At four o’clock, the drizzle stopped and an anemic sun filtered through the trees. She went onto the lanai, laced up her Nikes, and went for a jog. At four-forty-five, she returned to the cottage. Still no one had returned. So much the better. She took a leisurely shower, picked out a not-too-wrinkled shirt and slacks for tonight’s party, and dressed. She went back to the kitchen area and noticed the forgotten red anthuriums in the sink. She supposed she ought to be a good guest and find another container for them.
She went to the cupboard and rummaged around behind the mugs and plates. A cereal bowl was too shallow and a tea glass too tall. She pushed aside a platter on the top shelf and saw a framed 5 x 7 photograph of the smiling young Xander standing on a beach next to a smiling, dark-haired beauty who had to be Leilani. In the foreground, two laughing little children, a boy and a girl, chased after a beach ball. Dinah took the picture to the table and sat down to study the happy family. How could anyone look at this idyllic scene and imagine that the woman’s pretty smile hid thoughts of suicide?
An edge of paper peeked out from the back of the frame. Dinah removed the back and unfolded a yellowed photocopy of a news article datelined San Francisco, November 4, 1989. “Earth Sciences Conference Marred by Death.”
Someone tapped smartly on the door. She looked up and two policemen in uniform were peering in at her through the glass panel. One of them signalled for her to come. A queasy sensation came over her, a premonition that what they had to say would not be good. She forced herself up, forced herself to walk across the room, forced herself to open the door.
“Is Lyssa here?” asked a baby-faced cop with a blond soul patch and a grave manner.
She shook her head.
“How about her brother, Jon?”
“No.”
“Do you know how to reach either of them?”
“No. What’s wrong?”
The other cop had sad, pouchy eyes that telegraphed bad news. “Are you a relative?”
In the sense that all mankind descended from the same Mitochondrial Eve, she was a relative. “Yes. Has something happened to their father? To Xander Garst?”
“It’s Mr. Raiford Reid. He’s been murdered. His body was discovered next to a fresh lava flow a little over an hour ago.”
PART II
Chapter Twenty-one
Dinah sat down on the lanai and smoked another cigarette. She was in a state of suspended animation, unable to process this whammy and unwilling to think about what might follow. The younger policeman had apparently gone to school with Lyssa and he’d asked permission from his supervisor to deliver the news to her in person. The two men made a few desultory comments while they waited, mostly about the earthquake. It had cracked a couple of side streets in Hilo and they’d heard a report of a landslide makai of Pahala. They recalled the quake of 2006, which had cause considerable damage to the northwest corner of the island. This time it was the south’s turn. But as Dinah struggled to assimilate the stark reality of Raif’s murder, the earthquake’s terrors receded in her mind.
At six o’clock, the sound of slamming car doors brought her to her feet and galvanized the cops. They hurried down the path toward the carport. Dinah slid into her sandals and tagged after them. The widow had arrived. Lyssa wore an inquiring half-smile as she got out of the car. “Mark, hello. Did somebody vandalize Jon’s mailbox again?”
The younger policeman, Mark, took her arm. “It’s about Raif, Lyssa.”
“Come on, Mark, did you have to arrest him? You’ve been known to play a friendly game of cards, yourself.”
“It’s not that. He’s been murdered, Lyssa. Shot to death in a lava field west of the Pahoa Highway near Kalapana.”
She looked blank. “Murdered?”
Mark held onto her arm. “A couple of park rangers on horseback found him.”
Phoebe came around the side of the car and covered her mouth with her hands. “Dear God! Raif’s dead?”
Mark said, “Homicide detectives and the medical examiner are on the scene now. They’ll be here to talk with you in a little while.”
Lyssa broke into a welter of sobs. Dinah vacillated, waiting for Mark or Phoebe to do something or say something. When they didn’t, Dinah put her arms around Lyssa and murmured something inane. “There, there” was about all she could come up with. She wished she could offer the girl some interpretation of this horror that she could understand and take comfort from, but she couldn’t. She could think of no silver lining, no light at the end of the tunnel, no mitigating factors of any kind whatever. She felt, as she always did, useless in the face of grief. Raif’s death was a bolt out of the blue and Dinah had no inkling how to construe it, let alone how to help Lyssa bear up to it.
“Phoebe? You’re a comforter. You’re a life coach. Help me out here.”
But Phoebe stood frozen with her hands still covering her mouth.
“There, there, Lyssa. There, there.” Where the hell was Xander? Where was Jon?
At last, Mark took the initiative. “Let’s walk up to Jon’s cottage, Lyssa. Come on. Ms. Pelerin can make you some tea or something while we wait for Jon to get home.” He took her arm and nudged her ahead of him up the path. “Travis, will you give her dad’s number another try? And her brother’s?”
“What was he doing in Kalapana?” Lyssa asked in a broken voice. “Mark, are you sure?”
“That’s what the detectives are trying to find out. He left his rental car on the side of the road. That’s how they know it’s Raif.”
Dinah frowned. His wallet must have been stolen or they’d know who it was from his driver’s license. He must have been robbed by one of the people he’d played poker with. Raif was a smart-alecky playboy who relished acting like an outlaw, probably because he thought it made him look cool. But not all of the people who violated the state’s anti-gambling law would be harmless rascals. Raif must have tangled with a player who didn’t care for his attitude or his winning ways.
Another car pulled into the drive. Dinah turned and saw Jon get out of the Sidekick.
“Officer Travis, what’s up?”
Travis walked over and said a few words to him. Jon flung an uncertain look up the path and started after Lyssa.
“I guess there won’t be a wedding after all,” he said to Dinah and kept walking.
For the first time, Dinah thought about Claude Ann and the hideous undoing of her perfect wedding. She would need a lot of there-thereing, herself. Jon could give Lyssa her tea. Or Phoebe, who had rallied enough to follow the others toward the cottage. The maid of honor would wait here by the carport for the bride and give her a shoulder to cry on. Claude Ann would probably feel guilty for her facetious wish that Raif and Lyssa would drive off a cliff into the ocean.
Xander pulled his gold Lexus under the carport and got out. “Is something wrong, Officer?” He huddled with Travis for a few minutes and reacted as if he’d been physically struck.
Travis reached out and steadied him. “Do you need help walking to the cottage, sir?”
“No. No, I’m all right. Is my daughter, is Lyssa here? Has she been told?”
“Yes, sir. Her brother’s with her.”
As Xander slogged up the path, he looked like a man on the way to his own hanging. He seemed not to see Dinah as he passed by. He was probably grappling with how to express his sympathy and regret for the death of a man whom he detested.
Travis followed Xander, as if he didn’t believe he could make it by himself.
Dinah said, “I’m waiting for Xander Garst’s fiancée and her daughter. They should be here any minute.”
“So should the detectives. Tell them where we are, will you?”
“Yes, of course.”
Dinah tried to swallow the knot in her throat. This would be the second time she’d had to tell Claude Ann that her
dream wedding had turned into a nightmare. Thank God, she didn’t have to tell her that Xander was dead. Their wedding could never be entirely dissociated from the terrible thing that had happened today, but they were alive and in love and not all happy marriages were formed in the month of June.
A car squealed around a corner close by and Dinah found herself wringing her hands.
The blue Buick swerved into the driveway, slinging gravel, and screeched to a stop behind the patrol car. Claude Ann swung out of the car with a big smile. “I shopped too long and the time got away from me. We’re gonna be late to the party. Come on with me and I’ll show you a darling dress I think you should wear.”
“There won’t be a party, Claude Ann.”
Her smile wilted as she took in the police car. “Have those protesters been here?”
“No, Claudy.”
Marywave got out of the car and came around to her mother’s side.
“Did they bring my daddy? Is he here?”
Claude Ann pulled Marywave in front of her and rested her hands on the girl’s shoulders. “They wouldn’t do that, would they?”
“No.”
“Then what’s the fuzzmobile doin’ here?” She tightened her grip on Marywave’s shoulders. “You look like hell. Did something bad happen to Hank?”
“It’s Raif, Claudy. He’s dead. Murdered.”
Chapter Twenty-two
The savage, unable to grasp the mysteries of nature or control its upheavals, ascribes his ups and downs to the will of some all-powerful, all-knowing deity—a deity who can send rain or drought, feast or famine, victory or defeat. But the deity’s criteria for meting out these rewards and punishments aren’t always clear. It’s the shaman’s job to interpret the deity’s judgments and policies in terms the savage mind can understand and accept. In ancient Hawaii, this job fell to the kahuna pule, or priest. The detectives’ dry account of Raif’s demise fell short of imparting understanding.
One of the detectives, a youngish Japanese man with spiky, bleach-blond hair who identified himself as Lt. Kimo Fujita, described the circumstances of the murder. “Mr. Reid’s body was discovered at approximately three-fifty this afternoon by park service personnel near Kalapana. He had been shot in the forehead at point-blank range and either fell or was dragged very close to a bed of liquid lava.” He opened his notebook and read. “Due to the extreme heat, it will be difficult to establish an exact time of death.”
Jon was the first to register acceptance of the murder as a fact. “He must have been at least partially cremated.”
“You’ll want a closed casket,” said Lt. Vince Langford, the senior detective. He had beady, suspicious eyes and an underslung, bulldog jaw.
Dinah shuddered. No wonder the police had to confirm his identity through the rental car agency.
Lyssa buried her face against Jon’s chest and sobbed. He held her, but his expression was strangely cold and absent. Claude Ann and Phoebe, who sat across from each other at the kitchen table, traded horrified stares.
“Yuck,” said Marywave, clinging to the back of her mother’s chair.
Xander went to the cupboard, pulled out a bottle of Scotch and five glasses, and poured. He offered one to Lyssa, but she wouldn’t take it. Claude Ann and Jon each took one. Phoebe pressed a tissue against her nose and shook her head, no. Dinah, her back braced against the wall, accepted her glass with alacrity but her hands shook so that she had trouble getting it to her lips without spilling. Xander returned to stand beside the cupboard, but his eyes stayed on Lyssa.
Lt. Langford stood in front of the door with his hands behind his back and surveyed the room. “We’ll need to know how and when Mr. Garst and the rest of you arrived on the island?”
Jon helped Lyssa into a chair and chugged his Scotch. “Our flight from Honolulu landed in Hilo at eleven-thirty. It was a corporate plane owned by my father’s business partner, Avery Wilhite.”
“Eleven-thirty,” repeated Langford. “Didn’t take long for Mr. Reid to get himself killed.”
“The earthquake must have opened up a skylight,” said Jon.
“What’s a skylight?” asked Dinah.
“Magma is what lava is called before it breaches the earth’s crust. Magma flows underground through long tubes. When the roof of one of those tubes collapses, the magma is exposed. Volcanologists call those openings skylights. The earthquake or the aftershock must have fractured the crust down near Kalapana, or maybe the weight of Raif’s body caused it to break through.”
Lyssa raised her swollen eyes to Jon. “Raif was afraid of volcanoes and lava. Why would he walk be walking around in a lava field?”
Langford’s eyes roved the room scrutinizing everyone and everything. He stopped in front of Jon and gave him a hard look. “In the span of two weeks, Hawaii County’s had two homicides. One man beaten and shoved into a steam vent, now another shot in the head and shoved into a skylight. I’m seeing what I guess you could call a geothermal pattern. Would you agree, Mr. Garst?”
“So it would seem.” Jon came across as guarded and defensive, a cat with his back up.
“Ever meet an archaeologist named Patrick Varian?” goaded Langford.
“No.”
“Hmm.” It was the hmm of a prosecutor. Langford rambled around the room with his hands behind his back. “Did Mr. Reid own a gun?”
Lyssa roused herself. “He hated guns.”
“Maybe Raif had changed his mind,” said Xander. “He had a gambling problem or, I should say, a money problem. He owed quite a lot. I don’t know how much, but he was worried. He had asked me for money several times.”
“Liar.” Lyssa’s mouth contorted with rage. “You’ve always despised him and now you’re glad that he’s dead. I hate you.”
“You’re wrong, Lyssa. I’m…I won’t lie to you. I didn’t respect Raif. Maybe I did despise him, but good God, I never wished him dead.” Xander drank his Scotch and poured himself another. “I love you. I’m appalled by Raif’s murder, if that’s what it was.”
Claude Ann left the table and went to stand beside Xander. “Xan’s right. How come you’re so sure it was a homicide, Lieutenant? Maybe it was suicide. Maybe he shot himself.”
Lyssa lashed out at her. “How can you suggest such a horrible thing? Raif wasn’t like my mother. He loved his life. He loved me.” She dissolved into tears again.
Phoebe walked over and tried to take her hand to comfort her. “You were blessed to have Raif for a little while, Lyssa. Be thankful for the time you had.”
“Shut up or I’ll kill myself,” Lyssa snarled.
Langford paced around the room for a minute. After a couple of circuits, he came to a halt directly in front of Lyssa. “Did Mr. Reid carry a cell phone?”
“Of course, he did. An iPhone. He called the spa where Phoebe and I were and left a message. He wanted to meet us and go for a drink when we were finished with our treatments.”
“What time was that?” asked Langford.
“I’m not sure. A little after four, I think.”
Langford and Fujita exchanged a look.
Dinah got it at once. If Raif’s body was discovered at three-fifty, he couldn’t have made that call. “Did you not find the phone with the body?”
“We did not,” said Langford.
Jon walked over to the cupboard and refilled his glass with Scotch. “A murderer would’ve tossed the gun and the phone into the lava. They would’ve melted and been untraceable.”
“The only smart murderers are in murder mysteries,” said Langford. “And tossed phones don’t call and leave messages. But it’s funny you should mention tossing the gun into the lava. Mr. Reid’s murderer tried that, but either he throws like a girl or his aim was off. The gun missed the fire and I guess the surrounding ground was too hot for him to retrieve it and
try again.” His suspicious eyes panned the room. “Any of the rest of you own a gun?”
“No,” said Claude Ann.
Dinah lanced her a warning look.
“Not at this time,” she said without batting an eye. “My ex-husband kept guns.” She held up her casted wrist. “Thanks to him, I spent last night in the Honolulu hospital. I’d like to know if he’s been arrested yet.”
“Name?” growled Langford.
“Henry J. Kemper. Hank. The police on Oahu were still looking for him when we left this morning.”
“We’ll look into it. Can you think of any reason why Mr. Kemper would want to harm Mr. Reid?”
“No.” Claude Ann appeared nonplussed. “No. Hank and Raif never met.”
“My daddy wouldn’t break the Commandment against killing,” said Marywave. “He’s a born-again Christian.”
Xander wrapped an arm around Claude Ann’s shoulders. “Why are you asking us about guns, Lieutenant Langford? No one in this family had any reason to harm Raif. You should be questioning the gamblers he kept company with, the people he owed.”
Dinah remembered Raif’s finger-pistol farewell. “When Raif drove away from the airport this morning, I think it was about eleven forty-five, he told me he was on his way to a private poker game in Pahoa.”
“Probably run by George Knack,” said Xander. “I can’t believe the police haven’t been able to shut Knack down. Everybody knows what he does.”
“Everybody suspects what he does.” Langford’s voice was matter-of-fact. “If Knack runs an illegal game, he hides it well. The FBI has been sniffing around him for two years and they can’t nail him. He has a sixth sense about undercover heat.”
“You might ask him why he was in Honolulu last night,” said Jon. “He horned in on the family’s private party. I was showing him the door when we heard Claude Ann call for help.”
Bet Your Bones Page 15
