Wiped Out

by Tamara Woods

  "She got nothing to say! You should be ashamed of yourselves ambushing her like this! Go on home! No comment!"

  Leilani pulled her friend inside and slammed the door in their faces. Fraya blinked slowly like she was waking from a dream. She rubbed her chest, trying to calm down. That had all been too much.

  "How did they all know already?" Fraya’s heart thundered against her ribs. “How did they know to come here?”

  "Probably somebody's auntie, uncle, cousin works at the police station. You know how it is," Leilani said. "Shoots, even I got family down there."

  Fraya tried to keep her face expressionless. She knew her bestie was referring to Ayden. The guy was so wishy washy. He was interested in her...maybe. Sometimes. On Tuesday. When the moon was in the seventh house and Jupiter aligned with Mars. Psht. Who had the time for that? But even so...

  "Maybe you could call him and ask him about all of this?" She almost choked on the words.

  Her treacherous bestie tilted her head to the side, "Do you mean, asking him if he's into you or not because—"

  "No, I'm grown. And he is too. If he can't make his intentions clear, I'm done. Besides," she continued, "I don't even know if I want all of that."

  "I guess if you wanted all that, you'd know."

  Fraya shrugged. She wasn't sure if that was true, but at this point, she didn't even want to go there. "I meant about the girl. Your brother was there and he’s in homicide. They must think she was murdered, but why? And how?"

  "You need to let the police do their job," Leilani said, unknowingly echoing the EMT. "They're professionals. They know what they're doing."

  "I'm not going to get in their way. I just want to know what's going on. And how she died. I feel...," Fraya paused, clearing the tight feeling in her throat. "I feel responsible for her. She said her last words to me. That means something, doesn't it? I felt her die Leilani. I can't just let that go."

  Her eyes pleaded with her friend. She didn't know why she felt so compelled, but she did.

  Leilani softened at her obvious distress and put her hand on Fraya's shoulder.

  "Alright. I'll call 'im up tomorrow. But no promises."

  "One good thing came from all that." When Leilani looked at her inquisitively. She explained, "Her name. She was Gamilla, Leilani. And she performed in some kind of way."

  "They got so many people here, all those reporters, somebody's going to actually report something, right?" Leilani asked.

  Fraya tapped her finger on her remote, considering. She turned on her ancient television and tuned into one of the local stations. A special broadcast interrupted the show that was already playing. A different version of the girl she had last seen motionless on the ground, dominated the screen. The girl had her hair tossed back, a smile on her lips, eyes wide and bright. Full of life. Fraya’s stomach rolled, the food disagreeing with her. Gamilla had looked so hopeful in those photos. She was just beginning her life. And some guy took her potential away. Fraya’s resolve grew until it was like a breathing thing in the pit of her stomach. She'd find out who did it. And she'd find out what her last words meant.

  "Aye, turn up the volume!"

  A news anchor broadcasted from Waimea Bay, talking with some surfers who had known the girl. They must've recorded immediately after the report had come in, because it was still daylight in the shot.

  "22-year-old, Gamilla Lee was an accomplished surfer, who'd learned to ride those waves when she was little girl here at Waimea Bay. She had won and placed in many different competitions, including the first women's heat slated at Mavericks and The Quiksilver in Memory of Eddie Aikau. She was here to compete in the 2017 Aloha Waves Conference and was the expected winner. With a heavy heart, we here at HLN extend our sympathies to her family and friends."

  The newscaster turned to one girl standing nearby, extending the microphone. The woman was incredibly fit and wore a one-piece bathing suit. At her side, she held her surfboard in an easy grip.

  "I'm not glad she's dead or anything. But it does make it easier with my biggest competition gone. Know what I mean?" The girl laughed and flexed her muscle. Fraya grimaced. Wow, that was a cold-blooded way of looking at things.

  The reporter seemed just as taken aback by her attitude and turned to one of the other competitors there. The guy had a surfer’s body: lean and ripped. He must've been in the water recently, his hair was still wet. He cleared his throat before he spoke. His voice was somber as it should be for such a moment.

  "She was the best of all of us. The surf world has lost one of its brightest stars. I'm going to miss her so much." He had his hands clasped in front of his body he shook his head and put his hand up. "That... That's all I've got to say."

  As the reporter interviewed other athletes, Fraya kept staring at the first two. The one guy who seemed so overcome with emotion and the girl didn’t seem bothered at all.

  "There's more to this than meets the eye," Fraya murmured to herself. But her friend heard her anyway.

  "What are you thinking? You and your nose are into this one, aren't you? You can't get yourself too involved now."

  "I'm not going to do anything," Fraya said crossing her fingers behind her back. "Besides, what could possibly go wrong?"

  CHAPTER THREE

  The cool air blasted her in the face as Fraya walked into the vestibules of Kailua Public Library. The quiet inside contrasted nicely to the busy roadway she’d just left. A few couples, parents with their children, and teens working on homework were scattered through the small building. When Fraya had first moved to the island, she had been immediately drawn to the library. That’s where she’d stumbled into the writing group that met there.

  One of the members strutted over to her. Rose had the height of a model and the curves of a Playboy bunny, shown off by her figure hugging blue dress. She was in her mid-50s, looked like her 40s, and partied like her 20s. Her store bought bosom was almost as big as her kind heart, which she deftly kept hidden from all but the people closest to her.

  “Hey sugar. We’re out by the fountain today.” She tossed her blonde extensions over her shoulder. She was from the South and embodied the ideal of the-bigger-the-hair-the-closer-to-God. With her hair, she and God must be bosom buddies.

  Fraya leaned in and gave her a brief hug. “Sounds good.”

  She followed behind Rose, her hips catching the attention of a couple of guys in the library. If Fraya glammed up like Rose did every time she left the house, she’d probably never leave. Too much work. But the older woman’s eyeshadow was always on fleek with a cat line sharp enough to stab her enemies, as she liked to say. Fraya respected the commitment.

  Outside the glass door was their meeting spot. In the middle of the space, the stone fountain had what looked like a fish in mid-jump. Her group sat on the stone patio furniture and it looked like they were camped out for the long haul.

  Winnifried or Winnie as they called her, wore a wide brimmed straw hat to protect from the sun. Her muumuu perfectly matched the pink, purple, and white flowers on the brim. She looked as romantic as the stories she wrote.

  Norma had her feet kicked up on one of the spare chairs, much to Winnie’s chagrin. She had a few years on Fraya in age and snark. She wore her customary denim shorts and a T-shirt with a saying. This one said: When You’re Wrong- Your Wrong.

  Her closest friend out of the group Keith lounged at the table, typing something on his cell. He always seemed so busy, but never overwhelmed. She didn’t know how he did it. His brown hair was always a little too long, and his smile was always ready. It had a tiny dimple that she tried very hard to ignore.

  “I wasn’t sure if you’d make it tonight, girlie,” Winnie said, tsking. “That poor girl. Do you know anything about her?”

  “How did you know already?” Fraya asked as she sank into her chair.

  “You know Miss Winnie loves all the gossip,” Norma said. “If somebody farts, she knows before their butt gets the news.”

  Winnie tske
d. “You know I hate vulgarity Norma Jean. And I do not gossip. I just watch the news.” She sniffed in righteous indignation and then turned to Fraya. “And I recognized your home from when we had that picnic lunch for the writing group.”

  Fraya had forgotten about that. They’d had so much fun that day, chatting about writing and as they’d lounged on the beach. She remembered Winnie’s question. “Did I know her? No, not at all. It was the craziest thing. I’ve never been so scared in all my life. I wish I could’ve done something...”

  “We know you, Fraya. If you could have, you would have. That’s how you are,” Norma said, with a decisive nod. The others made sounds of agreement.

  Those words kept rolling around in her head. She wanted to do something, but what could she possibly do? She didn’t know the girl or anything about surfing. She was even more in the dark than the police were.

  “Let’s get this show on the road,” Norma said, slapping down the folder containing her chapters. They all followed suit.

  They met weekly for their little writer’s group, exchanged chapters of their current work in progress and gave critiques. Over the years, they’d grown used to each other’s writing styles and had gotten better at pointing out each other’s flaws, though Norma could get territorial about her words.

  “What do you mean, you ‘can’t find his motivation’? Maybe you should look up your—“

  “Norma!” Winnifred said, literally clutching her pearls.

  Norma rolled her eyes and huffed out an apology.

  “That’s not a problem dear. We all know how the less creatively inclined have to resort to being crude to get their ideas across,” Rose said, a smirk on her face.

  Norma’s eyes widened until Fraya could see the slight cataract on her eye. Not good. And then they narrowed. Way worse.

  “Fraya,” Keith interrupted, before Norma. “Are you going to try to investigate this murder?” Everyone’s eyes focused on her.

  She shifted in her seat. “If I were to do that,” she said cautiously, “I don’t know where I’d begin. The only thing I know about that girl is that she’s a surfer. I’m not at all.”

  “Keith surfs,” Winnie quickly volunteered.

  “He could teach you all the tricks of the trade,” Norma added.

  “And maybe he could teach you all kinds of things,” Rose said with a smile.

  Fraya’s eyes darted around in panic. “I’m...uh...that is...”

  “I can teach you the basics tomorrow, if you want,” he said, flashing that dimple that drew her eye.

  “Sure. Great. Sounds fun,” she said, inwardly wincing. She had no game.

  “6 am sound good to you?” he asked casually.

  She gasped out loud, her eyes huge. “Are the waves not around later in the day?” Dimples or not, there was no way she was getting in anybody’s ocean that early in the morning. He was one of those morning people, and she wasn’t about that life. She only saw 6 am if she was going to sleep after dawn.

  He laughed. “Jokes! I’ve got jokes. I wouldn’t do that to you. Is 2 good? That’ll give us a chance to practice and you can actually wake up.”

  She pretended to wipe sweat off her forehead. “For a minute there I thought you were trying to destroy me.”

  “Never that,” he said, those dimples flashing again. They should be labeled as dangerous.

  “Is she finally going to go out with him? How romantic!” Winnie stage whispered.

  “About damn time,” Norma said.

  “The best way to get over the ex is to move on to the next,” Rose said with a raised eyebrow.

  “Ladies, we can hear you,” Fraya said.

  Norma snorted. “That’s the point.”

  Keith shook his head and Fraya rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t suppress her smile. They were always subtly—and not-so subtly—trying to get the two of them together. Fortunately, it was more sweet than irritating.

  “How is your little one doing, Rose?” Fraya asked.

  “He’s a little squirt. He’s doing this thing now where he pees in my slippers if I stay out too late,” she said.

  “Don’t encourage her. She talks about that freakishly small thing like it’s a person. It’s barely a dog,” Norma sneered.

  “My Pomeranian is part of my family,” Rose returned. At the two bickered back and forth about the dog, Fraya’s thoughts slipped back to Gamilla. She was glad she had her name now, but she knew nothing about her. She needed to remedy that situation.

  LITTLE BLACK BIRDS with orange beaks strutted around her as Fraya made her way home. They were everywhere, these curious birds who seemed to have an innate sense of self-importance and thought themselves above flying out of the way of stupid humans and their loud cars. In her mind, they were avian embodiment of a 1970s pimp. If they were humans, they’d wear a capes, big hats, call themselves names like Pinky and Tootsie, and have canes with silver balls on top. She smiled at the absurdity.

  Her steps slowed and her smile disappeared as she got closer to where Gamilla had passed away. Everyone kept telling her that the words meant nothing, but she couldn't get them out of her head. It wasn't like in the movie Heathers where the guy was dying and he whispered, "Corn nuts."

  This was pointed.

  The yellow tape blew around in the wind. She carefully made her way through the sand, trying to avoid the little bits of shrubbery, and sharp stones sticking out of the sand. The area had definitely been trampled over with footsteps. She wasn't interested in any of that. If she was being honest, she wasn’t even sure what she was looking for.

  She scanned the sand, lingering where she'd found Gamilla. No one was on the beach, which wasn't surprising. Usually, there wasn't a lot of people there, and a dead body didn’t lend itself to hanging out and soaking up sunshine. She looked down at the spot, thinking. Gamilla was holding her neck when she'd found her. Why? Nothing unusual caught her eye. Fraya shook her head. What had she been expecting? The police had been there and they were trained professionals. What could she do?

  She continued on her way, her head down, looking over the waving tufts of grass. She might not be a professional, but she was smart. She'd watched every single episode of NCIS and Law and Order SVU. That counted for something, right?

  Probably not.

  She sighed and jogged up the few stairs leading to her front door. After slipping off her shoes, she stepped inside. The tiles in the living room were cool against her bare feet. She hesitated for a moment and then closed the door. Normally she'd leave it open, but after last night, she even clicked the lock. Nothing felt safe anymore.

  Pushing away her unease, she padded over to the fridge and grabbed the pitcher of lemon water. Fraya poured a glass and took a long drink. Though her mind still ran at the speed of light, it didn’t bring her any closer to answers. Her eyes shifted to her laptop and guilt threatened to swamp her. That deadline still breathed down her neck. Unlike Gamilla, it wouldn’t wait.

  She grabbed the laptop from its spot on the shelf and sat on her "soft desk" as she thought of her couch. Her deadline was breathing down her neck and Fraya had to get some writing in before she could purse any other avenue of Gamilla research.

  Sighing, she pulled up her document, set a timer, activated her internet blocker and shut down her phone. For the next hour, she was going to write undisturbed. Hopefully, she could lose herself in the story and emerge with a good chunk of the next installment of the Moxie Hart series. With a sense of determination, she got to work.

  A couple hours had gone past when her tummy grumbled. She hadn’t eaten anything yet. When she stood and stretched, her back cracked. Definitely time for a break. She grabbed the bowl of fruit salad from her fridge, and sat on the rattan chair in the far corner of her living room, scrolling through her Facespace account while snacking on pineapple chunks. As her flinger slid over the screen on her phone, she wondered what Gamilla’s social media presence was like?

  The surfer's fan page had over a million followe
rs! Clearly, she was a much bigger deal than Fraya had imagined. She found her personal account, which was set to private, but there were some public posts. So many pictures. The surfer had favored very casual clothing, though Fraya did notice she wore an interesting ring on a necklace in her later photos.

  There were a ton of posts from the last day where people had expressed their sympathy and how much they missed her. Fraya's throat tightened as she read through the heartfelt words. People were heartbroken. Family members had posted initially, followed by friends and fans.

  One post stood out in particular.

  A guy named Trent Runtner. His profile picture was just a surfboard.

  Trent: I can't believe you're gone. It's too soon. This can't be true. I didn't even get to tell you how much I love you. I'm so sorry Gams.

  The replies were eye-opening.

  You're such a liar! You cared more about your surf trunks than you did Gam.

  Oh really? You loved her so much? Harassment isn't love Trent, you loser.

  Crawl back under that rock Trent. Nobody cares how you feel and Gam wouldn't either.

  Do the world a favor KYS Jerk

  One of the replies stuck out because it didn't actually try to take down Trent.

  Hey, guys Trent is allowed to mourn like everybody else. He's a good guy. Leave him alone.

  It was from Liz, that girl from the broadcast.

  Fraya's eyebrows rose. Clearly there was some sort of drama here. She clicked on Trent's name and explored his profile. According to his check-in, he'd been on O'ahu for the past week. He was participating in the Aloha Waves Conference, the competition mentioned during the news broadcast. Looking over the ad copy, Fraya discovered the Aloha Waves Conference was an annual surf competition sponsored by Aloha Waves a beach wear and beach gear company. She didn't know what was good when it came to surfing stuff. Generally, she just ordered whatever bathing suit was cheapest and had decent reviews from Amazon. Clothing wasn't really her thing.