House of the Hanging Jade (23 page)

“Can I get you something besides the wonton soup?”

“Oh,” she moaned. “Don't even mention food. I can't bear the smell of it. Can you take it with you when you go downstairs? I'm sure it's delicious, because everything you make is delicious, but I just can't stomach it tonight.”

I took the food away and told her to text me if she needed anything else. Lars was going up the stairs to the master suite as I was coming down.

“You're not her maid, you know,” he said.

“I know, but she's sick. I can't just let her languish up there with nothing to drink. She doesn't feel like eating.” He cocked his head and studied my face for a moment.

“I'll go talk to her,” he said.

He continued up the stairs and I went to the kitchen. I was cleaning the counters when I heard yelling and a crash from upstairs. I ran to the bottom of the stairs, but I didn't want to interrupt the argument that was obviously in progress.

“Is everything okay up there?” I called up the stairs.

Lars came storming down the stairs. “Come into my office,” he said.

I followed him and he shut the door behind me. “She's pregnant!” he hissed.

“I was afraid of that,” I admitted.

“You suspected?”

I nodded. “I remember when my sister was pregnant, she was sick in the evenings and couldn't stand the smell of certain foods. I just had a hunch about Barbie.”

“How can she do this? To her own kids?”

“To you?”

“This isn't about me. I don't care if she has a dozen more kids. What I care about is that her kids are going to see her pregnant by another man while their parents are still married. It makes me sick.”

“Do you know who the father is?”

He shook his head, grimacing. “She won't tell me. She probably doesn't even know that herself.”

My heart felt constricted and my throat was dry. Tears sprang to my eyes. I so wanted to reach out and embrace Lars, to offer him some comfort, to tell him that things would be better soon, but I dared not. He was still married, and I worked for him. But he didn't feel the same way. To my surprise, he reached out and took my hands, then folded me into his broad chest. We stood there in silence for a moment, then he tilted my chin and kissed me. I don't know what I felt more: surprise or happiness. But it didn't last long. He held me away from him and said softly, “Not long now. You'll still wait for me, right?”

I smiled at him as I looked into his eyes. “I think you know the answer to that. But we have a lot of problems hanging over our heads. There's Barbie's pregnancy, the death of Dr. Doug, and Geoffrey. We can't be together until all those things are resolved.”

“I know. But this gives me something to look forward to, to hope for. It's hard for me to keep my thoughts and my hands to myself when you're in the house all the time.” He grinned. “You'd better get back to the kitchen before anyone starts to wonder what you're doing in here.”

I squeezed his hands and left, again feeling an odd mixture of apprehension and happiness. Lars certainly wasn't off the hook for the murder of Dr. Doug and I wondered uneasily about the outcome of the legal proceedings. Lars hadn't mentioned it since the day he posted bail and came home, but I knew it weighed heavily on his mind and that he wouldn't be at ease until he had been exonerated.

As I walked back toward the kitchen, I heard soft footsteps in the hallway, the noise fading away as the person walked toward the back of the house. It had happened once before when I left Lars's office. Again, I opted not to follow the footsteps.

I would come to regret that decision.

T
hings at the Jorgensens' house went on as usual for about a week. Strangely, I didn't hear from Geoffrey. I thought perhaps he had given up and hopefully gone back to Washington, but in the back of my mind I knew that couldn't really happen—if he tried boarding an airplane, the airport personnel would know there was a warrant for his arrest and he would be turned in.

Lars met regularly with his lawyer, who came to the house every three days. The lawyer, always grim-faced and serious, told him that it didn't look good for him—the jilted husband, the marriage that was going south, the wife's lover staying within yards of the main house until his death. He had motive and opportunity. Lars had hoped the charges against him would be dropped, but it seemed that the evidence against him was quite strong and the lawyer was concerned about what would happen if the case went before a jury. I know Lars was beginning to feel despondent about his chances of a quick resolution, and a dry lump grew in my heart each time the lawyer came to the door.

Good news was scarce.

Barbie came down late for breakfast several times during that week, always looking worn and haggard. I wondered how long she would be able to wait before telling the kids that she was pregnant. She'd have to tell them soon or they would see for themselves that something was different about her. If they hadn't noticed her fatigue and illness already.

Since she was feeling under the weather and I knew she needed to eat, I asked her one morning before she left for work if there was something I could make that might not upset her stomach. She thought for a moment before replying that she wanted something made with citrus fruit. I was glad to hear that she finally seemed willing to eat something, so after everyone had left for work and school that morning, I drove up to Waimea to shop for groceries. The local farms always kept the stores stocked with magnificent produce grown just a few miles away—it was the perfect place to shop for the citrus that Barbie craved.

I was so preoccupied with planning a menu in my head that I didn't notice the blue compact car following me.

I went first to the big grocery store in town to get the staples I needed, then I made a few more stops for other items. The last place I visited was a small organic farm on the outskirts of town, down a long dirt road arched with
kiawe
and plumeria trees. I stopped the car and walked to the farm stand, where the honor system was in place for anyone who wished to buy produce. I chose carefully. There were oranges, grapefruit, honey tangerines, Tahitian limes, calamondin and Kaffir limes, and tiny flame-orange kumquats. Not knowing exactly what fruits I wanted to use, I took several of each and placed them in a macramé bag I had brought with me.

As I fished in my purse for cash to pay for all the fruit, I heard a car coming up the road to the stand. I didn't pay any attention to it until the door slammed and I heard footsteps advancing toward me. I turned around to greet the person coming up behind me and was shocked to see Geoffrey. He was walking quite slowly; his eyes and the set of his mouth held the promise of menace and pain. My heart immediately started beating faster and my hands grew clammy and cold. Suddenly I didn't care about having the right amount of money to pay for the fruit. I quickly grabbed a large bill and stuffed it in the honor box and turned around.

I gasped. Geoffrey was standing inches away. Blood pounded into my ears, making a deafening sound. I saw Geoffrey's lips moving, curling, but I couldn't hear him for a moment because of the rushing noise in my head. He had seen the fear in my eyes, I knew. I tried stepping around him, but he grabbed my arm.

“This has gone on long enough, Kailani,” he said quietly.

“Did you follow my niece to the bus stop?” I demanded, trying anything to distract him.

“Maybe. How else was I supposed to get your attention?”

“You could have tried calling me.”

“That wouldn't have worked. You'd have called the police.”

“But the police were called anyway because you followed Haliaka in your car.”

“True. But I did it to let you know that I was still watching you, that I wasn't done with you yet.”

Chills raced up and down my arms, my legs, up the back of my neck. What did he mean by that? I tried getting around him again, but he tightened his hold on my arm.

“What do you want, Geoffrey?”

“I don't really know yet,” he mused, rubbing his chin theatrically with his free hand.

“Please let me go. I have to go back to the house.”

“I can't do that, Kailani. You know that. If you get back in your car, you'll call the police and they'll be swarming over me in a matter of minutes.”

“I won't call the police, I promise,” I said, remembering with an inward groan that I had left my cell phone in the car.

“Do you think I'm an idiot, Kailani?” he said with a quiet laugh. “You know me better than that. Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“You'll see. I want to show you this great place that I found. Secluded, quiet, beautiful.”

I tried snatching my arm away from his grasp, but he had too strong a hold. “Geoffrey, please just let me go home. You know you're going to get caught if you take me anywhere, and then what'll happen? You'll be arrested, charged, and it will be ages before you can get back to your life in Washington.”

“I have no life in Washington anymore. My life is here now. With you.”

“Geoffrey, we can't have a life together. There's nothing good between us anymore.”

“That's your fault. We can make it work again.”

There was no use arguing with him. I tried another distraction—regular conversation. It sounded crazy to my own ears, given the circumstances. “Have you found a restaurant to invest in?”

“Yes.”

“Where is it?”

“You don't really care. I know that. You're just trying to stall. Now, you're going to get into the backseat of my car and we're going for a drive.”

“I don't want to.”

“I don't care. Get in.” As we talked, he was steering me toward his car, which was parked next to mine. When he reached for the door handle, I made one final attempt to get free. I wrenched my arm out of his grasp and ran to my side of the car.

But I had locked it. And the keys were in my purse. My hands trembled as they felt around the inside of the bag, frantically searching for the keys that I could use as weapons and to get away.

But he chased me around to the driver's side of my car and wrapped his arms around me from behind, pinning my arms to my sides. I lost hold of my purse and it fell, some of the contents spilling onto the ground.

He pulled me back to his car, where the back door was open, then shoved me into the backseat, slammed the door, and ran around to my car, where he picked up my purse. I could see him shoving my belongings back into it. I tried desperately to get out of the car, but it must have had child-safety locks—ones that couldn't open from inside the car. It was useless. I wasn't going to get away from him. I needed to think clearly, to empty my head of panic and try to stay calm.

Geoffrey jammed my cell phone into his back pocket, then thrust my purse onto the floor of the front passenger seat as he slid into the car.

“Where are you taking me?”

“You'll see.” He peeled out of the parking space and hurtled down the dirt track back toward the main road. I watched my own car get smaller and smaller through the back window. One car passed us on the way back to the main road. I pounded my fists on the side window, then awkwardly on the back window as it passed us, but to no avail. All I succeeded in doing was bruising my hands and making Geoffrey angrier. I fervently hoped that someone would notice my abandoned car and call the police.

Once on the main road, Geoffrey slowed down and flowed with the regular traffic. I tried pounding on the window once, but Geoffrey reached his arm around and gave me a backhand across the face. Tears stung my eyes as my cheek throbbed, but I wasn't about to let him see me cry. I didn't try pounding on the window again, though. I watched the scenery flit by as we sped along a rather sparsely used highway that snaked through the district of North Kohala. On any other day I would have enjoyed the view and the drive. Geoffrey hit the brakes several times, as if looking for something, but eventually he pulled over to the side of the road. No other cars were in sight. I recognized the place where he stopped. To our left a wide meadow blanketed the side of a sloping hill that led
makai.
Far in the distance, the ocean sparkled in the sunshine. Closer and about halfway down the hill was a dilapidated ranch, one that looked like it hadn't been touched in years. A rusted cistern stood guard over the deserted place.

Geoffrey got out and, looking up and down the road, opened the back door and yanked me out by the arm. He stalked off down the hill, dragging me as I stumbled behind him clumsily, tripping over hillocks of tall green grass. We could hear a car approaching; Geoffrey put his arm around my shoulder tightly, so I couldn't get away from him. It probably looked to the people in the car—if they saw us at all—that we were a couple in love.

We made our way down the hill and around to the front of the largest of the abandoned buildings, which faced the ocean and away from the road. The front door had rusted and no longer hung on its hinges. It lay on the floor, dented and bent, inside the doorway. Geoffrey pushed me inside, where the only roof that remained consisted of a few rafters. The rest of the roof had probably either blown off or rusted away. The wind howled, keening through the cracks in the walls. It was the sound of fear.

Geoffrey pushed me and I stumbled over debris on the floor as I made my way across the room from him. I wasn't yet thinking of trying to escape—I just wanted to put some distance between us. I stood with my back against a dilapidated wall and stared at him, catching my breath. I wanted him to think I wasn't scared.

“You know as soon as I don't get back home someone is going to come looking for me.”

“Even if they do, they'll never find you.” He sneered at me. “You're well hidden up here.”

“Once word gets out that I'm missing, anyone who sees your car up on the road will put two and two together and figure out that we're here. Plus, the police will know it was you. They're already looking for you.”

“You say ‘we' like I'm staying. I'm not staying. I'm leaving you here.” He was walking toward me slowly; I edged along the wall away from him, my eyes never leaving his. Suddenly, like a cobra, he lunged toward me. I think I let out a shriek. I started to run, but he grabbed the back of my shirt. I twisted this way and that to get away from him, but his grip was just too strong. He stood over me, panting, and I felt the sting as the palm of his hand struck my face. He did it again. I kicked him in the shin, struggling to get away.

He roared with anger and pain and grabbed his shin, allowing me to scramble over more debris on the crumbling floor of the old house, getting farther away from him. But he recovered his wits quickly and came after me, crashing around pieces of metal and wood, rocks and grass. It only took a few seconds for him to catch me again, and this time I braced for his assault, which came in the form of a fist to my stomach. I doubled over, the wind knocked out of me, trying to catch my breath. I looked up into his eyes, which seemed alight with hatred and malice.

“Why are you doing this?” I croaked.

“Because you left me for some surfer loser!” he screamed.

“I didn't leave you for anyone!” I spat back, having caught my breath. “I took a new job here because I didn't want to live in Washington anymore!

“You weren't supposed to follow me,” I said in a quieter voice. “You were a small part of my life for a short time, and then my life changed. I didn't leave Washington because of you—I left because of me.”

He was silent, staring at me with those angry eyes.

“But now that I know the real you, the hidden you, we can never be together again,” I said, thinking perhaps honesty would convince him. “You hurt me, you scare me. Those aren't the actions of someone who loves someone else.”

“I only hurt and scare you to show you how much I need you. How much I miss you,” he answered, his tone quiet and almost pensive.

“You're doing it the wrong way.”

Suddenly his demeanor changed again, from calm to agitated and angry. “You won't listen!” he yelled. “You're not paying attention! That's why I have to do this.”

“You're going to be arrested, you know.”

“They have to find me first,” he said with a grin.

“Where have you been staying?”

“In my car. A different place every night. Sometimes behind stores, sometimes in driveways. There are a lot of vacation homes around here, so nobody's around to throw me out. I even slept under that big tree across from the Jorgensens' a few nights. I came over, but someone saw me and called the police. I was lucky to get away.”

“What makes you think I won't tell anyone all of this?”

He stood quietly for a full minute, just staring at me. I stared back. Then, without warning, he hurled himself at me with a yell that seemed to come from the very bottom of his lungs. I leaped out of his path. He tripped and landed on his hands and knees, giving me a chance to scuttle across the broken beams and floorboards littering the ground. I reached the hole in the wall where the front door had once been and, looking behind me, crashed through onto the ground outside, stumbling just long enough for him to get to the doorway. I knew I could outrun Geoffrey if I got enough of a head start, but I kept looking behind me to see how close he was. He was catching up.