Fortified with orange passion-juice, tuna cone sushi, and miniature shrimp egg rolls, I was ready to face my real work of the day. I debated whether to pursue fresh topics at the archives or continue going through latter-day newspapers at the library. After completing my journey downtown, I opted for the peace and quiet afforded by the archives.
After stowing my personal belongings in a locker, I pulled out a chair at one of the old library tables and set up my laptop to review my files of sparse notes. I had gleaned the names of a few residents during my days at the apartment. But my list of potential questions was longer than the list of people with whom I might familiarize myself.
With trepidation, I opened my file on Ariel’s death. The first major question was still Why? Why did Ariel die? In my own mind at least, there were many reasons why her death could not have been a suicide. First, she was approaching the final year of her bachelor’s degree and was anticipating a fabulous month of travel with her sister and friends. In addition, the girl was not into drugs, had a great relationship with her former boyfriend from high school, did not gamble, and had a good source of income from the trust fund set up by her parents.
Being an amateur athlete, she was in great physical condition and should have been able to handle most situations that might have endangered her. So, how had she come to take a fall from the low-rise building in the first place? One resulting in her death? I knew it was not a question of the height from which Ariel fell, but rather the way in which she had landed that had proven fatal. After repeating these facts for the umpteenth time, I remained unable to see a clear direction for my inquiries. Unless the Medical Examiner found some unexpected pathology in the autopsy, her death seemed linked to the apartments and the people inhabiting it on that particular day.
But at the moment I had so little data there was not much point in dwelling on the whys or hows of her death. Turning to the file I had on the Makiki Sunset Apartments, I looked at the single page of facts and issues I had noted. In the middle was a question regarding shifts in ownership of the property and buildings. With leasehold lands in Hawai`i, ownership of a building and its land can be two separate issues. But how relevant would such minutia be?
Since I was not in the right place for checking land transactions, I next opened my file on the apartment complex’s cast of characters. Where should I focus my attention? Should it be the few people I could identify at this point? Beyond the handful of tenants I have met, and Al Cooper, there is the family that owns and manages the apartments.
While I did not think either of the elderly Wong sisters had a direct hand in Ariel’s death, I was intrigued by the setup at the complex. This was a family of obvious wealth. Yet they chose to live in a small apartment complex in an area of Honolulu that also features high-end condos and, moving uphill, streets with exclusive homes.
Even when the economy is slow, the land is worth a lot of money. With all the art and other valuables I had seen in Pearl’s home, it did not appear there was any need for either of the women to live on the premises of such a mediocre property. In fact, why was Pearl continuing to work at all? Why not move in with her sister and hire a real estate management company? Or let nephew Richard and handyman Al duke it out until they arrived at a peaceful compromise in handling the women’s property?
I recalled that Pearl had remarked that everything about their lives in Makiki had begun with the gifts of her mother—or both of her parents? If the comment about the gifting was true, it was logical to look into her parents’ lives. I could do a cursory search here in the archives, and later pursue anything I learned at cocktails with Pearl. And if I had complete names, I could follow up with an on-line search of Federal immigration records.
After reviewing the few notes I had entered after the tea party, I roughed out a family tree. At the top was the sisters’ father, Hiram Wong. If he had been successful in China, he would have returned to Hawai`i a prosperous man. Beside him I placed the girls’ mother, Yùyīng. Married to a U.S. citizen, she still would have been an immigrant. With two growing daughters and a husband who may have entered a new career, would she have continued working outside the home?
The answer to that question might determine whether I would find any mention of her in the archive’s commercial records. Many Chinese women were successful entrepreneurs with or without a husband as a partner. If Yùyīng had chosen to remain out of the workforce, she might appear in the ample society pages of newspapers of the early and mid-twentieth century—most of which would be next door at the library.
While I was at the archives, I wanted to check the finding aids that might pinpoint where I could obtain data on the couple. In terms of a timeline, Pearl’s recitation of her parents’ early marriage had not moved beyond the Roaring Twenties. I figured they had to have come to Hawai`i sometime between the Depression and the onset of World War Two. But even when I allowed for variations in the spelling of their names, the archives failed to reveal references to either Hiram or Yùyīng. That brought an end to that line of research, and it was getting a bit late to hop next door.
That is the beauty of having multiple research projects. When you hit a stumbling block with one, you can turn to the next topic under consideration. I suppose that is also how the police conduct their investigations; when they cannot pursue one line of inquiry with a witness, they move on to one that might reveal some pertinent facts. Unless I stretched my list to include Al and Richard, I had no witnesses to interview other than Pearl. If I was lucky, I might have further information on the Wong family and their tenants by the next night. Therefore, I decided to shift directions and examine issues pertinent to my work for Keoni.
Families can be fickle. There was no telling what might prove impressive to his relatives…impressive enough to forego selling, much less demolishing, their home. Many of the historic bungalows have already given way to McMansions across the island of O`ahu. I truly appreciated Keoni’s desire to honor his past, but so far I had found his forebears unremarkable.
I decided to move on to considering two other threads of research during the last century. The first was general Island history. The second focused on special events in Kaimukī. What I learned in this double-pronged effort would provide a backdrop for the family’s genealogy.
After checking my notes, I followed Henry’s suggestions like a recipe card. There were almost too many private and public collections of historical material dealing with the Hawaiian Kingdom and the U.S. Territory of Hawai`i. Newspaper columns carrying detailed accounts of social history tended to highlight the arts and non-profit fundraising events.
Even coverage of the cycles of life was limited to those who were wealthy or notorious enough to warrant ink and newsprint. Neither category of newsmakers seemed relevant to my project. Many of the roots of Keoni’s family lay in the laboring classes of Portugal and England. The Hawaiian side of his family was of the commoner class.
During a water break I thought about how quickly I was able to delve into a project that did not arouse any emotional involvement. The sheer escapism had propelled me through the unending announcements of births, marriages, deaths and high teas—not to mention the oceanic arrivals and departures of the rich and infamous. I had also found interesting items in the reports of the Portuguese social club in which his family had been active in the nineteenth century. But there was little to change the thinking of his twenty-first century relatives.
Next I examined the neighborhood surrounding the family home. The hot and dry climate of Kaimukī featured thorny kiawe trees and rocky red soil in contrast to the classic picture of tropical Hawai`i. Until paved roads were put in, it was hardly an inviting scene for picnicking ladies in long lacy dresses…or men needing to commute into the city for work. Another necessity was a reliable source of water. That problem was solved with the building of a reservoir to meet the demands of neighborhood stores, churches and schools, as well as homes. The outwa
rd migration from the city was also encouraged in unusual ways, including a cash award of fifty dollars for each child born in the area.
Once there was easy transit for both carriages and cars, middle-class families began moving out to Kaimukī. The Hewitt family bungalow was built in one of the first large subdivisions of high class homes beyond Honolulu proper. I already knew there was no need to research ownership of the house or the land on which it sat. Throughout the last hundred years, one or another of Keoni’s relatives had owned the property. His grandmother had been the last long-term resident. Her grandfather had built the home…or rather he had hired Lewers and Cooke to build it for him.
I began my consideration of the house by reviewing the photos and slim amount of information Keoni had given me. Next I examined old newspaper advertisements for the pre-fabricated kits that had been the basis for building the bungalow. I soon confirmed that neither the land nor the house was remarkable. Clearly, it would be the people who had wandered in and out through the years who might have made the property worth saving. That meant I was looking for people and circumstances sufficiently noteworthy to appear in recorded history.
I tried to think of distinctive features and events that had taken place on the east side of O`ahu in my next round of research. Despite my limited knowledge of Hawaiian history, I did not think that the Hewitt house was located on Pu`u o Kaimukī. This had been the site of the lookout post of King Kamehameha I, who remained diligent about potential threats from off-island. Nonetheless, I cruised through articles from The Daily Hawaiian Herald and predecessors of modern newspapers. I found no pertinent mention of Telegraph Hill, as it had become known by the end of the nineteenth century.
Hitting a dead end with that line of inquiry, I turned to articles about the finely attired notables of Hawaiian society. But the gala events at which they were featured were located in the center of town. I found little coverage of popular newsmakers trekking out to the hinterlands—except for special occasions in their summer homes in the cool valley of Nu`uanu, and later, around Kailua beach on the windward side of the island.
I discussed my research strategy with Henry during one of my stops at the front desk to rotate microfilm and books.
“I think you’re right, Natalie. The key to your search will be people, rather than everyday life or commerce in the neighborhood. And you’ll want to remember that people are driven by the same issues a detective follows in a murder investigation—motive, means and opportunity.”
My eyes must have bulged in response to that quip, because he stared intently at my face for a moment before shrugging.
“You know? Like, why would someone of prominence go out to Kaimukī in those days? It had to be an occasion of importance for them to bother going there—and for the media to cover the event. It would be logical to assume the occasion was a one-time occurrence. But it could have been a repetitious activity that was deemed newsworthy.”
I nodded to cover my surprise at his comparison to things murderous―and to keep him articulating issues I should be considering.
“I don’t know if it will help in your project, but there’s one event that was pertinent to the movement away from town. You might not have realized its importance since it wasn’t prominent in either advertisements or contemporary analysis of the migration. You remember the horrific Chinatown fire of 1900? Well, it forced a lot of people to start looking outside the city for places to live. In turn, that helped the developers of Kaimukī increase sales of both property and homes.”
“Thanks for pointing that out. You’re right about my missing that issue during my cruise through the papers.”
“Don’t fault yourself. That’s where PhD dissertations come in handy―finding someone else who has already explored the topic. But if you lack the basic facts, you won’t know the right search terms to employ in either hardcopy or electronic research.”
Henry continued to offer subjects for me to consider. “I think you’ll want to consider the question of how the high and mighty got out there. There were still a lot of horse-drawn vehicles at the turn of the century, but only a few automobiles. When you consider that the extension of the streetcar line from Kapahulu to Koko Head Avenue wasn’t completed until 1903, you realize that only people with individual transportation could consider moving to the area prior to that time.”
“Henry, where would I be without your thumbnail sketches of days long gone?”
“You know my specialty is the Hawaiian language, but there are many days when I don’t get an opportunity to delve into that category of my knowledge at all.”
“I am aware of your specialization. But there has been more than one occasion, when your general knowledge has saved me from making a fool of myself in my reporting.”
“Well, I appreciate your caring enough to ask in-depth questions. I just wish we had more conscientious writers and reporters.”
I laughed, “Well, I guess we’ve had enough of this week’s meeting of the Honolulu Mutual Admiration Society. But please let me know if you can remember anything else of significance on the early 1900s chronometer.”
“Hmm. The only other event I connect with Kaimukī at that time would be the 1910 passing of Haley’s Comet. The best viewing was at the observatory of the old College of Hawai`i up on Ocean View Drive. There were people from every walk of life and every social and economic stratum enjoying that event.”
Again, in my judgment there was little likelihood that a convergence of Keoni’s relatives and the viewing of the comet would appear on the same historical page. Even if they had been part of a front page story, I doubted that the passing of a comet would influence the family to keep their home.
Oh, well. Another day for researching both of my projects would arrive soon enough. I could no longer delay in calling Nathan. The wounds from which we were both suffering were still raw and unlikely to improve in the near future. But if we were to learn the how and why of Ariel’s death, some tough questions had to be examined. Unfortunately, I was the designated inquisitor for that day.
CHAPTER 11
…at my back I always hear Time’s winged chariot
hurrying near.
Andrew Marvell [1621-1678]
Walking to the bus stop, I thought of the evening ahead. Maybe Keoni and I should expand the cocktail hour to include a round of volleyball. Or, a couple of steaks barbecued on the hibachis out back, to justify our personal tour of the grounds. Since there was no convenient grocery store on my way home from downtown, I gave Keoni a quick call. He answered on the second ring.
“Hi. It’s Natalie. I see you are readily available.”
He laughed in that warm baritone voice and I found myself thinking of his strength of both body and spirit. It was a nice departure from my preoccupation with death’s unpleasantries.
“I told you I’d wrapped up that last case on my calendar. With our getting together later today, I decided I’d tend to the neglected home fires of my own abode for a few hours. What’s up?”
“I was thinking that since you’re my dear friend, maybe we should expand our plans to include dinner, so you can join me in a comprehensive tour of the grounds of my new home.”
“Sounds good to me. Is there anything I can bring?” he queried.
“I think I can handle the bread and wine department. My rice steamer’s always at the ready. I’ve also got the makings for a salad. There’s no grocery on my bus route home and I was wondering if you could bring some meat for the famous hibachis out back.”
“No problem. I’ll also bring supplies for making a good hot fire, assuming the grills are usable. I hope you have a frying pan as a backup?”
“Yes. You could be right about the gap between the promises of the amenities and the reality. The ice machine in my building has a fading sign that reads, “Soon to be replenished.”
He snorted at the image. “Well, it looks
like we’ve got the menu covered. What time do you want me to arrive?”
“Umm. That’s a good question. I really need to have a serious conversation with Nathan and broach the issue of Natalie’s friends—especially the previously unknown TJ. Why don’t we say around seven?”
We were signing off when my bus pulled up. Since it was before rush hour, I was able to get a seat in the back where I had the peace I needed to prepare for my conversation with Nathan. It was clear that neither of us wanted to burden the other with the pain we were experiencing. Each of us was barely squeezing through the have-tos of each passing day. In my case, I have the added burden of avoiding telling him I am playing detective at the scene of Ariel’s death.
Despite the depth of my somber thoughts (or maybe because of them), I arrived at the bus stop nearest the apartment in a short period of time. Walking up the hill, I again glanced into the cemetery. Nathan and I had decided Ariel would not want to be in such a place. She loved wandering in nature, especially near or in the waters off the windward side of the island. Therefore, we had decided to scatter her ashes at sea. By the time I spoke with him, Nathan should have called the Kailua paddling club in which she and Brianna had been members during their high school years. We were hoping the club would help with the ocean-side memorial service.
I arrived at my temporary home to find Miss Una again poised to spring into action from the dinette table. I walked over and tried to discipline her. She graced me with a brief look and returned to an intent consideration of the panorama of the parking lot below her and the streets of homes stretching mauka, into the hillside. I opened the door fully to let in the island breezes.
“We’ve had this conversation several times now. You never do this at home, our real home, that is. What’s so important that you have to get up on the table?”
Prospect for Murder (Natalie Seachrist Hawaiian Cozy Mystery 1) Page 13
