Blue delivered the drinks, saw Vincent staring at her.
“I’m from Saipan.” She pushed a wayward strand of black hair from her face. “Just got back. Vincent, did you say? My name’s Amelia.”
Vincent choked on his rum. “Amelia? You’re kidding!”
“You don’t like my name?” She stirred her drink. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Amelia—can’t believe this. Do you know about this bar?”
“Know about it?” she said. “I can give you the history. Original owner was an aviation nut—collected all sorts of stuff on early fliers. Amelia Earhart even came here once. My dad’s the world expert on AE. I’m named after her.”
Vincent downed all his rum. “I knew AE, thirty years ago. I worked for Lockheed.”“
She leaned toward him, intense, eyes alive. “Did you know my dad, Stan Adams?”
“Stan is your old man? We worked together in Burbank. He was our chief mechanic. We were buddies, used to really hang some on. How is old Stan?”
She went blank. Her eyes moist, her face stunned.
Vincent backed away.
“My father’s dead.” The tears came now.
“Not Stan—I’m really sorry, Amelia. What happened?”
“They say it was an accident.”
“What do you mean ‘they say’?”
She focused on Vincent’s eyes. “I think he was murdered.”
CHAPTER TWO
“Murdered!” Vincent almost fell off his stool. “Why would someone want to kill Stan?”
“That’s what I’m going to find out.” Amelia lifted the corner of the bandana and wiped her eyes. “They found him in a cane field two weeks ago. Said he was crushed by a cane truck.” She shook her head. “Like I believe that.”
“Hold it, why don’t you believe it? Did you see the police report or the autopsy?”
“Stop, you sound like a detective.” Amelia sat up straight. “Are you?”
The question caught him by surprise. He fumbled with his glass, swished the ice around and took a big gulp. She was direct. He gave her that. What was she up to? “No, I’m not a detective. Just looking for a motive.”
“So am I.” She watched him closely.
Vincent eased backward. He locked eyes with her. Better sound her out, not upset her more. She did have some kind of eyes, though. He wanted to touch her. “What was Stan doing in a sugar cane field?”
Amelia twisted on her stool. “I don’t know. Mother told me he went fishing with his old friend, Antonio, that morning, up past the Grotto on the other side of the island. They would’ve come back the coast road, not through the cane fields.”
“What happened to Antonio?”
“He told the police Dad dropped him off at home and left.”
Vincent scratched his beard. “So, Antonio wasn’t with Stan when he died.”
“Far as I know.” Amelia leaned backward.
“Then why did Stan drive into the cane fields? Unless he didn’t.”
“You mean he could’ve been killed somewhere else?”
“Why not? If it was an accident Antonio should’ve been with him—but he wasn’t, you say.”
Amelia arched her back. “What do you mean I say—the police said.”
Vincent eased back. She sure flared up fast. Natural enough, he guessed. After all, Stan was her dad, so she said. “This Antonio, do you know him very well?”
“Seemed like he was always around. He and Dad were always going off together.”
“He could be the key.”
Amelia turned her eyes from him. “I don’t know. Mother was so upset when I arrived all I thought about was taking care of her. When she wouldn’t let me see Dad, I knew something was terribly wrong.”
He saw the agony on her face. “Those cane trucks really barrel down the roads, but I don't think it was an accident.”
“Harry said it couldn’t have been an accident.” She lifted her eyes to him.
“Harry—you mentioned him before.”
“Harry Sakura, a good friend. He picked me up at the airport after Mother’s call and made things easier for us.”
“And he thought there was foul play.” He focused on her eyes looking for any telltale clue.
She saw his looks change. “What’s the matter?”
“Huh, oh, nothing.” Hmmm—Sakura—Sakurakai—secret society.
Amelia shrugged and stretched her arms. Her dress tightened across her breasts. She watched his eyes.
He followed the bulge her small breasts made when she breathed in and out. His eyes got big, traced her body down to her legs, then slowly lifted his head to her eyes and saw she watched him. “Eh, err... sorry.” His face flushed.
Amelia put her arms down and shifted on the stool. “You must realize Dad meant . . .” She stopped and stared at the bar countertop like the dark wood had swallowed her memories.
Vincent gazed into the mirror. “Stan had a certain quality. AE saw it, too. They’d sit and talk for hours. He was taken by her freshness first time he saw her in her flying jacket.”
“You mean Dad fell for her.”
“We were all in love with her. She was fascinating.”
“Sometimes, just by chance, you meet someone you really like.”
Vincent tilted his head. “Did we meet just by chance?”
“I hang out here. Blue’s my friend. You say you knew my dad, but I don’t know much about you.”
“Only that somebody told you I’d be at this bar.”
She turned away. “Don’t know what you mean.”
“Sure . . .” He leaned toward her. “Just can’t get over you being Stan’s kid.”
“I’m not exactly a kid. I’m twenty-eight.”
Vincent eased back on his stool. Those eyes. Her soft pink lips. Such beauty. He wanted to see her again. But, what did she want with him? Might not be so easy leaving her when the time came.
“You’re staring,” Amelia said.
He shifted his eyes. “Tell me more about your dad. It’s hard to realize he’s really gone.”
“He is.” Her eyes glistened again. “Until I was older I didn’t understand why he named me Amelia. He met Mother on Guam when he was in the Marines, before the war. She’s Saipanese. He told her how he worked with Amelia Earhart, about rumors she was captured by the Japanese and brought to Saipan. He wanted to find out what really happened and Mother helped him. He questioned the locals for years and jotted down notes.”
Vincent leaned toward her. “Where are his pape—”
A loud report throttled his question. Screams blasted across the barroom. Patrons scattered from the front of the bar, kicked over chairs, and ducked for cover.
Vincent whirled off his stool, shielded Amelia with his back to hers. “Stay put!”
A man sprawled across a table. Blood dripped from his head to the floor and spattered on a fallen handgun.
Jamming an automatic pistol into his belt, a short man in a dark stocking cap rushed Vincent. Sirens blared outside. The man stopped. “Watch it, Electra, they're after you!”
Vincent saw his young face just before he turned and ran out a side door. Looked like Toshio—but too young. Damn! Five years gone by already since he’d seen his old partner.
The police pushed through the front doors with their weapons drawn. The big man was Oriental. The cops checked out the crowd, taped off the area.
Vincent turned. Amelia and Blue—gone. He ducked around the bar, slipped out the back door into a narrow alley, and peered through the driving rain. The alley was vacant.
CHAPTER THREE
Sweat dripped off Vincent’s face. He turned over in his bunk, felt the boat bump against a piling. Eyes closed, he squeezed his damp pillow with both arms. That body— Toshio’s face... Shit, all starting again.
Vincent opened his eyes to hushed darkness just before dawn. Scrambling into his shorts as the boat rocked beneath him, he ran up the companionway and peered out the hatch.
No one. Watching the stern, he inched aft in the cockpit, stumbled, and grabbed a lifeline. “What the . . .”
On the sole, by the wheel, lay a small package wrapped in brown butcher paper, tied with a cord. Vincent picked it up, held the packet to his ear before walking down the steps to the galley. He cut the twine with a knife, shook the parcel. Opening it, he saw a piece of paper and a roll of 16mm movie film. He unfolded the paper.
Electra—ran across this home movie—ducks in new nest on big pond—fascinating stuff—old friend still active.
“Toshio, that old dog. No, couldn’t have been him last night.” Vincent stared at the note, rolled the metal reel in his hands. “Same old code.”
He finished dressing, stuffed the reel into a paper bag, and jumped off his boat. Sunshine shot over the horizon of masts and flooded the decks of the moored crafts. Vincent glanced at the cutter that followed him into port. A glint of light flashed from a cabin porthole. Whoever it was must work for Toshio. Need a projector for the film. Amelia might help—good excuse to see her again. He turned, hurried along the wharf to a phone booth.
Thumbing through the large telephone book, he found no Amelia Adams, then dialed information. “Nothing? Thank you.” He hung up. “She’s gotta live here someplace.” He turned more pages, found a number and dialed. “I’m trying to reach someone at the University.” He paused. “Amelia Adams.” Another pause. “Are you sure?” Vincent put the receiver on its hook, stood beside the booth, and stared at the harbor. Blue would know. He walked away.
Jungle Wings was closed but Vincent peered through a window, saw Blue cleaning. He rapped on the glass, waved Blue toward the front doors.
“What brings you out this early, mate?” Blue asked.
“Sorry, got a little problem.”
“Come in. Anything about last night?”
“Not exactly.” Vincent gazed at a replica of a red 1932 Lockheed Vega hanging from the ceiling. “She’s as mysterious as you were, AE.”
“There you go,” Blue said, “talking about that flier again.”
“I need to find Amelia.”
“Why do you want her?”
“Thought maybe she’d help me.”
Blue eyed him. “Noticed you didn’t want any part of the police last night.”
“She didn’t either. You sure got her out fast. Look, ever since I met her, ghosts from my past keep cropping up.”
“A good reason to keep her away from you, mate.”
“I’m the one who should beware,” Vincent said. “How do I know she’s really Stan’s daughter?”
“She’s his daughter all right.” Blue walked behind the bar.
“You’d tell me anything.”
Blue put down his towel, leaned over the counter. “What is it you want, mate?”
“Some truth. What’s she doing here?”
“You better check out that Harry guy.”
“How involved with him is she?”
“Since childhood on Saipan.” Blue pulled wet glasses out of the sink, stacked them under the bar.
“So, what are they up to?”
“Amelia’s not up to anything. She’s grieving for her dad.”
“I appreciate your loyalty,” Vincent said, “but you don’t understand. Stan and I were hunting for the same things. I found something this morning that I think she’d be interested in.”
“She’s like me own, mate. If she’s ever harmed, you’ll answer to me.”
“You don’t have to worry about me.”
Vincent walked upstairs to the second floor of the Breakfast Creek Hotel, searched the empty hall that smelled of fresh paint. He raised his fist to knock on flat number 22’s door when he heard Amelia’s voice through the open transom.
“He was at Jungle Wings. You were right. I’ll find out more.”
Vincent listened but did not hear any more conversation. An old lady emerged from a door up the hall. He knocked as she passed behind him.
“Who is it?” Amelia said from inside.
“Vincent.”
“How did you find me?”
“The University doesn’t list you, that’s for sure.”
“Must be some mistake.”
“I’ve got something that may interest you.”
The door opened a crack. Amelia saw the bag in his hand.
He smiled. “May I come in?”
“What do you have?” She gave the hall a sweeping look.
“Let me in and I’ll show you.” He glanced past her into the front room.
She opened the door a little wider and slipped out. “Well, what’s so important this early in the morning?”
“This.” He pulled the reel of film from the sack.
“What is it?”
His voice lowered. “A movie—someone left it on my boat.”
“Does it have anything to do with my dad?”
“We won’t know until we see it. Can you get us a projection room at the University?”
She gazed at him a moment. “Let me make a call. Be right back.” Amelia eased into her flat, shut the door behind her.
Vincent heard the transom slam. Something strange going on here.
A few minutes later, Amelia opened the door again. “It’s all set with a friend—aud room 5.”
“Good.” She’d changed clothes. He liked the way her dress fit her curves. “Nice dress.”
“Just a little sundress, trying to keep cool.” She started down the stairs.
“Yes, very nice indeed. You looked pretty cool last night, too.”
“You mean the killing. Blue got me out quick.”
“Thought maybe you were used to dead bodies.”
“Only killers get used to dead bodies.” She stopped, locked eyes with him. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
“Maybe we should tell each other.” He took her arm, ushered her out the hotel. A rush of mingling warmth shot through his body.
She glanced at him.
Must’ve noticed his grip tighten. Her eyes, so intriguing.
In a small windowless room on campus, Amelia threaded the film through a movie projector and turned off the lights. 4-3-2-1-END flashed on the screen then a black and white picture took shape. A choppy sea, crested with whitecaps, filled the screen. Sand and palm trees came into view then gave way to a small harbor filled with half-sunken ships.
“Hold it,” Vincent said. “Stop there.”
Amelia hit the stop-motion button but the film advanced. She fumbled with the reel and reversed the filmstrip.
“Right there.” He rushed to the screen, ran his hands over it. “The picture’s fuzzy.”
She turned a knob at the projector’s base.
“Great, now enlarge... here it comes... a sub base.” He gawked at the images. “From World War II.”
“Where is it?”
“Don’t know for sure. So many dark shadows. I’d like to know how he got this.”
She shifted her eyes from the picture to him. “Who?”
“An old friend. He snooped around Lockheed before the war. Never knew he had this.”
“Did my father know him?”
Vincent sat at a table near the screen, thumped his fingers on the top. “I’m not sure.”
Amelia rolled the movie again. Air bases, gun installations, and warships shot across the screen. She straightened up.
“Japan’s Mandated Islands,” he said. “They were fortified in the thirties. I’ve seen others like these.”
She stared at the screen, taken by the closeness of the shots. “Who took these?”
“Someone with sophisticated cameras.”
“A spy film, some thirty years ago? I don’t get it.”
“Neither do I. We knew they were arming those islands but couldn’t prove it.” He scratched his beard. “Why now? I should’ve seen this after AE disappeared and Washington should’ve had this film before Pearl Harbor.”
“Looks like somebody held out on you.”
&nbs
p; Vincent turned to her. “He wouldn’t do that. Something else is involved here.” He focused on her eyes.
“What something?” She stiffened. “You mean now? Are you mixed up with spies?”
His expression turned cold. “You show up—this film just happens to appear on my boat. Maybe it’s not a coincidence.”
“Look!” She flared at him. “My dad’s just been murdered. I don’t like your insinuations.”
That sure triggered her. “Easy, I was only—”
“What was that?” She turned toward the door at the top of the darkened auditorium.
He followed her gaze. “I didn’t hear anything.”
“Someone opened a door.”
“Maybe a janitor peeked in.”
The movie screen turned blank, a glaring white. Amelia fumbled for the stop button. “I think we should leave.”
“Nobody cares if we’re in here, do they?” Vincent backed to the light switch by the side door and flipped on the lights.
She looked at both doors. “I don’t like this.”
“Bring the film. Let’s go.” He opened the side door.
Walking down a dimly lit hallway, Vincent curved an arm around Amelia. He tightened his hold when he felt her shiver.
“I’m fine, just a little edgy.” She grazed her hand over his.
He loosened his grip. “Maybe it was AE’s ghost who looked in on us.”
“You think she took those pictures?”
He removed his arm from around her waist. “Could be. She had the equipment.”
“How do you know? Were you in on her mission?”
He did not answer.
“Did you hear me?” She turned her head.
“Let’s continue this later, say lunch tomorrow.”
Amelia moved ahead of him. “I don’t think so.”
They walked down the building’s steps into the hot afternoon.
Marvin Yamaguchi, on board his cutter, sat at the short wave radio. “Honda calling Toshio—come in Toshio.”
“Toshio here, over.”
“Drop completed. He met a girl—she looks like a plant, over.”
“Where’d she come from? Over.”
“Saipan—knows her way around, over.”
Amelia Page 4
