Kauai Temptations

by Terry Ambrose

  Lu and Des were alike? Wow, this was a small island. Who was his sister, anyway? Najar had said the identity thieves were a brother and sister team. Kong was in the “computer business.” What about his sister, what did she do? Were they the team?

  “Hey, you okay?” Kong watched me quizzically.

  “Uh, yeah.” I shook my head. “Yeah. I was thinking about my old girlfriend. She had a son. You know, you and me, we have a lot in common. Our situations are a lot alike.”

  Kong raised an eyebrow, as if to say, “Like what, old man?”

  “You surf?” I asked.

  He nodded. “You, too?” His jaw dropped a bit. Was he surprised I knew he surfed? Or that I did?

  “A bit.” Like, not at all, I thought. Still, this could be the opening I needed. “I’m not very good. Only a beginner, actually. I don’t know Kauai very well, so I’m not sure where to go.”

  “I like Lawai, man. Good waves and it’s close to home. I go there most mornings. Surfing really helps me to clear my head. I’m gonna go there in a couple of hours.”

  “Maybe I could meet you there?” Where had that come from? The evil McKenna? Shut up before you get me killed. I tried to backtrack with a quick, “You could give me a few pointers. For when I get back home. Like I said, I’m still a beginner.”

  Kong appeared lost in thought, his eyes defocused and he gazed across the room.

  I could smell my own fear; this surfing discussion wasn’t what I wanted to talk about. “Afterwards, maybe we could grab a beer. You can tell me more about Morah. It seems like you need someone to talk to.”

  Kong rubbed the back of his neck, then went to a chair and sat. He stared at her picture. “I’m tired, man. I haven’t slept since I heard she—since I got the news.”

  “Listen to someone who barely survived the relationship train wreck, you can’t keep this inside. You gotta talk to someone, man.”

  His face lacked all expression and his body seemed to deflate.

  “Even if it’s a stranger. Maybe that’s better. You don’t have to worry about me coming in with baggage about Morah. I didn’t really know her, so I’m impartial.” Even Little Evil McKenna was shocked at that whopper.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CJ forced me to drive on the way home from Meddle’s Mortuary. I still didn’t like driving, but it was starting to feel less stressful. She also demanded to know about my conversation with Kong. If I hadn’t needed her advice, I would have avoided the subject at all costs. However, I thought she might help me find a surfing resource and told her about my meeting with Kong at Lawai Beach. I hadn’t yet seen her at a loss for words, but for a brief moment, it appeared as though that streak had ended. The road was still my main concern, but when she started to wheeze, I gave her a quick sideways glance.

  Her mouth moved, but no words came out. Her eyes were like saucers. Was she having a heart attack or something? Then, the tirade started. “Are you crazy? You can’t learn to surf in two hours. I don’t think you could learn to surf in two weeks. Maybe months. Years. Which you ain’t got.”

  My hands tightened into a familiar death grip on Buster’s steering wheel. “You’re making me nervous.”

  “I’m making you nervous? Let up on that wheel a little. You’re gonna get us both killed. You were supposed to do a little research. You know, call the local paper. Look at a few websites. Maybe even do something really daring like go to the library.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Been there, done that.”

  “You can’t go confronting people like Kong. He could kill you. Alexander would never forgive me.”

  “You can only do so much third-party research, sooner or later, it’s time to get into the field.” It’s too bad I was as worried on the inside as I sounded confident on the outside. “I did this lots of times in my career.”

  CJ snorted. “In case you haven’t noticed, you were a lot younger then. That was your job, uh huh. Besides, you were always after deadbeats who were afraid of you. That’s called the power position in case you didn’t know.”

  “But, this is different.”

  “You’re damn right this is different. This guy could be a criminal. He might want to bump you off cause he don’t like the way you hang ten or whatever you think you’re gonna do out there.”

  Buster veered over the center line and the blare of an oncoming car horn grew louder before fading into oblivion. I pulled back into my lane, my confidence shaken. I yelled at the rearview mirror, “Screw you, buddy!”

  My jaw felt tense, my neck, tight.

  “You better be watching the road, not the guy behind you, uh huh.”

  I guided Buster down the center of my lane with my pulse pounding in my temples. Was my anger directed at CJ, or myself? “You helped me with the bar visit. That was easy, right?”

  “You idiot, there was no danger in going to a bar. Jake the bartender didn’t have nothing to hide. But this is the guy who made his cousin disappear. You understand?”

  “So are you going to help me learn to surf, or what?”

  “Me? Surf? Do I look like I could surf? Huh?”

  I stammered, “Well, maybe not.”

  “I’d need a board as big as a school bus. You call Alexander. That’s his area, not mine.”

  “I didn’t really want to, um, call him.”

  “And we both know why, cause he’s gonna call you a moron, with a capital M-O-R-O-N.”

  “I need some kokua, not criticism. Lighten up.”

  “You need help all right. If you ain’t gonna make the call, I am.”

  My muscles felt like steel springs that had been stretched to their breaking point. Alexander would want to have CJ send me back. Not happening. “Fine. I’ll call him. But I need a favor.”

  “I already did you a favor. I went to that stupid bar last night and played detective for you. Or did you forget that one already? What else could you want?”

  Other than a reprieve from this harassment? “I need you to check out a record for Stan Jones to see if he ever received any packages.”

  I held back a chuckle as she processed my request. It was as though I’d hit her reset button and she couldn’t quite work through it. “You want me to what?”

  “Find out if Stan Jones has received any packages.”

  CJ sputtered incomprehensible noises while I made the right turn onto Nawiliwili Ave. She said, “You gotta be kidding, right?”

  “Nope, I’m serious.”

  “You’re out of your mind. That’s what you are. I’m dealing with a crazy man. That damn cousin of mine sent me a nut case.”

  I shrugged while trying to sound casual. “Oh, well. If you can’t help out.”

  “Why would you want that?”

  “Nobody seems to know where he lived, right?”

  “Maybe you’re right about that, but you ain’t right in the head. I’m voting you off the island.”

  “If he got a package, you’d know his address.”

  CJ was quiet until I reached the entrance to her parking lot. “You might be crazy, but you’re pretty damn smart.”

  It was still early in the day and my hope was that Alexander wasn’t out on a tour. As it turned out, he’d just come back from one. We spent a couple of minutes covering what I’d been doing, then I popped the question. “So how can I learn to surf in the next hour or so?”

  Alexander laughed. “Good one, McKenna. You on a real board. That’s funny.”

  “I’m not kidding. I’ve got to meet this guy in less than two hours and I need to make it look like I know how to surf. I need to get out there on the board.”

  There was a long pause, during which my uneasiness grew because when Alexander gets quiet that could only mean trouble. He was probably considering having me committed when I returned to Honolulu. If he talked to CJ, there’d be no probably in that statement. Finally, he cleared his throat. “Best thing I can tell you is . . .”

  I waited, desperate for something. Any advice that might get me past this
first meeting. “Yes? What?”

  “Stay out of the water!” He laughed hard and long. I heard a slap, probably his hand on his thigh. Eventually, his laughter settled down to an intermittent giggle.

  “I’m serious. I’ve got to meet this guy. It’s gotta look like I can surf.”

  “McKenna, you went for, what, five years without doing anything crazy? Now, all of a sudden, you chasing bad guys all over the islands again. I think you going through a mid life crisis.”

  I rolled my eyes and shook my head. Wrong. “That happened way before your time. C’mon, help me out here, brah.”

  There was another long pause, then he said, “You actually gotta get in the water?”

  “Well, yeah. How else would I make it look like I can do this?”

  “I know a lotta guys mo’ bettah at pretending than doing, yah? Cousin Timmy work the surfer routine pretty good for pick up mainland chicks.”

  “There you go. That’s what I need, a persona.”

  “Yah, persona, that what you need. What you don’t need is Timmy’s watah phobia.”

  “Water phobia? You mean, aqua-phobia? He’s Hawaiian and he’s afraid of water?”

  “He almost drowned when he was three. Anyway you only gotta look like you can surf. You don’t really gotta get on a board.”

  It took a minute, but the words registered. And I liked what I heard. “Ah-ha. So all I need is a good excuse, then I can ‘aw, shucks’ it.”

  “Best thing would be if you hurt your foot. Maybe if it had a cut. Nobody want you out there you gonna bleed.”

  The thought of cutting myself was almost worse than getting on a board. Of course, breaking my neck or drowning didn’t rank very high on my list either. Ugh. Decisions. “Does it have to be real blood?”

  “You gotta make it look good, otherwise you just another flakey haole.”

  “What if I could just make it appear as though I was hurt? Maybe a little ketchup under a bandage?”

  “Maybe work long as nobody get too close.”

  An hour later I was sitting on the rocks on the east side of Lawai Beach next to the Beach House Restaurant watching the surfers and snorkelers. CJ had told me the Beach House was very expensive and had the best sunset views on the island. Sitting where I was, I could see why.

  Lawai Beach was small, but crowded. Bounded on the east side by the restaurant and on the west by private homes, the south-facing bay drew both surfers and snorkelers. The beach itself was a short stretch of sand where access to the water was steps from the roadway. According to CJ, at high tide the beach would almost disappear.

  A handful of snorkelers had been lured out in front of the condos next to the restaurant where sea turtles fed off the rocks. I watched one snorkeling couple take the insane journey hand-in-hand. They kicked their flippers in time together at a leisurely pace until a five-foot wave being ridden by a surfer came rushing in. The surfer saw them and dropped from his board behind the wave. But, the wave didn’t stop. It washed over the two, sending them tumbling. They disappeared. Moments later, ripped apart by the force, they reappeared separately in the white foamy aftermath. Both shot plumes of water from their snorkels and, with only a few seconds left before the next wave would roll in, kicked furiously to get past the reef into the relative calm of the reef-protected area. Right about now, I’d bet neither of them thought the idea of crossing the reef was mo’ bettah than soaking up rays on the beach.

  As I watched the surfers in the distance, the folly of my earlier confidence hit me as hard as those two snorkelers had been hit by the wave. The surf was better than good out beyond the bay, it was excellent. Inside the bay, conditions were comparatively calm. I could fake getting a board into the water, but probably couldn’t even paddle out far enough to get a decent wave. So what would I do once I got there?

  Another adventurous snorkeler attempted to cross over the reef to where the sea turtles fed. He was about halfway across when a wave broke over him. The force sent him end over end until he came up sputtering, his mask half off his face. He treaded water, still coughing and gasping for air when the next wave almost shoved him into the rocks. I could see the panic on his face as he kicked frantically to get away before the next wave slammed him against a submerged boulder ten times his size. He slapped his mask back in place moments before the next wave rolled over him. His snorkel sent up another plume, he raised his head, saw yet another wave approach, and retreated to the safe haven of the inner bay along with the other beginner snorkelers.

  I scanned the surfers. Most sat on their boards waiting for a good wave to break near them. I spotted Kong a moment before he caught a six-footer. He mounted his board and paddled. Then, as the force drove him forward, he jumped up. His motions were smooth and graceful, like a dancer performing a well-rehearsed routine. If the guy on the board next to Kong hadn’t tried the same wave and fallen, any casual observer would think surfing was easy. Kong leaned forward on his board. I watched, amazed at his graceful precision.

  It almost looked like he was headed in my direction, so I waved, but he didn’t see me. No surprise there, he was obviously intent on his ride and, as the wave brought him closer, determination showed on his face. When he was about thirty yards out from the rocks, he slipped sideways into the water, surfacing moments later. He shook the salt water from his face and laughed as he slid back onto his board. I waved again. This time, he caught sight of me. When he motioned for me to come in, I stood, somewhat unsteadily, while simultaneously pointing at my leg.

  He let the waves pull him close to the rocks. He was only a few feet from where the snorkeler had panicked, but seemed unfazed as he used his board for balance while kicking against the tide. “What happened to you?” he asked.

  I threw my hands in the air. “I did something stupid about a week ago and cut my leg. I thought it was healed up, but when I was getting out of the car after the funeral, I bumped it and tore it open again.”

  Kong scrunched up his face. “Bad news, man.” He and his board rose as a wave came through. He splashed his face with salt water. “Water’d do some good. Sea water’s got curative powers, man. I believe that, I really do.”

  I shook my head, then pointed at the ketchup seeping through the bandage. “I don’t have anything to wrap this with if it starts to weep again. Besides, I left my board back at CJ’s. I didn’t think it was a good idea to act like shark bait.”

  He nodded as if he understood, then glanced over his shoulder at the waves breaking in the distance.

  “Why don’t you catch a few more?” I said. “I’m having a great time watching.” He nodded. His back muscles rippled as he slid onto his board, then paddled away. I called out, “If I’m still here when you’re done, maybe we could go grab a beer.”

  He duck-dived an incoming wave and yelled, “Sounds good.”

  I wondered how long I could keep up this charade. The answer was simple. As long as the coconut wireless didn’t blow my cover, I could do this for as long as it took. The problem was, as long as it took, for what?

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Kong caught several more waves while I sat on the grassy area pretending to be carefree like the hundreds of beach goers around me. Pretty girls in bikinis and hunks in board shorts chatted in little groups. Their conversations were interspersed with laughter, pointing toward the ocean, along with words like yah, dude, and awesome. Families and older folks formed their own groups, sitting or lounging with their books, drinks and snacks.

  It was about Kong’s fourth spectacular ride when my phone rang. I glanced at the display. “Hi, CJ.”

  “I got the information you wanted.” Her words were clipped, her unhappiness with me for being here against her cautions apparent.

  “Great.” I did my best to sound cheery. “What did you find out?”

  “Stan Jones got a package two days before Morah died.”

  The uptick in tone at the end of her sentence told me she was baiting me. Might as well cut to the chase. “What’
s it going to take?”

  “Take? For what?” Her innocence ploy fell flat. She knew it. I knew it. The black lab on the beach waiting for his surfer-owner would know it too if he were closer.

  “You know something else. Who was the package from?” Kong rode another wave in to a spot a short distance from where we’d talked earlier. He slipped off the board again, just like he had the last time. “Well, it might have been from a Constance Jones in Irvine.”

  “Who’s she?” I’d become so intent on trying to watch Kong while I did the verbal jousting with CJ that I hadn’t even realized I’d said the words aloud.

  “How should I know? You’re the big-time investigator. Go investigate. Stop messing with you-know-who, uh huh.” CJ’s tone turned even more serious. “There’s something else.”

  I saw Kong catch another wave, but something had changed in the way he rode. “What’s that, CJ?”

  “We had to return the package. He never claimed it.”

  Despite the sun, the warmth and the happiness around me, I felt a chill. “Thanks,” I said and disconnected the call.

  Kong caught a few more waves, riding several in near the rocks, then bailing out at the last moment. He struck me as good, but reckless. Something changed after those initial rides, though. He seemed uninterested, bypassing perfectly good waves for sloppy ones, then giving up on those after only a few seconds. During the last half hour, he caught two more rides. He was either horribly inconsistent, which I doubted, or distracted by something—or someone—else. It was probably Morah’s death, but could there be something else?

  As he rode the last one in, then headed for shore, I hobbled along the sidewalk, which also served as a breakwater between the finely manicured restaurant lawn and the ocean, until I reached the section where the grass and beach met. I stepped down onto soft, smooth sand punctuated with small volcanic rocks and broken shells. I watched where I was going, not wanting to step on something that might really hurt or cut me open. I’d hate to have to explain why I had ketchup on my leg to a nurse at the ER. Beyond where Kong was exiting the water, I spotted the black lab. He was splashing in the surf around a tall, blondish man who wore a white long-sleeve T-shirt and black shorts. I recognized the man as one of the surfers who’d been out in the same vicinity as Kong. With surfing time over, both he and the dog seemed excited to see each other. He balanced his board under one arm while he played with the dog with his free hand. The dog jumped in circles around him.