Primitive Secrets (24 page)

Storm peered closer. “That's a cow's hoof. It's even bigger than Hortense's feet.”

“Looks like a pig to me,” Bebe said softly. “Let's get back to the house.”

“The pig wen' holo, Bebe. We heard it.” Bebe looked at Sam, her eyes wide. “But it sounded like it was chasing someone.” Sam moved off the path and into the undergrowth.

Hamlin looked at Storm with a question in his eyes. “Ian,” she said softly. “What did you see?”

Chapter 33

Hamlin looked uncomfortable. “I'm not completely clear what happened.”

“Come on, Ian, you've had years of practice dragging testimony from witnesses. Pretend you're in court.”

“Okay.” He looked at the path. “Sam and I walked away from you up the dike…” Hamlin's voice sank as he moved into the story.

***

“How deep is it?” I looked out over the acres of rich green leaves rising above the surface of the terraces.

“A foot or two. Hawaiian term for taro is kalo, you know.” Sam sounded proud. “All hand-harvested. My brother and his wife work with me.” He waved his arm in the direction of the perfect lines of stems. “Hard work. Not too many people do this anymore.”

“Foi must be expensive.”

Sam nodded. “It is, at the store.” He gave me a rueful smile. “We don't make the money, though, the middlemen do. You like eat poi?”

“Uh, well, I'm getting used to it. I like it with lomi salmon.”

Sam looked back and grinned. “Me, too. You try the leaves, yet? Really ‘ono. Delicious.” His smile faded. “Usually a family profession, you know, passed on. This was my father's farm. But my son, he move to the mainland.”

“Maybe he'll come back one day.” I didn't know exactly what to say. My feeling is my mother and Sam would have some sentiments in common. Still, even I had seen young, well-educated Hawaiians leaving for better job opportunities. I can't blame them, though. Law, medicine, and business usually paid better than farming.

“Maybe. Never know about life, yeah?”

“That's for sure.”

We were out of the taro patch and on rocky, steep terrain. At one point, I needed to use both hands to climb up a four-foot vertical rise of lava rock, so old and worn that its face was smooth, with natural footholds.

Sam scrambled up the embankment with surprising agility. “We better hurry. Sun's going drop behind the mountains soon. We got to get the noni for those poor sick boys.”

“I'm right behind you.” I was enjoying the woods and the exercise, but knew we didn't want to be out here in the approaching dusk. Even with Sam's knowledge of the area, the path had its steep, rocky sections. And the shadows were already deep.

I followed Sam through a stand of tall ironwood trees. Their long, delicate needles cushioned the path and hid the hard, round little seeds. The last of the sun sliced through the trunks in streams of gold. My foot slipped on a hidden seed and I braced myself against a tree trunk. “It's beautiful in here.”

“Sure is.” Sam pointed to a lone shrub, standing among the undergrowth, about ten feet off the path. Dark berries shone among the satiny green-black leaves. “There's a noni bush.”

“I'll pick that one.”

“Good. We need a few more, though. Noni usually grow in clusters—you know, the birds spread seeds around the same area.” Sam pointed ahead. “I'll go up the path a couple of feet.”

“Okay, I'll walk ahead when I'm done and find you.” I pulled one of the plastic grocery sacks that Sam had given me from my pocket and picked my way around the thorny low kiawe, which grew next to the path. In a few minutes, I had stripped the shrub of its ripest berries and taken a few sprigs of glossy leaves. My bag wasn't even a quarter full.

So I started up the path, scanning the lengthening shadows, but didn't see any more of the berry bushes. Nor did I see Sam. I put a couple of fingers in my mouth and blasted a short whistle. A whistle answered. I marched ahead a few feet and caught sight of another noni bush, this time off the path to the left.

“Sam,” I called out. “You find a patch?”

“Yeah, big bunch.” Sam's voice came from my left.

“Got one here, too.”

“Good, we almost done,” Sam answered. I could hear him rustling through the undergrowth.

I made my way to the bush and filled the bag to nearly three-quarters full. How much of this did they need, anyway? I wasn't sure if the leaves were used to make tea or for a poultice like the one for Hortense. I walked ahead on the path and whistled again, but got no answer. “Sam?” I heard rustling and what might have been a grunting response, so I followed the sound.

The woods were growing denser with the huge leaves and thick vines of plants that required the rainfall of higher elevations. No rays of sun penetrated the jungle vegetation and I thought that I'd probably passed out of the habitat of the noni. The path had dwindled to a game trail that disappeared in the dense foliage.

“Sam?”

“Be right there,” came the answer, but from farther away than before.

I looked around. Sam's voice had come from deep in the woods, so I stood still and waited for a moment, shifting my weight from foot to foot, feeling foolish standing in the middle of the woods holding a grocery bag of leaves and berries. I decided to count to twenty, then head back down the path.

…Nineteen, twenty. “Hey, Sam, I'm heading down.”

“…found something good…catch up…”

I started down the trail, but in a moment or two stopped to check around. I hated to leave the fellow in the woods, even though Sam did know his way around. The shadows had lengthened and though the path was still visible, the undergrowth beside it was dark, too dark to make out individual plants ten or fifteen feet away.

“Sam?” I was shouting now.

Only the whisper of wind ruffling the tops of the tall ironwoods answered. The path seemed steeper going back than it had been coming, probably because I was alone, but a gradual climb is easier than walking downhill. I took off again and slipped on the tough, round kernels that were the ironwood's version of a pinecone. I grabbed the branch of a nearby shrub for stability.

“Yow!” Spiky kiawe thorns pierced my palm, leaving two deep scratches. The damned plant had kept me from falling on my ass, but now I needed Neosporin ointment and a Band-Aid. Or some of Bebe's herbs. I wondered about the noni, but didn't know if its medicine worked on scratches and abrasions. I made a note to ask Bebe later—the knowledge might come in handy.

Then someone started smashing through the thorny underbrush. Sam's overalls were going to be shredded. At least the Hawaiian was wearing long pants. My legs would be in ribbons if I ran right through the thick foliage like that.

“Hey, I'm over here.” I shouted in the direction of the crashing noise, but it suddenly stopped. Absolute silence. No birds sang, no crickets chirped, no bees buzzed in the honeysuckle patches.

For the first time, I felt truly uneasy. The shadows beside the trail were now nearly impenetrable. Some light leaked through the tops of the tall ironwoods, but it was the murky haze of dusk. I stood stock-still. Why hadn't Sam answered my shouts? Maybe he'd taken a tumble, or a branch had fallen on him. I looked up the tree trunks. The woods here were very different from the hardwood forests of Michigan; no heavy branches hovered overhead. But then, I had no idea what pitfalls these seemingly benign jungles held—Hawai'i doesn't have snakes, but there are wild pigs and though they aren't big, they have nasty reputations. I'd heard stories from local hunters.

“Sam, you okay?” The silence was thick; even the wind was holding its breath. The hairs on the back of my necked lifted and I felt cold, even though the evening was warm. Something was wrong.

The crashing noise had moved across the path and into the woods on the right, so if it was a pig, there was a good chance the animal was still in front of me. It would be better to go back and try to find Sam. But I was increasingly uneasy.

I told myself that an escaped farm animal had most likely made the noise. The birds had stopped singing because of all the shouting. I moved back up the path, walking quietly, avoiding twigs by rolling the soles of my sneakers along the needle-cushioned trail.

The air was sultry and unmoving. Sweat began to run down the side of my face. The air felt charged, like it did before an electrical storm.

I rounded the next corner and climbed a small rise, watching my feet to avoid slipping. And there was Sam, cheerfully coming toward me with a full grocery bag and an enormous bunch of thick-stemmed plants that were five to six feet long. He could hardly see over the mess.

Relief washed over me. “Here, let me give you a hand.”

“I found this ‘awapahi. Bebe gone be so happy. The sap good for shampoo and the flowers, they—” Sam's mouth dropped and his dark skin lightened three shades before my eyes.

I whirled. A dark shadow, about my height, glided across the path about fifteen feet away. The atmosphere grew so still that not even a mosquito hummed.

That was a funny-looking character, hunched over like that, but he seemed to be alone, so why was Sam so startled? We had the guy outnumbered.

“You know him?” Sam hadn't seemed like the type who would spook easily. For some reason, the smell of the plants Sam held had become overwhelming. Way too sweet for my taste. In fact, they smelled like dying gardenias.

Sam dropped everything on the ground and gave me a hard shove. “Quick,” he whispered. “Into the woods. Lie down flat.”

We pressed into the earth and heard the crash of foliage again, just a few yards from where we lay with our faces nearly buried in the moist, composting soil. The sound stopped, then began again, farther away. At least the guy was moving on.

I felt Sam stir, then sniff the air. I sniffed, too. The strong flower odor had gone. We rose to our knees. Then a loud shriek followed by the sound of breaking wood and tearing branches ripped the syrupy air. Sam and I flattened ourselves once again and lay absolutely still.

The noise choked to a stop and stillness rolled through the woods as if a thick blanket had been pulled around the trees. A muffled thud and choking sound reached us through the undergrowth.

Several minutes passed before I felt Sam stir. I lifted my head and followed Sam's lead in getting slowly to my feet. Sam placed a gentle hand on my arm. “One minute,” he said. He crept to the path and I watched him look around and test the air. Then he gestured to me. “Hurry, let's get back to the farm.”

We gathered the harvested plants that lay undisturbed where we'd dropped them. Sam led the way down the path. I stayed close behind, keeping an eye on the woods beside us. From time to time, Sam would slow and check the air for odors.

After a few minutes of stealing nearly soundlessly down the path, Sam increased his pace. I let myself gradually unwind although I could feel my muscles grow heavy with spent adrenaline.

I wanted to ask Sam who we had seen and why they had hidden, but it wasn't the time. The cords in the Hawaiian's neck still stood out and his head swept steadily from side to side. Every now and then, he slowed to examine a shadow in the nearly dark woods. But he didn't stop, and he moved with a stealth and silence that impressed me.

Chapter 34

Storm bit her lip as Hamlin ended his recital. Bebe had moved closer to hear his words. In the silence, four sets of anxious eyes looked into the forest.

“Try wait one minute,” Sam said. His eyes were on an object nestled in the broken branches and crushed leaves several feet from the path. When he stopped six or eight feet into the woods and peered down, Storm saw his jaw muscles tighten. Already unnerved by Hamlin's vivid recital, she gripped his arm tightly. Sam came up with a grim expression on his face and an athletic shoe dangling between his forefinger and thumb.

“It could have been there for days,” said Storm.

Sam looked doubtful. “It's dry. And it rained this morning.”

“We need to leave this place, go back to the house. Right now,” Bebe said.

“What if someone needs help?” Hamlin asked.

“That's what I'm thinking, too.” Sam looked worried. He shouted into the woods. “Hey! Anyone there?” All of them stood, looking into the dark trees. The woods, which now looked like a wall of impenetrable tree trunks, seemed serene. The placid songs of birds settling down for the night drifted to them.

Sam, who had stood listening to most of Hamlin's recital, now looked at Bebe and shrugged.

“It would be silly to chase after a noise in the dark,” she said. “Let's go back.” Bebe set out first, with Sam close behind her. Storm and Hamlin walked side by side. Her foot and ankle sent out an occasional twinge.

“We heard a terrible scream,” she said.

“So did we.”

“Describe again what you saw,” Bebe commanded.

“Something very strange. Like a pig, but…” Sam's voice was low and uneasy.

“Yes, what was that thing?” Hamlin asked. “I thought someone was following us.”

“It was following the guy who lost his shoe.” Sam jerked his head toward the woods. “Poor sucker sounded like he was running for his life.” Sam looked back at Hamlin again. “You smelled the flowers, yeah?”

“Yes, but you had an armload of them.” Hamlin gestured to his white ginger.

“The ‘awapahi smells different.” He plucked a flower and handed it to Hamlin. “The odor back there was a warning,” Sam said.

Bebe looked back at Storm with an eyebrow raised and steel in her gaze. “This sounds like your afternoon on the mountain. Sam, would you mind making some coffee? We need to talk.”

Sam glanced over his shoulder at Storm and Hamlin's eyes followed, full of questions.

The dark brew Sam conjured from his tiny galley was delicious. He also brought an ice pack for Storm's foot. She propped it on a stool and drank a whole cup of coffee before Bebe stopped blowing on her first cup.

Bebe turned to Hamlin. “You know much about Hawaiian legends?”

“Just the common ones, I guess. Don't take bananas in a boat or drive over the Pali Highway with pork in your car. If you see an old woman beside the road, give her a ride because she might be Pele…” Hamlin shrugged.

“That's a start.” Bebe nodded her approval. “Did you know that the ancient Hawaiians believed that the spirits of dead people entered into animals?” She took a sip of her coffee and regarded Hamlin.

“I don't think I've heard about that.”

“These spirits, or ‘aamakaa, became helpers of the people.”

Hamlin looked at Storm. “Like your pig?”

Storm rolled her eyes at him. “They're old stories,” she said. “They were imagined by people who stared into fires and had no scientific way to explain or avoid events that terrified them. A couple hundred years ago, parents lost half their children to illness before their first birthdays. Hurricanes and volcanic eruptions were whims of the gods.”

She ignored Bebe's glare and gazed into her coffee cup. “Anyway, Kamapua'a would have hovered above the ground,” she said. “He wouldn't have left a footprint.” From the corner of her eye, she saw both Hamlin's and Sam's heads whirl toward her.

“What?” Sam asked.

“Like the creature you saw on the mountainside? The one who left a dead man behind you?” Bebe's voice was impatient and she gave Sam a significant glance.

“A dead man?” Hamlin's voice showed his dismay and Storm was afraid to look in his direction. Bebe didn't know about Lorraine, and maybe not even about the guy who had chased Storm on the road to Laupahoehoe, but Hamlin did. And he was adding up the bodies. Hamasaki. Lorraine. Kwi Choy. With Tong Choy, the fellow who had died on the slopes of Mauna Kea, the count was up to four.

She should have told Hamlin about the herb-picking incident earlier, but the story had seemed too implausible to repeat, especially once she was back in the city. Plus, at the time, they had both been too upset about Lorraine's death for her to bring up some flaky legend-in-the-mist. Now she regretted her silence.

“The police say that he fell and broke his neck,” Storm said. Her voice sounded unconvincing even to her own ears.

“Storm, you are not paying attention to the ancient signs.” Bebe's sharp voice chastised her. Storm ignored the flush of anger that reddened her cheeks and took a deep breath. Instead of a defensive retort, she chewed her lip. Uncle Miles would be proud that she'd thought before firing off her mouth. She needed to gather more information to get to the bottom of this. It all started with Uncle Miles. And perhaps the answers lay in his private files.

Sam broke the heavy silence. “Anyone want more coffee?”

Storm shook her head. Hamlin got to his feet. “I'm sorry everyone. I've got to get going.” He turned to Sam. “Could I use your phone for a minute?”

Storm looked at him in surprise.

“I have to call Chris. I told him I'd meet him at eight and it's eight-thirty now. I'm going to ask him for a rain-check,” he said to her.

Storm got slowly to her feet. She thought she would be the one calling off their evening in order to go through Hamasaki's files. Since the incident in the woods and the following conversation, she'd been trying to think up a way to search the office another time. Problem was, Meredith would be in there tomorrow and she had to find those private files before anyone else did. She couldn't put it off.

“I'm going outside to say goodbye to Hortense,” she said. She wanted to see if the coconut husk poultice was working, and she also wanted to look at the animal's hooves. She was sure that the huge sow's feet were much smaller than the print in the mud.

The small shed was lit with warm, yellow lights and Hortense lay on her side in a pile of clean straw. She raised her head when Storm walked through the door. Lots of little piglets swarmed around her teats, so many that Storm not only couldn't count them, she couldn't see the infected nipple.

Sam came in behind her, humming softly. “She much bettah, yeah?” he said softly. He patted her arm. “You no worry about Bebe's scoldings, okay? She gets carried away. You one fine Hawaiian gal.”

Bebe arrived and went to the hog. “Sam, I'll put one more poultice on her. I left the paste in your sink.”

“I'll get it for you.” He gave Storm a wink and ambled toward his house.

Bebe looked up at Storm. “Thank you for bringing your friend to gather the noni for me.” She put her hand on Storm's arm. “Be aware, though, your friend is hiding something.”

Before Storm could respond, Hamlin called out, Storm?” He popped his head into the shed.

Storm turned away from Bebe. “Did you get hold of him?”

“Yes, we're going to meet later.” They walked toward the car, slowly because Storm was limping.

“He should understand, after the day you've had,” she said. “Wish I could go home, too.”

“You can't?”

“I have to go to the office.”

Hamlin looked at her and frowned. “No way. Don't worry about Meredith. She gets grumpy under stress. She's really okay.”

Storm looked at him. “Really? She's taking over Hamasaki's office. Tomorrow.” Despite Bebe's warning, his brush with primitive spirits convinced Storm she had nothing to fear from him. “I have to go through Hamasaki's old files, clean out the desk and stuff.”

“I know she can be impatient.” He sighed. “Look, just ask for a few more days.”

“She's already started moving stuff in.”

“You need to go home and pack that ankle in ice. You can't go to the office alone.”

Storm put her hand on the door of the old VW and faced him. “Hamlin, I have to. All these weird events started with Uncle Miles's death. With his murder. I've got to see if he's left any answers to so many questions. What if someone else is injured or died because I didn't bother?”

“How long will it take?”

Storm thought for a minute. If she could just find those private files, she could do the rest later. Lorraine would have kept his filing system well organized. “Maybe an hour.”

For a moment, his eyes showed anguish. “I'm going with you then.”

“Hamlin, are you sure?” Storm felt a rush of gratitude. Her foot and ankle throbbed and she had not wanted to go alone.

He sighed. “Yes. I'll phone Chris again. If he needs me, he knows where I'll be. You ready?”

“Sure. And thank you,” she said.

Hamlin just shrugged and Storm started to duck into the car. With a gasp, she backed up and stepped squarely on Hamlin's foot. He grunted and peered over her shoulder with a frown.

Her ‘aamakaa rested on the driver's bucket seat. Storm stared at it while her mind whirled. She had stuffed it into her purse, then jammed both behind the front seat. Now it leaned, its piggy snout and folded arms facing belligerently forward, against the upholstery.

“What's wrong?” Hamlin asked. The dark carving covered most of the beige seat.

“It…it was in my purse.” Storm picked it up. “You didn't get it out, did you?”

“I haven't been out here.”

“It's my ‘aamakaa.”

Hamlin paused a beat. “I know, the pig. He looks pretty ferocious.”

“It's supposed to be protective. You know, like a totem or fetish.”

He watched her stuff it back into her purse, then walked around the car to get in the passenger's seat. He looked warily at Storm. “This has been a very strange afternoon.”

“I agree.”

Hamlin pulled out his cell phone, left a message. Then neither of them talked during the drive down the pot-holed gravel road. When the silence got so dense that Storm didn't know how to begin to break it, Hamlin finally spoke. “Why didn't you tell me about the dead man on the Big Island?”

Storm chewed her lip. She hadn't because it had sounded too incredible at the time. Now, the edges of believability blurred in the darkness. The sea was ten feet from the side of the road, but she couldn't see it in the blackness of the night. They could hear the rumble of pounding breakers, though, and a salty mist covered the windshield. Under the infrequent street lamps, she could see the tension of Hamlin's jaw.

“I didn't want to believe that it had anything to do with me.”

“How could you find another body and not think so?”

“I didn't find it. I didn't even see it. Aunt Maile told me about it.” Storm took a deep breath. “But I think I saw what you saw today.”

She looked over at him and saw the flash of his eyes in the dark car.

“Would you have believed me if I told you? The link is the smell, the gardenias.” She paused. “What exactly did you see, anyway?”

“I'm not sure. I thought it was a man, but it seemed to glide rather than walk. And yet, you saw that big hoof print.” He shook his head. “Sam got a better view than I did. So, do you believe in those old legends?”

Storm shrugged. “Not really, but right now I wouldn't discount them. What do you think?”

Hamlin sighed. “I don't know, Storm. I really don't.” He looked out the car window. “Ask me tomorrow when I'm not so tired.”

She nodded. He was right. The blackness of the night surrounded them and the surf pounded the beach like some ancient drum. Salt spray shot up in billows and clouds from the sea wafted around the moving car—another reminder of the earth's unpredictable forces.

Both of them were shaky and the conclusions they reached tonight might change when they were surrounded by city daylight, in presumed control of their world. Hamlin stared out at the ocean. He rolled the window down and took deep breaths of the tangy wind. “I'm glad we're back near the water again. Those cliffs, the humidity back in there, the air sits on you.” He gazed out the window for a few long minutes. “I'm also tired and I can't help worrying about the scream we heard.”

“You must be worried about DeLario, too.”

“I guess that's part of it.”

“Is he upset about the blood test?”

“That and his…his relationship with Martin.”

“Artists don't have to worry about their sexuality, do they? Not as much as a stockbroker, I'd think.”

“A lot of his commissioned work comes from wealthy widows. He told me once that his income would drop drastically if people knew he was gay.”

“He didn't hide it in college, did he?”

“He was pretty discreet, though people guessed. The only time he didn't care was when Neil was in the hospital.”

“You were there, too, weren't you?”

“Yes. But Chris spent as much time with him as I did, maybe more.”

“Were they still lovers?”

“No. By the time we all shared the apartment, Neil had moved on to another relationship. Chris, too.”

“And Chris still stayed in the hospital with Neil?”

“Yes, Chris would give him sponge baths, even administer his medications. By then, Neil's veins were collapsing and the IV sites needed to be changed often.”

“That must have been terribly hard,” Storm said.

“There were days when I could hardly bear to see him, watch his deterioration. When he got pneumonia, he couldn't talk because of the respirator, but his eyes seemed to plead with us. I wondered on more than one occasion if he were begging for life or death.”