Haole Wood (26 page)

“Before you all get started,” I told the women, “I’ll need your addresses.”

“What for?” Lois asked.

“For bookkeeping. I’m updating all my records and putting everything on computer.”

I handed Lois my yellow legal notepad and watched everyone write down their information. “Thanks. I’ll be back soon. I’m going to go run a few errands. I need to make sure you all have everything you need. I’ll be back this afternoon.”

I ran outside to my grandmother’s jeep, feeling my turtles wrestling in my stomach again. Time was up, I had no choice. I called O’Boyle. Maybe he could meet me there. Or get a warrant. Or talk me out of it. “Dammit.” I got his voice mail. I forgot, he told me he was going to be in court all morning. How could I possibly explain that I knew who the killer was because the killer wiped her mouth and abused her napkin like an old-fashioned washerwoman hanging clothes out to dry. But there it was.

“Hi, O’Boyle. It’s Jaswinder. Call me. I have important news about Mike Hokama’s killer.” I could be a woman of few words, too.

I took off, following the day’s rainbow, or
anuenue,
heading toward Lois’s house. She lived only a few miles from my grandmother, in a small, neat blue cottage. I couldn’t believe I was going to break and enter, but I had to try to find evidence. More evidence than what they had against Halmoni. I could not let my grandmother go back to jail. I also couldn’t count on the police buying my twisted napkin theory. I was just going to take a look around to see if I could come up with something, anything that might prove Lois knew more than she said she did about Mike Hokama’s murder. The thought of Lois catching me in her house gave me the creeps. I just didn’t know how I could demand that the police go take a look-see, since I didn’t know what I needed to look for.

As much as I relied on Lois for helping get Haole Wood up and running, I knew Lois was not as innocent in all this as she seemed. That napkin was the clue, and could be an important part in this case.

I thought I was pretty clever as I made a u-turn and pulled the jeep a few houses ahead of Lois’s house. It would be an easy getaway. I knew my
48 Hours
Murder Mystery procedures.

I did have a hard time walking nonchalantly. It seemed as if I had to tell my brain to move my knees. I was able to stop myself from whistling. I couldn’t catch my breath, though. It seemed as if I were caught in the crosshairs of a sniper’s telescope, atop an itching trigger finger. I passed an overgrown wispy hedge and darted quickly to the back of the house, fleeing nosy neighbors’ eyes.

The barking dog with the ferocious fangs was another story. He had huge eyes with a crazy yellow tint—the perfect complement to the flecks of foam at the corners of his mouth. “Nice doggie,” I said, wondering exactly how long that chain was. This was not a Dean Koontz dog. “Hmmmm, hmmmm, hmmmm,” I tried humming and stepped up onto the back porch like I had full rights and permission. I knocked on the door, just in case, and set the dog off all over again. He lunged and snapped his jaws, announcing to the entire island, “Intruder! Intruder!”

“Shh, shh,” I begged him, trying to motion down the sound by paddling my palms. “Down, Cujo.” I held my breath and turned the doorknob. It was locked. I looked around. There was a flowerpot at the end of the porch, right near the dog. I bet there was a key under there. A smile strained my lips as I sauntered over toward the pot, half hoping I was wrong so I could give up and go back home.

“RUFF!” the dog said, charging the full length of its chain.

I backpedaled. No rocks, no sticks, no weapons. I looked down at my feet, half of my entire shoe collection. I had no choice. I wriggled my toes out of my favorite pair of wedge flip-flops that were worn in just right. They never gave me between-the-toe blisters, the straps didn’t rub, and they didn’t leave any black dye ground into my heels. I picked it up and waved it at the dog. He barked what sounded like a question mark as I hurled it into the yard. “Bon Voyage!” I yelled.

I lifted up the flower pot. Bingo! The rusted key sat in a circle of damp dirt. I bent my knees as my shaking fingers grabbed for the key. From the corner of my eye I saw the shadow before I heard the frantic, “RUFF! RUFF!”

I hurtled my body toward the house, spinning in a sideways somersault, knocking my head against the leg of a rickety folding chair that sat next to the door. Foamy saliva from the dog’s barking lunge flecked my left arm. I sat up and rubbed my head, wiping my arm off behind my back. I may have wet my pants a little.

Like a thief in cartoons, I tiptoed to the door, half expecting to hear a xylophone riff. Too many thoughts crashed my brain like a tidal wave. I could be shot, or arrested. Or, I could be right. I stuck the key in the lock and opened the door and entered the small, tidy kitchen.

Now that I was here, I wasn’t quite sure what to look for—a big ol’ bottle of “I done it” would be nice I thought, as I rummaged through the cleaners, sprayers, sponges, vases and tools stored beneath the kitchen sink. There were no unmarked bottles, no herbs. I stood up and went through the flowered ceramic canisters sitting on the formica countertop. Sugar, flour, tea. Inside the cupboards I found plates, cups, glasses, vitamins.

Snap! Way back behind the cereal bowls I found something unusual. I pulled out a black plastic rectangular tub that had a scary red warning sticker written in what looked like Chinese. My heart thumped. I lifted it to my nose and sniffed, I don’t know why, since I thought it was poison. I shook the box. It didn’t weigh much, but something was definitely inside.

I pried my thumbnail under the plastic lip and crowbarred it up. My elbows shook with the effort as the lid popped off. I screamed so loudly the damn dog finally stopped barking. In my hysteria, I thought it was raining cockroaches, but after determining there were no more in my hair, I realized there were only about half a dozen or so. I buried the plastic box in the bottom of the trash underneath the sink. It smelled like Lois and Shayna had Philly Cheesesteaks for dinner. I held my breath until I realized it was a whiff of my own sweat. I had to get a move on.

I decided to search the bedroom next. If I died unexpectedly, I would be horrified for the poor fool given the task of cleaning out my bedroom. I ran up the stairs to get it over with. I had to get out of this house before I called the police on myself.

Lois’s bedroom was easy to find. Its neatly made double bed with a rose-colored Hawaiian flowered comforter was centered under such a large cross, complete with dried, folded palm fronds. I sincerely hoped Hawaii wouldn’t get an earthquake or Lois could be crucified herself as she slept. I ran to the bamboo nightstand. Bible, lotion, remote control. The next drawer contained a rosary, baby teeth in a bottle, and Lana Ho’s CD. There’s got to be something in the bathroom. I knelt in front of the sink, buried almost to my waist inside the cabinet, and reached for a jar in the back. I knew I better hurry, it sounded like the dog’s barking was getting louder.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

I screamed and bumped my head on the pipe under the sink.

“Shayna!” She had the dog with her.

I sat back on my heels and pulled myself up. “What are you doing here?”

“I rode my bike home. I live here, remember? I have piano lessons. What are you doing here?”

“Yeah,” the dog barked.

“It’s the strangest thing.” I started to stick my big toe on the path of least unbelievable resistance. Shayna crossed her arms. “I was just . . .” I stopped.

“You really don’t think my mom killed Mike Hokama, do you?” Shayna asked.

I shook my head and crossed my fingers behind my back. “No. But see, I thought if I could just find something that maybe your mom had from Mike’s house it could clear my grandmother.”

“And what? Blame my mother?”

“No. It’s nothing like that. Shayna, I am so sorry. I can’t believe I did this. I have no excuse. Please forgive me.” And
please
don’t tell your mother I wanted to beg.

“I’m telling my mother,” Shayna said.

“Shayna, please. Let’s just be civilized here. Let’s just mind our manners and realize the best way of dealing with this is by pretending it never happened.”

Shayna snorted. “You are giving me an etiquette lesson? Who goes and breaks into someone’s house to try and pin a murder on them?” She turned with the dog and stomped down the stairs. I was hot on her heels.

“Shayna, wait. Listen to me. I can explain. Just hear me out. I said I was sorry. Please. I’m just trying to help my grandmother. Surely you can understand that.”

Shayna glared at me. “You know how you know your grandmother didn’t kill Mike?”

I nodded.

“That’s how I know my mother didn’t.”

I nodded again.

“Sorry.” I said. I had to get out of here. I went to the back door as quietly as I came in, wanting to put this nightmare behind me. I formed my “whew” of relief when I stubbed my toe over the threshold and ran smack dab into Lois.

“Lois!”

“What are you doing here? Where’s Shayna?” Lois asked me.

“Mom,” Shayna said, coming up to hug her. “She broke into our house and was snooping around.”

“What? Are you crazy?”

I had nothing to say.

“Shayna, here’s your money. Get to your lesson.”

Shayna grabbed the money, ran down the steps and hopped on her bike. Lois, walked slowly into me, our noses practically touched, and forced me back into her kitchen.

“Lois, please. I can explain.”

“Start talking, Ms. Haole Wood.” Lois’s eyebrows were furrowed so deeply they nuzzled like courting caterpillars.

Nobody knew I was here. Except Shayna. Lois could squash me like a bug. Or make me drink poison and try to blame my grandmother.

“You’re really scared of me?” Lois asked.

I let the whites of my eyes answer for me.

“Good. You should be. Breaking into someone’s house like that. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. What do you think I’m hiding? I got nothing to hide. You didn’t find anything, did you?”

I shook my head.

She threw up her hands. “I was starting to like you and your hair-brained scheme to sell those sunshminas. I thought we were all working together. That’s what I get for thinking.” Lois shook her head. “Didn’t you get to know me at all?”

“I am so sorry I broke in here,” I said. “I was just desperate to find any clues I could to keep my grandmother out of jail for a murder she didn’t commit.”

“Why didn’t you just ask me?”

“I did. You said you had no idea who did it.”

“Why couldn’t you believe me?” She stared at me. “What do you think you know? What do you think I know?”

I couldn’t keep eye contact with her.

“Come on, spill it, Haole Wood.”

“It’s nothing. But you yourself said you knew my grandmother didn’t do it either.”

“That’s right, but I’m not going around breaking into folks’ houses looking for something that’s not there. Now, what is it? Why me?”

When I didn’t answer, Lois shook her head and walked over to the kitchen sink. I took the chance and darted to my right toward the back door. Lois was on me faster than a bulldog on a pork chop. Her massive arms clenched me from behind in a hug that would have saved my life if I had been choking.

“Where you off to, girl? Now you just come right back in here and sit yourself down and we’ll have a nice talk. What do you say?” Lois released her hold as I gasped for breath. “Wanna talk to me? Huh?”

I nodded, wishing I told O’Boyle or Jac or even my grandmother my suspicions. Nobody knew where I was. Lois pushed me into a chair at the dinette table. “Come on, now. Spill.”

Where is my guardian angel? I looked around the kitchen, looking for some help, wondering if I could ask Lois for some ketchup to try to summon him.

“What are you looking for?” Lois shook her head and scooted her chair too close to mine. “Why are you here?”

“I don’t know what I was looking for. Lois, I am sorry about all of this. It was a long shot, my last chance to help my grandmother. I was trying to find any evidence that could prove my grandmother’s innocence. You were his housekeeper and you knew him and you were around him a lot.”

The silence stretched out. Lois wasn’t going to let me run. So I mumbled on. “And I saw the crime scene photos. There was a towel on Mike’s table and it was twisted. Just like you twist your napkins.”

“You are crazy.”

“No. Someone else was in that house when Mike died. It wasn’t my grandmother. She never would have left a towel like that. It’s not her habit.”

Lois bit her fingernail, and her knees pressed upon my own. I was trapped.

“I didn’t kill him.” She leaned in even closer. I really had to pee.

“I think I’m hyperventilating,” I whispered. I could smell a sheen of sweaty gardenia on her skin.

Lois scooted back, folding her arms across her chest. “What do you think I’m going to do? Kill you? Maybe I should.”

“Please don’t,” I said. I tried to send up a silent prayer. Holy Mary Mother of God, where in the hell was that fat bastard of a guardian angel of mine?

Lois stood up so quickly her chair tipped back. I cowered and crossed my hands over my head, waiting for an attack. I heard a loud ringing that fortunately wasn’t coming from my ears. Then I heard banging. “Open up.”

Thank goodness, that little snitch Shayna ditched her piano lessons and rode her bike to the police to rat me out. I wanted to hug her. I was so glad to see my policemen, the same ones who originally arrested Halmoni, Detectives Morgan and Imada.

I ran over and stood safely in their shadow, well away from Lois.

“Jaswinder, what is going on? Shayna said you broke in here? What were you thinking? Sorry, Lois,” Detective Imada said nodding to Lois.

“No. Listen. You have it all wrong. I think she . . .” I stopped. I didn’t want to say this in front of Shayna.

“We all want to hear this,” Lois said. Shayna stood by her mother, her arms crossed exactly the same way.

The police listened to me stammer out my story.