Paradise Crime Thrillers Box Set

by Toby Neal

  “Hello. I’m camping over there.” Sophie gestured. “I am here because I met a woman named Enola. She was looking for her son. She said he was with a group of boys who were all living together in a cave. Do you know anything about that?”

  The man eyed her up and down taking her measure. “What’s your name?”

  “Sandy Mason. I just want to help. That woman seemed so distressed.”

  “Enola, she always get plenty pilikia.” The man gestured with a muscular arm. “I’m Tiger. Come. You meet the camp. We don’t just talk story about our business with any kine stranger who comes up this way.”

  Sophie followed the leader into the heart of the encampment, mindful of the watching eyes all around them. She smiled and Ginger gave a little woof of welcome as several children, wearing very little, came out of the tents and tree houses.

  It was Ginger, not any of Sophie’s awkward overtures, that got the two of them welcomed into a main covered area, where a fire pit vented smoke through a central rift in tarps overhead. Logs, placed around the fire pit, provided seating. Against one plastic wall, a woman stirred a pot of savory-smelling stew on a camp stove. “We about to eat,” Tiger said. “You can stay. E komo mai.”

  People trickled in from the other dwellings, everyone talking in a friendly way as the woman ladled stew into their bowls and they took seats around the fire pit.

  “Do any of you have any idea where Enola’s son might have gone?” Sophie asked, seating herself with a hand on Ginger’s collar.

  “Enola and her boy had plenty pilikia for long time,” the woman stirring the stew said. “That sistah, she get one drug problem. The boy, he no like how she been acting. So he left, went live with the lost boys and the Shepherd.”

  “Enola knew that he was there. She told me that he disappeared from there; that’s why she was so upset.” Sophie received a plastic bowl of stew from the woman. She took a bite filled with vegetables, rice, beans, and taro, a purple tuber chopped into chunks. Flavored with a bit of rock salt, the stew was satisfying and looked quite healthy. “What is pilikia?”

  “Pilikia is Hawaiian for trouble. Enola was not a good mom.”

  That wasn’t a surprise. Sophie was pleased to see that the cook had also given Ginger a bowl of the same stew. The dog ate it with enthusiasm, tail wagging. Anything that didn’t lighten Sophie’s food supplies was a good thing.

  “Who are these ‘lost boys’ and why are they living in a cave with…someone?” Sophie tried not to seem overly curious—the villagers were obviously cautious toward outsiders.

  “We just call them that after Peter Pan,” Tiger said. His smile was a brief flash of sharp, white teeth. “They are runaways from the island. The Shepherd is a wise man, a teacher. He takes care of them, makes a home for them in his cave.”

  “Even so, Enola seemed awfully concerned about her boy disappearing from the cave they live in when she met me at my camp,” Sophie said. “She was going down to the beach to get help looking for him.”

  Everyone froze. Sophie looked up to find Tiger frowning. “How long ago was this?”

  “Yesterday morning when I was setting up camp. I was disturbed, so I continued up this way.”

  “We no like da cops or DLNR come back heah,” the woman in charge of the stew said. She had long thick gray-streaked hair in a braid and wore a muumuu that had seen better days. “We never get permits for live in the valley.”

  “I surmised as much. I too, am past my permitted stay.” Sophie chased a last taro chunk around her bowl with her spoon. “Where do you go when authorities arrive?”

  “We have our places,” Tiger said evasively. “I take you to the Shepherd. We’ll ask him about this missing boy.” He took her bowl and picked up Ginger’s. “We go. Everyone, you know what to do in case the rangers come.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  The Bell Jet Ranger was a small craft designed for fast flight, maneuverability, and visibility. Alika rolled back the moveable plastic hangar behind his house in Kilauea where he stored the helicopter. Walking around the sleek aircraft with its bubbled Plexiglas windows, Alika went through his exterior pre-flight check.

  His gut was grinding.

  Why was he doing this? He didn’t want to get involved with Sophie again. His leg, left arm, and ribs all ached at the mere thought, not to mention his heart. He’d fought hard to get his body and emotions back under control. He was dangerous for her. She was dangerous for him. The logic of a clean break made sense. This sketchy “rescue mission” did not.

  But wouldn’t he do something like this for a friend who was in trouble? If everything else was stripped away, Sophie at least had been that, and much more. His student for years in the MMA scene, Sophie had grace, power, and instinctive moves that had knocked him onto his back more than once. Alika had worked with her longer than she needed, truth be told, because he’d worried he’d lose contact with her once their coaching relationship was over.

  She had been so damaged by that asshole ex of hers… It pissed him off that she’d rid the world of a monster and now might be facing a murder charge as a result.

  That’s why he was flying out to Kalalau. To help a friend. No other reason.

  Plus, it’d been too long since he took out the Dragonfly. His private name for the helicopter described what flying it was like: sitting on the back of a powerful insect, and taking it wherever he wanted to go.

  Alika had put together a backpack with overnight camping gear and food supplies. He tossed that into the narrow cargo area, strapping it down with webbing, and got into the cockpit. He radioed in his flight plan, got updates on the weather, and began the cockpit pre-flight check.

  Firing up the Dragonfly gave him a burst of excitement he hadn’t felt in months, and he tried not to think about why as he lifted the helicopter gently off the pad, turning to face the Na Pali Coast.

  Rising airborne, he could survey his small kingdom. He continued a practice of living in one of the houses in his latest construction project until it sold. His current home was a Balinese teak beauty with a freeform pool and a lot of palm tree and bamboo plantings. The remaining homes in the planned green community were duplex townhouses, but they’d done a few eco-friendly luxury homes along the edge of the golf course, and his current abode was one of those.

  Alika lifted the collective and directed the Dragonfly out to the coast.

  There was nothing quite like Hanalei Bay, that great horseshoe of protected water fed by the thick artery of the Hanalei River and framed by a triptych of mountains. The layers of land, folded like green velvet curtains, were soothing on his eyes. He’d been working too hard lately, as he tended to do when left to his own devices.

  Alika was back on his beloved Kaua’i, surrounded by friends and family, owner of a successful business that provided jobs and environmentally friendly, affordable homes. He’d rebuilt his body. He had no reason for the sapping depression that had been his companion since he left Oahu—but the truth was, he felt like a whipped dog, sent home and lucky to be alive.

  These shitty thoughts weren’t helping his mood.

  Alika ducked the helicopter down, buzzing low over the reef at Tunnels surf break in Haena to see what the conditions were like. He spotted a whale, rising like a huge submarine under the water, spouting so close he could almost feel the spray, and that made him smile. The waves were too small for surfing, so a couple of standup paddlers were taking advantage of the conditions. As usual, Kaua’i’s North Shore was stunning.

  He probably won’t be able to find Sophie, anyway. This was a wild goose chase. But still, his spirits lifted as the Dragonfly buzzed over empty beaches, calm rivers, and deep valleys, heading toward the rugged, spectacular series of red ochre and jungle-covered cliffs that marked the wilderness of the Na Pali Coast.

  She was out there, somewhere, and he was going to find her.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Marcella sipped her wine, staring out at the mango tree and thinking about Sheldon Ham
ilton. Was he really the Ghost? Could Sophie’s wild accusation that he and Remarkian were the same person be true? It was so far-fetched, like something out of a freakin’ spy novel.

  But why would Sophie lie? Her friend really seemed to believe it, and the Ghost’s betrayal had clearly hurt her, enough to push her right off the edge of her known world…

  The front door banged, startling Marcella out of her reverie.

  “Honey! I’m home!”

  Detective Marcus Kamuela enjoyed shouting clichés like that. He also favored old TV shows like Three’s Company and Cheers, classic cars, funky old houses, vintage Aloha shirts, and grand gestures—and she loved all that about him. She stood up, turning to embrace the big Hawaiian as he filled the doorway of the porch. “Oh good! I needed my daily hug.”

  “Is that all?” Marcus wrapped her close in burly arms, and then swept her into a dip as he kissed her, making her laugh and grab on for balance. “What’s my favorite FBI agent doing out here on the porch, drinking by herself?”

  “Grab a beer and I won’t be alone.” Marcella trailed after him as Marcus went into the kitchen and helped himself to a Longboard Lager. She refreshed her wine. “I have a situation.”

  “When do you not? Let’s take a load off out back.”

  They settled themselves in the castoff rattan chairs that one of Marcus’s sisters had given them for the cottage, and Marcella put her feet into his lap. “Foot rubs for sexual favors?”

  “Who says foot rubs aren’t already sexual favors?” He leered.

  She laughed, enjoying the sight of his big brown hands kneading her foot, the bliss that traveled up her leg as tension ebbed. She watched him, her eyes only half open, loving the way the sun seemed to bathe his big body in warmth, catch in his black hair, and highlight the hard angles of his cheekbones and jaw. Marcus Kamuela was a hottie, no doubt about it, and he was all hers.

  “So, tell me about this situation you’ve got.” Marcus kneaded deep into her instep and she moaned.

  “Cone of confidentiality?”

  “Does it have to be a cone? Can’t it be a cloak, or maybe even a cupboard?”

  “You know where I get that.”

  “Yeah. Get Smart. And I love you for it.” He lifted her foot and pressed a kiss to her ankle. “Spill.”

  “Well, there’s this case that’s been going on awhile that involves Sophie.”

  Marcus rolled his eyes. “Why am I not surprised? The only other friend of yours to be such a magnet for trouble is Lei.”

  “Well, that may be a little bit true—but they always solve their cases, right? And Sophie did exceptional work on this one, uncovering an online vigilante who calls himself the Ghost. She used her rogue DAVID software program to do it.” Marcella took a sip of her wine, wondering how much to say, deciding the whole part about Sophie having an affair with the vigilante was not Marcus’s business. “Anyway, the guy she was dating, Todd Remarkian—remember him? The Australian guy in charge of Security Solutions?”

  “He got blown to shit in his apartment. Of course, I remember.”

  “Well, at his memorial she told me that Remarkian wasn’t really dead. That the guy, Sheldon Hamilton, giving the speech at Remarkian’s funeral, was the Ghost, and Remarkian’s alter ego. Apparently, he’s a master of disguise.”

  Marcus widened his eyes in comical surprise, dropping her feet and picking up his beer. “You gotta be shittin’ me. This is like a James Bond movie.”

  “I know.” Marcella sipped her wine morosely. “I believe Sophie, but I’ve got nothing on Hamilton, no way to prove any of the things she said.”

  “So whose ashes were at the funeral?”

  “A man who looked a lot like Todd Remarkian but with close range blast damage. Hamilton had to have set it all up ahead of time. There was no DNA for Todd Remarkian to compare to the body, and DNA galore on file supporting Sheldon Hamilton’s identity.”

  Marcus shook his head. “I get cases like a dude who bashed his neighbor on the head over a fence dispute and a couple of tweakers who kill each other for a hit.”

  “Well at least you get to close your cases. I just get frustrated and annoyed, chasing ghosts, as it were.” Marcella dropped her head against the chair back and blew out a breath. “And to top it off, Sophie ran.” This time, when Marcella brought her wine glass to her lips, it rattled against her teeth. Her eyes filled and stung. “Some friend she turned out to be.”

  Marcus set his beer down. “Let me take your mind off your troubles.”

  Marcella’s heart rate picked up as he reached out to draw her onto his lap.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The cave where the “lost boys” lived was a wide, deep opening beside a waterfall. Maidenhair fern trembled around the edges of the cascade, lacy against the shiny black rock of the cliff face. They’d come up an almost invisible trail branching off the main one; Sophie was sure she’d never have found the location without help.

  Tiger picked up a conch shell resting on a rock beside the entrance and blew a blast, making her jump. “They don’t like us just coming in,” he said by way of explanation, and she nodded.

  A few moments later, several young teen boys appeared. Lean and tan, they were mixed races and ages, dressed mostly in board shorts and ragged tees. To Sophie’s surprise, they were armed, carrying a variety of clubs, a crossbow, and knives. Tiger they immediately recognized, however, and they lowered their weapons while keeping a wary eye on Sophie.

  Ginger whined and strained at her leash to reach the tallest boy, who’d come forward. He had gray-green eyes in a deeply tanned face, and long hair snarled into dreadlocks, burnt blond at the ends from sea and sun. “Howzit, Tiger.” The two did a brief backslap man-hug, and Tiger gestured to Sophie.

  “This lady, she like help find Nakai. Enola wen’ make humbug about her boy.”

  “Yeah, Nakai, he gone. He nevah like stay wit’ us,” Tall Boy said. “But no sense we look for him. He jus’ gone, maybe back to Hanakapiai or all the way to Ke’e Beach.”

  “I’d like to speak to whoever is in charge about what Enola told me,” Sophie said, polite but firm. “Is the Shepherd available?”

  One greenish, three brown, and one blue gaze raked her up and down. “I told you. We no need help,” Tall Boy said insolently.

  “I was a security agent in the past, and I can find people. Enola came to me, and I want to help her locate her son.” Sophie could feel their assessment of her clothing, her buzzed hair, her lean, taut muscles. “Take me to Shepherd, or I’ll go in and find him myself.”

  “I like see you try,” Tall Boy snorted.

  Sophie reached out, grabbed the kid by the wrist, yanked him forward and flipped him. Tall Boy landed at her feet, gasping like a gaffed fish, and she rested her foot on his throat lightly as she looked around at the other boys. “Anyone else care to try me?”

  No one else did. Tiger grinned. “You really were in security. You can help guard our camp when you’re done here.”

  Sophie didn’t respond, still waiting for the boys’ response, and finally, a man stepped out of the shadowed doorway of the cave.

  The Shepherd wore a long-sleeved tee that advertised Primo beer and a pair of baggy sweats with a tapa cloth kihei tied over the outfit at the shoulder. He had the rich brown skin of mixed Hawaiian heritage and a majestically white, full beard. Small brown eyes, set in dark pouches of ill health, tracked over her. “You come.” He turned and led the way into the cave.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Nakai woke in the dark.

  “What you think, stupid boy?” he murmured aloud, echoing his mother’s voice without the usual head-smack she so often gave. “You crazy. You wish you was dreamin’ this whole thing.” And yet, every time he woke up and opened his eyes, Nakai still had a long moment when he hoped this was all just a bad dream.

  He was going to wake up one of these times in the tent he’d shared with his mother, the branches of the kukui nut trees overhead casting shadows on
the fabric. Perhaps there would be something to look forward to that day: bodyboarding with friends at the beach, jumping off the cliff of a waterfall, maybe finding some ripe mangoes, or catching fish off the cliffs or prawns in the stream. Living off the land, he could always find something to both entertain and feed himself and others.

  “But here I am, still in the dark, eating worms. I guess that’s one way to live off the land.” His voice sounded hoarse. He was so freakin’ unlucky.

  After twelve years of fending for himself with a druggie mom and no dad, he left her scene only to end up with a pedophile. Running away from that asswipe, he’d fallen through a hole into a lava tube labyrinth. Now he was dying a slow death from starvation, living on worms.

  Worms. Their slimy texture, the way they twitched in his mouth, the flavor of blood and dirt… His belly rebelled at the mere thought of eating another one, and he retched.

  Nakai uncovered himself from his latest hole, located the stream by feel, and began crawling in the direction of the water flow again. He was navigating faster now, and as long as he didn’t think about it, the dark had become almost normal. So, he wouldn’t think about it.

  “I’m just a blind man, finding my tasty breakfast,” he sang aloud, stopping to dig in the loose pebbles at the water’s edge. “Nobody likes me, everybody hates me, I think I’ll eat some worms! I can’t believe there’s a song about me. This is going to be a good story someday. Maybe they’ll make a movie about how I survived. Stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive, ah ha ha ha… Stayin’ alive, eating worms!” He sang a bit from the Bee Gees song. His mom loved that stuff before she got too tweaked out to notice much of anything.

  The worms weren’t that easy to find. Sometimes he dug for them a long time, maybe thirty or forty breaths. Breaths were how he’d begun to measure time. Every breath in and out was a time unit, and it made sense, because what else was there with any meaning down here?