Fire Prayer (3 page)

“Butterfly won. I had nothing to do with it.”

“People thought it was an act. You should have heard the applause,” Keone added. “But when the announcer called Storm's name, a silence fell over the crowd cuz nobody believed the race was for real. And Storm walked right up to the microphone, grabbed it, and proclaimed that her horse had won the race. She stuck a carrot—you had those in your pocket the whole time, right?—in the big silver cup and let Butterfly work it out with her lips. The audience loved it.”

Hamlin grinned at Storm and her discomfort. She rolled her eyes at him, then caught sight of a hand-lettered sign by the side of the road.
A‘ole La‘au
and right under it,
Momi's Organic Foods, 7 p.m. Tuesday
.

“Is that one of the meetings you were talking about?” Storm asked, trying to change the subject.

“What's
a‘ole'
? Hamlin asked.

“Means ‘never,'” Dusty said. “As in ‘never develop La‘au Point.' And that's a meeting, all right. Activism isn't dead and gone, just more stable.”

“Same people who were protesting ten years ago?” Hamlin asked.

“Some of 'em. A few, like Lambert Peole, dropped out. I hardly ever see him, though I heard a rumor he's been calling on a woman in Kaunakakai. Jenny Williams, a nice gal with a real smart kid.” A note of regret seemed to linger in Dusty's voice.

Storm didn't dwell on that, because the name caught her attention. Jenny Williams was Tanner Williams' ex.

“Lambert Poele was the leader of the protest group back in the nineties. He got arrested for the fire, right?” she asked.

“They let him go. No evidence against him, just hearsay. He was the only suspect without a good alibi.”

“Was anyone else arrested?” Hamlin asked.

“Nope. Tanner Williams and Skelly Richards were with women that night and Connor's mother said he was home with pinkeye.”

Interesting detail for Dusty to remember, Storm thought, and almost missed Hamlin's next question.

“Skelly Richards. Isn't he the guy that owns Hawai‘i EcoTours?” Hamlin asked.

“Yeah,” Dusty said, and pulled into the drive leading to the Lodge, a rustic yet sophisticated structure with spectacular views in all directions. “He's had his troubles, too. Got into using meth for a while, but he's gone to NA for a decade and he's had his little business almost as long.”

Storm stole a sidelong glance at Hamlin. This was the guy Devon Liu, owner and CEO of the mega-business Pacific Shipping and Transport, wanted to sue for millions. She wasn't sure, but Hamlin might have slouched a bit in his seat.

“You ever meet a guy named Brock Liu?” she asked.

Dusty hopped out of the driver's seat and opened the van's sliding door. “Sure, he stayed here a few weeks ago. Had a fancy room and ordered a lot of room service.” He shrugged at Storm's inquisitive look. “He had a girlfriend, from what I hear.”

“That the heavy-handed guy your appaloosa gelding dumped?” Keone asked. “I think I saw him the weekend I was here checking out your brood mare.”

“The same,” Dusty said.

“Thought so.” Keone grinned and turned to Storm. “Why you asking?”

Hamlin answered. “He may have disappeared in a kayak accident.”

“Here on Moloka‘i?” Dusty asked.

“He rented a kayak from Hawai‘i EcoTours and never came back.”

Dusty screwed up his face. “I carried his bags to the car the morning he left and could have sworn he said he was heading for the airport.”

“You know what day that was?” Hamlin asked.

“Not offhand, but we can find out from the hotel registration desk,” Dusty said.

“Did you drive him?”

“No, he had his own SUV. Musta had it shipped over, cuz nobody rents them here. Dollar and Budget are the only car rental places, and they don't want people going off road. Too dangerous. Landslides, flash floods, private land and all.”

“Maybe he borrowed it from a friend.”

Dusty looked doubtful. “It had Honolulu plates.”

Dusty took Storm's and Hamlin's duffel bags and put them on a waiting cart. “He got sort of friendly with one of our cowhands. Let's get you checked in, and we'll head to the stables. We've got a mare about to deliver and Makani will be there. You can ask him.”

“We'll meet you at the stables,” Keone said. Hamlin nodded his agreement.

Storm kept her mouth closed. She'd meet them, but later. She couldn't help feeling Dusty knew more about Brock Liu than he let on. He knew Skelly Richards and his personal history, he knew about Lambert Poele's love life and the rumor that Brock had a girlfriend. The coconut wireless worked faster than electricity on this island, so why hadn't he heard where Brock had gone? And where was that conspicuous SUV?

Chapter Three

Storm stowed her clothes in a dresser drawer and put on jeans and a t-shirt. She turned to Hamlin, who was still unpacking. “I'll meet you later. I need to run into Kaunakakai and visit Tanner Williams' ex. I also want to pick up some things.”

“Don't you want to see the mare give birth?”

“I'll probably be back before that happens. And you can talk to Makani about Brock Liu.”

Storm didn't like seeing the disappointment in his eyes, but she wanted him to talk to the cowhand and think about Devon Liu's case. Liu was a powerful businessman in Hawai‘i, with land holdings throughout the islands. He was the type who met senators for an afternoon drink and knew their kids' names. He'd be hard to say no to, even if there was no proof the tour company had been remiss. Plus, there was no evidence yet that the son had died. What if Brock Liu had a sweetheart here that his father, a highly opinionated individual, didn't approve of? Or if Brock had tired of working for his father?

But Storm had a bad feeling this wasn't the case, though she couldn't put her finger on why she felt this way. Probably it was because when people in Hawai‘i disappeared, the outcome was often an unhappy one. Though the vast majority of island citizens were friendly and helpful, avarice, addiction, desperation, and malevolence existed here, like anywhere else. Plus the towering cliffs, miles of rocky coastline, impenetrable jungle, and the unpredictable geology of old and active volcanoes made it easy to get rid of someone. Storm wasn't even going to consider Aunt Maile's ghostly legends: she didn't want to believe Night Marchers, malevolent spirits, or angry warriors of old were among the reasons Brock Liu missed his board meeting. She worried, though, that the young man had suffered an accident, probably in the ocean.

Then there was the rub with Hamlin, who was less discriminating than she when approached by influential clients. Storm believed many people who filed negligence or wrongful death lawsuits found it easier to live with the idea that someone else was responsible for a death than the deceased or, God forbid, themselves. And she didn't care how much influence certain clients had.

She walked back through the Lodge, head down, lost in thought. In Hamlin's defense, it would be difficult to turn away a client with Devon Liu's clout, as any other lawyer would pounce on the case without a second's hesitation. And Liu, as president and CEO of the billion-dollar Pacific Shipping and Transport, could put a serious crimp in the practice of an attorney who pissed him off.

Then again, maybe Hawai‘i EcoTours neglected to include Brock's lifejacket with the kayak, or a paddle had broken. Hamlin was right, he had to check it out.

Meanwhile, she needed to check on Luke Williams, as per Tanner's request. She needed to see for herself whether Tanner had a reason to be concerned about Jenny's mothering abilities, because that's what he'd asked her to do.

Storm figured she'd be less conspicuous asking questions in the small town of Kaunakakai if she was alone. Her half-Hawaiian, half-Japanese ancestry made her less of an outsider than Hamlin's green-eyed, sandy-haired fairness. On an island that didn't even have traffic lights, she'd be spotted as a stranger, but she looked more local, and unfortunately, that sometimes made a difference.

She had also told her best friend Leila, who ran a bakery in Honolulu, that she'd bring home a few loaves of the renowned Kanemitsu's Moloka‘i Bread. It would be a good idea, too, to pick up some crack seed, dried cuttlefish, and fruit for between-meal snacks while she asked some low-key questions about Jenny, Luke, and Tanner Williams.

When Tanner called last week, he mentioned that he'd seen her name in the paper. The murder of Nahoa Pi‘ilani, a renowned surfer, was big news, and she'd been caught up in the rash of deaths. In one of those odd connections that sometimes happens, she'd recently thought of Tanner, too, because she read an article about the East Coast pharmaceutical company where he'd once been a prominent researcher. Some years ago, a rumor circulated that he left the company and moved back to Moloka‘i in some kind of disgrace. But there'd always been gossip about Tanner, and Storm ignored it just like she had in high school.

Outside, Storm squinted into the oblique rays of the sun. The white van that had brought them from the airport sat a few yards away. Someone's rear end, encased in tight jeans, bobbed in the opening of the driver's side door.

“Hi,” Storm said, stepping aside to avoid being hit by a jettisoned paper cup that missed the trash bag sitting beside the vehicle. “You know if anyone is going into Kaunakakai?”

The jeans straightened and turned to face Storm's question. There'd been no question that the derriere was a woman's, but Storm was surprised to be staring up at a set of false eyelashes as dark and heavy as moth wings. The woman was in her mid-thirties and big, a good two inches taller than Storm's five-eight. She outweighed Storm by twenty pounds, and the bright mid-day heat had caused her blue eyeshadow to collect in the creases of her upper lids. Perspiration ran down her neck into a bosom that stretched the ribbing flat on her striped tube top. She could pack a sandwich and spare change in that cleavage.

“When did you want to go?” the woman asked.

“Whenever the bus is leaving.”

“Give me a couple more minutes. I'm headed into town for supplies.” The woman bent over, grabbed a whisk broom, then stood up again. “I'm Delia.”

“Thanks, I'm Storm. Can I help?”

“Nah, I'm almost done. Let me just…” Storm lost the rest of the sentence because Delia dove between the front seats. She came out with a clipboard and an empty Doritos package, which she tossed into the rubbish bag.

She readjusted her tube top. “Okay, you ready?”

“Yeah, thanks.” Storm got in the passenger side and noticed that Delia had taken out one of the back seats and loaded a couple of ice chests. “You going to the grocery?”

“The docks,” Delia said, and pulled out onto the road. “Fresh catch is mahi and ahi. Dinner's going to be great. You eating at the Lodge?”

“I think so. I'm here with my aunt and uncle. He's here from the Big Island, buying horses.”

“You're Keone Mapuna's niece.” Delia's face cracked into a smile. “I'm from Hilo.”

“The big city,” Storm said, and they both laughed. It was, compared to Pa‘auilo, where Storm had grown up. Still, with a sedate population of about forty thousand, there wasn't much for a young person to do in Hilo except smoke pot and dream about leaving. Moloka‘i made Hilo look like a teeming metropolis.

“You been here long?” Storm asked. The van was at a high point, where the women could see ocean on both sides of the island. Storm felt as though she were on a precious gem at the center of a vast, sparkling dome of Pacific blue. They could have been in orbit. It was simultaneously breathtaking and remote.

“About twelve years. I moved here when I got married, but that didn't work out so well.” Delia shrugged. “The marriage, I mean. Working for the ranch is fun, and the pay's decent.”

“Seems like you'd meet some interesting visitors.”

“Sure, from all over the world.” One corner of Delia's mouth turned down. “Haven't really connected with anyone, though. If you know what I mean.” Delia tugged at her tube top again.

“Um, yeah,” Storm said. “You ever meet a guy named Brock Liu?”

Delia was looking straight ahead when Storm asked, so Storm couldn't tell if the woman's face froze from sadness, distaste, or some other emotion.

“Yeah, his family owns land here.” Delia's full lips thinned with her answer, and she didn't say anything else for several miles. She broke the silence with, “You want me to let you out in town?”

“Is there a general store? Maybe a place to get snacks?”

“Try Amos' Crack Seed. And Ishiro's Market is right down the street.” Delia pulled into a parking slot, but left the van's engine running.

Storm climbed out, then leaned in the open door. “You going back soon?”

“Yeah, I can meet you on the main road in about an hour.” Delia avoided Storm's eyes.

“That would be great,” Storm said.

The women exchanged mobile phone numbers and Delia drove off. Storm hopped out, wishing she knew why Delia had shut down at Brock Liu's name. She liked Delia and wouldn't mind having someone to chat with about Moloka‘i life. Squinting into the angled rays of the setting sun, she decided she'd share Delia's odd reaction to Brock Liu with Hamlin, and let him decide what to do with it.

Chapter Four

Amos' Crack Seed reminded Storm of favorite stores from her childhood. Like the Hilo and Hamakua shops she remembered, it probably hadn't changed much since the day it was built, not long after World War II.

The three long fluorescent tubes in the center of the ceiling were no competition for the bright outdoors. One of them flickered and buzzed like a trapped fly. Shelves of big glass jars filled with dried, preserved fruits lined the walls of the single room. A rack right inside the door, with which Storm had almost collided in the gloom, hung with home-sealed packages of Betty's Chocolate-Dipped All-Butter Shortbreads, chocolate chip macadamia nut cookies, and something called Melting Moments.

A spicy sweetness saturated the air, and Storm's salivary glands ached with longing. She grabbed a bag of Melting Moments—anything with that name was worth a try—and headed for a wall of jars. There she paused, scooper in one hand and empty cellophane bag in the other, paralyzed with delicious indecision.

Prune mui, black cherry seed, or pickled mango? Maybe the shop owner would let her sample. Just a little taste from a jar or two.

She looked in the direction of the cash register, where he sat in the shadows, hunched like a stone Buddha. Only the glint from his eyeglasses revealed that he drew breath. Nearby, a flock of noisy adolescents clustered around a big refrigerator-freezer. The light from the appliance tinged their skin blue.

“Hey, Roly-Poly, what you eat today? One case Haagen-Dazs, thirty-five Snickers bars, a kālua pig or two—”

Someone in the group snickered.

“Shut up, Hogan,” came a boy's voice, authoritative in its nonchalance.

Another voice, a girl's raspy alto, chimed in. “Yeah, Hogie, like you're skinny or something.”

The girl who'd spoken moved shoulder to shoulder with the kid who'd stopped Hogan's teasing. He was the smallest of the boys, and he casually tossed an apple from hand to hand. Storm guessed his age at ten or eleven. Hogan, a husky kid who now stood alone, had the shadowy beginnings of a moustache on his upper lip.

Hogan sneered at the girl and teased in a sing-song voice. “Haley's in luh-uv, Haley's in luh-uv.”

The other girl began to giggle, but Haley's glare stopped her stopped mid-titter.

“Puh-leeze,” Disdain dripped from Haley's voice.

The smaller boy stepped to the counter with his apple and a can of Dr. Pepper. “Rolly, you got any li-hing mango?”

“Sure, Luke.” A chair creaked and the huge man rose, then stooped behind the counter. He brought up a stack of plastic containers from under the counter. “Your mother'll want some, yeah?” He spoke softly and wheezed from exertion.

“Sure.” Luke dug in his pocket for his wallet.

“No need.” Rolly waved off Luke's money. “Tell your mom I got some of those other supplies, too.”

“Thanks, Rolly.”

Haley handed over money for a soda and followed Luke out of the store. Neither Haley nor Luke looked back at the other kids.

When the others finished buying their items, Storm stepped to the counter and laid three bags of cracked seed and her Melting Moments before the big man. Despite the ceiling fan whirling above them, his dark skin, pulled tight across a face as wide as one of the glass jars, glistened with sweat. The size of his head dwarfed his smudged eyeglasses, and he peered through them, unmoving except for the rise and fall of his shoulders.

“You have any more of that fresh mango?” Storm asked

The man's breath wheezed out, then in, before he answered. “You want with li-hing or plain?”

“One each, if you have.”

The man heaved himself to his feet and reached under the counter again, where he apparently had a small refrigerator. He was breathing hard when he put the plastic containers on the counter.

“How hot are the firecrackers?” Storm asked.

“This batch plenty spicy. You like chili pepper?” He pronounced it
cheelee peppah
.

“Not if it's so hot I can't taste the fruit.”

“This crackseed a good batch.” He pointed with a finger the size of a bratwurst at the jar next to the one where Storm had found the firecrackers.

“Same dried plum, no chili pepper,” he explained.

“I'll take some of both. I'm going to share with friends.”

“Where you from?” he asked.

“O‘ahu.” Storm extended her hand. “Storm Kayama.”

Rolly's hand was the size of a dinner plate. “Roland Pauoa. Friends call me Rolly.”

“You grow up here?”

Rolly nodded and jotted some numbers on a pad. “Five-fifty,” he said.

Storm got out her wallet. “I went to high school with Tanner Williams. You know him?”

“Yeah.” He jutted his chin at the door. “That's his son.”

“The boy named Luke?”

Rolly nodded.

“Seemed like a good kid. His father tutored me.”

“Luke's smart like his dad.”

“Tanner still around? I'd like to say hello.”

Rolly's gaze shifted away, toward the big refrigerator. “Hard to find since his divorce.”

“He always liked peace and quiet. Didn't hang out with most of the other students.”

“Hasn't changed.” Rolly slowly placed Storm's purchases in several small brown paper bags and seemed to reach a decision. “Tanner visits Luke when Jenny goes to work.”

“When does she work?”

Rolly shrugged. “Her shift changes.”

“They live around here?” Storm looked toward the door, where the boy had gone.

“Two blocks away.” Rolly's face split in a smile. “Even I walk that far.” He handed her change for her ten. “He might be there now. Kukui Place. Second house on the right.”

Storm was halfway up the walk when she heard the man and woman shouting. It sounded as if they'd paused for breath, and then started again. Or maybe Luke had interrupted them. He was only five or ten minutes ahead of her and if he'd dropped Haley at her house or paused to finish his soda, he'd just be getting in.

Storm slowed, hating to witness the pain and fury in the couple's voices. What should she do? Just as she was about to make an about-face, the noise dropped as if someone had put a lid on a jar of angry bees. Damn, they'd seen her.

A thin blonde appeared several seconds after Storm's knock. She had on a scrub top, the kind hospital personnel wear, with tiny yellow teddy bears on a blue background, and reading glasses perched in her hair. Tired eyes scrutinized Storm's face.

“Yes?” Her voice was husky and low.

The woman looked worn out. Maybe it was a day's hard work followed by a fight with the ex, but Storm got the feeling Jenny's struggle had gone on longer than this afternoon.

“I'm sorry to bother you.”

Jenny had opened the screen door and Storm could see that the house was neat, but far from plush. Both the carpet and the sofa were worn and a card table with two brightly colored woven place mats and folding chairs were positioned where one would expect a dining table.

Storm wondered how Jenny's life had been when Tanner had lived with them. He'd never told her why they split up. He hadn't told her much at all, come to think of it.

“You from the Catholic Charities?” Jenny asked. “I can't give anything right now. Sorry.”

“No, my name's Storm Kayama. I went to high school with Tanner. I'm just here for the weekend and thought I'd say hello.” Storm shuffled her feet. “He got me through Biology.”

A shape moved behind the woman and caught Storm's attention.

Jenny's eyelids flickered, but she didn't turn around. “He's not here.”

“Do you know how I could get in touch with him?”

The woman blew out a breath of air in what seemed like exasperation, and Storm smelled alcohol on her breath. She could also see a long-neck bottle on the heavy glass and stone coffee table in the living room. It was the one piece of furniture that had substance, a sense of permanence, and Storm remembered hearing that Tanner had married a sculptor. The woman before her, in hospital scrubs, didn't look like Storm's idea of an artist.

“Try calling one of his friends,” she said, then whirled and shouted over her shoulder. “Get back in your room.”

The motion startled Storm. She wanted to cover her surprise and establish some kind of rapport with this woman. “You have children?”

“One.” Jenny attempted a smile. “A son.”

“About getting in touch with Tanner, would you know a name I could contact?”

Jenny turned away. Storm thought for a moment she had been dismissed, but the rustle of paper kept her waiting for a moment longer. Jenny returned with a lit cigarette between her lips and a note in her hand. When she opened the door to hand it to Storm, she released a cloud of smoke and fresh beer.

Storm glanced down and squelched the jolt of surprise that passed through her. There was one name on the paper, and it was one Storm had seen before.

“Thanks.” Storm jammed the note in her jeans pocket.

She waited until she got halfway down the street before she reached in her pocket to take another look.