Fire Prayer (18 page)

“That Hamlin didn't seem like your type.”

“He's a great guy.”

“Suit yourself.” Poele shrugged.

“So why can't you talk about it?” She didn't have to mention the word ‘fire.' It loomed large in her mind, and she was certain it was huge in his.

He took a swallow of beer and burped softly. “I made a vow.”

“To the person who set it?”

“No.” The thousand-yard stare had returned to his eyes. “Well, I don't think so, anyway.”

Storm frowned. He was the one accused of setting the fire, and he'd given her an unanticipated answer, one that sounded sincere and somewhat puzzled. He didn't know who did set it? That wasn't what she expected. And the question seemed to have vaulted him into some distant memory. The muscles in his jaw bunched, and his eyes glazed with what looked like remorse. Not so much guilt, but profound regret.

Storm watched him carefully. He might also be an excellent actor, and he had a likely murder weapon sitting within arm's reach. How good was she at reading another person's feelings? She was having a hard enough time with Hamlin's, and she knew him intimately. And knowing her own feelings? Never mind.

The little house was hot; no air stirred the grubby-looking cotton curtains at the front window. Unlike most people, he was immune to gaps in conversation. Several minutes passed, and she was the first to break the silence.

“How well do you know Makani's dad?”

Poele pulled himself back to the present with a lurch and tossed off the question with a shrug. “Never met the guy.”

“He didn't see Makani?”

“What do I know?” His dark eyes glittered beneath half-closed lids. “Sounds like you're doing background checks on us.”

“I'm trying to figure out people's relationships to each other.”

Poele snorted. “You still trying to find out what happened to Brock Liu?”

“Yeah. His dad's going to sue Hawai‘i EcoTours, you know.”

“Christ.” Poele shook his head with disgust and downed half of his beer.

“Do you know if Jenny knew him?”

“Sure.”

“Sure, she knew him?”

Poele nodded his response.

“Did he hit her like he hit Delia?”

Poele's answer was so low Storm had to strain to hear him. “I think she was the only woman he couldn't intimidate.”

“Good for Jenny,” Storm said, and meant it.

“Yeah, but I've been thinking about this since I got to know her better. Maybe she figured she didn't have anything else to lose.” Poele sounded sad. “Except for Luke, of course—and she kept Liu away from him.”

“Did she act hopeless?”

“Maybe that's what it was. She acted like she didn't expect anything from a man.” He dropped his empty bottle next to his chair. “Like she didn't give a fuck anymore.”

His last words were nearly a whisper, and Storm had the feeling the conversation was waning. Poele's eyelids looked heavy and the glazed look was staying in his eyes longer. Sadly, Storm didn't think it was all due to beer; the questions she'd posed had seemed to take a toll. She needed to ask another big one, though.

“Do you think there was a relationship between the fire and Tia's disappearance?” Her voice was soft. She worried the question might shut him down the way it had Dusty, but Poele just shook his head slowly from side to side. Several moments passed before he answered.

“I'll never know for sure, will I?” He popped the top on the new bottle, but didn't look up. “But I think so.”

“It must have been horrible for you and Dusty,” Storm said.

Poele looked up sharply, but Storm only took another drink of beer, and he followed suit. “None of us can imagine the loss of a child. I was worried about him for a long time. A handful of us made sure someone dropped by every day, especially in the evenings.”

“Having Makani around probably helped.”

“Probably saved him. Makani worships the ground he walks on. At least Dusty felt needed.”

“He and Tia were close?”

To Storm's surprise, Poele smiled wistfully. “He and Tia were a lot alike. Strongly opinionated, so they butted heads.” He took a long pull from his beer. “Yes, they were close.”

“He talked a little bit about her disappearance. I know he adored your son.”

Poele paused, and the silence that elapsed told Storm a secret. Makani had told her the truth, even though Dusty believed—or hoped, Storm wasn't sure which—that Tommy was Poele's son.

Poele's eyes slid to hers, and he took a drink. “Tommy was Alika's son. Hell, I was trying to adopt him. He was my son as far as I was concerned.”

No one spoke for a minute, then Poele spoke again. “How strong is blood? Is it stronger than friendship?”

He took another drink, and dropped the bottle onto the pile with a clank that jarred them both.

“Brotherhood isn't built on blood alone,” Storm said softly.

“You're right on that one, sister.”

Chapter Twenty-nine

Rolly handed Luke a full backpack. “I know it's heavy, little brother. Better you stop and rest than be without food, medicine, or fluids. Diabetics have to take more care than other people.”

Luke was used to walking, and he was a mile or two out of town in the cool morning air before a rental car stopped to give him a ride. The visitors, a friendly man and woman from O‘ahu, were only going as far as one of the beach parks along the way, but Luke was happy to get farther down the road. They offered to take him the rest of the way in a couple of hours, but Luke didn't want to wait around.

He walked steadily and put out his thumb when he saw cars approaching. In places the road was curvy, and he often could hear the vehicles before he could see them, which made him jumpy. Rolly's advice had resonated with him, and the memory of the man looming over his mother was clearer than ever since their conversation. The image was still faceless, though, and scarier because of it.

Luke was on a shaded bend in the lane of oncoming traffic when he heard the rumble of an approaching auto, and he walked backward, thumb out, facing its approach. The faded red Jeep Wagoneer was scarcely around the corner when Luke recognized it as Connor Richards' car. Connor saw him, too.

He leaned out the window and shouted, “Luke, Jesus! The whole island is looking for you!”

Luke took one look at the beefy arm in the window frame and the swollen black eye in the florid face and bolted. He jumped onto the shoulder of the road, skidded into a ditch filled with muddy water, and scrambled on all fours up a three or four-foot embankment clotted with thick foliage.

Connor squealed to a halt in the middle of the road. “Luke! Stop!” he screamed, his voice cracking with effort.

Luke scrambled faster. In his effort to scale the muddy embankment, he slipped and planted his hand squarely on the broken remains of a beer bottle some reveler had tossed from a car window.

***

Connor saw the flush of vivid blood and heard Luke's cry of pain before the boy crashed through the giant philodendrons and into bank of trees beyond. The last image Connor had of the boy was of Luke's hand in his mouth, blood running in two bright rivulets down his arm.

“Holy shit,” Connor said aloud. Was panic a side-effect of the boy's illness, or had he just scared the kid away? He slumped in his seat and gripped his head between his hands. He was the reason for Luke's terror, no doubt about it.

Connor got out of the car, leaving it in the middle of the road, and walked to the shoulder where Luke had disappeared. “Hey Luke, I won't hurt you. Let me help,” he shouted at the shrubbery. His voice shook a little bit.

Connor climbed back into the car, which smelled of his own sweat, an odor that seemed rancid even to him. A moan of self-loathing escaped him. He'd gone almost a day without a dose of Anadrol, and his buddies had warned him about the withdrawal. They said it was important, though he was going to have to gut it out through mood swings, depression, and physical weakness. They also told him his personal and social skills weren't the only things that needed a break. His heart, liver, and gonads did, too.

The confrontation with Skelly had pushed Connor to this self-awareness. But when he thought about it, he knew he'd done some things he wished he hadn't. In fact, he shuddered at some of the things he remembered, and worried about those he didn't.

No wonder his brother held him at arm's length, no longer trusted him, and had begun to exclude him from the tight circle of friends they'd grown up with. He knew about the recent oath, too. And Skelly hadn't been the one to tell him about it, which really hurt. One of the guys at the gym had been talking, and they'd hushed when he passed by.

And now this kid was terrified of him. How could he undo the damage he'd caused?

***

Luke pushed through the trees. Was Connor the shadowy monster? He didn't know. But he did know the guy was bad news, that he had a nasty temper that exploded without warning, and worse, that he'd once had a fight with his mother. Luke had seen it. Connor had taken a swing at her, but she'd grabbed her sculpture of Maui lassoing the sun, a heavy bronze statue that people admired. She'd had that slimy creep backpedaling in a hurry. It was a good memory.

Luke's breathing was returning to normal. He was thirsty, his hand hurt, and he needed to check his blood sugar soon. The cut was still oozing, and looked pretty deep. Connor really was a pecker-head, he thought.

The ocean glimmered through the trees, and he walked over sprawling hala roots to get to a clearing where he could sit in partial shade and have a snack. He dug through the backpack and got out some items. Rolly, what a friend. Luke knew he owed him. There was a package of tissues, which he could wrap around the cut until he got to the cabin, where his dad could take care of it. He also got out a sandwich and a drink, leaned back against a tree trunk and told himself to relax. He not only needed to recoup some energy, he had to let Connor get away, though Luke worried a bit that the jerk would call for help, and it would be someone else Luke didn't want to see.

He smiled at the memory of how his mom had hefted that statue of hers. Luke knew she was proud of the stone and glass table in their living room, but didn't like the statue much.

“You should go back to your art,” her friends would tell her.

“Someone's got to pay the bills,” she'd snarl, and that person wouldn't bring the subject up again.

Some of his mother's comments brought a flood of emotion he couldn't sort out. Embarrassment for her and his father, whom he loved and who Luke worried might be kind of a loser. He recoiled from thinking that might be true, no matter what his mother said. Uncle Skelly, of course, thought his dad was a genius, but Luke wasn't sure if Skelly was a good judge. Skelly was a nice enough guy, but he didn't always have control over his own life. After all, Tanner had to help with the business all the time, and look at his stupid brother.

Luke took a bite of the sandwich and closed his eyes, trying to fit Connor into the silhouette of the man he'd seen in his living room. There was something different about Connor though, something that didn't quite fit, but who could tell? It had been dark, except for the bands of light from outside, almost like one of those optical illusion games. Plus the guy had been bent over, so Luke wasn't sure how tall he was, just that he looked big and strong. Connor certainly fit that description. But he'd been wearing a T-shirt when he'd stopped on the road, so Luke couldn't tell if he had the tattoo.

Luke finished off his lunch and peeked at the seeping wound in his hand. Hey, he didn't have to prick his finger this time. He'd just use the stuff that was still oozing from the wound. Not too much blood anymore, but enough to put on the little slide that fed the monitor. The cut was starting to throb, and Luke didn't want to think about how far he still had to go. He wrapped a clean T-shirt around it and tied it as tightly as he could.

His blood sugar was in an acceptable range, but he sure was tired. He packed his food, medicine, and gear back into the pack, got slowly to his feet and worked his arms into the straps. The sun was high and hot and he needed to get this trip behind him.

Luke walked for about ten minutes before a car stopped. It was a car he recognized, which wasn't so good, but he knew Mrs. Olivetti, and she was safe. It was too late to run for the bushes.

She rolled down the window on the passenger side. “Luke, everyone's looking for you.”

“Hi, Mrs. Olivetti. Who's everyone?” Luke peered into the car. Mrs. Olivetti worked at the pharmacy with Mrs. Niwa. She was a nice lady, but kind of a busybody, and Luke was afraid she'd insist on taking him back to Kaunakakai.

She leaned over the front seat and pushed open the passenger side door. “You okay, honey? You look pale. Luke, your doctor is all worried. And the poor Niwas, well, they—”

“Have you seen Sergeant Niwa? I want to talk to him.”

“He's in the hospital. Bleeding ulcer.” She tutted and shook her head from side to side. “You better get in, dear. Good lord, what happened to your hand?”

Luke didn't answer her question. Instead, he grabbed the corner of the open door for support. “He's in the hospital?”

“He's a sick man, from what I heard. Maybe you better call him.”

“I will. Where you going?”

“I'm going to visit Mrs. Shima. She had a hysterectomy, and I've got a pot of chicken curry for the family.”

The aroma filled the car, and Luke's mouth watered. “Where's she live?”

Mrs. Olivetti frowned at him. “You're just full of questions. A little past Puko‘o. Where you going?”

“I'm meeting my dad at Halawa Bay.”

“That's a good idea, hon. You need someone to take care of you. What happened to your hand?”

“I fell and scraped it, but it's okay. I didn't want dirt to get on it, so I wrapped a shirt around it.”

“You sure you don't want to see the doctor?”

“Dad will take me if it needs it. He's waiting for me.”

“You sure? I heard he was taking out some people for the Richards brothers.”

“That was earlier.” Luke didn't want to say more. His plans would be all over the island. Plus, she'd undoubtedly protest the fact that he had to hike into the forest.

The lines between Mrs. Olivetti's eyes deepened again, this time in apparent thought. “Okay. I don't have to be back until five. I'll drop you at the bay.”

“That's really thoughtful of you.”

“Get in, honey.”

Mrs. Olivetti asked him a few questions, carefully avoiding the death of his mother. Her remarks seemed solicitous and careful, and Luke got the feeling she was struggling to make conversation. Before long, the heat of the car and the soft background music on the radio made his eyelids heavy. Luke leaned his head against the window. Before he succumbed to sleep, he was certain he spied an expression of relief cross Mrs. Olivetti's face.

The next thing he knew, a gentle hand on his shoulder woke him. “Luke, you got a good rest. We're here.”

Luke pried open his eyes. His mouth was sticky and stale, strands of hair clung damply to his forehead, and his head ached. The curry didn't smell so good anymore. “Thanks, Mrs. Olivetti.”

“You sure you feel okay?”

“Yeah, I'll be fine. You really helped me out.”

“I don't see anyone down there.” She squinted through the windshield. “Is someone in that hut down there?”

“Yeah, they're probably just staying out of the sun.”

“Good idea. You better do that, too.”

Luke made sure he had his backpack situated and got out of the car. “Thanks again,” he said.

She'd done a three-point turn on the narrow road before he even started down the path. Probably forgot what a long drive it was, and was worried she'd be late in getting the curry to Mrs. Shima's. But she saved him a lot of trouble, and he was grateful. As soon as she was out of sight, Luke got one of the sports drinks Rolly had packed for him and gulped the entire bottle. A wave of nausea convulsed his throat soon after, but he fought it. His body needed the fluid and the electrolytes. He had to keep going.