Maui Widow Waltz (Islands of Aloha Mystery Series) (23 page)

“You jealous?”

“Of Hatch sucking face with your
dog? Trust me, it’s a good thing it was Lipton. If I’d been the one trapped in
a burning building, he’d have let me croak.”

“What’s with you two?”

I shrugged.

“What do you think Tank’s gonna say
when hears about this?” she said, gesturing toward the still-smoking building.

“Who cares? He’s tearing it down,
remember?”

By now, a small crowd of neighbors
had come into the alley. They swarmed Farrah offering condolences and help in
getting the store back in business. I walked out to Baldwin where my car was
parked and checked my cell phone. Tank’s cell number came up as a missed call.
I set my crap detector to ‘maximum’ and dialed.

He answered on the first ring.
“Don’t even
think
of trying to cash that check, Pali. I knew you girls
weren’t happy to sell out but I never thought you’d do arson on me.”

Ha! I wanted to tell him if I’d
figured I could have gotten away with ‘doing arson on him’ I’d have picked up a
can of gas and a Bic lighter three days ago.

“I didn’t do it, Tank. And neither did
Farrah. The fire almost killed her dog.” The conversation was absurd, since he
was planning on taking down the building anyway. What did
he
care if the
walls were punched in and the floor warped by water damage?

“
Da kine
, no skin off my
nose. You girls did me a favor. When the city condemns the building I’ll get it
for half of what I was willing to pay. But Noni tells me you swiped those
business files I paid for. She says when she went by this morning they were
gone. So forget the five grand. In fact I already stopped payment on it. Oh
yeah, and have a nice day.”

He clicked off. 

There were a few ways to look at
this: Noni stole the files and lied to Tank; Tank has the files but doesn’t
want to pay me for them; or someone else took them. But who besides Noni and
Tank would care about a box of ‘Let’s Get Maui’d’ files?

My money was on the fat man. He’d
already proven himself to be a cheat. Now I could add ‘liar’ to his list of
regrettable qualities.

I checked the time on my
phone—almost noon. I’d been gone from Olu’olu for over three and a half hours
which made me more than two hours overdue. I called Josie and told her I’d had
an emergency come up but I was on my way back. She said Marv had called from
his plane and he’d sounded upset that I’d left so soon after arriving. When I
inquired about Lisa Marie, Josie told me she was napping.

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,”
I fibbed, knowing full well the drive to Olu’olu would take at least twice that
long.

“Maybe you call Marv now,” she
said. “He not know where you are when you call on the cell phone, right?” The
woman was a lifesaver. She gave me Marv’s cell number and I memorized it. I
knew I might need it again in the near future, so it seemed like a good
investment to spend a few brain cells making it permanent.

“Prescott,” he said, answering the
call. He had to know it was me. There was no way a guy like Marv doesn’t check
caller ID before picking up.

“Hello, Marv. Josie tells me you
called.” I willed my voice to sound upbeat, as if I’d just lathered up with
sunscreen and was pulling up a chaise next to Lisa Marie.

“Where are you?”

“At your place. It’s a gorgeous day
here.”

“Josie said you left hours ago.”

“I had a quick meeting regarding
Lisa Marie’s situation. I can’t promise too much yet, but it’s looking better
and better.”

“You’re supposed to be watching
her, not traipsing around the countryside. If you need to talk to
someone—that’s what phones are for, Ms. Moon.” He let a beat go by so I could
offer an apology, but I didn’t. He went on, “What’d you find out?”

“It appears the only evidence they
have against Lisa Marie is tainted.” I gave myself a mental pat on the back for
coming up with such an official-sounding word—
tainted
. Seemed like the
kind of word a real private investigator might use.

“What the hell does that mean—
tainted
?”
Ah, pearls before swine, for sure.

“It means it’s messed up and the
prosecutor won’t be able to use it. I can’t really give you the particulars,
because the information’s not been released yet. I promise I’ll call as soon as
I hear more.” I passed two dawdling cars I’d been following for the past couple
of miles. Soon the road would start curving and the center line would change
from dashes to double solid.

“Put Josie on.”

Busted.

“Ah, she’s not out here right now.”

“Where is she?”

“She’s around the house somewhere,
but not where I am.”

“Go get her. I’ll wait.”

I took the sharp curve just before
the little tunnel on Honoapi’ilani Highway. In about five seconds, the rock
walls would suck up any transmission microwaves, effectively putting an end to
the call. 

“I’m not sure where she is. It may
take me a minute to track her down.” I said. I’d entered the dark passage.
Water dripped from the slate gray walls.

“You’re breaking up. Where are you?
You better not be lying to me, Ms. Moo—?” And then he was gone.

CHAPTER 31

I
gunned it past Papalaua and Punahoa Beach and passed four cars in a row in the
straightaway near Ka’ili’uli. When I arrived at Olu’olu I roared up to the gate,
my bald tires grappling for purchase as I slammed on the brakes. I didn’t even
have time to start the ‘mother may I?’ routine with George on the speaker box
when I saw the gate slowly grinding its way open. I waved my thanks in the
direction of the gate house and scratched to a stop just beyond the front door.
I felt like every second I gained was a little chit in my favor. As if Marv
would consider my lying less egregious if I called him back in eight minutes
instead of ten. 

It was Lisa Marie who answered my
quick rap at the door.

“Oh good, you’re up,” I said. She
stepped in front of me, blocking my way.

“Yes, I’m up. And I’ve been up for
hours. Why do you smell like that?” She leaned in and sniffed me like a dog.

“Well, I’ve had—”

She held up her hand. “No one
cares, okay? Anyway, it’s good you’re finally back because I need to go out.”
She cupped my elbow in her palm and steered me back outside.

“Wait. Your dad gave me a message
for Josie.” I pulled my arm free. I don’t like being physically restrained, and
I found her bossiness offensive. As of this morning, I now worked for Marv, not
her.

“Hang on,” I said.  “I’ll be
back in a minute.”

I sprinted down the hall. Through
the tiny window in the kitchen door I saw Josie sitting on a stool at the counter.
She popped up quickly when I entered.

“Hi Josie, sorry to burst in like
this, but Marv Prescott wants you to call him on his cell phone.” My voice
sounded out of breath, but I wasn’t. My lack of oxygen probably stemmed more
from recalling the way Marv and I had left it—him accusing me of lying and
being correct.

Josie’s narrowed her eyes in a
confused look. “I just talk with Mr. Prescott a few minutes ago. He ask if you
are here. I told him your car was outside but I was not sure where you were. I said
I would find you and he say ‘forget it’—no big deal.” She said
deal
like
dill
, but I got the drift.

“
Mahalo
.” I put out my arms
to give her a hug, but she stepped back, ducking her head as if uncomfortable
with public displays of affection by deceitful co-workers.

“No worries,” she said. “Everybody
who work for Mr. Prescott we take care of each other.” She glanced over at the
cook, who shot me a pinched smile and a one bob nod.

“I’ll remember that.”

I walked quickly back outside. Lisa
Marie was leaning against the driver door to the Geo, her arms crossed.

“Not nice to keep me waiting.”

“Where’re we going?” I said.

“I’m sick of people staring at me,”
she said. “I want you to take me to buy a wig.”

Wig? I’d lived on Maui almost my
entire life, but I’d never run across a wig store. I rubbed my forehead in
contemplation.

“I have no idea where to buy a wig.
You may need to order one from Honolulu.”

“Get in, I know where.” She slid
into the driver’s seat. When I didn’t move, she leaned over and cranked down
the passenger side window. “C’mon. I looked it up on the Internet. It’s over on
the other side, near the hospital.”

I reluctantly got in. “Do you know
how to drive a stick?”

“A stick? You mean a shifter car?” She
rammed the gear shift up and down a few times without putting in the clutch. I
winced.

“Doesn’t seem too hard.”

It took four tries to get out of
the gate. Lisa Marie would kill the engine, scream a cesspool of expletives,
and then try again. After the first kill, I tried to coach her, but she slapped
my hand off the gear shift knob. I resigned myself to mutely riding shotgun.

Once we’d made it onto the highway
and were cruising along in third gear, she turned to me.

“See? I’m a fast learner. My dad
says there’s nothing I can’t do, and he’s right. And besides, if I mess up, big
whoop. Money can fix ninety-nine percent of all screw-ups.  Did you ever
think of that?”

“Not in so many words, but you’re
probably right. Money’s the next best thing to having friends.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Are
you saying I don’t have friends?”

“Lisa Marie, since you’re in a
philosophical mood, consider this: everything’s not always about you.”

“Well, consider this Pali: it’s
never
about losers like you.”

Deep breath, deep breath.

When we approached the stop light
at Ma’alaea, Lisa Marie failed to push in the clutch as she braked. The engine
shuddered, then shut down.

“What’s
wrong
with this
piece of crap?” she shrieked.

“It’s going to be harder for you to
drive the stick in traffic with all the stopping and starting. Do you want me
to take over?”

“No! Back off, bitch. I can do this
if you’d just shut your yap.” She was at full volume now. Cars behind us had
started to honk. She threw a middle-finger salute out the window with her left
hand while trying to shove the gearshift into first with her right. The
steering wheel was on its own.

I stared out the side window,
trying to imagine myself sitting on my porch at sunset—Steve sitting
companionably alongside. 

The final four miles to Wailuku
were a series of stalls, blue language, and grinding gears. The starter was
sounding like it was contemplating a strike. As painful as it was, I managed to
stay silent.

The shop near the hospital was
called “Rx for Beauty.”  The window display included a dozen white
head-only manikins with placid features and an array of wigs in different
colors and hairstyles—black ringlets, a chestnut-red pageboy, and a mahogany
brown bob. Three of the manikins wore jaunty small-brimmed caps, and two modeled
silky gypsy-style headscarves. I wondered what it would be like to work in a
shop where everyone who came in—except, of course, cue-ball-by-choice Lisa
Marie—had been to the gates of hell and back.

“That one’s cute,” Lisa Marie said
as we gazed at the window display. She pointed to a platinum pixie cut, which I
thought would look good on her.

“Let’s go in and you can try it
on,” I said.

“No, it’s cute, but I’m going for a
more natural look. I want something that just hangs there. Like yours.”

My reflection in the store window
showed my shoulder length hair in deep distress. Frizzy, split ends cried out
for a trim. My bangs hung down past my eyebrows, making it look like I lacked a
forehead. This was the look she was going for?

“Are you sure? There are some
pretty cute short styles here.”

“I know exactly what I want.”

We went inside and a plus-size
local woman with russet-colored skin came out from the back of the store. She
was wearing a red and black
mu’u mu’u
and knee-high nylons she’d rolled
down to her ankles. On her feet she wore a pair of blue mule-style bedroom
slippers. Even though her dress was billowy, it was obvious her chest was
washboard flat. I figured she’d chosen to forgo the breast prosthetics to show
her customers she was walking the walk.

“Oh my dear,” she cooed, fixing on
Lisa Marie’s bald pate. “And so young.”

“I’ve been through a lot.” Lisa
Marie put two fingertips to her lips and triple-blinked a couple of times, as
if holding back tears.

“You just let it go, honey. We’re
all survivors here; we honor your journey.”

“Thank you. You’re so kind. Unlike
some people who’ve been making fun of me.” She nodded in my direction, and the
store clerk gasped and shot me a nasty look.

I sidestepped Lisa Marie’s con
game. “You’re looking for a mid-length wig, right?”

She turned to the clerk. “Even
though my older sister here has been calling me stuff like ‘slickie sickie’ and
‘baldy-locks,’ we’re still family. No matter how mean she gets, I love her anyway.
You know, when we were little girls our mother dressed us in matching clothes
and we always had the same haircut. When I was in chemo I’d keep myself from
barfing by thinking back to those happy times with my big sister. Do you have a
wig that looks like that?” She pointed to my hair.

The clerk shot me a second
contemptuous look. No doubt she believed the wrong sister had been stricken
with cancer. I silently repeated to myself, ‘a hundred bucks a day, a hundred
bucks a day’.

The clerk waddled to the back of
the store and brought out a shoulder-length wig of light brown hair. She
gestured for Lisa Marie to take a seat in a fussy little boudoir chair facing a
gilt-edged mirror. Using a wig comb, the clerk smoothed and tucked the hair
until it was a tidy long bob that just grazed her shoulders. As I stood behind
her, my reflection in the mirror brought to mind a “before” picture for a hair
conditioner capable of miraculous results.

“How’s that, honey? It looks
ten
times better than your sister’s, but it’s nearly the same color and style.” She
made no effort to pull the punch, shooting me yet a third look of
disapproval. 

“It’s fine. I’m kind of worried
though,” murmured Lisa Marie. “It’s so nice, I don’t know if I can afford it.
Can you tell me the price?”

“This one’s a classic, so it’s very
reasonable.” The clerk went to the cashier desk and consulted a battered
three-ring binder. “Let’s see. Yes, the Patti Pageboy is only fifty-nine
ninety-nine. It’s not real hair, you know.”

“Oh, that much?” Lisa Marie started
up the blinky-eye thing again. “I only have forty dollars to spend.”

The clerk bit the side of her lip.

Lisa Marie reached up and pulled
the wig from her head. She laid it down on the tiny dressing table and let out
a theatrical sigh.

“Okay,” said the clerk. “I won’t
make any money on this, but you’re such a sweet girl. And besides, no cancer
survivor should have to put up with
kukae
—that’s our word for crap—from
her own sister.” Once again, I was treated to the death-ray glare.

“Thank you.
Mahalo
, so
much!” Lisa Marie jumped up from the chair and jogged over to the cashier
stand. She stepped behind the counter and leaned into the clerk’s non-existent
bosom like a child seeking a hug.

“You’re so kind. I will never
forget you.”

Until we walk out the door.

The clerk carefully wrapped the wig
in pink tissue and placed it in a round yellow hat box decorated with
brightly-colored butterflies. Lisa Marie mused she was worried the wig would
lose its shape if she kept it stored in the box and the clerk threw in a free
Styrofoam wig-stand. When we finally made our way out to the car, I pointedly
marched to the driver’s side door. She owed me—big-time—and I wasn’t about to
put up with car torture all the way back to Olu’olu.

“What was that little charade all
about?” I said once she’d slammed the passenger door.

“Oh, nothing. I just get a kick out
of messing with people.”

 “You enjoy telling lies and
cheating a nice lady who has had
cancer
?”

“Don’t get all high and mighty with
me, Pali. You’d do it if you could. But you’re not smart enough, rich enough,
or cute enough to get away with it. But me?” She shot me what my brother would
call a
shit-eating grin
. “Messing with people is my number one talent.”

No argument there.