll be proud to be her stepmom. I hope Benni and I can be friends, too. I’d really like to meet her.” She gestured at the glass in Alexander’s hand. “Is that too tart? I’ve got sugar if you need it.”

  He shook his head. “No, it’s great. Too bad McKenna don’t have this recipe.”

  I took a sip. Yeah, yeah. It was a perfect combination of slightly sweet, yet tangy, with pulp to add a bit of substance. “Excellent. Look, we were told owners of the guitar die if they decide to get rid of it. Does Shaw want to give it to Andi? Was that his plan?”

  She inspected the wooden slats beneath her feet for a few seconds, then winced. “You’d have to talk to Shaw about that. It’s a sore subject with us.”

  “Why’s that?” I asked.

  For a moment, I thought she might be getting ready to send the two nosey guys packing, instead, she held my gaze. “This is such a peaceful place. Shaw has spent twenty years reconciling himself with what happened back then. He may never forgive himself, but he did finally decide he wanted to get to know Andi. He’s followed her career all along.” She smiled absently. “Even when he thought he’d never have the chance to see her, he was always the proud papa.”

  “So he did know about her.” I wasn’t sure if I should dislike Shaw more or less because he’d stayed away so long. Benni had made a life—and Warren had been Andi’s dad. The only one she’d ever known. “What kind of man turns his daughter’s life upside down after more than twenty years of hiding?” My tone was more harsh than it should have been, but I had little tolerance for deadbeat dads.

  The way Carla bristled left no doubt as to what was going to happen next. “You walk through my door and behave in this high-and-mighty fashion. That might work where you come from, but out here we all care about each other.” Carla stood and gestured at the door. “I’ve tried to be hospitable, but I think it’s time you two leave.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  I really wasn’t trying to piss Carla off. I promise. Really. Even Alexander looked unhappy with me. Maybe I’d finally gone too far.

  Alexander glared at me. “Why you acting so nasty to this lady? She only trying to help.”

  “I’m—sorry,” I said. “You’re right, Carla. I came on way too strong and let my frustration get in the way. Can we start over?”

  “I gonna smack him if he do that again,” Alexander said.

  Carla smiled at him, then fixed me with a schoolteacher’s stare. “No more accusations?”

  “Fair enough,” I said. “Thank you. This has been difficult because weird things have been happening since we got on-island. We came to find Andi, but her mom told us to back off. Then, this Radisson kid started messing with me because he’s drooling on himself just to be around Andi. Her dad—the one who raised her—sees spies around every corner. And let’s not leave out the badass who’s chasing Andi to do who knows what to her. How’s that Alexander? Does that about sum it up?”

  “You maybe got a little more drama goin’ on than what you need, but that about right.”

  “Drama is a good way to describe what’s been going on here, too.” Carla muttered to herself, “Hard to believe it’s cursed.”

  “What, the guitar? You think it’s cursed, too?” I said. That whole voodoo guitar thing couldn’t be real, could it? “That’s the weirdest thing of all. What’s this supposed curse all about?”

  She watched the ice float in her glass. Her voice was flat when she said, “I don’t know anything about it.”

  “No, no. You said there was a curse. Look, we really do all want the same thing—to get Andi home safely. What does the guitar have to do with all this and why is Andi here with Shaw?”

  Just when I thought I had her, the phone rang.

  “My helper called in sick today,” snapped Carla. “Sorry, I’m doing double duty. It should go to the machine in a second.” The phone stopped after two more rings. She continued, “The guitar was made in 1942 by Martin. Shaw knows the model number. It’s in the letter, too. Supposedly, each owner has died prematurely—with the exception of Shaw.”

  I looked at Alexander. “That’s the first consistent information we’ve gotten so far.”

  “Maybe someone broke the curse,” he said.

  “How many people died from this thing?” I asked. “And what letter are you talking about?”

  “Three deaths, one close call—Shaw—back in 1991. He’s worried because he doesn’t want to endanger Andi.”

  “Donny told us it was two. Maybe it’s all coincidence. I don’t see what that’s got to do with Andi.” I pointed at the ring on her finger. “If Shaw can afford a rock like that, why doesn’t he just buy her a new Martin, Gibson, or whatever she wants?”


  Carla shook her head. “Because each person dies when they’ve announced their intention to give it to someone else. It’s been happening for over seventy years.”

  “You’re serious. You really believe in this thing?”

  “I’ll be right back.” She went into the house, leaving me alone with Alexander.

  “Still sounds fishy to me,” I said.

  “Maybe we gotta hear the whole story. You know, kinda like wondering why people return rocks they stole from the volcano.”

  I thought about the stories of people returning lava rocks to Kilauea after they’d run into a string of bad luck. “Madame Pele doesn’t like people stealing from her.”

  Alexander didn’t even hesitate to respond. “You right about that.”

  Carla returned with an envelope and a yellowed piece of paper in her hand. “I only know about how this started,” she said. “Shaw knows all the details, but in 1942, a young Indian boy named Zeke Whistler bought a D-18 from the Martin Guitar Company. Zeke was an up-and-coming acoustic guitarist who made his way off the reservation because he was a brilliant player. He married a white girl named Edith Rader and they were happy for a couple of years. Edith, however, got restless and left her husband for another musician. Zeke was devastated and stalked her for weeks. When he found out about his wife’s lover, he confronted them. They got into fight.”

  “What’s that got to do with Shaw?” I asked.

  Carla held up a hand. “Zeke Whistler was pushed into the street and hit by a bus. He was hospitalized with life-threatening injuries.”

  “Don’t sound like no curse to me,” said Alexander.

  “Edith went to see her husband and in a moment of what she thought was generosity and remorse, Zeke told her he was going to die and made her promise to give the guitar to her boyfriend.” Carla sat up straight in her chair, fingering the yellowed piece of paper. “Zeke died a few days later. When they cleared out his things, his nurse found this letter to the wife.”

  The paper had been folded in half twice. When my fingers touched it, I could almost feel its age. It was brittle. Like a dried out leaf. This wasn’t possible. “How did you get this?”

  “It arrived in the mail back in April. Look at this.” She handed me an envelope. It was addressed to Shaw Hardy, Kamuela, HI.

  “There’s no return address,” I said.

  She hitched up her chin. “Read the letter.”

  I glanced at Alexander, who threw up his hands in a gesture of futility. Gingerly, I unfolded the paper.

  Dear Edith,

  You have hurt me to my very soul with your betrayal. I am filled with anger and have sought counsel with a great medicine man from our tribe. He was here in spirit the day you visited me. He had warned me of the ways of the whites, but I had not listened. Now, I am beyond help. Soon, my ancestors will greet me. You, however, will live a life of misery. The lover you have taken will show you betrayal. He will cherish the guitar I have given him more than you at first, but when that passion fades, he shall die. As will those following him.

  I folded the letter and handed it back to Carla. “Still not seeing how this ties into Shaw.”

  “The wife’s lover was Gerald Carre, Jr. He was on the 1943 USO tour heading to Europe. The day before the tour left, he broke up with Edith.”

  My breath caught at the mention of Gerald’s name. “Gerald? Is that the same one Donny told us about?”

  “The story goes that she demanded he give back the guitar, but he refused. He left the guitar with his father and boarded the Yankee Clipper. It crashed outside of Lisbon the following day.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Twenty-four people died.” Now was a helluva time for us to start seeing consistent patterns.

  “It sounds like you know the rest,” said Carla.

  Donny hadn’t had any proof—but here was something concrete, not just conjecture. Not just internet mumbo-jumbo. Not just somebody’s—lie. I examined the envelope again. This was new. The same as in any office supply store. I asked, “How did Shaw get the Martin?”

  “Shaw doesn’t like to talk about it.” She held up the letter and envelope as she continued. “They found the letter on Gerald’s body.”

  “How’d he get it?” I asked. “I thought it went to the wife.”

  Carla grimaced. “Maybe Edith forwarded the letter. I don’t know. Anyway, that was probably around 1945. Gerald’s father didn’t know what to do with the guitar, so he held onto it until he was in his eighties, when he gave it to his son.”

  “Why would a father do that to his son if he thought it was cursed?” I asked.

  “Shaw and I tried to figure that out, but we didn’t have any luck either. When Shaw bought the Martin from the son, he wasn’t told about any of this. He was only told the seller needed money for medical treatment. Shaw stayed in touch for a while, but the son died shortly after the sale, too.”

  I looked at Alexander, who was deep in thought. “So we’ve got Zeke, Gerald Sr., then Gerald Jr. That’s our three?”

  “Yes, sir. Shaw had been talking about giving Andi the Martin ever since her career started to take off. That was before. The letter showed up in the box out front with the regular mail. That was about a month before Shaw was almost shot out on the range.”

  Please, please, please, I thought. Give us a break. I asked, “Who tried to shoot him? Was there an arrest?”

  She shook her head. “The ranch has a couple of thousand acres, so they never found any trace of a hunter. Pretty weird, huh? Just like the letter.” She held up the envelope. “Notice anything unusual?”

  It was simply addressed to Shaw Hardy. “It has no address. Or postage.”

  “Exactly. It was just in the mail with the regular stuff.”

  “Weird, indeed.” Since moving to Hawaii, I’d learned a new respect for the supernatural, but I’d also discovered how far people might go to conceal a crime. I had all sorts of questions running through my head. One of those was, how could Shaw have orchestrated this? Why would he do it? I had no answers. “So this is an old Indian curse? When does it end? It’s got to have some sort of expiration date, right?”

  “McKenna,” said Alexander. “I don’t think this kinda thing work on the same schedule as you.”

  Carla held up the paper and envelope. “So, you’re skeptical? I was, too, at first. But, not after the last incident, getting the letter, and us finding it all on the internet.”

  Donny had said the same thing. Information on the internet. “It’s not just one source?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “That’s what changed my mind. And Shaw’s. Once you start looking, this thing is everywhere.”

  I leaned back in my chair, soaking in a ray of sunshine that poked through the orange-flowered honeysuckle above. “Why can’t anything be easy anymore?”

  “Maybe you brought all this complex stuff with you,” Alexander eyed me.

  Damn, I didn’t think the words had come out of my mouth. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize—never mind. Alexander, if we’re going to figure this out and get Andi back to her mom, we need to go see Shaw.”

  Carla shrugged. “Shouldn’t be too hard, he’s coming here for dinner. That call earlier was him. He called from his partner’s house and said he’d made a decision about Andi.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Alexander and I waited on the lanai for Carla’s paniolo boyfriend while she gave restaurant recommendations to a couple of her guests. It was shortly after five o’clock when the Hawaiian cowboy made his appearance. The introductions were quick and to the point. I noticed that our hostess had changed into a sleeveless Hawaiian print dress. She hung on Shaw’s arm, adoration in her eyes for the man who looked as much the quintessential cowboy as he did a walking rock.

  His face could have been chiseled from granite, and the way his chest filled out his checkered shirt made him look like one of those guys who posed shirtless for the covers of romance novels while a scantily clad damsel swooned in his arms. His
shirt sleeves were down, which told me this was a guy used to the tropical heat. I supposed being on a horse’s back all day for twenty years would do that.

  With the introductions done, Shaw eased Carla from his side. She winked at him. “I’ll let you gentlemen get to know each other a bit. Dinner’s in thirty minutes.” She waltzed away, no longer the dedicated innkeeper, but now a woman in love, off to cook for her man.

  How primal, I thought. Then again, the aroma coming from the kitchen was enough to make me propose on the spot. Seconds later, Shaw jumped to the business at hand. “Andi mentioned an uncle was coming to visit the Big Island. Let me assure you, she’s just fine.” Shaw gazed in the direction of the kitchen, as if wondering what had happened to the little woman. Carla hadn’t struck me as the type, but maybe it was some sort of paniolo-love thing they were helpless to resist.

  “We’re here to get her home safely,” I said.

  He stared at me. Not a word. Seriously? At this rate, I’d be better off trying to talk to his horse.

  “You not being very helpful,” Alexander said.

  “I’ve never met you two before. I have no reason to trust you.”

  “Carla told us about the curse.”

  His eyes darted toward the house again. “She shouldn’t have done that. That’s my business, no one else’s.”

  “What if your business puts Andi in danger?” I asked.

  “I can protect her.”

  Shaw’s matter-of-fact tone left no doubt about his self-confidence. The problem was, in the past couple of years I’d seen how dangerous some people could be and knew I was lucky to still be alive. “So someone tried to shoot you and failed. That doesn’t make you invincible.”

  “Maybe not, but I’m a damned good shot and they won’t get a second chance. If anyone comes near Andi, I’ll shoot first and ask questions later. That includes you two.”