Blood Orchids

by Toby Neal

  “She called him her ‘secret admirer.’”

  “Was there any student gossip about him?”

  “Everybody was calling him Haunani’s sugar daddy,” she said with a giggle. The spiteful edge to it made the hairs rise on Lei’s neck.

  “But nobody knew who he was?”

  “No. That’s why I wanted to get a look at him,” Angela said. “I thought it must be someone other kids knew—somebody’s uncle or brother or something.” Was she really a friend of Haunani’s? Or more of an enemy?

  “Did he pick Haunani up regularly?”

  “I only saw the truck a couple times.”

  “Did you ever see Kelly go with them?”

  “No. Kelly and Haunani were just getting to be friends. I don’t think Haunani wanted anyone else to meet him. She wanted to keep him all to herself.” Again the silvery giggle. “So I walked across the street when he was picking her up so I could get a look at him, but he wasn’t anybody I know.”

  Stevens slid the folder of photos over to her. Lei had folded the license information over so only the pictures were showing.

  “Do you think you could pick out his picture?” he asked.

  “Maybe.” Angela leaned over the photos, the swath of hair a black silk curtain hiding her face. She slid each printout to the side as she rejected it. She took her time, but in the end she pushed them all aside.

  “I don’t see him.” Her eyes glittered defiantly. Stevens reassembled the pictures into a grid.

  “Look again.” He set the photos before her, six on a side. She went through them again, shook her head.

  “No.”

  “Are you sure?” he urged. Lei felt the glare of James Reynolds’s eyes burning up at her from his photo on the top left. Angela cut her eyes to Stevens.

  “He’s not here.”

  “These are all the photos of men 25 to 45 who drive a dark Toyota truck with Hilo or outlying addresses. That’s what you told us. So what did he look like?”

  “I’m not sure how old he was. Dark hair. And I think the truck was black.” A long pause. The only sound was Stevens breathing through his nose.

  “What about dark blue or charcoal?” Lei asked, gesturing to the photos.

  “I don’t know,” Angela repeated. “I thought it was black.” She stood up, gossamer hair swinging back over her narrow shoulders. “I have to go. My friends are waiting for me.”

  Stevens put his hand on her arm, held her gaze.

  “It’s important that you try to remember. Anything, any details. You don’t know what might be important. This man may have killed your friends.” Angela looked down, fiddling with the gold-plated logo dangling from her purse.

  “I know. But he’s not here.”

  “Okay. I may see you again if I get anything else. Here’s my card,” Stevens said, slipping it into the side pocket of her purse. “Call me if anything else comes to mind.”

  She nodded and spun on kitten-heeled slippers to clip-clop out of the room. The door shut with a clang behind her. Stevens shuffled the pictures back into the folder and looked at Lei.

  “Well? What do you think?”

  “I believe her. She didn’t recognize him. I was so sure she would pick Reynolds out, and he does have dark hair. It’s too bad, would have made things easier. So, what is his supposedly airtight alibi?”

  “Nothing too exciting. He was out with his wife, having a ‘weekend away.’ Left Kelly on her own at the house to take care of the dog. Kelly’s mom confirms they went to a bed and breakfast for the night, and when they got back, the dog was still locked in the house and hadn’t been fed or let out. They were worried something had happened to Kelly and started calling all her friends and the police.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I can’t believe a mother would choose her new husband over her daughter and cover for foul play. I know it happens, but I can’t get my head around it. So yeah, I believe them.”

  “Believe it. It happens,” Lei said flatly. “Check it out.”

  “Jeremy’s following up on it.”

  They made their way back to the office, turned in the visitor badges. Stevens’s hand touched her lower back as they pushed through the glass door, and she felt the simple gesture zing up her spine. He squinted at her in the midmorning sun outside.

  “Well? Are we going car shopping?”

  “I thought you’d given up on that with all the drama that’s been going on. I know I did.”

  “I’m still game if you are.”

  “Sure, I guess.” She played it cool.

  “Follow me,” he said, with a sweeping gesture.

  Chapter 14

  Lei turned the key, smiling at the snarl of the engine turning over, the purr as it settled down. Her silver Toyota Tacoma had that new car smell and sound. That black truck can’t outrun me in this, she thought. Keiki sat majestically upright on the seat beside her. She’d bought the extended cab so that in case she had a passenger, she could put the dog behind them. There was plenty of room for the leash, water bottles, and beach and bookbags she’d packed. Since she’d already called in sick, she might as well try to relax, have a little fun.

  Lei pulled out and drove past Tom Watanabe’s house. His second car, a black Nissan Frontier, was in the driveway this time. She continued on through her meandering neighborhood, with its plantation-style homes, neat yards, and sagging electric lines. Most of Hilo was older, built in the style popular in Hawaii with extended roofs over porches to catch the trade winds. Hilo had a downtown area with big box stores and industrial buildings, but most of it was unpretentiously residential. The plethora of hapu`u fern trees lining driveways and exotic hibiscus, orchids and plumeria massed in gardens was what set Hilo apart—that, and the volcano looming in the distance.

  She took Stevens’ card out of her pocket and rubbed it absently as she drove, thinking about Tom Watanabe. As a water inspector he would be familiar with all of the waterways going in and out of Hilo, and with his job, his tramping around a stream or culvert would never be questioned. The black truck, while not the right make, struck her as an odd coincidence.

  She pulled out onto the highway that ran out of Hilo toward Punalu`u Beach Park. The shiny hood of the pickup caught the afternoon sun, dazzling her as she ran her hand around the ergonomically engineered steering wheel.

  Tropical jungle lined the highway: gigantic fern trees battled with royal palms, and majestic albezia trees hung with trailing vines soared over it all. The road was a wide, straight black ribbon furling to the caldera of Kilauea, the epicenter of the national park, and on through past Honuapo to Kona.

  Lei stomped down on the gas, and the engine roared back at her, leaping forward. She’d got a deal by buying the stick shift, and she whooped with glee as she put it in overdrive at ninety miles an hour. They whizzed by a few tourists and she smelled the hot stench of oil burning off the new engine and throttled it back to a sedate seventy-five.

  She thumbed open her cell in a celebratory double traffic violation.

  “Aunty!”

  “Ku`uipo, sweetheart! Whatchu stay doing?”

  “I’m blowing down the highway in my new truck,” Lei said. “A silver Toyota Tacoma four-wheel drive.”

  “Oh my God, girl! Whatchu doing spending that kind money?”

  “I have it, Aunty. I had plenty for the down payment, I got no credit cards and just the basic bills . . . I can afford it.”

  “Congratulations, then you deserve it. You work hard enough.”

  “Thank you, Aunty,” Lei replied. Well-being filled her as she whipped around another tourist, passing with ease. Keiki swayed, her eyes glued on the road ahead, the stump of her tail twitching with excitement. They chatted a while longer and Lei snapped her phone shut. It was good to hear Aunty Rosario’s voice, there for her whenever she needed her.

  Almost like a mother.

  She tried to shut out the flash of memory: her mother reading the note and screaming like she’d been
mortally wounded. She’d grabbed a wire hanger and beat Lei with it until her rage was spent, shoving the girl down the steps into the garage and slamming the door. This in itself was not unusual.

  What was different was that her mother never came to let her out.

  Two days passed in which nine-year-old Lei ate cat food, drank from the utility sink, and defecated in the kitty litter, staying warm by burrowing into the laundry pile. Eventually she got up the courage to break the little window over the sink and wriggle her way out.

  She’d found her mother Maylene Murakami Texeira slumped over the coffee table, the syringe beside her and tubing still around her arm. Her legs were askew from convulsions, her face blue, foam dried on her lips. Rigor had already gone, and when Lei shook her, she seemed to slither over onto her side.

  Lei still ached from the beating, she was faint with hunger, but worse than that, terror filled her at the thought of going to a foster home. She had already spent plenty of time in them. She ran to the kitchen and called the emergency number Aunty Rosario in California had given her.

  “Call 911, and tell them I am on my way.” Her aunt had taken the next flight out of San Francisco to get her.

  The best thing that ever happened to me was when Aunty took me to San Rafael to live, Lei thought. She pinched her arm to stop the memory and refocused herself on her current surroundings: another technique the therapist in California had taught her.

  She pulled into Punalu`u Beach Park and parked next to Mary’s red Mustang. It was good to be meeting a friend, clearing her head, going to the beach—another experience the girls would never have again. Guilt was becoming a familiar gnaw, and she found herself pinching her arm again—too hard this time.

  It didn’t help.

  Lei ran across the burning black sand and dove into the ocean. The cool water shocked the breath out of her, and she surged to the surface with a gasp. She dove again, opening her eyes. The lava pebbles covering the ocean floor made it look depthless as a black-bottomed pool and she kicked down and scooped up a handful, bobbing back up with a shake of her curls.

  Keiki swam toward her, big square head held high, paws churning. Lei tossed one of the pebbles.

  “Get it, girl!”

  The dog spun and splashed after the rock, ducking her head into the water and coming up snorting. Lei tossed another one further away. Keiki floundered after it.

  “That’s so mean!” Mary called from the beach. She sat forward in her beach chair, rubbing coconut oil onto her long brown legs. “It’s sick the way you torture that poor dog.”

  “Kinda like how you torture Roland?” Lei strode up out of the surf, adjusting her tank suit top, wishing she had a little more to fill it out. She tossed one last pebble and Keiki switched directions and splashed after it.

  “Roland loves it,” Mary said. “I never make him do anything he doesn’t want to do.” She rubbed the scented oil into her waist.

  “Same thing with Keiki,” Lei said. “She loves that stupid rock-chasing game.”

  “My only problem with Roland—he stay jealous. Always wanting to see what I’m doing.” Her cell phone chirped from the straw bag beside her. “See? He texting me, asking when I stay coming home.” She frowned, working the phone with her thumbs.

  Hawaiian guitar music tinkled from the little CD player parked on their blanket. Lei stretched out on the warm cloth with a sigh. She’d been single so long she wasn’t sure she’d want to give up her independence—it didn’t seem like a relationship was worth dealing with the demands.

  Both women jumped and squealed as Keiki shook water all over them. The big dog flopped onto the blanket next to Lei, panting, and Lei shoved her off. Maybe she was in a relationship after all.

  “You stink,” she said. “Go take a shower.”

  In response Keiki rolled in the black sand, grunting with pleasure as she worked the large grains into her coat.

  Mary and Lei hadn’t been out to scenic Punalu`u Beach for a long time. Lei decided to come more often, taking in the sun-jeweled ocean and rugged palm-dotted coastline. Only yards away, several huge green sea turtles slept in the sand, their flippers spread and necks outstretched to soak up warmth from the sun.

  Keiki finished with her roll and sprawled next to them. After a cursory sniff, she’d showed no interest in the turtles. Lei draped her arm across her eyes and dozed.

  “So anything new on that stalker note you got?” Mary’s voice woke her, and she sat up. She’d told Mary about the notes a few days ago at class.

  “Pass me the oil.”

  Mary handed it over and Lei squirted a dollop into her palm, slicked it onto her lean body and toned legs. She was too late to head off the freckles that dotted her like a sprinkle of nutmeg.

  “He came by last night, dropped another note under my door. I chased him but no joy.” She told her friend about the debacle in the neighborhood with Keiki.

  “Try solve your own problems and jus’ get in trouble,” Mary said. “I’m sorry. Like you don’t get enough stress a’ready without that stalker shit.”

  “It’s okay.” Lei tried to smile.

  “Pono won’t let you go down if he can help it. Me neither. Lot of folks will stick up for you at the station.”

  “I meet with the Lieutenant tomorrow morning. I’m pretty damn nervous. It’s like I’m cursed or something.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Shit happens to me. All my life. Something’s wrong with me that makes things happen.” The murmur of the surf and mellow slack key music failed to calm Lei’s racing heart. She felt something important almost breaking through the memory fog that plagued her. She rubbed her temples where a headache threatened.

  “What a load of crap. Shit happens to all of us. Listen, we better get going—Roland says we have plans tonight.” They packed up and walked out to the parking lot.

  “Oh my God, gorgeous!” Mary said, running her hand along the contoured wheel well of the new truck. The silver paint glowed opal. “Wish I could get one.”

  “You already have a nice ride,” Lei said, gesturing to Mary’s red Mustang, a former rental car bought for a song.

  “Yeah, but this sweetheart has muscle. I like a nice truck.” She put her hands on her hips. “Want to race ’em?”

  “You brat,” Lei said. “As if you didn’t know I was already in trouble.”

  Mary laughed. “Bet I beat you,” she said, jumping into the Mustang.

  At home, Lei bounced up the steps of her little house, sorting her mail. Keiki barked from the back yard, eager to come in for dinner. She unlocked the door, deactivated the alarm, and noticed the envelope on the floor. Her pulse jumped. The stalker had pushed it under the door this time.

  She went into the kitchen and got a fresh pair of gloves from under the sink, snapping them on as she returned. She picked the envelope up by the corner and took it to the cutting board, slitting the top with a knife to preserve any evidence trapped under the flap. She eased the trebly-folded note out and flipped it open.

  A long hank of glossy black hair obscured the words on the page. Lei’s vision swam and she clutched the counter, taking a couple of deep breaths. She looked back down and eased the hair out of the way with the point of the knife.

  I’M GOING TO ENJOY YOU A LOT MORE.

  Lei felt bile rise in her throat, hot and stinging. She gulped it back, took a few relaxation breaths.

  He wasn’t going to get to her in her own home. Her eyes fell on one of her orange notes tacked over the sink: Courage is simply the willingness to be afraid and act anyway- Robert Anthony.

  I’ll act anyway. She went to the dog door and unlocked it. Keiki streaked in and did a circuit of the house as she fished the cell phone out of her pocket.

  “Pono,” she said when he answered. “He’s escalating. He might have a victim.”

  “What? Whatchu talking about?”

  “There was another note,” she said. “A big piece of black hair inside. No woman I know would
let someone cut off a chunk of hair like this.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  She shut the phone and went back to the front door, putting the chain and deadbolt back on. Pono arrived shortly. He’d brought Jeremy Ito and Stevens with him. Lei introduced Jeremy to Keiki and led them back into the kitchen. Pono took a good look at her in the light, tipping her chin to look at her pale face.

  “You need food, girl,” he said, and went to her fridge, poking about inside. He held up a withered lemon and a bottle of ketchup. “Nothing in here.”

  Stevens examined the hair and the envelope at the kitchen table, putting on gloves Lei handed him. Jeremy looked on, his hands behind his back as though to keep them out of trouble, his lean young face intent. The kitchen light caught on their two bent heads, the rumpled dark of Stevens beside Jeremy’s black.

  “There’s no evidence anyone has been hurt,” Stevens said. “The hairs look like they were snipped off. It could be a clipping off the floor of a barbershop.” He slipped everything into an evidence bag.

  “I guess so,” Lei said, unconvinced. “It’s sure threatening though.” She sat down in one of the chairs. “Anyone want something to drink? I have beer.”

  “Miller Lite,” Pono scoffed.

  “Still on the clock.” Jeremy smiled, shaking his head. Pono flipped open his phone and speed-dialed the local Pizza Hut, ordering a large pepperoni with extra cheese.

  “We were heading back to the station so we’ll take this in,” Stevens said. “Pono, you going to stay a while?”

  “Got my pizza coming. You can come back by later.”

  “What the hell is this?” Lei said, mustering up some indignation. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

  “What’s new on the Mohuli`i girls?” Pono asked, ignoring her.

  “Still got some leads to check out off the cell phones,” Stevens said. “Lei, maybe you and Jeremy can run some of them down tomorrow. I have to do a conference call with the Oahu lab people analyzing what we sent over from the trash at the crime scene. I want to talk to all Haunani’s contacts again, see if any of them remembered anything more about this mystery man of hers.”