Lana'i of the Tiger (The Islands of Aloha Mystery Series) (13 page)

Ono looked around, as if half-expecting
to see Wong crouched behind a bush. “Maybe we should go inside.”

“Okay,” I said. “Let me make you
some killer coffee. I learned how to use a French press.”

“Killer coffee? Who taught you, Tyler
Benson?”

Ono grinned at his lame attempt
at humor, I didn’t. We went inside and I pointed to a seat in the breakfast
room. Ono sat down and I got busy making the coffee.

“Yesterday Wong told me the
M.E.’s report showed Deedee and the reporter were killed between six and nine,”
I said. I placed two mugs on the table and pressed down on the plunger in the French
press. “That means there’s only a slim chance that Tyler was the killer.”

“
Slim chance
? What’s that
mean?” he said.

“Well, if they both died between
six and nine o’clock, it’s pretty certain Tyler couldn’t have done it. He was
with me until well after eight.”

“Well, that sounds like good
news for him.”

“Yeah, but Wong won’t let me
come forward as long as I’m in WITSEC. He threatened to haul me to the mainland
if I said anything. But how can I let them accuse Tyler of something he didn’t
do? He can’t even grieve the loss of Deedee, because he’s fretting about being
convicted of killing her.”

“Look, Pali, they’re not gonna simply
rely on circumstantial evidence in a big case like this. They have the murder
weapon. And there are probably fingerprints. And DNA, and all that stuff. It’d
be nice if you could verify Benson’s alibi for the time of the murders, but
it’s only one of the things they’ll be looking at.”

“You’re right. I’m overreacting.
And please, call me Penny. I don’t like using your wife’s name any more than
you do, but for now we both need to stick with the program.”

“If it’s all right with you, I’d
rather not call you anything.”

“Fine.” I sipped my coffee and
Ono did the same.

“I know you’re right,” I said,
breaking the silence. “They probably wouldn’t be able to convict Tyler on such
flimsy evidence, but while he’s under this cloud of suspicion his reputation is
taking a beating. He once told me the public loves to watch a celebrity’s life go
up in flames. It seems having the guy behind the ‘Stony Jackson’ films accused
of murder is gonna make for a pretty big bonfire.”

“If he’s smart he’ll get himself
a good lawyer and get the trial moved to Honolulu,” Ono said.

“How would that help?”

“You ever see a Hollywood-type
get convicted in a big city? Honolulu isn’t LA but it’s darn close. Think about
it. OJ and that guy who played Beretta got off.  Even that music producer, Phil
Spector, got off with a hung jury in his first trial. They finally convicted
him the second time around, but it was crazy. I mean, the woman was shot with
his
gun in the foyer of
his
house. He claimed she’d committed suicide. How
pathetic is that?”

“But you’re talking about people
who were guilty,” I said.

“Guilty, not guilty—it doesn’t
matter. The fact is, nobody’s guilty until a jury says so.”

“No, what I’m saying is, Tyler
didn’t do it. There’s only about a thirty-minute window when he’s unaccounted
for. They wouldn’t be leaning on him so hard if I could just come forward and
vouch for his whereabouts until eight-thirty.”

“Okay, a couple of things here. First,
Wong will drag you over to the mainland if you do that, and second, thirty
minutes is plenty of time to whack somebody.”

“But is it enough time to whack
two
people?”

“Plenty.”

We finished our coffee and sat
in silence for another minute.

“Well,” Ono said, “I was hoping
to spend the day with you while my people golf at Manele Bay. Any chance I can
talk you into setting aside your urge to do Wong’s job for him and go out to
Hulopo’e Beach with me instead?”

I didn’t have a thing to do in
the next twenty-four hours before Darryl and Ewa came home.  And I hadn’t completely
given up on the idea of helping Tyler. I was feeling a tiny pinprick of guilt
about spending time with Ono when I was desperately missing Hatch. But then, hanging
around doing nothing all day wasn’t going to bring me any closer to getting
home and getting back together with him.

“Looks like those wheels are
turning,” said Ono.

“They are. I need to check in
with Wong before we go.”

“Gonna lie to him?”

“Yeah, why not? He’s the one who
made a liar out of me in the first place.”

***

I called Wong and told him I was
taking the day off from the White Orchid. I said I’d be going for a long run
and wouldn’t be back until late afternoon. He asked where I was headed, and I
said I hadn’t decided yet. I figured he had a right to know I wouldn’t be
around, but he had no right to keep me under surveillance.

“We’re actively working the Diamonte/Romano
case, you know,” Wong said. “I don’t want you to think we’re over here just sitting
on our hands. We’re doing everything possible to find out what happened. And
I’m hoping we can wrap this up without getting you involved.”

I thanked him for telling me
that, but when I asked if they’d come up with any solid leads, he balked.

“It’s an on-going investigation,
Miss Morton,” he said. “I told you we’re working it, and I’m not saying
anything more.”

“Seems to me if you had something
substantial you’d tell me so I could stop fretting over what I should do.”

“You already know what you should
do. You just don’t want to do it.”

I pulled the phone away from my
ear and stared at it for a moment. Then I put it back.  That was exactly the
same advice I’d gotten a month ago from my
kung fu
instructor, Sifu
Doug, when I found myself caught up in the mess that had landed me on Lana’i.

I said goodbye and hung up.

CHAPTER
17

Ono and I headed out at around
ten and drove down to Hulopo’e Beach Park. The park fronts the swanky Four
Seasons Manele Bay Hotel, but all Hawaiian beaches are open to the public so we
knew we’d be allowed to lay our straw mats right next to the hotel’s posh
cabana chairs if we wanted to. Hulopo’e Beach is spectacular, with sand as
white as powdered pearls and clear teal blue water.

“You want to get some sun or go
for a walk?” Ono said.

“It feels great to be out in the
sun after all the shade up in Lana’i City,” I said. “But I’m not big on
tanning. Let’s check out the area.”

We walked along the beach and
soon came to a large group of tide pools carved from the rocks. The pools
teemed with tiny creatures. There were sea stars, little crabs, miniscule fish,
and
opihi
—‘limpets’ in English.

I bent down and ran my hand
through the water in one of the smaller tide pools. The water was surprisingly
warm. Tiny fish darted for cover.

“Do you get down to the beach
much over on…uh, over on Oahu?” Ono was learning to go along with my WITSEC
story, but he still refused to call me ‘Penny.’

“Not much. Between work,
kung
fu
, and hanging out with my friends, I don’t get down to the water very often.”

“Your friends don’t head to the
beach for weekends and holidays?”

“I’m not sure where they go. I’m
usually working on weekends and holidays. That’s when people have weddings.”

“Ah, makes sense.”

We kept walking and soon we were
climbing a steep cliff trail. Ono pointed out a small school of spinner
dolphins putting on a show down in the bay. Kids on the beach squealed with
delight as the dolphins leapt out of the water, flipped up and around, and dove
back down.

“How do they do that?” I said.

“They’re really tuned in to each
other. I’ve heard they have a sixth sense.”

We climbed for about ten more
minutes until we arrived at the top of a high cliff with a panoramic view of
the ocean, the bay, and the vast horizon stretching to what looked like the ends
of the earth.

“Wow. This is amazing,” I said.
“It kind of reminds me of when we went up in the helicopter.”

“Yeah,” he said. He’d moved in
closer from behind and wrapped his arms around my shoulders. “You know what
they call this place?”

“No.”

“
Pu’u Pehe
,” he said.
“Sweetheart Rock.”

With his body pressed tight
against mine, there wasn’t much doubt he was really enjoying the view. I
flashed on the Christmas card from Hatch. 

“How’d it get that name?” I
said. I pulled away a bit and squared my shoulders as if I’d gotten a crick in
my neck.

“An old Hawaiian legend says a
warrior jumped to his death from up here when he heard his wife had died.”

“Whoa. Let me see if I’ve got
this right. So a guy in India builds the Taj Mahal when his wife dies, but in
Hawaii a guy leaps off a cliff? My vote for best display of grief goes to the
fancy marble tomb that brings in millions of tourists,” I said.

“Yeah, but they named this
‘Sweetheart Rock.’ His love will always be remembered when people tell the
story of his devotion.”

I was amazed that Ono was able
to talk about dead wives so freely. It was his own grief over his dearly
departed Penny that made him flee to Hawaii from the mainland.

 “Jeez, I never figured you for
the Nicholas Sparks type,” I said. I turned around to face him.

“Who?”

“You know,
The Notebook, Dear
John, The Wedding
? Nicholas Sparks writes romance stories that always end
up as tear-jerker movies.”

“I consider myself pretty romantic.”
He stared at me, his face edging into a smile.

I broke eye contact, took
another quick look at the view and then stepped back onto the trail. It was
time to head back.

“Hey, where’re you going?” said
Ono. “You want me to jump?”

I shot him a
puh-leeze
look.

“What’s going on with you
today?” Ono said. “The other day you seemed really glad to see me, but now I’m beginning
to feel like an annoying little
brudda
. What gives?”

“I’m sorry. It’s not you, it’s
me.”

“I can’t believe you just said
that,” said Ono.

“I can’t either. Look, let’s get
back down to the beach and take out the picnic. I’m probably just grumpy from
hunger.”

We made our way down the rocky
trail. The beach park was green and cool, with picnic tables and barbeque
grills. We walked back to the parking area and I pulled the cooler out of the
back of the Jeep. I started to lug the cooler across the parking lot, but Ono
tugged it away.

“C’mon. I know you’re tough as
nails, but spare me my manhood,” he said.

“Your manhood won’t be trashed
by letting me carry something,” I said. My voice sounded a bit snarly, so I added,
“But I appreciate the offer. Here, you take the cooler and I’ll run ahead and
get the table set up.”

I laid one of Darryl and Ewa’s
oilcloth tablecloths over one end of a long picnic table. The table looked
pretty clean, but there were birds hopping around on the next table over. They
were pecking at crumbs and leaving tiny piles of white mess behind. I didn’t
want to add ‘bird flu’ to my list of things I didn’t like about my time in
WITSEC.

“What have you got there?” Ono
said as I took out containers of cold fried chicken, macaroni salad, sticky
rice, and marinated vegetables. “Looks pretty healthy.”

“Yeah, if you don’t count the
mac salad swimming in mayo. Or the deep-fried chicken. Or the sticky rice with
mango that’s probably got about ten thousand calories,” I said.

“But you’ve got veggies.” He
held up the plastic cup of carrots, peppers, and celery pieces sloshing around
in a tangy marinade.

“True. And we’ve got fresh coconut
cupcakes for dessert.”

“Yeah. And I’m pretty sure coconut’s
a fruit,” he said.

“It is today.”

We munched our lunch, neither of
us bringing up the subject of why I’d pulled away from him up at the cliff.
Normally, I’d have packed along a bottle of chilled white wine for a picnic
lunch, but Ono was in a twelve-step program. I wasn’t about to be the one to make
him take a header off the wagon. From what I’d heard, his life had been pretty
grisly before he’d gotten sober.

 “That was fantastic,” he said.
He stood up. “Let me clean up here while you go down to the beach and find us a
place to stretch out. It’s nap time.”

“Do you like shade or sun?” I
said.

“Both. See if you can find us a
spot where we can get some sun and then move into the shade if it gets too
hot.”

“Aye, aye, captain.”

I laid our bamboo mats in a spot
close to a tree with low-hanging branches. I opted at first to spread my bamboo
mat under the tree, but after a few minutes I relocated it out into the
sunshine. It felt so good to be warm after weeks of being indoors or in the
shade of the pines.

“Do you have any sunblock?” I
said.

“Sunblock’s for sissies.”

“Tell that to the folks in the
melanoma ward at Maui General.”

He smiled. “Yeah, I’ve got
sunblock. Here.” He pulled a travel-sized bottle out of his backpack and handed
it to me. “Are you gonna put on your bathing suit?”

“Only if you do.”

“This
is
my bathing
suit,” he said pulling off his tee-shirt. He was wearing his cargo shorts and
flip-flops. “If you were hoping for a Speedo, I think there’s a law against
them for guys pushing forty. If not, there should be.”

Ah, I’d never known his exact
age. Did ‘pushing forty’ mean he
was
forty or he’d
be
forty in a
couple of years?

“I’ll be back,” I said. I picked
up my beach bag purse, which was big enough to carry a couple day’s worth of
supplies. In it I had a change of underwear, a swim suit, some first-aid stuff,
a couple of trail bars, and a tangle of safety pins. The safety pins were a
hold-over from my wedding planning days. No self-respecting wedding planner
ever showed up at a ceremony without safety pins, duct tape and a tube of
concealer make-up. Since I’d been on Lana’i there were a lot of things missing
from my purse. Namely, my driver’s license, my car keys, and my credit cards.
But enough was enough. They’d have to pry my big wad of safety pins from my
cold dead hands.