Pleasing the Dead

by Deborah Turrell Atkinson

  “The young woman has defied me,” said Obake.

  “Stella?” Tagama asked.

  “No! Keiko.” Obake slammed the table with his fist, then lowered his rumbling voice so Tagama unconsciously leaned toward him. “Stella knows better.”

  Ryan observed the man’s performance. It was masterful, every gesture and tonal inflection. Even the accent, a reminder of his fearsome status in his own country.

  “Keiko, then. What has she done?” Tagama’s voice was agreeable, though Ryan knew a razor-sharp wire vibrated through it.

  “She has stolen from me. You will find her.”

  “I need more information.”

  “You’ll get it yourself, and have Keiko and the—property—,” he paused for emphasis, “back here tonight.” Obake rose, a dismissal.

  But he had one more knife to twist. He turned to his son. “We’re a few minutes late, but Wayne Harding and Larry Johns will wait.” His capped teeth gleamed against his tanned skin in a sneer. “I don’t want these people to make me late for my sunset swim.” He stood and rolled his oversized head in the direction of the Tagamas.

  “Let’s go.” Steven Kudo sounded as if they were leaving excrement on the floor.

  Though Ryan’s feet seemed to be cemented in place, he didn’t expect his father to sit still for this. Yet the older Tagama stayed in his chair until Obake and his son left the room. Ichiru Tagama’s expression betrayed no strain; he looked, if anything, thoughtful.

  Ryan knew the names Obake had thrown at them. Larry Johns was Maui County Commissioner and Wayne Harding had just assumed the late Tom Peters’ position as Deputy Director of Liquor Control. He’d filled his boss’ shoes in no time.

  Obake was letting Tagama know that his contacts had more power than any Tagama could scrounge together. His message was that few would believe Tagama if it came to Obake’s word against his. And even if they did believe Tagama, they’d be too afraid to say so.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Two police officers arrived in Storm’s hotel room, along with the head of the hotel’s security. The security man was concerned to the point of defensiveness.

  “The electronic key card is changed after each guest. Did you lose your key?”

  “No,” Storm said. “I had one copy and it was in my purse. Someone got the security code.”

  “Impossible.”

  “Not if this person had access to the front desk,” said Storm. She was in no mood to be the simpering pushover the security man hoped for.

  One of the police, a short lean man, had the door propped open and examined the lock mechanism. “No sign of forced entry.”

  The security man had nothing to say.

  The other officer, tall and tan, asked if he could dust her car keys and driver’s license. “Though I doubt we’ll find anything.”

  “Let’s check the door, too,” said the smaller cop.

  The security man watched the cops work and stayed out of the way. There wasn’t much for him to do. “I’ll need a copy of the report,” he said.

  “Of course,” the tall cop said.

  Meanwhile, Storm filled out her part of the report, which included her lap top computer and everything that was in her handbag.

  “Call us if you think of anything else that’s missing,” said the short cop. “Most people don’t remember everything the first go-round.”

  “Any idea what he was after?” the tall cop asked.

  “I had about a hundred dollars in cash, but my laptop is worth more than that.” Storm thought a minute. “It’s encrypted, but someone might want information I’ve got stored on it.”

  “Hope your encryption holds up,” the tall cop said.

  “Me, too.”

  “He left you just enough to get home.” The short cop had just finished dusting her driver’s license and keys. “You need your ID at the airport and your car keys to get there.”

  About a half-hour later, the police were finished, and Storm called Grace’s cell phone. The ever-dependable secretary was in the office on a Saturday morning.

  “What’s wrong?” Grace asked. She and Aunt Maile must keep each other up to date with the latest in telepathic techniques.

  “Why are you in the office?”

  “I thought I’d catch up on some filing.”

  Storm told her the problem.

  Five minutes later, Storm had a list of her credit card companies, and Grace had called the front desk of the hotel for a cash advance on the credit card Storm had used to check in. Grace’s efficiency cut through most of Storm’s confusion and fear. The burglary was a pain in the ass, but Storm could function for a day or two before she had to fly home and work on replacing everything.

  “Call the companies, but I doubt this person wants your credit cards,” Grace said. “He wants you to leave.”

  “I hate being manipulated.”

  “I know, but this is not the time to be obstinate.”

  “I can’t do it today. I’ve got some details to nail down with the dive shop.”

  “What about the guardian ad litem case?”

  “I’ve talked to the grandparents. Everything looks good.”

  “Any chance you can finish with the dive shop this afternoon?”

  “No.” Storm told her about Lara’s dive that afternoon. “We’ll wrap it up tomorrow.”

  “At the latest.”

  “Grace?”

  “What?” Grace sounded like she knew.

  “Do me a favor. Don’t tell Hamlin about my purse.” Grace sighed loudly, but Storm was reassured.

  As they’d talked, other ideas had come to Storm. Her next call was to Sergeant Carl Moana, who was working a Lahaina art gallery after a break-in. She told him about her conversation with Carmen.

  “Any chance I could go to her house and get her toy cat?”

  “The house is still secured.” He paused. “Can I call you back?”

  Storm was in the car on the way to breakfast, when he phoned. “I can meet you in an hour and a half. You remember where the house is?”

  “Sure, I’ll be there.”

  By now Storm’s stomach growled audibly, and a Cosmo-induced headache was digging in behind her eyeballs. Food was what she needed, and lots of water.

  She went to Dina’s, the restaurant near Lara’s shop, where she’d seen Stella console a crying Keiko. Storm didn’t recognize anyone this visit, but the menu was as enticing as it had been before. She ordered the omelet with pesto, goat cheese, and sun-dried tomatoes. Maybe she’d skip lunch.

  The waitress was friendly, knowledgeable, and stayed close to keep Storm’s coffee mug full of fresh brew, which prompted Storm to strike up a conversation.

  “Do you remember Manny’s Diner, Ice Scream, and Auntie Piko’s Puka Shells?”

  “Sure, the dive shop people bought them out.” Storm picked up a note of disdain.

  “Who owned the stores? Did they retire?”

  “Bucky Silva died.” The waitress didn’t hide her distress with that pronouncement.

  “Which store was his?”

  “Ice Scream.” The waitress, whose name tag said Louise, ignored Storm’s raised hand and poured more coffee.

  “That’s sad.” Storm added milk to her brimming coffee mug. “What about Manny? And Auntie Piko?”

  “They’re around. Auntie Piko is Pauline Harding. She lives up Makawao way. Manny Barrolo is in Lahaina.” Louise looked thoughtful. “I heard he opened an Italian deli. I need to go visit.”

  “Sounds good. I will, too,” Storm said.

  “We have to support local shop owners, right?”

  “Aren’t the dive shop people local folks?”

  “Lara Farrell is.” Her tone implied that Lara was the only one.

  Storm had an hour before she was to meet Sergeant Moana. Since Carmen’s house was in Lahaina, she had time to drop by Manny Barrolo’s new deli. She wasn’t sure yet how she’d frame h
er questions, but she wanted inside, local rumor-mill type info on how the previous shop owners had been treated. She wanted to know if the new buyer was a faceless consortium, or whether Ryan Tagama or his father had negotiated the sale. But even more, she wanted intangible particulars. The sort Louise was giving her now, about how the owners were perceived in the community. Whether their business practices were on the level, opportunistic, or downright dirty. It was a small community, and the coconut wireless should have the scoop.

  Manny Barrolo had thinning black hair, liver spots, and the lumpy, veined nose of a man who’d enjoyed his wine for a long, long time. He had a tall glass of iced tea next to the cash register and he raised it often. At first, Storm thought it was more than iced tea, but she couldn’t pick up the scent of anything but tea and lemon.

  “Joey, cut this lovely wahine a slice of that imported salami.” Manny shouted over his shoulder at the young man behind the counter without taking his eyes from Storm’s face.

  “No thanks, I just—”

  “You must. I get it straight from my cousin in Genoa. He sends a box every two weeks.”

  Joey put three paper-thin slices on a piece of wax paper and slid it across the top of the glass display case. His enthusiastic grin and flopping ginger hair reminded Storm of a happy golden retriever. He didn’t look at all like Manny.

  Storm put one in her mouth. It melted like spiced butter on her tongue. “That is delicious.” She ate the other two.

  “Told you.” Manny slapped the counter with one hand, raised his iced tea with the other. “Joey, give her one of those fresh mozzarella balls.”

  Storm had to laugh. “I can’t. But I promise I’ll come back for lunch.”

  “What are you here for?”

  “I wanted to ask you about Manny’s Diner.”

  His shoulders slumped.

  “Bad topic?” Storm asked.

  “Kinda. Whaddya need to know?”

  “I’ve got a client who’s going into that space, and I need to find out if this person’s business might be at risk.”

  “Probably.” Manny’s voice was bitter. He glanced over his shoulder at Joey.

  “It’s okay, Uncle Manny. I’ll handle these customers.” The bell over the door rang as a group of three entered.

  “Let’s sit down,” Manny said. “Joey, can you get me another iced tea? And one for la bellezza.” He took her arm and guided her to a chair.

  “I try not to think of that place,” he said when they sat down. “Not good for my health. But I’m gonna tell you about it. Part of my recovery is full disclosure, especially if it will help someone else.”

  “What happened?”

  “A lot.” Manny sighed. “Including my wife left me.”

  Joey glanced over, a frown erasing his previous enthusiasm.

  “It’s okay, Joey. I have to admit my wrongs.” Manny took a sip of iced tea. “It’s part of the twelve steps. I’ve been going to AA since this happened.”

  “Good for you.” She, too, had friends who had turned their lives around with the help of AA or NA.

  “Yeah, but.”

  Storm waited while Manny made circles on the table with the condensation on the outside of his glass. He seemed to muster his courage.

  “I had some other problems. The guy that bought the shopping center pressured me.”

  “Pressured you?”

  “Yeah.” Manny wasn’t meeting her eyes. “To sell.”

  “He had something on you?”

  “Part of it was real and part of it wasn’t,” Manny rushed to say.

  “Did you make a mistake because of alcohol?” Storm asked.

  Manny nodded. He waited a long moment. “Do I have to tell you?”

  “It would help if I knew what he had on you. And what he made up.”

  “I had an affair with one of the waitresses.”

  “You wouldn’t be the first.”

  Manny sounded miserable. “Yeah, well.” He didn’t look up. “It was my wife’s second cousin. She was twenty.”

  “Ouch,” Storm said.

  “But she instigated it,” He added quickly. “She’d always been trouble. The whole family said so—my brother told me not to hire her in the first place.”

  Storm was beginning to see where this was going. She sat quietly and let him continue.

  “Then the guy threatened me. Said he’d get her to say she was raped.” He popped the knuckles on his left hand as if he’d like to tear off his fingers. “I didn’t do that.”

  “I believe you,” Storm said, and did. “What did this guy look like?”

  “Big heavy guy, dark tan.”

  Storm didn’t know what Ryan Tagama’s dad looked like, but it certainly wasn’t Ryan.

  “My wife had already moved out. This guy was going to send me to jail,” Manny’s voice was a whisper, “just to get my store. But I was done with that.” He finally met Storm’s eyes. “You know?”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “You believe me?”

  “Yes, I do. And Manny, this stays with me.” Storm stood up and offered her hand. “Thanks for your honesty.”

  He looked surprised, then shook it.

  Walking back to the car, she was so lost in thinking about Manny’s sad story that she almost collided with a skate boarder. The boarder kept going, lost in the cacophony of his iPod, but Storm looked back to see if she needed to shout a warning to the elderly woman she’d passed a few yards back. Fortunately, the woman was safely backed up against a store front.

  But that’s how Storm spotted the two suits hustling out of an unremarkable building across the street. Not only was the dark attire unusual for laid-back Lahaina, but their black Mercedes sedan, flanked by two rusting Toyotas, stuck out like a shark in an aquarium. Both men had stocky, bowed legs. The taller of the two, whose jacket pulled across his back, looked like his heavy thighs would soon chafe through his slacks. His thick arms stuck out from his sides like Gumby’s. Probably on steroids. The shorter, older man had a very dark tan.

  The windows of the Mercedes were tinted so darkly she couldn’t see the men when they drove out of the parking lot. But she did recognize the next pair that exited the back of the building. They wore jackets over aloha shirts, still dressy, but common island business attire. The taller of these two was Ryan, Lara’s fiancé. Storm figured the older man, who was thin and pale with brush-cut silver hair, was Ryan’s father.

  She sauntered to the corner to get a look at which real estate office they were leaving. But it wasn’t a real estate office, it was a bar. The Red Light’s neon sign wasn’t turned on, but it was easy to read. So were the Budweiser and Kirin beer signs.

  Perhaps the four men had been brokering a deal in a bar before opening hours, but it seemed odd. Even more significant was Ryan’s and his father’s demeanor. If they’d been brokering a deal, they’d wound up on the losing end.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Storm didn’t have time to dwell on the Tagamas and the closed bar. Commercial real estate was their business, after all, and she didn’t want to be late to her meeting with Sergeant Moana.

  Ten minutes later, when she pulled into the driveway of the Yoshinaka’s modest house, the sight of the pink bicycle on the lawn stung her eyes. Was it Carmen’s? Would she ever want to play with it again?

  Moana had already arrived. He leaned against the door of his patrol car and talked on his cell phone. A fuzzy, stuffed orange cat sat on the car’s roof.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Storm said when he disconnected.

  “No worries, I just got here, too.” He put the phone in his pocket and handed the fluffy toy cat to her.

  “You knew the family, didn’t you?”

  “My daughters played in a soccer league with Carmen and Crystal.”

  “Did you know the father?”

  “Not well. He didn’t speak much English. Seemed like a caring dad, though I couldn’t exactly talk
story with him.”

  “I heard he had some debts. You think he shot himself because of those?”

  Moana scuffed his feet in the dry grass. “This is going to come out in the paper, but you can’t say a word until it does.” He looked around, though no one was there. “Yoshinaka had a gambling problem.”

  “Cards? Cock fights?”

  “He’s small time, so probably cards and Pachinko.”

  “Pachinko?”

  “Kind of a cross between a slot machine and pin ball.”

  Storm frowned. “Small time?”

  “He was down about eighteen grand—as opposed to white collar shakedowns, which run into the hundreds of thousands. Millions, for that matter.”

  Eighteen grand. Storm wondered if she would look foolish telling him about last night’s experience, but decided not telling him was worse. “I’ve got to tell you a story. Don’t know if it means anything, but you can decide for yourself.” She told him about her visit to Ma‘alahi Storage and the owners, the $18,765 handwritten note on the contract, and how her room had been broken into while she slept.

  “My purse was stolen, except for my driver’s license and the car keys. There was a note telling me to go home.”

  “This happened soon after you visited that storage place? Because that’s the amount of Yoshinaka’s debt.”

  Storm nodded.

  “Your only connection to these storage owners is through Lara’s Aquatic Adventures?”

  “Lara’s future father-in-law owns the property under the dive shop. He’s also on the board of the consortium that owns Blue Marine and the Yoshinaka’s house.”

  Moana screwed up his face. “He’s a pretty big commercial real estate investor, but I’ll look into it.” He thought for a minute. “You’re sure about the dollar amount?”

  “I remember the descending numbers.”

  “Me, too.” He squinted into the distance. “Let me speak to the cops who went to your room this morning. I’ll also check on that storage facility.”

  “Will you let me know?” Storm asked.

  “If I can.” He got in his car.