Fire Prayer (19 page)

Chapter Thirty

Storm left Poele sitting in his easy chair with another beer in his hand and at least six empties beside him. She'd opened a second, but had merely sipped at it. When she announced that she had to leave to meet her aunt and uncle for dinner, he'd flapped his hand in a feeble dismissal and resumed his stare out the front window. It reflected his despair back into the room.

Back in the car, Storm bumped down the dirt lane and tried to remember what part of their conversation had precipitated his melancholy. She thought it was the topic of the fire, followed by the referral to a vow. Then he posed his question of blood and brotherhood. By the time she asked about Tia's disappearance, he was buried in dark memories.

Even with her knowledge of the manuscripts in the bedroom—and she'd intended to bring those up, but hadn't had the chance—he didn't strike her as a murderous type. Cocky and flippant. But evil? Poele didn't have the twisted malevolence and immorality she'd seen in the man who'd imprisoned her and killed others in an ocean cave a few months ago. The memory made her shiver, despite the warm evening. But, she asked herself, was evil a prerequisite for murder? Not necessarily, she thought. Self-righteousness, anger, greed, desperation, and a writhing swarm of other motivations could push a person to murder.

Would she—could she—recognize a murderer? Could anyone? She had her doubts, but the solitude of the dirt road, with its canopy of distant, glittering stars overhead may have evoked these views.

She reached the paved road with a wave of relief. Thoughts like that were counter-productive, and induced self-doubt instead of results. Only about fifteen minutes to meeting her aunt and uncle. An hour with the dour Poele, and she couldn't wait to bask in their affectionate and uncomplicated company. The thought of affection and selflessness reminded her of Niwa.

Storm checked her cell phone and found, to her delight, that she had three bars of reception. Information gave her the number to Moloka‘i General Hospital, where she hoped to talk to a floor nurse about Niwa's condition. To her surprise, the operator connected her directly to his room.

“This is Caroline.”

“Mrs. Niwa?”

“Yes, who's this?”

When Storm gave her name, the first words out of Caroline Niwa's mouth were those of gratitude for the help Storm had given her husband.

“How is he?” Storm asked.

“Pretty good, thanks to Dr. Goldbaum and you. When you told Dr. Goldbaum about Dave vomiting blood, he suspected an ulcer and called for a series of tests, including a gastroscopy. Dave's got to stay in the hospital a few more days, then see a specialist in Honolulu. But he's going to be okay, that's the important thing.”

Caroline's voice became muffled for a minute, and Storm figured Caroline had her hand over the receiver. Storm made out the words, “Rest…tomorrow.” Then Caroline's voice said something like, “For crying out loud,” and Niwa's voice came on the line.

“Mahalo for your help today.”

“You're welcome. How're you feeling?”

“A lot better.” His words came out low and slow. “But that could be the sedative they're giving me.”

“Do you know if Luke showed up?”

His tone sharpened to cop mode. “My partner and others are looking for him.” Then he softened a bit. “Look, we don't want you to end up in here, too.”

“I'm just trying to find Tanner.”

“Right. And I'm a hick cop.”

“No way,” Storm said, and meant it. “But I'm worried. Why did the boy leave the hospital so suddenly?”

“We're looking into that.” There was a grim note to his voice. He hadn't meant to, but he'd given Storm a big piece of information with that statement. He suspected Jenny had been killed, instead of supposing she'd hit her head because she'd been drinking. And he was concerned that Luke could be running from someone, a person who was with Jenny or was responsible for her death.

“Thanks, Sergeant Niwa. Get better soon.”

“And Storm? If you hear anything, call me.”

Storm heard Caroline's voice in the background.

“Okay, dear. Or my partner, Steve Nishijima.”

***

The lights of the Lodge beckoned with a warm amber glow as she bumped into the parking lot. While Storm gathered her purse and locked the car, someone called her name, and she turned to see Delia jogging across the pavement.

“Did you find him?” Delia asked.

“Luke? No, have you heard anything?”

“Yes, Connor saw him on the road to Halawa.”

“Good! Did he pick him up and take him to the hospital?”

Delia swung her head from side to side and panted. “No, Luke ran away.”

“Oh, no.”

“Connor said he got out of the car and shouted at him, but he wouldn't stop. He says Luke cut his hand, too.”

Storm frowned. “When was this?”

“Before noon, maybe around ten?”

Connor, the stupid ass, hadn't said a thing about it when she'd talked to him in the office. “Have you seen Connor lately?”

“No, but he called.” Delia wore a big smile at that pronouncement.

Storm had seen that bright-eyed hopefulness in some of her other women friends. “Are you dating him?”

“No…well, we used to go out. He's really trying to change.”

With some effort, Storm clamped her mouth shut. Delia seemed like one of those nice people who pick losers for partners, and would have a list of excuses for anyone who told her this. She'd have to find out on her own, unfortunately.

“I saw him earlier today and one eye was black and nearly swollen shut,” Storm said. “I'd run from him, too, if I were a kid.”

“He had a black eye?” Delia's eyebrows climbed out of sight under her bangs. Her voice rose with them. “No one would dare hassle him.”

“Someone did more than that.” Storm turned to leave. “Where was Luke when Connor saw him?”

“Not far from their office.”

“Thanks for telling me, Delia.” Storm turned and headed for the dining room, dialing the number for the police station and trying to remember the name of Niwa's partner. She sensed Delia still watching.

“Steve Nishijima, please.”

The man who answered put her on hold for a few moments. “He's not in. Want to leave a message?”

Storm left her mobile number and room number, then pulled open the heavy double door to the Lodge. Connor said Luke was a smart kid, and so did Bob Crowder, who had kids of his own. Storm hoped this was true, and told herself Nishijima didn't answer his extension because he was out looking. That was the only way she was going to enjoy dinner.

When she got to the table, Aunt Maile and Uncle Keone had just given their cocktail requests to the waitress.

“Could you add a glass of merlot to that order, please?” Storm asked the departing server.

Uncle Keone, Aunt Maile, and Storm exchanged hugs and Storm dropped into the dining chair. Subdued lights and candles made the room glow with comfort.

Aunt Maile regarded Storm's subdued demeanor. “Did you see Lambert Poele?”

Storm nodded. “Seems that Brock Liu and Jenny had a relationship. She had a fling with Dusty, too.”

“I wonder when?” Uncle Keone mused.

“I imagine it's hard to be a single woman here,” Storm said.

“Small towns can be tough on the unattached,” Aunt Maile said.

The waitress brought their drinks and Aunt Maile leaned in, her eyes shining with amusement. Storm could tell she was trying to cheer her up. “I met up with an old friend.”

“You did?” Storm took a sip of her wine.

“We used to talk about all kinds of things in our high school days. She was always
kolohe
.” Maile grinned.

“She's still mischievous,” Uncle Keone said dryly. “Those comments about the big
ule
. I nearly blushed.”

“You were red as a hibiscus.”

“Not.”

“Uh huh.”

A smile pulled at Storm's lips. So that's why her aunt had been so amused by Phallic Rock. “She lives here?”

“Moved to Moloka‘i about twenty years ago.”

“What's she do? Is she a
kahuna
lā‘au lapa‘au
, like you?”

“No, she dabbles.” Maile dropped her voice. “She's also done some light sorcery, mostly as a
kahuna ho‘o ulu lā hui.”

“That figures,” said Keone with a snort.

“What's that?” asked Storm at the same time.

Maile ignored her husband. “She's a specialist in getting women pregnant.”

“It's an excuse for raunchy dancing,” Keone said.

“Hush, you.” Aunt Maile slapped his arm and he nearly spilled his beer. “See why women have to keep some things secret? Men do not understand. They just want to unzip and—”

Storm was snorting into her wine glass by this time. “Uncle Keone, I never heard you complain about lusty dancing before.”

Aunt Maile gave him a look. “She's old enough to hear about the Stoplight, you know.”

“The Stoplight?” Storm's voice rose with surprise. “Wasn't that the bar on Kapiolani Boulevard with the strippers who wrote birthday cards, gave change, and peeled eggs without using their hands?”

The conversational buzz at nearby tables was dropping.

Keone was scarlet to the roots of his grey hair. “Hey, I didn't know what it was 'til I got in there. Dusty took us there on a trip to Honolulu.”

“Blame it on Dusty.” Storm shook her head. “Naughty boys in the big city.”

Keone pointed at his wife. “She was there, too.”

Storm peered over at her aunt. Was that a blush blossoming up her neck, across her cheeks and forehead? She was nearly as red as Keone.

“I didn't know, either.”

“Is that place still open?” asked Keone.

“No, it closed down years ago,” said a man at a nearby table.

A new waiter brought the tray with their entrées. Storm figured he'd hijacked the food from their waitress on the way out of the kitchen. “I heard there's one in Pearl City now. You know anything about that?”

Aunt Maile's eyes were the size of her bread plate. “Not!”

“I just wondered,” said the waiter. He scooted back to the kitchen with the speed and dexterity of a slalom racer.

It was more than Storm could take. She choked on the effort of swallowing her laughter. Uncle Keone was making some pretty interesting sounds, too, a cross between a cackle and a squeak. But it was Aunt Maile threw back her head and let rip with a hoot that resounded through the room.

The other tables might have chuckled along and gone back to their meals, except that Aunt Maile knocked her glass of ice water into Uncle Keone's lap and his amusement turned into a gurgled yelp.

People at the tables around them were either laughing outright or gazing into each other's eyes. The man on the other side blotted his face with a napkin while his female companion slowly licked chocolate from a strawberry.

“Ahem!” Keone cleared his voice and anyone who was still leaning their way went back to eating. Fastidiously. “What do you two want to do tomorrow?”

He had already piled both Storm's and Maile's napkins onto his wet lap. Their first waitress, who glared a squinty stink-eye toward the kitchen, arrived with clean, dry napkins.

“Any chance of another ride?” Storm asked, trying to help Keone turn the conversation to a more acceptable topic.

“I was thinking the same thing. I mean, no offense to Hamlin or anything, but we could cover a bit more ground than we did on Friday and see a different part of the island.”

“Sounds good to me,” Aunt Maile said, and borrowed a napkin to blot at her forehead.

“Dusty will let us trailer them if you want to ride somewhere else than here on the west end.”

Storm perked up. Even through the silliness of the last several minutes, thoughts of Luke had teased at the corners of her mind. Nor had Tanner called, although he not only knew she was on the island, the coconut wireless had probably informed him that she'd visited Jenny not long before she died. And that bothered her.

Had Jenny's death put him in a mental state where he didn't want to be around other people? Granted, she'd only asked a few people, but the ones she'd talked to said he was out with tourists. This sounded cavalier for the day after his wife was killed. Unless he had something to do with it.

“Could we trailer them to Halawa Bay, where the road ends?” she asked.

“I suppose,” Keone said. “I'll have to check on where the private land is, so we don't trespass. There are some traditional kalo terraces back there.”

“I'd like to see that,” said Aunt Maile. “People don't often grow taro the old way anymore.”

“You're thinking about Luke Williams, aren't you?” Keone asked.

“A bit. I wouldn't mind getting a look at where Tanner has his place.”

“If we can find it, or get to it.”

“I understand,” Storm said. “Say, this lobster paella is to die for. Anyone want a taste?”

“Sure, I'll swap you a bite of my blackened ahi,” Aunt Maile said.

“I already finished my lamb chops,” Keone said, and the women began to laugh again.

After dessert and coffee the three meandered out of the restaurant and paused in the great room to say goodnight. Right before they split to go separate ways, Storm stopped.

“I almost forgot. Aunt Maile, you were telling me something about your friend, the sex therapist.”

“Not a sex therapist, a pregnancy kahuna. I thought she would be a safe person to ask about the manuscripts you saw at Poele's. So I asked her about sorcerers who could pray someone to death. She not only knew about it, she told me there was a local family whose members were said to be kāhuna kuni.”

“Fire prayers?”

Maile nodded and dropped the level of her voice. “The family's name was Kekapu.”