Kauai Temptations

by Terry Ambrose

  She wore jeans and a light cotton top, both of which made me feel slightly overdressed. We both wore sandals, so at least we had something in common. No sooner had I buckled up than she stepped on the gas. We were out on the street before I could say, “Another hot woman.”

  Amanda turned left out of the parking lot, then right on Kaumualii Highway. The right turn surprised me because I’d expected us to drive the other direction. “I thought Keoki’s was down by Poipu?”

  “I got a call after I spoke to you. I thought you might want to be in on this. The guy who used to date Morah?”

  “Stan? What about him?”

  “His body washed up on the east side.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  For a reporter, Amanda Hennings didn’t talk much. I’d expected her to follow up the bombshell about Stan with details—I got none. I finally said, “So what happened? Who found it?”

  “A tourist.”

  “Anything else?”

  “I need to make a phone call.”

  Amanda was on the phone for the next couple of miles conducting a Q&A that was terse, at best. When she finished, she said, “Sorry. Some people just screw everything up. Anyway, the body washed up about a half mile from Kealia Beach. There’s a walking trail, so we can park at the beach to get there.”

  “The body’s still there?”

  “Maybe. We might be too late, but they’ll want to get it out before sunset. The coast is pretty rocky, so that could be tricky business.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “It’s fifty feet down from the crane.”

  “Crane? What crane?” I mentally paged through the website I’d been looking at and could only come up with one possibility. “Do you mean the pineapple dump?”

  “Whatever. The body’s at the bottom of that thing.”

  Her answer seemed odd to me. Why hadn’t she done a quick check on the history as soon as she heard about this? The drive had become all too familiar as we headed all the way back through Kapa’a, past the turnoff for Morah’s place. “How much further?”

  “Just up the road.” To our right, the brightly painted buildings of Kapa’a and the throngs of tourists had given way to the blue of endless ocean. In typical Hawaii fashion, tan shores blended into turquoise waters, ultimately fading into the endless black-blue color stretching to the horizon. The vog dulled the brushstrokes of the painting, but couldn’t take away the breathtaking views. If anything, the addition of misty gray added a new dimension where parts of the island disappeared before your eyes.

  As Amanda had predicted, we arrived at Kealia Beach a few minutes later. One of the first things I noticed, after the quarter moon bay of sand and surf, was the walking path. It seemed to stretch forever. “Is that the path?”

  “Path?”

  “The one we have to take to get to the body.”

  “Oh, that. We’re heading north of the beach. But, yeah, that’s the one.”

  “How long is it?”

  “I don’t know, maybe ten, eleven miles now. They keep expanding it.”

  For a reporter, Amanda seemed to have very little interest in details. Maybe I’m obsessive-compulsive about these things, but little details like local politics and attempts to preserve or enhance our islands interested me. Well, as Amanda had said, whatever. I guess that wasn’t her thing.

  The walking path was made of concrete. What seemed ironic to me was Stan dying near a path with the same distinct brownish tinge made so famous by the Red Dirt Shirt Store. Given Amanda’s apparent disdain for irony and history, I didn’t bother sharing this with her.

  The north end of the beach parking lot was dirt with ruts the size of the picnic tables to our left. The ruts were only a half-foot deep, but they forced us into a zig zag path to the end of the lot. Picnickers had staked out their tables. Those more interested in pure sand and surf laid claim to small plots of beach. Unlike California, where your beach neighbor could hand you a bottle of sunscreen, here everyone had “space.” I went to breathe in the freshness of the trade winds, but instead caught the unmistakable odor of pakalolo. Truly, you could get away with almost anything in this very public, but private space.

  “We’re going that way.” Amanda pointed up the trail, which wound through a stand of trees, then headed slightly inland.

  “How far?”

  “Maybe half a mile.”

  I shrugged. Okay. She was the local, the one with the tip, and this was Kauai. Maybe there was no closer way in. For the rest of our walk, Amanda was quiet so I spent the time checking out the scenery. Beach Heliotropes hugged the coastline like ancient warriors. Bent from the nearly constant force of trade winds, the trees brought back fond memories of mainland Cypress I’d seen along the California coast. The path wound near the shore, then inland, then back again. It wasn’t long before she pointed at a distant cliff on the other side of the bay. “There it is. Over there.”

  As quickly as the image of our destination had come into view, it was gone. Amanda kept walking, I followed. A short while later we came to a scenic overlook for those using the path. I stood, stock still, staring at a pair of gigantic beams stretching straight out over the ocean. The picture I’d seen on the Kauai Path website of the “crumbling pier” didn’t do this structure justice. It was incredible—and troublesome. For some reason, it made Kimu’s warning reverberate in my head.

  “Hey, McKenna. What’s with you?”

  I glanced at Amanda and realized for the first time how much she resembled the woman hanging over the side of the ship in my dream. Jeez, I was losing it. The dream was amorphous and that face vague, the woman before me, very real. Kimu was playing games with my head again. But the warning. That Kimu. Had he come back to save me?

  “You look like you saw a ghost.”

  “A bad dream, nothing to worry about.” I glanced around, silently cursing Kimu for messing with my life again. A family of four was having a grand little party in the overlook’s picnic area. From the look on Amanda’s face, she wasn’t happy about them being here, but what bothered me was the absence of emergency equipment, crews, or evidence they had even been here. “Looks like we’re too late.”

  “Let’s see what’s down there.” Amanda left me behind. She walked to a concrete platform, which stood at the edge of the cliff. Beyond the cliff, I heard the sounds of crashing surf. The magnitude of what I was looking at began to sink in. The quick glimpse from the path had given me a sense of perspective. We were standing on a volcanic outcropping fifty to a hundred feet above the ocean. The cannery had built the landing at the edge of the cliff. They’d embedded beams as wide as a man’s shoulders into the concrete. The beams stretched twenty to thirty feet beyond the platform out over the ocean. If you walked to the end and looked straight down, you could watch the waves beat against the rocks with a force capable of turning pineapple waste into pulp in seconds. How could Stan’s body possibly have survived intact for more than a few minutes?

  Amanda watched me expectantly from her position. She cocked her head for me to join her. In the back of my mind, I heard Kimu. “Don’t get on the boat, McKenna.”

  What was he talking about? There were no ships here. And those two beams were part of a crumbling pier. It was nothing more than an old dumping ground for pineapple byproducts, not the plank of a pirate’s ship. Byproducts. I felt like I’d just been smacked with the big dummy paddle. Every conversation, every action—even Kimu’s warnings—everything from the last couple of days suddenly made sense. I glanced at Amanda who was growing more impatient by the second.

  Apparently, I’d become a thorn in someone’s side and this woman had been sent to deal with me. How stupid could I be? Stan’s body might never have been down on those rocks, but that’s sure as hell where I was supposed to be—along with those pineapple byproducts.

  I approached the family. They ignored me until I was under the roof of their picnic area. “Hi, my name’s McKenna. I’m here with Amanda Hennings from The Garden Island newspa
per and we’re doing a story on a body that washed up here earlier today. Were the police around?”

  Both parents smiled politely, glanced at each other, and shrugged. It was the wife who responded. “Sorry. We’ve only been here for half an hour or so. Haven’t seen anything like that.”

  Her husband nodded agreement. “I did rein the kids in when some guy stopped by. He looked like maintenance, but he had some tattoos. Just like a big-city gang member, you know? Anyway, he was out of here like a shot as soon as I said something to the kids.”

  “Did he say anything?”

  Hubby shook his head. “Not a word.”

  I glanced over my shoulder at Amanda. She’d turned away from us. “No problem,” I said. “Say, could you folks do me a favor. We came all the way out here and I’d like to get a picture of the two of us. You know how bosses can be, sometimes they think you fudged a bit. If you could take a picture of us in front of the structure, our boss won’t be able to say we didn’t at least try.”

  “You seem like a good guy,” said the wife. “Take his picture, honey.”

  Dad jumped up obediently and I gave him my phone. He followed me to where Amanda stood watching the ocean. “Hey, Amanda,” I said, “this guy’s going to take our picture so the boss doesn’t say we didn’t come here.”

  I saw anger in her eyes, but she forced a smile and agreed to do the typical tourist shot of us standing in front of the man-made wonder. She flipped her hair back with both hands, moved in close, and smiled for the camera. With the shot done, I pocketed my phone and Dad returned to his family. “They said they’ve been here for a while and haven’t seen anything.”

  “My tip must have been wrong.” Amanda pulled out her phone, checked for a signal, then dialed. She said, “Change of plans. I need to—” She listened for a moment, then said, “Are you serious? Fine. Twenty minutes.” She disconnected. “Let’s go.”

  On the way back to the car, I had so many warning bells going off in my head I could barely think. Who was my version of Amanda Hennings? It was time for one more test. “Sources can be so unreliable.”

  “Yeah. Can’t trust them.”

  “It’s like the story you did on the jail conditions.”

  “What about it?”

  “Was it hard to get the truth out of the people in that debate on the conditions or do you think they had an agenda?”

  She snickered and kept walking. “Everybody’s got an agenda.”

  I wanted to curse Kimu for not being more clear. On the other hand, I’d be willing to let bygones by bygones if he could use the coconut wireless to call 9-1-1 and get me a cop. I doubted even Kimu could pull that one off, so when we got back to the car my priority would be to flag down a lifeguard and get away from this woman.

  The next ten minutes went at an excruciatingly slow pace. Walkers, runners, even a skater passed us in the opposite direction. Amanda ignored them, but I tried to be extra friendly. If anything happened to me, I wanted there to be plenty of witnesses.

  I also tried to think of something snappy to keep the conversation going. The problem was Amanda hadn’t been talkative when I’d been enthused to be working with her. Now that I wanted to get away, finding a source of common ground seemed like an impossible task. So, for a change, I kept my trap shut and spent my time trying to recall how far away the lifeguard station was from where we’d parked.

  As we rounded the final turn on the path, I said, “Let’s find a lifeguard. I’m sure they can tell us what happened. If there was a rescue operation, they’ll know about it.”

  “I need to grab my jacket from the car.”

  It was still in the mid-eighties; I doubted she was the least bit chilled.

  “That’s fine,” I said. I fully expected her to barrel out of the parking lot and leave me stranded. “You go get your jacket, I’ll head on down and talk to them.” I pointed at the lifeguard station in the distance. It seemed so far away. To our left, a group of rowdy teens had music blaring and were drinking heavily. No help there.

  “I don’t think so,” said Amanda.

  “I don’t mind. This seems to be my day for walks. It’s good for me.”

  “No, it would be unhealthy.”

  She gripped my left arm with a strength that shocked me. I heard a click, glanced down and saw the blade of a knife in her other hand. Its meaning was clear.

  “You’re not, um, Amanda Hennings, are you?”

  She shook her head. “Into the car.”

  “And if I don’t?” I thought I’d put up a good show of bravado, but it didn’t phase her at all.

  “You’ll bleed out before they can save you. Stop stalling.”

  It was time for one last stand. If I could show her I wasn’t afraid, maybe she’d flee the scene. I was demanding and forceful, probably because I was so desperate. “Who are you?”

  “Des. Kong Lam is my brother.”

  Oh crap, I’d met the crazy sister.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Des followed me closely. Her presence, or rather, the knife’s presence, had me wondering how long it would be before she killed me. For some reason, she hadn’t used it and left me to die. Apparently, I had at least some value to her alive. Before she closed the car door, she said, “Don’t think about trying to get away. Kong wants me to keep you breathing, but that could change with one wrong move. Understand?”

  I nodded. Yes, ma’am. Got it. The first thing Des did when she got into the driver’s seat, was to pull a derringer from under her seat. When she laid it on her lap, I cursed myself for not having taken my chances with the knife. Des pulled out onto the highway and we headed back toward Kapa'a, then took a right on Hauaala Road. I waited in silence while she drove, determined to distract myself by watching the neighborhood. For whatever reason, that phone call at the pineapple dump had saved me. Panic set in when I realized I wasn’t blindfolded, but that wasn’t something to think about now. I had to focus on staying alive.

  Volcanic rock retaining walls and vast expanses of lawn soon gave way to wild stands of everything from hibiscus to plumeria to mango trees that all grow wild in Hawaii. Having always been a city-boy, the sheer volume of greenery was stunning. Had I not become somewhat used to it on Oahu during the past five years I might have been overwhelmed. What else could I do besides try to memorize every detail? It wasn’t the way I’d intended to spend my last night on Kauai—or on earth.

  Des glanced at her phone. “Dead zones everywhere.” She almost sounded like a friend sharing her frustrations.

  “Those things are illegal while driving,” I said, but she’d already speed dialed a number.

  “Everything ready?”

  I could hear a voice on the other end, but couldn’t make out the words.

  “I’m on Hauaala Road now.” She disconnected. “Why are you here?”

  I was shocked at the question and answered automatically. “It all started when someone stole my identity. Morah Wilkerson got hold of my checks. She started using them all over the island. Anyway, I followed her here and found out she was dead.”

  She held up a hand. “I told Kong she was trouble, nothing more than a cheap addict. He wouldn’t believe me. Now, everyone thinks he’s this big, evil criminal.” She shook her head. “People don’t get my brother.”

  “He’s a scary guy.” None of this made any sense. It was as though nothing had happened. The complete change in Des had me wondering if Lu’s description might have been accurate. Kong had said they were alike. They both like playing head games. That’s what Kong had said.

  Des flipped on her turn signal and she slowed for a left onto Laipo Road. In the middle of her turn, she glanced at me, smiled. Her voice was perfectly innocent. “We had fun at the beach, huh?”

  What the hell was going on with her? I decided to play along. “Yeah, we did, but I should be getting back. You know, it’s going to be getting dark. You know my driving’s not very good. Would you mind if I begged off and had you take me back into Kapa'a?”


  She giggled as she made another left, this time onto Kanaele Road. “Don’t be silly. We need to spend more time together, Daddy. Besides, I can keep you safe out here. If you go back to town, the bad men might find you.”

  I have to admit, suddenly I was really happy to be called Daddy. I pointed at the gun on her lap. “Is that why you have the gun? To protect me?”

  “Of course, why else. Daddy, don’t worry, you’ll be safe with me.”

  I stared out the window, not knowing whether to laugh, cry, or pick up the gun and shoot myself. We pulled into a driveway and parked. The house would be a renovator’s dream and a landscaper’s nightmare. The roof was red metal, the walls aged paneling. The house itself was surrounded by overgrown tropical foliage that might have been placed perfectly 20 years ago, but fast forward to today and hibiscus grew into plumeria, ginger crowded out palms, and ground cover blanketed every square inch of space. We were parked in a driveway protected from the neighbors’ eyes by a damn manmade jungle.

  “We’re here.” She beamed at me.

  I started to say, “Des,” but her brow furrowed.

  Her face darkened. “Des? Daddy, Desie died years ago. Are you having flashbacks again?”

  “No, honey, I’m sorry, I got confused for a second. “So it’s just you and Kong now?”

  “And you, now that you’re back with us.”

  “And me. Right. Honey, how did you feel about Morah?”

  “She was mean to me. I didn’t like her. She was mean to Kong, too. Leaving him like that.”

  “She died, she didn’t leave.”

  “She blew herself up, Daddy. How could she do that to my little brother?”

  “I’m not so sure she did. I think maybe someone killed her. I think it was Antoine Figland.”

  Des laughed, but it was strained this time. “Oh, don’t be silly. Why in the world would Antoine do that?”