“Do you want to be responsible for this airman crashing his plane into the mountainside?”
“No, sir.”
“Well, then, get on it.”
A range cut—much less of a mouthful than inaccuracies of the azimuth. It was the job of the filterer to do this. Daisy and her team had not learned it yet. “We haven’t been taught that.”
She glanced up at him and noticed his face turning tomato red. “You know what scares me to death?” he said.
“No, sir.”
“That we have a roomful of people here with absolutely no idea what they’re doing. Instead of planning dinner and changing diapers, you gals somehow ended up in my command center.”
Anger seared the back of her throat. Planning dinner and changing diapers? Her back went rigid. Daisy knew she shouldn’t respond but the words poured out anyway.
“That’s not a fair assessment. Nor is it accurate, since none of us have children. And we might be inexperienced, but it doesn’t mean we aren’t capable. We’ve only had a month to learn hundreds of codes, detailed maps, aircraft specifications, how to plot radar reports, and a dozen other things. Give us a chance, teach us, guide us, show us. But don’t belittle us.”
A voice came through the headset. “Excuse me?”
The pilot!
“Sorry, that wasn’t for you,” she said.
“Some poor bloke giving you trouble?” he said.
Nixon leaned in. “This poor bloke is Colonel Nixon, Sanchez.”
“Colonel! Sounds like you have a firecracker on your hands. I gotta say I like her spunk.”
Of all things, insulting Nixon over the airwaves with a pilot listening in. If Daisy still had a job tomorrow, she would be surprised. The voice of Mrs. White, her third-grade teacher, echoed in her ear. Impulsivity is going to be your downfall. Mark my words.
They still had a soul in the air who needed guidance. “Colonel Nixon, I apologize if I was out of line, but can you teach me how to do a range cut, so we can get Sanchez back here in one piece?”
“Sounds good to me,” Sanchez said.
For the first time, Daisy noticed that the room had quieted and all the girls around the table were listening in. Nixon was cornered. His left eye twitched. But to Daisy’s surprise, he pulled a chair over, grabbed a notepad and pen and started talking.
“So, you have a reading from Wai‘anae and one from Kawailoa. The true position of Sanchez’s flight is where the two range arcs intersect. Do you follow?”
“Yes, sir.”
And that was how she learned to do a range cut.
13
THE MISSION
Civilians were allowed to drive on the roads again during daylight hours, but with fuel rations, you had to pick and choose your outings. Lei’s husband, George, a businessman with Thomas & Sons, seemed to know a way around everything, and gasoline was no exception. As they careened down the Pali Highway toward Kailua, Daisy didn’t even want to blink, the views were so spectacular. Green curtains of cliff to either side, all the way to Chinaman’s Hat and Rabbit Island, and blue sky reflected even bluer seas, with white ropes of sand outlining the meandering shore. Fluff held her camera. “I love this old thing. I know it’s a beast, but it takes fabulous pictures, and I want to record our day,” she said.
This was the girls’ first real outing together, and they were all thrilled to get off base and have some breathing room. To forget about life for a while.
First stop was the Kailua Track, even though all races had come to a halt in December. The track had been closed for years, then recently reopened, and now closed again. Fluff’s Uncle T worked there, managing the grounds and tending to the watermelon patch in the center of the racetrack, and he was to meet them at the stables.
“If someone has Moon, he’s not going to be dumb enough to keep him at the racetrack,” Daisy had said.
“This reminds me of the story “The Adventure of Silver Blaze,” about a famous racehorse who disappears. Too bad we don’t have a ‘curious incident of the dog in the nighttime’ to help us. Though in your case, it was more of a curious incident of a dogfight in midair,” Fluff said, turning sideways and leaning against the front door so she could see everyone in the car.
“What are you talking about?”
“Have you not read Sherlock Holmes, my dear Daisy?”
“Never. I hardly read.”
Reading was not her strong suit.
“We really need to get you up to speed. Operation Equine is going to require us to be keen investigators, and there is no one better to emulate than Sherlock Holmes. His crime-solving methods were genius.”
Fluff continued. “We need to approach it with a blank mind and think logically. Preconceived notions and making assumptions will only lead us astray. So let’s get clear on the scenario. Tell us what happened from the beginning, and be as detailed as possible.”
Betty lifted an eyebrow. “I had no idea we were sharing a house with Nancy Drew.” Daisy laughed, but played along. There wasn’t much to tell. Moon got spooked, Moon ran away. End of story.
“So as I see it, there are three possibilities. One, Moon is still roaming wild, but for whatever reason hasn’t been located. Two, someone has Moon, either by design or by accident. Three, Moon is dead.”
“If he was dead, someone would have found his body,” Daisy said, not allowing for that possibility to exist in her mind. She could still feel the cadence of his hoofbeats on the hard-packed sand.
Fluff pulled out a leather-bound notebook and began scribbling. “Give me the names of those who know the horse.”
“Me, Mr. Silva, who trained him, Walker, Mr. Montgomery and all the guys that work at the stables.”
“You said he’s a Thoroughbred. Where did Mr. Montgomery get him? And when?”
“About six months ago. He brought him in from the Mainland from a man named Gunner. The horse quickly became Walker’s and now that I think about it, I remember thinking that maybe Moon was a bribe to get Walker back in his good graces. They’d had a falling-out years back.”
Fluff’s head bobbed against the window. “How did you know they had a falling-out?”
“Everyone knew. Then Walker disappeared for a while. I knew he joined the military, but then Mr. Silva said he was back on the island, but he never came around. And then once Moon showed up, he did.”
“Hmm. Interesting. What was the falling-out over?”
“I’m guessing it has something to do with Walker joining the navy and not wanting to run the business,” Daisy said.
By now, they were passing Olomana, and a marshy smell floated through the windows. The line of questioning seemed to be veering off course.
“No offense, but what does any of this have to do with Moon?” Daisy asked.
“We need to consider everything, as Sherlock Holmes would have. Sometimes by sifting through all the facts, you come upon a vital piece of information you might overlook.”
Betty twisted her thick blond hair into a bun. “Might you be taking this detective thing a little too far?”
Lei, who had been quietly driving and listening, said, “Let her continue,” and then to Fluff, “You could have a future as a private investigator if we actually find this horse. I might even hire you myself.”
For what? Daisy wondered.
“Oh, we’ll find this horse all right and we’ll clear Daisy’s name in the process. Now, in your searching, did you find anyone who said they’d seen Moon?” Fluff asked.
“Not one person.”
“That seems odd, given what a small town it is out there. A black Thoroughbred would stand out, wouldn’t he?” Betty said.
Fluff said, “Did you go door-to-door and ask?”
“No, I didn’t go door-to-door. We had just been attacked by the Japanese, remember?”
Betty w
as getting drawn in, “Could he have gone into the mountains and is up there enjoying his freedom?”
“Unlikely. Beyond the sugarcane, it gets pretty cliffy and then jungly. Horses prefer open plains and pastures,” Daisy said.
“Then it stands to reason that someone has him. How much do you think he’s worth?” Fluff asked.
“His sire is a famous racehorse from Maryland and all I know was that Mr. Montgomery paid upward of five thousand bucks for him.”
“That changes everything. Now we have motive!”
Daisy sighed, missing Moon and his soft muzzle. “And Mr. Montgomery stood to make a lot more than that on betting. Moon was the fastest horse I’ve seen on the island. Walker wanted him for polo, but his father wanted to race him.”
“Had he raced him yet?”
“Not that I know of.”
Fluff squinted down at her notes for a while, lost in thought. Her hair spilled out across her shoulder in copper waves. She seemed so intent on finding Moon, it was touching. Here they were, spending a whole day helping Daisy, when they could be visiting their own families or relaxing. “I think that’s a wrap for the time being. Now we gather more evidence,” Fluff said.
Lei veered left, and the road went from paved to gravel to sand. Under a cloudless sky, they passed marshlands with cute little Hawaiian moorhens and long-legged stilts, an endless grove of coconut trees and a cluster of tin shacks with scrappy dogs and roosters roaming free.
“Are you sure we’re in the right place?” Betty said.
Fluff motioned forward. “Keep going. Uncle T said it was just past the coconut trees.”
Sure enough, they came upon a farm fence with two giant wooden poles. The sign hanging across the entrance read Kailua Track Horse Races. The place looked deserted but for a couple of horses and a dilapidated donkey grazing in a field. There was no gate, so they drove on in. As they putted through a grove of kiawe trees, the scent of nutty pods wafting in, a memory arose in Daisy’s head.
Sitting on her father’s lap, munching on buttered popcorn. The cheering and hollering around them was louder than anything her toddler ears had heard before. Dust and hoof thunder filled the stands. A voice on the loudspeaker announced a new horse, pulling ahead. Each time her father jumped up to scream, his excitement traveled to her through some invisible means. She wanted to remember more, but memories were such shifty things. Try to grasp one, and it slipped away. Nothing else came to her but a feeling of deep contentment.
Lei pulled over under a giant monkey pod tree near the stables. A gangly Hawaiian man who was shoveling manure stopped what he was doing and eyed them.
“Is that your uncle?” Daisy said.
“Nope. Uncle said he may or may not be here, since he had another job to take care of.”
“He looks angry,” Betty said.
Fluff hopped out and waved, “Hey, I’m Thomas Kanahele’s niece. Do you know if he’s around?”
“Do you see him here?” the man said with a hand shielding his eyes from the sun.
“I guess not. My friends and I just came all the way from Honolulu. Do you mind if we stretch our legs out and walk around a bit?”
“Walk all you want,” he said, then resumed shoveling and humming a tune.
Most of the stalls had horses in them. They visited a stunning bay, a towering chestnut with a heart-shaped star and a gray mare who wanted snacks. Daisy had come armed with carrots, and quietly slipped her one.
“These are some fancy Thoroughbreds. I wonder who they belong to,” Daisy said.
When the racetrack closed down fifteen years ago, Mr. Montgomery had shifted his focus to polo. Thus, she had no reason—or means—to ever come here. Now she was wishing she had.
“No idea. I was hoping there would be more people around to question,” Fluff said.
“Not all investigation requires questioning does it? We can still poke around,” Daisy assured her. “And if nothing else, it sure is nice to hang out with some horses. I’ve been missing them like mad.”
When they came back around, one of the horses in the pasture had moseyed on up to the fence and was watching them with a keen eye. Tall and dark, with a strong chest and nice lines, he was almost as handsome as Moon. Almost.
“Pretend you’re not interested,” Daisy said to the girls, stepping to the fence a little ways past him and pointing at a gray horse across the pasture.
“A bit like men, are they?” Fluff said.
Daisy could speak for horses, but not for men. “It depends on the horse. Some are open and affectionate, others spirited and aloof.”
“Depends on the man, too,” Betty said. “I never had to play any games with Chuck. We were 100 percent from day one and we still are, seven years later.” She leaned her forearms against the fence and gazed up at mist gathering at the top of the Ko‘olau Mountains.
“Don’t look now, but here he comes,” Fluff whispered.
A moment later, Daisy felt hot breath against her neck and a sniffing tickle. Good thing her hair was short, or he was likely to start nibbling. Dominant horses do the nibbling, and by the looks of him, he was used to running the show. Daisy turned slightly and held out a piece of carrot in her palm. He wasted no time eating it. While he chewed, she scratched the crook beneath his ear.
“You like that, huh?”
If there was one thing Daisy knew, it was how to make friends with a horse. Even a standoffish one, which she could tell he was.
“Hey! Who said you could fraternize with the hosses?” came from across the way.
The shoveler walked toward them. He was so thin, his pants were on the brink of sliding right off him, and he yanked them up on one side.
“Sorry about that. We couldn’t resist,” Daisy said.
“Hosses bite and dis bruddah will haul off and kick you, too. When you least expect it. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
The way he said hoss reminded her of Mr. Silva, who spoke a fried-rice scramble of pidgin and proper English.
“Duly noted. But he seems like such a love beneath the tough exterior.”
The man leaned his shovel on the fence and gave her a curious look. “I gotta say, I nevah seen him take to someone so fast. With most folks, he bolts.”
“What’s his name?”
“Eclipse.”
She sensed an opening. “That’s funny, since he reminds me of a horse named Moon. A big black Thoroughbred faster than the wind. Do you know of him?”
Creases formed on his forehead. “What did you say your name was?”
“Daisy Wilder, sir.”
The sirs flowed out of her mouth on their own accord now, even when they weren’t called for.
“Don’t call me sir. Archie’s my name. And I know of the horse. Montgomery Ranch, yeah?”
All this time, Eclipse remained behind Daisy.
“Right. But he disappeared on December 7 and there has been no sign of him anywhere.”
“That rich haole has some good help and even better horses. My cousin Tommy works there, so I heard the story. What’s your business with Montgomery?”
Daisy knew Tommy. A scrappy cowboy good with ropes. “I worked with your cousin until last month, helping with the horses. I did whatever they needed me to. Clean, groom, feed, exercise, even some training.”
A lot of training, actually, but no one wanted to hear that from a woman.
Archie stepped closer and inspected her face. His breath smelled like sardines. “You’re Billy Wilder’s kid. Tommy’s mentioned you. Your old man was a magician with the animals. A real shame about what happened to him.”
She felt woozy at the mention. “You knew my father?”
With his burnt-leather skin, Archie could have been anywhere between sixty-five and ninety. “Tommy brought your father to help me now and again with the tough hosses, like Eclips
e here.” His here came out like hea.
Recognition dawned. “You’re Archibald?”
“Das right.”
Archibald was a legend in the horse world, and Mr. Silva mentioned him often. A paniolo from Waimea, he was known as the best roper in the Pacific, and could ride anything anywhere anyhow.
“You haven’t heard any mumblings about Moon, have you? It seems odd that he would vanish into thin air like he has,” Daisy asked.
Archie rubbed his prickly chin. “Why do you care so much about Montgomery’s horse? There a reward up for him?”
Daisy explained that she was the one who lost him. “I love that horse and I will never forgive myself unless we can find him.”
“Let me give you some advice, young lady—never say never. It’ll ruin you.”
Fluff, who was still standing next to her, started nodding in agreement. “Forgiveness is a virtue, especially when it pertains to ourselves.”
Where did she come up with this kind of stuff?
Lei added, “Maybe we should offer a reward for any info on Moon. I’m surprised Montgomery hasn’t yet.”
“Walker suggested it, but his father said he had his people working on it and didn’t want to be led on wild-goose chases all over the island,” Daisy said.
“Tell you what. I hear anything, I’ll tell T, but gimme your number in case,” Archie said.
Betty rattled it off, and they said their goodbyes. For the first time since Moon ran away, Daisy felt like she’d gotten a break. A small one, but still. Archie might seem like an aging paniolo now out to pasture, but she could tell the man paid attention. All good cowboys did.
* * *
Around noon, they were coming upon the north end of the island between dizzying cliffs and white-capped ocean. Beaches along the way had been lined in barbed wire, and periodically they passed soldiers sitting atop jeeps or tanks with rifles and cigarettes in hand. The scenes felt staged, as if there should be a movie crew nearby, ready to film. In Kahalu‘u and L¯a‘ie they pulled in at two other small stables, but left without any new information.
“I still say we at least try to visit Opana,” Fluff said, holding up her badge. “We can tell them we are scouting stations so we can be more accurate plotters. I want to see it up close and personal.”
Radar Girls Page 13
