While Izzy cleared up our tea things, Joanne and I escorted Juliette through the rooms of Miriam’s cottage.
“Would you like some of the albums Miriam filled through the years?” I asked, as we passed the living room.
Juliette’s response was simple and summed up her visit in general. “I think not. They wouldn’t, um, mean much to my family.”
Most of her other comments fell into categories of, rather old-fashioned, more suited to Hawai`i`, and doesn’t harmonize with my style. After expressing her clear disdain for books, she asked pointed questions about Miriam’s lack of “good” jewelry and furs. In a mere hour, she had departed with a single suitcase that I was sure would be on its way to the Goodwill soon after her arrival home. Juliette’s foraging through the decades of her cousin’s life had yielded little: two framed pictures with signatures of political heavyweights; a hand-tatted lace table cloth with matching linen napkins; one Italian inlaid burl wood tray; a small leather jewelry box with a few vintage pieces of costume jewelry; and one Chanel handbag.
She was gone and we were glad of it. Without a word, the three of us turned from the front door and walked in a straight line to the living room, where we spread out to enjoy Miriam’s well-used and comfortable furniture.
“I don’t think she was pleased with the reading of the will,” said Izzy.
“That’s putting it mildly. I think that if Curtis Leighton had seemed like a light-weight attorney and UNICEF wasn’t named as the primary beneficiary, that woman would be contesting the trust and everything in Miriam’s will,” mused Joanne.
“I don’t think she even cares whether there’s a memorial,” lamented Izzy.
”She might not have said much, but I know you’re right about her disapproving of Miriam’s legal arrangements,” I said in accord with both of them.
“If she’d managed to get her hands on the estate, you know there wouldn’t have been anything left for the causes Miriam cared about,” summarized Joanne.
“I agree,” I declared firmly. “And despite her self-control, I saw a seething anger behind that mask of cool politeness. If she’d been given free reign, you would have seen an even colder person. As author C.C. Benison might have said, we would have found that Henri’s cousin is an ‘unrepentant bossy boots’ when put in charge of anything. I can’t imagine what it’s like to live with her.”
“We should be glad she’s disinterested in both Miriam and Hawai`i. I’m sure we’ll never have to see her again,” said Joanne firmly.
“Heaven forbid. No wonder Miriam never spoke of her. So, since none of us had much to eat with our tea, let’s raid the refrigerator,” proposed Izzy.
I never argue with the offer of good food. And good food is all that ever emerges from the kitchen that is now Izzy’s for life.
“I’ve been doing a little harvesting in the garden, so let’s make a large salad,” suggested Joanne.
I had a feeling that all of our emotions were as worn out as Joanne’s hands must be from the continual weeding of her beautiful rows of produce.
“And there’s leftover `opihi sautéed in butter and garlic from yesterday’s lunch,” said Izzy.
“It sounds delicious, as are all of your offerings. I must say I’m feeling rather spoiled with all the food I’ve been receiving from you and Nathan. Today’s luncheon menu is making me feel guilty. I really should do something special for Keoni tonight!”
“I may have a solution for that. You know that even with nutrients added, our sandy soil isn’t great for growing fruit. But my strawberry baskets are doing just fine, so we’ll have a couple to top off our lunch and you and Keoni can have some for your dessert tonight.”
“Oh, thank you, Joanne. Keoni’s been experimenting with making ice cream. The berries should go perfectly with his latest creation, a variation of the Horatio’s burnt cream recipe from Kincaid’s Restaurant. If he’s got the proportions right, we’ll have some for you to sample tomorrow.”
“Now that’s a treat I can look forward to,” said Izzy with anticipation.
Within the warmth of our growing friendships, the unpleasantries of the morning had evaporated. It was time to approach the issue of planning Miriam’s memorial.
“I’m disappointed Juliette has no interest in joining in your plans to honor her cousin,” I said, sighing. “But at least she won’t be here to interfere in whatever you wish to do.”
“You’re right about that, Natalie,” said Joanne, joining me in an honest appraisal of the situation. “Looking at everything you’ve been through recently, where do you think we should begin?”
Since our last conversation, I had been thinking about the complexities of a life celebration for a world renowned person. “Why don’t we take a page from my mother’s playbook and write out a list or two,” I suggested.
“Excellent. That’s right up my alley,” said Joanne getting up to get a yellow legal pad from a nearby drawer.
I paused to try and organize my thoughts. “It’s usually the family of the deceased that makes the arrangements.”
“You’re right,” said Izzy. “Whenever I pass, even though the people in my family belong to several churches, they know I want my service held at Kawaiaha`o Church, and, of course, to be buried beside my darling Freddy. I’ve even written out a list of the hymns, songs, and Bible passages I’d like included in my service.”
“You’re the dream parishioner of every minister who performs funeral services,” I responded with a laugh.
“And then there are people like me. I have no plans beyond my purchase of a cremation policy. Whenever I pass, I’m glad to know I won’t be responsible for any pollution. I don’t really care about anything else. Have a party for me if you’d like Izzy, but that’s all. I’m just a ‘dust to dust’ kind of girl. I have no expectations of an afterlife, but I don’t want to leave the planet worse than I found it.”
At this point, both women turned to me.
“Given what everyone has done to the earth in the last two hundred years, I think you’re expecting too much,” I countered. “As to my own beliefs and desires, I guess I’m somewhere between the two of you. My parents raised Nathan and me with Jewish and Christian principles, although I don’t have a particular church and haven’t gotten around to thinking about a memorial service.
“Regarding Miriam, I’m happy to offer a few suggestions, but I don’t want to interfere with anything you may have planned to do.”
“You’re not interfering with anything,” assured Joanne. “We’ve been too upset to do any serious planning—especially since we thought Juliette would be giving us some input. But like you said, we should be thankful for her non-participation, if she’s not going to make a positive contribution.”
Continuing on, I said, “Well, unless someone else materializes soon, the issue of family is moot. As to Miriam’s friends, it’s not like she belonged to a synagogue or large organizations, so I think you can feel comfortable about making all the decisions.”
They nodded in unison.
“One thing you may need to research is Jewish customs,” I said.
Busily writing, Joanne replied, “That’s true. We need to learn how those customs are applied to couples of mixed background, since we should refer to Henri in some way.”
“I know that as a child she was raised in Judaism. Then, as a young adult she drifted away from religion. I saw a menorah in the dining room,” I observed. “Did she light the candles for Chanukah, or observe any of the high holidays?”
“Not as long as I’ve lived here,” answered Joanne.
Izzy looked into the distance for a moment. “I remember her lighting the menorah for Chanukah the first couple of years I was here. Maybe that’s because there was a Jewish family living next door that they enjoyed having dinners and outings with. The first year they all spent Chanukah together, and everyone gave pr
esents to the couple’s little girl after lighting the candles and saying prayers. I can still picture the little keiki smiling when she opened the box of child-sized gardening tools Miriam gave her.”
Returning to the topic at hand, Izzy asked, “Once we’ve decided on the details of a ceremony, who should we invite?”
I thought about her question for a moment. “How about looking in her address book? If John Dias has hasn’t released it yet, I’m pretty sure he can give you a copy so you can notify her friends and colleagues about her passing and invite them to whatever celebration you plan. Next, what about social media? Did Miriam have any listings on popular networks?”
“Oh, no. In spite of all the people Miriam knew around the world, the Internet didn’t interest her,” said Joanne shaking her head. “When I was setting up a couple of pages for myself, I talked to her about it. She said Everyone who needs to find me, already knows how to. You know, even the landline is an unlisted number because she didn’t want to be bothered by solicitors. She certainly didn’t make it easy for someone to breeze into town and try to look her up.”
Izzy’s eyes lit up. “Once a month, she called someone at the U.N. to see if there were any letters, packages, or calls for her. “I don’t think I mentioned that to John Dias. It’s been about a month since her last call and I should notify him about that.”
“Good idea. She probably called the same number each time, and if it was at the U.N., it’s most likely got a New York area code. John can check that by looking through her long-distance records,” I suggested.
“And what should we do about the people who knew Miriam, but aren’t able to come to Hawai`i?” asked Izzy.
“Hmm. That is a serious issue. Maybe instead of merely placing a single obituary in the Honolulu Star-Advertiser, you should place several in European newspapers…with details of the work she and Henri did,” I suggested.
“Excellent,” responded Joanne. “You’ve mentioned social media, Natalie. Maybe we should set up a website where we can display Miriam’s obituary and some pictures documenting her life’s work.
“And we could take pictures of her life in Hawai`i…of Mokulua Hale and the garden and even the beach,” suggested Izzy eagerly.
Joanne nodded. “You’ve been looking at her journals, Natalie, is there anything you think we could put on display or some of her words that we could quote?”
“Oh, yes. You know Miriam inserted copies of newspaper accounts of her speaking engagements. You could make digital versions of them with some of her comments as captions under the pictures. Even though John Dias doesn’t need Nathan or me to do any further work on them, I’d like to finish going through the rest of the journals.”
Looking at the clock on the mantle, I said, “There’s still time for me to get to a few today. And, if it’s all right with you, I’ll come back and finish tomorrow. Also, I’ll ask Nathan if he’s found anything we can use for memory boards at the memorial, or to digitalize for the website. With Miriam’s focus on Stockholm and Post Traumatic Syndromes, and the universal rights for women and children, it would be a poignant memorial to her life—and perhaps provide a wake-up call to people in pivotal positions across the globe.”
“That would be wonderful,” said Izzy with a wide smile on her face.
“What’s next? I know planning food and beverages for the guests won’t be a problem with Izzy in the kitchen. I guess the last major issue is Miriam’s ashes. I think one of you told me Miriam wanted hers put next to Henri’s, but you never mentioned where that will be.”
Joanne sighed. “That’s something we’re up in the air about. The urn with Henri’s ashes is up in Miriam’s closet. I don’t whether they can be put in a Jewish cemetery. If not, I guess we could scatter both of their ashes at sea.”
She paused to look down at her notes. After glancing at Izzy, she concluded, “Oh, Natalie, thank you so much for helping us get organized. There’s a lot to do, and this list puts it all in perspective.”
The three of us smiled through our sorrow and I went upstairs to continue looking into the inner life of Miriam Didión. After a final session on Saturday morning, I emerged from Miriam’s bedroom with a notebook half filled with quotes and a stack of photos for Joanne and Izzy to go through. Despite the purpose of my work, I felt invigorated—and all the more grateful for the stage of life I had reached. I only hoped that at the end of my days, I could say I had had a meaningful life.
CHAPTER 18
Through every rift of discovery some seeming anomaly
drops out of the darkness, and falls, as a golden link,
into the great chain of order
E.H. Chapin [1814 - 1880]
This proved to be a day for finalizing several projects related to Miriam and her Ladies. Keoni had cleared his calendar to be available for the arrival of the custom security screens he had ordered for Mokulua Hale. As usual with contractors and deliveries, there was no telling when the product would actually arrive. When I came home at noon, Keoni was happily playing with some of the new electronic toys he had obtained for Hewitt Investigations. After kissing him, I zoomed into the kitchen to prepare tuna wraps with some of the produce Joanne had given me. As the can of fish popped open, Miss Una arrived to announce she wished to join us for lunch.
After we ate, I was torn between doing something meaningful—like unpacking the last couple of boxes from the move—or just lazing around and reading for a while. Even the second option seemed too much like work, since I would be choosing between a book on Shànghăi during World War II and a recent release from a world class chef.
The dilemma of time management was solved for me when Keoni emerged from the office with his cell phone ready for transfer to my hands.
“It’s JD. He’d like to schedule a meeting this afternoon. He’s got Miriam’s initial autopsy report and the CSI overview.”
I took the phone. “Hi, John. Sure, today’s fine, but you know I don’t do well with the technical, and um, more gruesome side of your job.”
After assuring me he simply wanted me to skim through some written text, we agreed to meet in an hour. I knew that the main purpose of his visit was to consult with Keoni, who would be reviewing everything in depth.
“What about your delivery, Keoni?” I asked.
“As long as one of us can sign for it, we’re copasetic. It’s too late to begin the project today. The most I would do is compare the delivered items with my plans, and maybe verify that I have the supplies I need for the installation.”
“Well, let’s have our meeting with John here in the kitchen. I don’t want The Ladies to see us on the lānai and realize what we’re looking at. That would definitely be uncool.”
In a short while, I had laid out a tray with refreshments on the counter. In addition to the end of last week’s bagel order, I was ready to offer John a glass of our most recent batch of sun tea, this time with a kiss of orange and clove.
With time to spare, I joined my partner in the living room. He was sitting on the recliner, scrolling through some apps on his new tablet. Above him sat Miss Una, who was peering over his shoulder clearly entertained by the bright colors and moving objects.
Lying down on the sofa facing him, I said, “I see you’re well supervised in your endeavors to conquer this century’s technology.” He laughed, and I considered broaching a topic that had been on my mind for some time. “Keoni, I’ve been meaning to ask you something ever since Ariel was murdered.”
Knowing I was launching into a serious topic, Keoni closed his tablet and looked at me.
“I don’t mean to cross into areas I shouldn’t. I was just wondering how things are with John. I mean, he sometimes discusses his cases with you and I wondered how that works. How it compares to when you were actually partners at HPD?”
“Well, that’s a sensitive issue. You know I’m no longer a team player. I’ve got
no official standing. I have to be careful about a lot of boundaries. JD tells me what he chooses to. If he wants something specific, I try to accommodate his needs—without crossing the line. That means I have to be vigilant about what I say, and where I say it.”
“I was just wondering if you, mm, discussed me with him at the beginning of Ariel’s case?”
At that point, he got up and crossed the room and set his tablet on the coffee table. After gently lifting my legs, he sat down on the sofa next to me. He rubbed my feet for a couple of moments before responding, “Well, honey, you and I weren’t involved at that point—beyond our friendship of several years. When he asked me about you, I verified that you were trustworthy and a straight shooter. Beyond that, he already knew your brother from a couple of cases he’d helped out with previously.”
“What about my, ah, dreams? Did that come up in conversation?”
“Not until you spilled the beans yourself, that day at the ME’s Office. I’ll admit that with your confession of living at the site of your grandniece’s death and having visions, JD did call me for some clarification. But he’s got an open mind. I’ve never known him to laugh at anything that will move a case forward. I think I’ve told you that he and I worked with a couple of psychics whose gifts proved helpful in more than one case.”
He paused and reached for my hand. “Satisfied? You’re sure? It sounds like you’ve been holding on to your questions for quite a while.”
“I guess so. But you know I’m not a psychic. My concern is that I don’t want to get in the middle of your relationship with John, working or personal.”
“Hey, you should know him by now. He’s easy going…at least until something really gets under his skin. Then, look out. You do not want to be on the receiving end when he’s angry.”
When John arrived, we moved into the kitchen. After each of us had a glass of tea in hand, we settled in with pen and paper at the ready, for a long session of brain storming. Keoni and I sat across from each other. John stood with his back to the sink, explaining how we would approach the task at hand.
Murder on Mokulua Drive Page 22
