by Debra Bokur
She was careful to not look at Nathan, or to let her voice reflect the distaste she felt at the idea of him acting as a tour guide. “That won’t be necessary,” she said. “However, I’d like to speak with your daughter while I’m here.”
He nodded. “Of course. Abigail is home. If you follow the pathway just past the gardens, you’ll see her cottage.”
Again, she ignored the boy. “And Abigail is Nathan’s mother?”
“Yes. Though we take a more village-based approach to raising our children.”
“We?”
“Those of us who have gathered as a community.”
His voice was lulling, seductive. Trickster, she thought, imagining the Hawaiian god Kaulu whose powers included killing with a song, and ensnaring young goddesses. Kaulu possessed a powerful and deadly combination of immortality and a predilection for violence. She watched Abraham as he spoke. His eyes were steady and unblinking. She shook herself, breaking the spell, understanding how he had successfully lured others into trusting him enough to surrender not only their possessions, but also decisions about their lives and families. Instead of being disarmed, she felt repelled.
“Ah,” she said. “Well, it certainly sounds as though your—shall we say program—has enjoyed a revival since your time on Lna‘i.”
Abraham shrugged. His eyes suggested he recognized that she would not easily be susceptible to his efforts to charm her.
“We’ll talk more,” she said. “Soon. Meanwhile, enjoy your day.”
She closed the screen door firmly behind her. As she walked down onto the lawn in search of the path mentioned by Abraham, she was aware that Nathan was framed in the doorway, watching her as she walked away.
CHAPTER 22
The path crossed a small stream that was spanned by a long, wide plank of wood. Kali stepped carefully, crossing the makeshift bridge and approaching the cottage. It was in poor repair. She found herself mentally criticizing Nathan for not being a better, more useful son when it came to his mother’s safety and well-being.
She knocked, and the door opened slowly. Abigail was wearing an apron of faded, flowery cotton that had a narrow bib across the top, held up by two strips of fabric that tied behind her neck. There was a row of drooping ruffles adorning the bib, with an identical row along the hem of the skirt. Kali couldn’t tell if the apron was handmade, or if it was a new one in a retro, 1950s style, but the effect was the same: a sense that the person wearing it wasn’t being ironic, but was simply caught up in a story from the past they’d never actually lived through. Beneath the apron, she wore a now-familiar blue cotton skirt that brushed her ankles.
Kali studied Abigail carefully before she spoke. Her mostly dark blond hair was streaked with gray, pulled back severely from her face, causing the skin to draw away from the corners of her eyes. It looked uncomfortable. She struck Kali as being deeply weary. Perhaps, considered Kali, the apron merely indicated an intense, all-night baking session that had resulted in a lack of sleep.
“Abigail Waters?”
“Yes, that’s me,” said the woman. Her voice was soft, unpretentious. “And you are . . . ?
“Detective Kali Mhoe, Maui Police Department.” Kali removed a card from her wallet and handed it to Abigail. “Do you have a few minutes to spare?”
The woman looked slightly confused.
“You’re here to see me?”
“Yes, I have a few questions concerning a current investigation. I thought you might be able to help. I’ve already had a chat with your father, and he suggested I stop by to speak with you before I left.”
The woman hesitated, then stepped back, away from the door.
“If you spoke to my father, then I suppose that would be okay,” she said, glancing nervously in the direction of Abraham’s house. She turned and led the way into a dimly lit kitchen area, gesturing to a round wooden breakfast table. “We can sit here if you don’t mind. I haven’t vacuumed the parlor yet.”
Kali made a mental note of the word “parlor.” It struck her as old-fashioned, out of place. It was a word her grandmother might have used.
“Thank you.” She chose a chair that would allow her to see the other woman’s face as clearly as possible. Abigail sat down opposite her, her back straight, her hands folded primly in her lap. Kali glanced around the room. It felt worn and tired, as though reflecting Abigail’s lack of energy.
“I understand that you used to work in the pineapple fields on Lna‘i.”
The woman looked startled. “My goodness. That was a very long time ago,” she said. She looked away, slightly past Kali, as if reaching back into the past. She placed Kali’s card on the table. “I was just a girl then.”
“You were a child when your family moved to Maui and you began working there, correct?”
“Well, not really working. I accompanied my mother to the plantation at first, and then later, when I was a little older, I had a part-time job. At first it was just on the weekends, and sometimes after classes if I was needed.”
“You went to the Bible school your father ran?”
“Yes.”
“And at the plantation, you worked outdoors, in the fields?”
Abigail nodded.
“In the beginning I did. Later, I worked on the production line, sorting fruit by grade.” She looked down at her hands and sighed. “All these old scars on my hands are from handling the fruit.” She laughed suddenly, the sound more rueful than joyful. “To this day, I can’t stand the smell or taste of pineapple.”
Kali smiled, noting the lack of a wedding ring on the woman’s hand. “It’s not my favorite fruit, either,” she said. “But the reason I’m here is to find out if you remember anyone suddenly going missing during the time you worked for the pineapple company.”
The woman looked at her, befuddled. She frowned at Kali. “I’m not sure I understand. Missing?”
“Suddenly not showing up for work. Never coming back.”
Abigail thought for a moment. “Well, a lot of people took the job and then decided it was too much and left after just a few days or a few weeks. They didn’t always say goodbye. Some of them left without getting paid for the short amount of time they actually did work. And there was a lot of casual day labor. You might see someone every day for month, then never see them again.”
“Even on an island as small as Lna‘i?”
“Who’s to say they were all from Lna‘i? I know that at least some of them worked on Maui, in the sugar cane fields. They’d get tired of one place and go to another for a while.”
Kali felt discouraged, already aware of the transient nature of the workforce in Hawai‘i’s agricultural world. She took a deep breath, then stood up. “Well, thank you for your time.” She tried to smile encouragingly. “I may need to speak to you again at some point. Is this the best place to find you?”
Abigail nodded, then stood up as well. Kali reached the doorway, then turned back in afterthought. “Do you live here in the cottage with your son and husband?”
The other woman stared back. “With my son, yes, though he spends more and more time at my father’s home, in order to help him.”
“And your husband?” asked Kali, persisting.
“I have no earthly husband. I am married to the church,” said Abigail, as though this information should have been self-explanatory.
With an effort, Kali kept her voice neutral. “I see. Isn’t that a very Catholic concept? A vow taken by nuns?”
“It’s not the same at all,” said Abigail, her frown returning.
“I’m sorry,” said Kali. “I don’t actually know the exact ideology of Eden’s River. Perhaps you could tell me a little bit about your beliefs?”
“You only need to read the good Word of God to understand,” said Abigail. The soft quality of her voice had taken on an edge of sadness. “We live together in peacefulness, and in righteousness, and in humility without possessiveness. We tend the earth and bring forth food. We comfort the sick—those w
ho are physically ill, and those whose minds have fallen into the dark trough of evil that is the world. We strive to save those souls we can from eternal damnation.”
“Sounds like that must keep you pretty busy,” said Kali.
“Darkness likes to creep in, taking little steps that go unnoticed, until only the children of God can help those whom it has chosen to devour.”
“I see,” said Kali again, though she did not. She looked at Abigail’s clothing. “The blue skirt you’re wearing. It’s such a lovely shade. Is it a kind of uniform? I noticed the young women in the garden were also wearing them. And I may have seen them somewhere else as well.”
Abigail smiled. “We make them. My mother started the tradition a long time ago, when we first came to Hawai‘i. God demands modesty, of course. And the color reminds us of the pure waters created with the forming of the Earth.”
Kali nodded. “Blue seems like a nice choice, then.” She reached into her pocket, pulling out the small anchor charm. “And is this a talisman also connected to the water theme of your . . . church? Something perhaps used by members of Eden’s River to help ward off evil?”
Abigail’s eyes grew wide. She reached out slowly with one hand toward the anchor. Kali could see that her fingers were trembling. Abigail touched the surface of the metal gently, then looked up at Kali.
“Who gave this to you?” she asked.
“No one,” said Kali. “It was found with the skeletal remains of a man discovered in the old pineapple fields on Lna‘i.”
Abigail’s hand withdrew, the movement swift. She stared intently for another few seconds at the anchor, then stepped back. Her lips twitched. “The anchor is the symbol of our church, keeping us steady in the midst of earthly temptation.”
“And did this particular anchor belong to anyone you knew?”
The woman looked away. “It’s a common enough symbol in Christianity. There were many of these anchors. I’m afraid I can’t say.”
“Can’t say or won’t say?”
“I think you should leave,” said Abigail. Her voice was low, almost a whisper. “If you have any more questions, you should address them to my father. As the head of our family, he will be most helpful to you.”
Kali didn’t press her further. For the moment, Abigail had told her plenty.
* * *
She pulled the Jeep back onto the long driveway, slowing once she’d passed through the wooden gates, easing to a halt. She dug out her phone and called Walter.
“I’m at the Waters’s place. There’s definitely something wrong here. Can you get someone out here to check the buildings? I’m pretty certain he’s restarted his cult.”
“You mean his commune.”
“Cult, commune, compound—call it what you like, it’s creepy as hell here. While I was talking to him, I got the impression he could have killed everyone we found and convinced everyone around him he was doing something important and meaningful. A couple of Frontier Barbie doll clones in prairie skirts look as though they’ve had lobotomies. They’re pretty young, too, and they’re both pregnant. I’d say they’re in their early twenties. Plus one guy, maybe a few years older, who says he’s taking care of the gardens. I’d like to know what they’re growing and how many people are living there besides Abraham, the daughter, and the weird grandson.”
“What’s weird about him?”
“Everything, as far as I can tell. He’s got to be at least twenty, but he may have been living under a rock for his entire life. Everything that comes out of his mouth is some sort of biblical decree. Gave me a bunch of grief about my arm tattoo.”
Walter chuckled. “Taking it personally?”
“It was meant personally. I guarantee it.”
“Okay. I’ll take Hara and a search warrant with me and check it out. You get the sense that something dangerous or illegal is going on?”
“I don’t know about proving that immediately, but I’d like to get a better idea of the living situation here. Nathan, the grandson, would have been too young to have been part of anything, but someone here knows what the hell happened, and how those bodies found their way to the pineapple field.”
“Agreed. Hara’s been digging stuff up. Waters is listed as the leaseholder on the Maui property, after a real estate transfer that was made by someone who was identified as one of his followers.”
“He likes to use the term ‘family.’ It’s a good-sized piece of land, and I’m getting a strong sense that there’s been at least a partial revival of whatever nonsense he was running on Lna‘i. I spoke with the daughter, Abigail. When I asked her how many people were in residence, she avoided my question.”
“Right. I’m on it. You heading back here to the station now?”
“Yeah. I want to look through those photo albums that Manuel shared with us and then drive over to talk to him about Abraham and whether or not they ever crossed paths. Manuel may have known Matthew Greene as well.”
“Good idea. We can compare notes later.”
Her voice was quizzical. “Great. Afterwards, maybe you can explain why all these people insist on lying while they’re quoting Scripture and talking nonstop about God.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be the one with all of the spiritual insight?”
“Yeah, right,” she said, her voice dark. “I keep forgetting.”
CHAPTER 23
Walter was waiting for Kali when she got back to the station.
“The coroner called. We’ve got news from Honolulu,” he said by way of greeting. “Some details on the pineapple man. The tests they ran in Honolulu strongly suggest that he was no more than seventeen or eighteen years at the time of death, and that he was roughly five feet six.” He grimaced. “According to the report, the head was not hacked off in a rage, but cut cleanly, probably after he was already dead. It looks like storing the wooden pineapple in a bone saw box may have been prescient of me—or maybe just ironic, depending upon your point of view.”
“Well, at least it’s something.” Kali watched as Walter checked the time.
“We should have a search warrant for the Waters’s place by the end of the day tomorrow,” he said. “In the meantime, I’ve got to deal with the details on the cock-fighting bust. I assume you can do without me for a little while.”
She smiled. “Sure.” She looked around the room. “Where’s Hara, by the way? He can help me sort through these images again.”
“I’m here, Detective Mhoe,” said Hara, stepping through the doorway. He was holding a bag. The aroma of grilled onions emanated from it. “The captain sent me out for a snack.”
Kali looked questioningly at Walter. “Pretty close to dinnertime for a snack, isn’t it? I’ll bet Nina won’t be happy if you don’t have any appetite for whatever she’s cooked up.”
Walter grumbled. “She’s off at a recital with the girls. Lara and Beth are dancing, and Suki is singing. Long story short, I have to fend for myself tonight.” He walked past Hara, taking the bag from his hand. He opened the top and looked in. The onion aroma was joined by the scent of pulled pork and barbecue sauce. It filled the air, and Walter grinned in happiness. “Thank you, Officer. Excellent work.” He raised the bag in a salute to Hara, then left.
Alone in the room, Kali and Hara placed the thick album beneath the light on the long table. Kali began to slowly turn the pages. As she’d already noted, there were numerous images of the day-to-day production in the fields and farm buildings, and many photos of individuals who must have meant something to Manuel. Most of the photos with people showed small groups, with an occasional portrait, or a lone person doing something related to the production process.
She thought about Manuel Raso’s generation, and how his job had likely been so much more than just the place where he spent hours every day. It had been a career for not only him, but for so many of the other people working for the pineapple company—their lives entwined with bringing the sweet fruit to maturation, their moods affected by the amount of d
aily wind or worries over lack of rainfall, their time measured out in volume and numbers and slow ripenings.
“There,” said Hara suddenly, pointing excitedly. “It’s the girl. Helen Stafford.”
Kali looked closely at the image, then removed it from the cellophane sleeve and examined it more closely under the light. Hara was right. Helen Stafford was standing next to a table where several pineapples were on display, along with a stack of wooden transport crates visible in the background. She was smiling, making the “hang loose” shaka sign with the fingers of one hand, her thumb and pinky extended, her three center fingers curled against her palm.
Kali set the photo aside, and continued to turn the pages in the album. She was just about to move on to another page when an image caught her attention. It showed several women and a young girl, all wearing the long blue skirts that she had seen Abigail Waters and the women on the ferryboat wearing. She removed those images as well, and placed them in the small pile she had made that included the photo that depicted the harvest-gold refrigerator.
She stood up. “Feel like taking a ride?”
Hara nodded willingly. “Bring the album?”
“Yes, and this stack of images I pulled from them. Keep those separate.”
* * *
They took the Jeep, making a quick stop at George’s Island Market to pick up a coconut cake to bring to Manuel as a gift. Kali and Hara listened as George shared news from a tabloid headline that warned residents of Hawai‘i that the oddly shaped clouds some of them had reported were cloaking devices used by a superior alien race to hide their spaceships. Kali tried to hide her concern that Hara seemed genuinely alarmed, and turned the conversation to the investigation.
“What do you know about a group of people calling themselves Eden’s River, who used to have some kind of combination commune, farm, and church over on Lna‘i, George? The leader was a guy called Abraham Waters. It was billed as a Christian wellness retreat, but a lot of the people who came to participate wound up living there together.”
