Maui Widow Waltz (Islands of Aloha Mystery Series) (25 page)

CHAPTER 34

A
bout
ten miles up Crater Road a big brown sign alerts drivers they’re nearing the
entrance to Haleakala National Park. By the time I passed the sign the
ground-level clouds had thickened and visibility was down to less than fifty
feet. It dawned on me I’d probably have to pay a park entrance fee and I didn’t
have my purse. Who was I kidding? Even if I’d had my purse I wouldn’t have been
able to come up with the fee. I pulled off the road, throwing up a cloud of red
dust that tinted the surrounding fog the palest of pinks. Rummaging through the
minuscule glove box I found a wrinkled one-dollar bill and a diamond stud
earring. The earring looked to be a carat, maybe more. In anyone else’s car I’d
have figured it for a fake, but I was in Tina’s Boxster. No doubt the DeBeers
diamond brokers could probably provide a pedigree tracing the sparkling gem
from that glove box all the way back to where it was pulled out of the earth in
Botswana.

I pulled up at the park entrance
kiosk and lowered my window. Along the road leading up to the entrance at least
three signs had warned drivers to be ready to fork over ten bucks to enter the
park. I couldn’t pretend I didn’t know about the fee so I figured I’d play
“Let’s Make a Deal” with the park ranger. Maybe he’d see the upside of waiving
the fee in return for surprising his wife with a big ol’ diamond on their
anniversary.

“Welcome to Haleakala National
Park,” said a shivering female ranger in a short-sleeved dark khaki shirt and
Smokey-the-Bear hat. She said Haleakala in the Hawaiian way, stressing the
final ‘la’ with all she could muster. She was short, with a squat build and
freckled skin. She looked like the kind of woman who’d been offered a
long-sleeved shirt and maybe even a jacket, but refused, preferring to prove
her mettle with bare arms in the chilly temps.

 “The park entrance fee is ten
dollars,” she said, handing me a vanilla-colored brochure printed in brown ink.
She leaned her head into the car window, ostensibly poised to take the fee. I
figured the lean-in was also an effort to snatch up a little warmth while
waiting for me to dig out the money.

 “I’m sorry, I only have a
dollar. But I’m not staying. I’ll just be driving up and out again.” I’d given
up on the notion of trying to dazzle her with the diamond. She didn’t look like
a gal who was into bling.

Her eyes surveyed the Porsche.
“It’s
ten
dollars.”

“I know. But I’m a local, and I
just need to go up and turn around. I won’t use the bathrooms and I won’t toss
out any garbage. If you’ll just let me pass, I’ll be in and out without causing
any problems.”

“You’re already causing a problem,”
she said.

An older guy in a ranger uniform
opened the door to the ranger shack. I noticed he was packing a sidearm on his
utility belt. “Need some help out here?”

“No, thanks,” said the female
ranger. “I’ve got it.”

He nodded and disappeared back into
the shack.

“Okay,” I said, “here’s the truth.
My purse was taken and the person who took it was the young woman who just went
through here. She’s got shoulder-length brown hair, like mine. I’m following
her to get my stolen purse back.”

“There’s been no woman with
shoulder-length hair through here since I came on duty, and I collect all the
entrance fees.”

For a second, I was stumped.

“How about a skinny bald guy in a
trashy green car with smoke pouring out the tailpipe?” I asked.

“Well, yeah. A guy like that came
through a few minutes ago.”

“That’s who I’m talking about.”

She stared at me. I stared at her.
I thought about rethinking the diamond ploy, but knew trotting out Plan B would
just cost me precious time in pursuing Lisa Marie. I was also pretty sure
bartering the admission price was against ranger policy, and by the looks of
things I was dealing with a hard-liner for Uncle Sam.

Then I did something that reminded
me why I’d never quite fit into the squeaky clean team at the U.S. Federal Air
Marshal Service. I threw the car into first gear, popped the clutch, and
fishtailed away from the ranger shack—tires smoking. Luckily there wasn’t a
gate across the entrance. If there had been, it probably would have done some
pricey front-end damage to Tina’s baby.

But Tina’s baby was in second
position to Marv’s baby. I already regretted not apprehending Lisa Marie when
I’d had the chance. I’d abandoned any curiosity over what she was up to and
just wanted to nab her and get her safely back to Olu’olu before Marv got wind
of her leaving. Our little foray to the wig store and then her stealing my car
had me concurring with Marv that her mental state was iffy. And he’d have every
reason to hold me liable if she took a swan-dive off the crater rim.

I drove as if the ranger was in hot
pursuit and didn’t slow down until I glimpsed the Geo passing the Halemau’u
Trailhead. The elevation marker showed we were at eight thousand feet. I stayed
back, hoping to avoid pressuring her into a Thelma and Louise, but I never let
the little green car out of my sight for more than half a minute.

The road climbed and climbed. I’d
forgotten how far it was to the top. At mile sixteen I approached a hairpin turn.
The Geo was just above me, taking the sharp curve. I’m sure if Lisa Marie had
glanced down, the shiny red Boxster would have stuck out like the proverbial
sore thumb. Still, she kept up her speed. I wouldn’t have thought it possible
for my little beater car to keep going at that pace. The engine must have been
running on fumes and Lisa Marie’s sheer force of will.

Just after the Leleiwi Overlook
turnout, I lost sight of the Geo. I hadn’t noticed Lisa Marie pull into the
parking area, but it’s kind of a tricky curve and I could have missed it. As I
climbed out of another hairpin turn, I checked my mirrors. Nothing but open
road behind me and ahead. She must have turned off. I hesitated, then whipped
the car into a tight three-point U-turn and headed back to Leleiwi.

Nearing the tiny parking strip for
overlook visitors I saw the Geo. She’d pulled it into a spot at the very end,
tight alongside a Jeep Wrangler. It had been impossible to see since a
nondescript beige van blocked it from view on the uphill side of the road. I
parked the Porsche in the first available space, near the road, so I could make
it out of there in a hurry if she decided to resume her travels. Across the
street from the parking area was a sign marking the entrance to a rocky half-mile
trail that led to the overlook shelter.

I got out of the car and in a
half-crouch made my way down to the Geo. I crept up to the back side window and
looked in. The contents of my purse was strewn across the back seat. How
embarrassing. All sorts of personal items were on display—an overdue notice
from the Kahului Library, a creditor’s demand letter with the words
Urgent
Attention Required!
in bright red letters on the envelope, and a tattered
Tampax that had poked through its paper wrapping. My wedding emergency kit—a
shoe box with safety pins, aspirin, super glue, and so on—was on the floor
behind the driver’s seat. I looked through the driver’s window. My cell phone
was flipped open on the passenger seat. I tried the door. It was unlocked. I
leaned in and grabbed my phone, snapped it shut, and slipped it into my pocket.

Right next to the Geo was a new
black Jeep Wrangler with a soft top. The windows were down so I checked inside.
There was a large wad of dirty clothes balled-up on the passenger side floor
and a portable GPS on the seat. The keys were in the ignition.

I looked in the back and saw a
jumble of stuff. I pulled the door open to get a better view. Under a filthy
tarp was a red and yellow metal can with an aluminum cap. I turned it over and
the word
Gasoline
was written in a diagonal line across the can. Under
yet more grubby clothes was a cardboard box—a banker’s box. Right away I
recognized the white, pink and lilac-colored file folders I used to color-code
clients, vendors, and service providers for “Let’s Get Maui’d.” 

I left the door hanging open and
bolted for the trailhead.

CHAPTER 35

I
picked my way down the trail to the overlook, moving as fast as I dared without
twisting an ankle on the rock-strewn trail. How Lisa Marie had managed it in
kitten heels, lugging her ever-present oversized designer handbag was a
mystery. At about the halfway point, a guy Farrah and I would have dubbed a
‘tree hugger’ came into sight coming the other way. He nodded hello, I smiled
in return, and we kept moving.

As soon as the metal roof of the
overlook came into view I scrambled up the rocks and advanced from above the
trail. From that vantage I could see most of what was going on below, but
whoever was on the overlook wouldn’t notice my approach. When I was a few yards
from the end of the trail I ducked behind a large boulder and cautiously peered
into the covered shelter. Lisa Marie was against the Plexiglas viewing window
and a guy stood in front of her with his back to me. I couldn’t see Lisa
Marie’s face very well because the guy was in the way, but on her arm she still
carried the same black Dolce & Gabbana purse she’d had at the wig shop. The
guy wore a blue golf shirt that looked too tight under the armpits and baggy
khaki cargo shorts. The lookout offered a stunning vista of cloud-shrouded
Haleakala Crater shimmering in the late afternoon sun.

Lisa Marie and the guy were talking
in low tones. Anyone coming upon them would assume they were just two
nature-lovers taking in the spectacular view. From my observation point I
couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I had a decent enough view of what was
happening. Lisa Marie came in and out of sight as the man shifted his position.
She kept her arms crossed and she nodded a few times, but it appeared she
wasn’t doing much of the talking. Since Lisa Marie rarely listened to anyone
for very long without disagreeing or interrupting, it was fascinating to watch.

I turned and surveyed my
surroundings. The tree hugger guy was probably the driver of the beige van, and
by now he’d left. That left only Lisa Marie, the guy, and me out here at the
overlook. When I focused back on what was happening on the platform below, the
man had moved in closer to Lisa Marie. He pulled a folded paper from his
pocket, opened it up, and held it out to her. She didn’t take it.

The sound of her mocking laughter
carried to where I was crouching. He responded by yelling a word that would
have been bleeped out on TV. Then he roughly refolded the paper and put it back
in his pocket. Lisa Marie used the opportunity to duck around him. I finally
got a good look at her. Her cheeks were red and her eyes fixed on the path out
of there.

The guy grabbed Lisa Marie by the
upper arm and pulled her back. By now their voice levels had risen to a point
where I could make out almost everything they were saying.

“I thought you were screwing around
on me,” he yelled. “Then I realize
I’m
the one getting screwed!”

“No, no, you’ve got it all wrong,”
said Lisa Marie. “Kevin said you were just being stubborn. He said you’d thank
me later.”

“I’d
thank
you? Well, here’s
my thanks.”

He grabbed at her purse. She tried
to hold on but he was a lot stronger and within a couple of seconds he’d
wrestled it off her arm.

 “Give it back,” screamed Lisa
Marie. “Purse snatcher. Thief, thief!” She turned and looked toward the
pathway, her eyes bulging in indignation.

 He dumped out the contents of
the bag.

“You’re so predictable,” he said,
picking through the stuff at his feet.

I caught a quick flash of sunshine
glinting off chrome. I’d been trained by the TSA to identify handguns in an
instant. We’d had timed tests where they’d flash photos of an armed perp and
we’d have to write down the make and model of the weapon and then provide the
basic stats—how many rounds it carried, what caliber, and so on. No one
complained about the tedious training. It’d be a critical skill if we ever
found ourselves facing an armed assailant thirty-five thousand feet up.

The guy was holding a Beretta 92 S.
Not a big gun, but certainly big enough at a point-blank range. He waved the
gun in Lisa Marie’s direction and my mind downshifted. I didn’t need to see her
face to guess her reaction. I slowed my breathing and ceased all movement as my
body ceded control to my brain. I could hear Sifu Doug’s patient voice,
‘Matches are lost when we fall back on human instinct or emotion—especially if
your opponent presents a superior weapon.’

“Look,” the guy said. “I didn’t
want to do it but he wouldn’t listen. If you’re smart, you will.”

My thighs were burning in protest
over maintaining the low crouch, but I couldn’t just jump up and startle a guy
waving a gun around until I had a plan.

He again pulled the folded paper
from his pocket. “Sign it,” he said.

Lisa Marie snatched the folded paper
and tossed it over the overlook wall. I watched as the white square disappeared
into the abyss below.

“You crazy bitch!” He stiff-armed
the gun and screwed up his face as if readying himself for what came next.

I’d seen and heard enough. I stood
up and picked my way around the boulder, trying to avoid alerting him to the
sound of my approach. When I was six feet behind the guy, Lisa Marie ducked
left and we made eye contact. Her eyes darted from him to me and he whirled
around.

I bent my knees to give me more
power and leverage. I delivered a roundhouse kick to his ribcage that sent him
staggering backward onto the floor of the lookout. The gun flew from his hand
and came to rest near the far edge of the rock wall.

As he pushed himself back up to a standing
position, I raised my elbow and jabbed him hard in the solar plexus. I heard
his breath stall in his chest, and he made an
uh
sound as his knees gave
way. His head took a heavy hit as it slammed into the concrete floor. I
cringed. Without a mat to soften the blow, a fall like that could be fatal. I
calmed down a little when he started moaning.

He curled into a fetal position and
didn’t attempt to get up. I stood over him, studying his face. He’d lost some
weight and his bad haircut was shaggy and uneven. The goofy goatee was gone and
he wasn’t wearing wire-rim glasses, but there was no mistaking it: I’d just
kicked the crap out of missing tech mogul Brad Sanders.

“You okay?” I said to Lisa Marie.

“Yeah. But Brad killed Kevin.”

I looked at the crumpled man at my
feet. His moans had become a kind of guttural breathing, but his eyes remained
closed and he still wasn’t making an attempt to get up.

“Lisa Marie, I need you to go over
there and get that gun,” I said.

She stepped over Brad and picked up
the gun.   

“Hang on to it for a minute while I
make a call.” I wondered why Lisa Marie had been packing a handgun, but I
figured it’d all come out when the cops arrived.

I pulled out my phone and called
nine-one-one and reported an armed man at the Leleiwi overlook in Haleakala
National Park. The dispatcher said she’d send a police cruiser, but it’d take a
while since they’d be coming from Kahului. She told me she’d also alert park
security.    

“You sure you’re okay?” I said to
Lisa Marie after hanging up. She nodded. “Well, hang in there. Cops are on
their way. It’ll be a while, though, so give me the gun. I’ll keep an eye on
him.”

“It’s my gun. Why should I give it
to you?”

“Suit yourself. But the police just
released you as a suspect, and they’re probably not too happy about it. You
want to be pointing a handgun at him when they get here? The State of Hawaii’s
rather picky about who gets to pack heat.”

She bit her lower lip and handed it
over.

“Now I need you to go up to my car
and get some duct tape. There’s a roll in a shoe box behind the front seat.”

“Duck tape? Like for taping a
duck?”

“No, like for keeping Brad still
until the cops get here. It’s silver-colored, on a roll about this big.” I made
a circle with my thumbs and forefingers to show her the size.

As she trotted up the trail, I
slipped the gun into my back waistband. I’d need both hands if Brad suddenly
decided he didn’t want to stick around for the cops.

A few seconds later, my cell phone
rang.

“Pali? You at the overlook?” It was
Steve.

“Yeah, I’m here. Where are you?”

“I’ve got Hatch with me and we’re a
few minutes away. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Everything’s good.”

“Well, hang in there, because the
lady ranger at the gate’s real concerned about you. She took off in an official
pickup as soon as we told her we thought you were in trouble. She had the siren
going—driving like a bat outta hell. Keep an eye out, she should be pulling up
any minute now.”

Great. Ranger Hard-Ass already had
it in for me for stiffing her for the park fee, and there I was, squatting next
to a guy I’d cold-cocked halfway to heaven. Oh yeah, and don’t forget the
unpermitted gun I had stuffed down the back of my pants.