by Debra Bokur
“You ate it?”
“Didn’t know when you’d wake up. Fish stew doesn’t keep forever, you know.” He patted his stomach. “Besides, keeping you safe is hard work.”
“So fill me in,” she said. “But first let me get a slice of that banana bread.” He rose to get it for her, but she shook her head, gesturing for him to stay put. She walked slowly to the kitchen counter, her body aching, and made a pot of coffee while Walter gave her the details that had been gathered during the arrest of Abraham Waters and his family. She poured a mug for each of them, and Walter came to carry the coffee and plates holding the bread back into the living room.
“Do we finally have a name for the pineapple man?” she asked, as she settled back down onto the sofa and Walter made himself comfortable in the armchair.
“We do. Joey Manu. He was only eighteen years old when Abraham murdered him. His parents are still alive, and are very happy to know that their son has finally been found.” He took a bite of bread. “According to Abigail, and a follow-up call Hara made with Manuel Raso, she and Joey became friends pretty quickly when they met at the plantation. She was still pretty young, being dragged around by Ruth. Joey and Abigail eventually planted a giant sunflower garden together near the office building at the plantation where’d they play, and everyone used to tease them about being sweethearts. Joey was four years older, though—plus he was gay. Abigail didn’t care. They were best friends, and they stayed friends even after the plantation shut down. When Joey found out that Abigail was pregnant, and then witnessed some of the interchanges between her and her father, he suspected who the father of the child was and urged her to tell the authorities.”
Walter went on to say that when Abigail refused, Joey became increasingly concerned, saying he was going to report his suspicions himself.
“He went out to Eden’s River to confront Abraham first, and that’s when he was killed. The refrigerator had already been pulled out of the kitchen in the break room back at the plantation, along with everything else, and Abraham used it to hide the body in the field. Because the plantation was pretty empty by then and was so close to the commune, no one saw anything.”
Kali listened, nibbling her bread and sipping from her mug. “Must have been tough to move.”
“Abraham had enough of a following by then. There were probably plenty of people at the commune to help move an old refrigerator without ever knowing what was inside. We don’t know yet who those people were or what they knew, but everyone who can be tracked down is being rounded up for questioning. That woman you met on Lna‘i—Anita—is supplying names. Hiding the other bodies didn’t require any help. Abraham, Ruth, and Linda Bragden could have handled that themselves.”
“And Matthew Greene? Was Linda Bragden part of that?”
“Not according to her statement, but that will be for a jury to decide.” He finished the last of his banana bread. “Damn. That woman next door—what’s her name? Birta?—is a really good cook. She’d make a great sister-in-law. And that Elvar is something else. He clocked both Ruth and Abraham, and managed to knock out the grandson while he was at it. And that’s before carrying you up the stairs and out of the house.”
Kali caught the sideways look he gave her, but she didn’t respond. She finished her slice of bread and took another sip of coffee. Walter watched her, his concern plain.
“You got whacked pretty hard, you know. You need to take it easy. In fact, that’s a direct order from a superior officer.” He shook his head, slightly amazed. “Your skull must be made of cast iron. I really don’t understand how you came out of this whole thing without a major concussion.”
“Well, people have been telling me my whole life how hardheaded I am,” she said, attempting a small smile. Her head throbbed, but she didn’t want Walter to leave. The guest bedroom door was propped open, so she went into the room, reaching for the cheerful stuffed horse sitting on the bed where she’d left it. She lifted it and carried it back to the living room.
Walter watched her as she sat back down on the sofa. She tossed the horse to him. He caught it, a look of surprise on his face.
“For me? Thanks, but I don’t remember asking for one.”
“Maybe one of the girls would like it? I bought it for Makena. You know, as a baby gift. I’d rather not see it around, but it’s kind of cute, and I don’t want to just throw it away.”
“Sure,” he said. “Suki will love it. She’s obsessed with horses. She keeps hinting at riding lessons. And she’s always eating carrots. She says it’s because horses like them.” He chuckled. “As though that’s going to convince either Nina or me that we need to add pony club to everything else we already have on our schedules. Suki gets her way a lot, being the youngest, but I’m playing the tough guy on this one.”
They sat together for a while, discussing the upcoming cultural festival, and the role each had to play. Walter was far more excited about the ukulele competition than she was about the hula demonstration.
“Hara got out of the drumming, didn’t he?” she asked.
“He lucked out, you mean. Turns out there was a family birthday party on the same day, so that took precedence.” Walter looked at her arm, then lifted his gaze to her face. “You’re going to scare the hell out of the audience with your bruises and cuts,” he said, matter-of-factly. “Parents are going to warn their kids that hula is dangerous.”
She was going to agree that this was true, but only if there happened to be a cult leader around who thought there was something wrong with being Hawaiian. Her hand reached for her hip, and she lightly pressed the spot where her other, private tattoo lay safely hidden. If Abraham had discovered that one, she might have had a real excuse to duck out of the festival showcase. We like to think we’re so different, so evolved, with our computers and cathedrals, our art and our philosophy, she thought to herself. But are we? We plunder the earth and destroy what is beautiful and necessary; when we kill, it’s not just for food and territory, but too often for reasons that are selfish and spiteful and small.
Walter’s phone buzzed. He answered it, then looked at Kali. “Yes, she’s awake. She looks like she was thrown off a bridge onto a slab of concrete, but here she is.” He passed the phone to her, and she glanced at the screen as she took it, surprised to see that the caller was Stitches.
“Hello, Detective. Glad to hear you’re all right. The price we pay, yes?”
“I suppose it is,” said Kali. “Tangle with killers, and you might get killed, or something like that.”
“Yes. However, I’m glad you’re on the mend, and hope that there’s some satisfaction to be had knowing each of our nameless people has at last been identified.”
Kali frowned. “Well . . . we’re still missing a head,” she said. Walter looked at her, then shrugged.
“Unlikely that it will be found unless one of those cult people decides to be generous and tell us where it is,” said Stitches. “Well, I must get back to work. Feel better, Detective.”
The line went dead. “Is Abigail Waters being held in Wailuku?” Kali asked Walter.
“For the moment.” He folded his hands. “She’s not going to tell you anything, you know. She still doesn’t truly understand that her father did anything wrong, and talking to you just implicates her further.”
“She was a child.”
“She’s been an adult for a long time, sitting on the knowledge of four deliberate deaths and one stolen identity. I don’t think you’re going to get a confession out of her that she knows anything about anything.”
“That’s okay,” said Kali. “I don’t think we need it. Can you call Tomas and have a team go back to the plantation? Specifically to the building that was used as an office with the break room. Find out from Manuel Raso where Abigail and Joey planted their sunflower garden, and have a search team check the ground there. Tell them to be thorough. I think Abigail buried the head there.”
* * *
After Walter had left, Kali fell asleep again on the s
ofa, drifting in and out of slumber until Tomas called her. Her hunch had been correct. Joey Manu’s skull had been found buried in the old sunflower garden he’d created with his friend Abigail Waters. It, too, had been smashed in. Kali felt a sense of completion, and fell into a deep, untroubled sleep.
In the morning, she put more ice on her swollen face, surveying the damage in her bathroom mirror. The festival was two days away, and Walter was right. She was likely to scare anyone who got a good look at her. She sighed and changed her clothes, putting on her shoes. She needed to go next door to thank Birta for the food—and Elvar for saving her life.
CHAPTER 33
The turnout was far better than anticipated. The grounds of the park where the Fire Garden Cultural Festival was being held were packed. No one, thought Kali, not even people like Abigail and Abraham, had been able to quell the spirit of Hawai‘i. She smiled wryly, acknowledging to herself that now even the legacy of battles and darkness, of zealous missionaries and intoxicated tourists and horrendous traffic, were part of the story of the islands, woven indelibly into the fabric of her own personal history. Less beautiful or gratifying than brilliant sunsets and tales of goddesses, perhaps; but still chapters in a much longer tale.
She looked around, admiring the displays, savoring the scent of the foods that had been prepared as part of the celebration. Carrying a cloth bag that held the dress she’d given to Makena, she found her way to the seating area in front of the stage. She wasn’t sure why she’d brought it. She reminded herself that Makena had never actually promised to come.
The cheerful music of a ukulele band on the main festival stage was augmented by a larger soundtrack made up of laughter and chatter. The night was filled with the joy of locals participating in a beloved festival that celebrated their culture, mingled with the happy voices of visitors on a much-anticipated holiday, each of them reveling in the air of the warm, fragrant island night.
She glanced at her phone, checking the time, then searched the crowd with her eyes. There was no sign of Makena. She tried not to feel anything, but as the minutes ticked by and she failed to appear, Kali was startled at the level of disappointment that washed over her, both sudden and unexpected. Of course she hadn’t shown up. Disappearing, after all, was one of Makena’s most highly developed skills.
Near a display of handcrafted wood art, she caught sight of Elvar’s tall figure. He was examining a bowl created from a single piece of koa wood, turned by a skilled artist who had revealed the patterns swirling through the grain in a contrast of gold and a deeper brown, and who had celebrated the wood’s small imperfections in a live edge along one side.
“Nice,” she said, standing beside him. “That would look beautiful on your dining room table.”
“Yes,” he said, running a finger gently along the bowl’s rim. “I am thinking of buying it for Birta as a gift. Her birthday is next week.”
“I didn’t know,” she said, thinking that she should. Birta had been her neighbor for years, and it seemed a simple thing to know about her. She looked up at Elvar. “I don’t know your birthday, either, come to think of it.”
“March first. I’m a Pisces. What about you?”
“July sixth,” she said.
“Ah. That makes you a Cancer, and both of us water signs.” He smiled. “Very compatible, according to the zodiac.”
His observation was followed by an awkward silence.
“Good to know,” she said, her words coming in a sudden rush. “I wouldn’t want to be at odds with Hilo’s favorite babysitter.”
Elvar looked down at the bowl in his hands, and Kali mentally kicked herself. She had meant to say something more personal, but words had failed her.
“No, we can’t have that,” he said. He looked at her, his gaze steady. “I must not keep you from getting ready. Walter told me you are performing a traditional dance tonight. I look forward to seeing it. Birta should be here soon as well, and I know we will both enjoy your performance.”
She took a deep breath, not knowing exactly how to put into words all the things she wanted to say. “Elvar, I know I’ve already said thank you, but I hope you know how much. . . how much I appreciate what you did for me.”
He looked into her eyes. “I am just grateful you are safe and on the mend.” He smiled again, wider this time. “And I have no doubt that you would do the same for me.”
She stood, trying with all her heart to come up with better words. He waited, but she looked away, and he turned to speak to the wood artist. Kali stepped back into the path that had been created between the tables and displays, again feeling as though an important moment had been lost. As she approached the stage area, she saw Tua standing by the backstage steps. He was holding a clipboard, waving to her as she drew closer.
“They roped you in as well, I see,” she said.
He shrugged. “I don’t mind. I’ve helped out before, and enjoy the energy of the festival. At least,” he said, looking meaningfully at her, “no one got me to agree to dance.”
“But you do dance,” she protested. “Quite beautifully, too.”
He bowed slightly. “That’s very kind of you. But my hula practice isn’t for general public consumption. I get a little nervous when too many people are watching.”
She looked up at the stage. A trio of drummers dressed in brightly patterned sarongs was performing, and the delighted crowd had been mesmerized into silence.
“Am I next?”
“Almost. I’m going to offer a chant, and then the musicians will begin your song. You can walk on as I walk off.”
“Okay. Just a warning: I haven’t danced onstage since I was a kid, and my teacher at the hlau hula volunteered our class to perform at a wedding.”
“You’ll be fine!” His eyes twinkled. “But just to add a little pressure, you should know that Walter won the ukulele solo competition.”
She laughed. “Oh dear. Guess I’d better get my game on for the glory of the department.”
The drummers had finished, and Tua put down his clipboard and walked out onto the center of the stage. The cheering crowd quieted. In the sky, the full moon shone brightly. The torchlights flickered, and Tua bowed his head. Then the deep, resonant sound of his voice filled the air as he offered a traditional mele‘ina that told of the Hawaiian people’s deep and respectful connection to the land.
Next to the stage, Kali listened, her heart filled with his words and the images they evoked. She adjusted her dress. The skirt of the sea-green silk material lightly skimmed her body, falling to her upper calves. There was a lei of soft, fresh plumeria flowers around her neck. Her hair was loose, and she wore a single white plumeria blossom tucked behind her right ear. She had hesitated before placing it, as the position of the flower indicated that she was an available single woman, but had decided at the last minute that it was appropriate.
Tua finished his chant, and the band moved back into position. She made one final search for Makena in the crowd, then allowed herself to accept the simple truth that she was alone. Taking a deep breath, she stepped onto the wooden boards of the stage in her bare feet. The song she had chosen to dance to was one she had listened to countless times. It told a melancholy story of loss, but ended with the promise of renewal. It was a fitting choice, she felt, given her mood of late. The crowd in front of her grew silent, watching in appreciation as she swayed and moved across the stage. She smiled as she danced, but it was a humble smile, not one that would challenge or tempt any jealous gods or goddesses who might be lingering in the shadows.
She could see Walter in the front row. He was standing next to Birta and Elvar, who was smiling. Their gazes were fixed upon her. She let herself slip more deeply into her dance. There was optimism in the words of the song as it approached its end. What is it that I hope for? she asked herself. And then, as she caught another glimpse of Elvar, Who is it that I’m dancing for? She stepped sideways in a kâholo movement to the right, moving closer to the space where he stood. Is it for
the past, or am I dancing toward the future, a different future from the one I once dreamed of?
She felt her heart racing in confusion as the last notes of the song faded and the audience applauded. Before she had time to leave the stage, Walter climbed the steps to stand beside her, already strumming his ukulele. He waved to the crowd, and launched into a brisk, upbeat tune. He pointed at Kali and the crowd applauded again.
“Who wants to keep our detective dancing?” Walter called out, grinning. The crowd clapped enthusiastically. Several of her colleagues called out in encouragement. Walter played faster, a familiar tune, and Kali fell into step, beginning a new dance. Other dancers who had already performed joined her, their smiles all filled with delight. There was no more melancholy—just simple joy in the movement and the music. She looked toward Elvar. He was smiling, too. He waved to her as their eyes met, and she laughed.
She left the stage as Walter was joined by several other musicians, and the festival continued. Standing against the trees in an area where tables laden with food and gifts had been set out, she watched as the red and gold flames of the tiki torches erected around the audience area flickered in their own kind of ballet.
The musicians played for a while, taking turns to mingle with festivalgoers and to enjoy the abundant food and drink. She could see people surrounding Walter as he came down from the stage, congratulating him on his trophy, and heard the deep, familiar tones of his voice as he made everyone around him feel as though they had won as well.
A couple, arm in arm, passed her on their way into the clearing in front of the stage, eager to join in the festivities. She watched them for a moment and was about to walk away when Walter looked up and around, his eyes searching the crowd for her. He waved when he spotted her. She smiled and blew him a kiss, then made the shaka no worries sign with her right hand.
No worries. At least not for tonight, while the moonlight spread a glow across the island-scape, and a fleeting sense of camaraderie and well-being emanated from the crowd. She gathered up the cloth bag with the dress that had gone unworn, hoping that Makena was somewhere safe. Then she stepped back beneath the trees, turning toward the parking area. She slipped away into the night before anyone else might realize she’d ever really been there in the first place—before Elvar found her and she had to think too hard about how true it was that nothing good ever seemed to last quite long enough.
