Prospect for Murder (Natalie Seachrist Hawaiian Cozy Mystery 1)

by Burrows-Johnson, Jeanne; June, Yasamine;

  “Yes, I’m still in the Waikīkī condo. Good point about the elevator, I’ll touch base with my manager tomorrow.”

  “Gee, with Ariel’s death, this must be a really awkward time for you to be moving.”

  I debated about how much I wanted to tell Keoni. I knew that as a retired policeman, it was unlikely he would appreciate my plans for playing detective. However, regardless of whether I disclosed my overall intentions, it would be difficult to hide where I was going.

  “Mmm, to tell the truth, the condo upstairs had a fire last month, and it’s going to be awhile before the place is fully restored. So I’m thinking it might be best to move out for the duration of the renovations. Since I’m going to be volunteering at a learning and literacy center for teens and young adults on Wilder Avenue, I’ve decided to rent an apartment in the building where Ariel was thinking of living.”

  “What? Are you serious? You’re going to move into the place where your grandniece just died?”

  “It may sound odd, but its location is convenient for everything I’m doing this summer. Nathan and I actually lived in the area when we were little kids. You see, our dad was in the Navy and we moved around a bit. Our Auntie Carrie had an apartment on Wilder Avenue, so when he was stationed in Japan a couple of times, our Mom packed our suitcases and we came to enjoy a bit of sun and surf.”

  “Uh, whatever you say. I’m happy to help, but I don’t understand why you’d want to be anywhere near that place.”

  I kept the rest of our conversation to a minimum, saying I would call him when the details were finalized. Now all I had to do was start packing the household items I might need for the next several weeks.

  CHAPTER 4

  Before beginning, plan carefully.

  Marcus Tulius Cicero [106 BCE-43 BCE]

  Somehow my choice to walk in Ariel’s footsteps felt right. I did not know what I might learn, but it would certainly be more than if I did nothing at all. At the least, I should be able to place what the authorities told Nathan and me within a broad context. It could not bring Ariel back to us, but perhaps those of us left behind would find a modicum of peace in knowing how her death had occurred.

  To pursue my grand scheme, I needed to be ready to move on a moment’s notification. My method of beginning every project with a clean home and concise to-do list has proven to be my personal and professional recipe for success. Having prepped my home for the launch of Keoni’s job, I was already ahead in my preparations for my temporary relocation. Tonight, there was little I needed to do in the housework department, so I drifted from room to room, considering the few things I would move to the apartment in Makiki.

  As I conducted this mundane chore, my thoughts floated freely…my creative mind suggesting situations in which Ariel died at the hands of evildoers who used the innocuous appearing apartments as headquarters for nefarious enterprises. Perhaps they were white slavers who had met their match in an unwilling Ariel Harriman. Or, while the apartment complex seemed a playhouse for innocents, she might have interrupted a transaction by manufacturers of a new blend of potent narcotics. Worst of all, maybe she interacted with international terrorists planning a deadly attack on the port of Honolulu. Such scenarios might sound like crackpot thinking, but since 9/11, any of them could be at the root of an unexplained death. I was certainly glad I was not part of a law enforcement agency in our new world of global disorder.

  My decision to move into the apartment was not motivated by any doubt about the Honolulu Police Department’s ability to investigate the death of a young college co-ed. In fact, my confidence in them was reinforced when I realized Detective John Dias, the lead investigator on Ariel’s case, had been Keoni’s last partner in HPD’s Criminal Investigation Division.

  Remembering comments Keoni had made at his retirement party, I knew Dias was one of the best trained first responders in today’s age of cops and robbers. Between the skills of such detectives and the new thirteen-million-dollar crime lab, the Honolulu Police Department has an excellent record for crime solving. The fact that Dias was assigned to Ariel’s case, showed the Department was taking her unattended death seriously. Also, with Keoni’s reference to the ME’s Office, I knew he still had access to official information that might prove useful.

  Gruesome as it was, I pictured the police examining the scene of the death…and their launch of an investigation of Ariel’s life and her few family members. That made me glad I had known Keoni for several years. For although we were not deeply involved in each other’s lives, I knew he would attest to my credibility. More importantly, he would be able to vouch for Nathan in a professional capacity, since my brother had helped him on a couple of cases. In fact there should be several officials who could confirm Ariel’s grandfather was a straight-arrow man and unlikely person of interest.

  When you ruled out our family, the pool of characters at the apartments where Ariel had died was the most likely source of persons of interest. There was also her circle of intimate friends. I doubted any of them was involved in her death, but they would know the details of her life as a student. They might also be aware of issues that could have been a reason for her death—if it had resulted from foul play. But so far, none of them had provided any useful leads, notably the identity of the mysterious young woman who was to have been her roommate.

  Befuddled by my fanciful suppositions and the overlapping of tasks I was facing, I decided to take a break. Setting my duster down on the Italian inlaid teacart in the dining room, I went into the kitchen for a long sip of O`ahu’s crisp artesian water. Then I collapsed in my wingback recliner for a brief respite from my evening’s chores and negative thinking.

  I looked across the room filled with art and keepsakes from both my personal and professional lives. Posters from exotic locales spoke of the freedom I had enjoyed in my decades as a journalist. Stacks of family photo albums and scrapbooks were poignant reminders of our family’s rich but often distant activities. Beside them sat project workbooks, some with details for the beach-side memorial service and life celebration Nathan and I were planning.

  Seeing me seated and unoccupied, Miss Una determined her presence was required. With a mew of joy, she jumped onto my lap. For a while, I satisfied us both by stroking her rabbit-like fur. The momentary break was exactly what I needed to clear my mind. After a while, I set the cat gently on the floor and got up to turn on some of my favorite Island music. I felt re-energized immediately, as I enjoyed pieces ranging from the golden operatic voice of Emma Veary, to the slack key guitar classics of Gabby Pahinui.

  For a couple of minutes, I limbered up my body and mind with a few creative dance moves. With a sense of purpose, I picked up my pen and opened the notebook dedicated to my forthcoming adventures in sleuthing. Nodding to the changing rhythms of music, I noted what I needed to accomplish in the next couple of days. Under the heading, “Move to Makiki,” I listed everyone I needed to inform about my short-term move.

  I was again grateful for Mother’s little lessons on listing. If I had had my way as a child, my life would have relied on a whim, if not a prayer. But even as a youngster, my mother had instilled the usefulness of organization in me—and Nathan for that matter. Her views had certainly proven useful in both our lives. Meeting my deadlines as a writer, and sometimes commentator, was often achieved by her little one, two, three method of organizing each day. Of course there were times when natural disasters and warfare interfered in my scheduled leisure reporting, but those interruptions to life normal were rare.

  The next category of my evening’s ruminations was more complicated. Who did I need to avoid telling about my plans? At the top of this list was my brother. I knew it was going to be difficult to keep from blurting out my activities to him. I just hoped I did not have a dream that inadvertently reached across the universe to him.

  Then there was Brianna. Even if she meant to keep silent, she could easily slip and re
veal everything to her grandpa Nathan. And if she knew of my plans, she might feel it was her duty to tell Nathan simply as a means of protecting me from myself. Worse yet, I was sure she would be homeward bound in a heartbeat. And that really would upset Nathan, since we did not know what or who had caused Ariel’s death.

  And what about the people connected to my condo. First there were my neighbors, Louise on my right and the Dorsons on the left. Then there was my close friend Anna Wilcox, who worked as the resident manager. Since I knew she was enjoying dinner and mahjong with area property managers that night, there was no reason to rush to call her. Sometimes, when one of the ladies of the mahjong gang is tied up, I am lucky to sit in for an evening. Oh, well, another thing I would not be able to do until I moved back home.

  I decided that I would check in with Anna the next evening, after completing another round of research at the archives or library. That would give me the entire day to think about which details of my plan I wanted to share with her. I knew I would ask her to keep an eye on the condo and take in my mail. I also thought I would have her housekeeper Rhoda tidy up after I moved. As to the rest, I was leaning toward a minimalist approach. I sighed. This was only the planning stage and I was already tired from thinking about the move.

  Next I noted the furnishings, kitchen equipment and supplies I would need. The double-sized bed and dresser from my guest room and a side chair from my koa dining set would nearly fill the apartment’s “master” bedroom. The apartment’s dining area was too small for the koa dining table and while my parents’ old Formica breakfast set might fit the space, it was not very attractive. The simplest solution was my glass topped wrought iron patio set.

  My biggest concern was the living room. I did not require much for myself, but what about potential entertaining? On moving day I would need to accommodate Keoni. That meant I should take my reclining wingback. The koa pūne`e was a given. Its simple frame and loose cushions would seat three people if I had guests. And although the matching koa tables were too heavy, I could use a rattan coffee table and matching stacked tables from the guest room to fill in the setting. Add a couple of lamps and my furnishing of B406 at the Makiki Sunset Apartments was complete.

  Other than food and supplies, what else could I need? Hopefully not a gun. Now there was an unsettling image. I had never before thought of entering Keoni’s world of detection, and here I was contemplating a worst case scenario requiring fire power. The topic of guns had first come up when my husband Bill had expressed concern for my safety the first time he went to sea. I had kidded him somewhat seriously that the last thing we would want was Nervous-Nelly me sitting up in bed with a drawn weapon if his ship returned to port unexpectedly at three in the morning.

  Pen behind my ear, duster in one hand and notebook in the other, I continued working my way through the condo, sprucing up the belongings I would take and jotting down a variety of notes. For a while Miss Una followed me around acting as though we were playing a new game. Eventually she gave up and headed out of the kitchen and toward the bedroom. I turned my thoughts to her needs. The most important thing in moving a cat, or any pet, is demonstrating that life as usual will continue. This meant her food, water, bedding, and treats needed to remain consistent. The one thing I would not be able to maintain was our weekly visit to Anna’s condo for Miss Una to play with her mother.

  Returning to the living room, I began shuffling the photo albums and started to replace them in the bookcase. Soon our family would have to move forward, making new memories. At the moment, it was good to pause and examine where we were and where we had been. I looked down at the cover of the last album. On it was a formal portrait of my father in his naval uniform centered between my Mother and Auntie Carrie who each wore a long white mu`umu`u.

  Forgetting about the work at hand, I sat down on the palm-patterned cushions of the pūne`e. With or without a cat on my lap, this simple piece of furniture has proven to be my place of retreat in many moments of crisis. It had been one of my mother’s favorite purchases for the home she and my dad had built after his retirement.

  The photos I had been looking through recently showed how much my parents had enjoyed being together. They had been apart so often during his working years that when his naval career ended, they became virtually inseparable. After building their dream home on the windward shore of O`ahu, Lillian and Jeffrey Harriman spent nearly every waking moment wandering the island they loved, in search of unique furnishings. What a shame that the sunset phase of their lives had lasted so few years.

  The passing of my parents from the stage of their blissful retirement was as surreal as if a Hollywood writer were scripting a classic operetta set in the Islands. While returning from a child’s first birthday lū`au in a thick fog, they had died together in an accident just down the road from their beloved home. Their unexpected deaths came at a time when I was on assignment in South America and could not be reached immediately. As usual, Nathan met the needs of our family and friends. When I finally arrived in Hawai`i a week after our parents’ memorial service, I found it difficult to travel the road on which they had crashed. For several days, I sacked out on the pūne`e, while Nathan and his wife Sandy tiptoed around me, trying to bring order to the chaos that always accompanies death.

  This line of thought may have been what triggered my meandering through lower Makiki, where Nathan and I had had such fun as little kids. Looking back, I realized we had seldom been a secure nuclear family. Both sets of our grandparents died before Nathan and I were born, so Nathan and I had only our parents and each other to rely on—except for our dynamic Auntie Carrie, who was a strong presence in our lives. Twice while our father was overseas with the Navy, we had been fortunate to live with her in her small Makiki apartment.

  The first time was when we were toddlers. With sandcastles to build and wonderful taste treats, we barely noticed when our mother departed on multiple vacations with our father. Later, following our dad’s shore duty in California, we returned to stay with our fun-loving auntie while our mother remained with our dad throughout his deployment to Japan.

  Carrie was a teacher at Punahou School, where our parents enrolled us for first grade. We even found our bus trips to and from school with her wonderful, since they allowed us to prolong our daily adventures with her. With our family at the center of her life, Auntie Carrie determined that even mundane activities should be celebratory events. Her mirthful personality shone in everything she did. Whether she was cleaning house, baking delicious sugar-sprinkled malasadas or dragging us out on Saturday shopping trips to restock the pantry, she practically tap danced while singing popular refrains from radio and television shows. I have always thought how delightful it was that she got to showcase her spirit through the occasional bit parts she played in many of the movies filmed in Hawai`i. I guess that was where I got my first taste of the art of language.

  In our generation, I had been widowed early in life, and Nathan and Sandy had only had one child, a son named Jon. When my husband Bill died, I was in my late twenties. For several months, Nathan’s family was my safe haven as I stumbled through the necessities of life in a daze. Then, almost overnight, I left the cocoon of their love when I received a contract with an international travel publication. It was an ideal answer to my prolonged contemplation of what I should do with the rest of my life.

  Except for my prolonged absences on assignment, our family life was somewhat normal for a couple of decades following the deaths of my parents. The cycle of untimely deaths began again with the deaths of Nathan’s son Jon and his wife Patricia. When their twins were twelve, they had taken an anniversary vacation to the same Paris hotel in which the couple had honeymooned twenty years earlier. A few hours after checking in, a rapidly-moving fire engulfed their floor and they died of smoke inhalation.

  Nathan and Sandy had had no time to grieve before assuming the role of surrogate parents for the girls. Although they were not ve
ry old, the toll of being parents to a pair of lively tweenies impacted both of their lives. With the demands of the girls’ after-school activities, Sandy left her job in banking. And although Nathan remained committed to his work, he seemed to back away from a full investment in every case that came through his office.

  As the girls entered their junior year in high school, Nathan and Sandy began making plans to embark on the kind of sunset years our parents had enjoyed. Unfortunately, their dreams were never realized. Within a few months, Sandy died of complications during an emergency appendectomy. Overnight, Nathan became the sole guardian of the twins. With the unexpected death of his beloved Sandy, he seemed to freeze emotionally, except for his devotion to the girls.

  It has only been a few years since Sandy passed. Nathan and I are cautious in expressing our affection for one another. We still love each other intensely, and as always, it takes few words for us to communicate deeply. But there has been a gulf between us since he mistakenly thought I withheld experiencing a vision about Sandy’s surgery. I am glad that we came to a harmonious resolution of the issue, with him accepting the fact that I never had such a vision. Nevertheless, he remains uneasy about the visions I do have and questions me about my perceptions of their relevance to our family.

  Since my official retirement, we have established an amicable means for addressing potentially contentious issues. Having been absent from most of our family’s day-to-day activities, I have learned to accept the decisions he makes without my input. When I do offer suggestions, Nathan knows they come from an attempt to play honest broker within the framework of my world view. In terms of mental health, lately I have wondered if I am the one with frozen emotions. Perhaps the shock of Ariel’s death has reawakened the grief I never fully resolved following my husband’s sudden death nearly three decades ago.