“You know he got Barb away from the water trade, right?”
“He did?”
“Yeah.” Stella smiled at the memory. “Barb always talked about how he rescued her. He was very loving and strong in those days.”
“He changed?”
Stella looked uncertain. “Life changes people. Michael got laid off, then got a job as a bartender, and he started drinking. The owner eased him out and helped him start a restaurant supply business. He was doing good until Angela left.”
“He went back to the bottle?”
“For a while, but he pulled it together.” She considered this thought, then continued. “It seemed to me when Barb got weak, Michael got stronger. It was the way of their marriage. And Barb was at wit’s end when Angela left.”
She looked over at Storm. “You can understand why, right? She knew firsthand what her baby was getting into. Hell, she was running to it. Almost like she wanted to punish her mother.” The lines of fatigue in Stella’s face deepened with the memory.
“You tried to stop her.”
“Of course, and so did Michael. Lara’s right about the restaurant. He thought Angela would come back and run the place with her sister.”
Not if Angela felt unworthy, Storm thought, but she didn’t say the words aloud. With a wave of sadness, she related to Michael Farrell’s hopes. Years ago, her father had hoped that a change of lifestyle would improve his wife’s depression, so he’d bought land around Hamakua and planned to farm macadamia nut trees or coffee. But Eme Kayama’s suicide had gutted the dreams. Part of him died with her; the rest tagged along four years later.
More than twenty years passed, and the land was in Storm’s name, but the dreams were her father’s. Her life was on O‘ahu. The property required minimal maintenance and taxes were still low. Land costs weren’t going down, and she was gaining equity, but she felt the prick of her father’s wasted hopes. One day she’d go back and do something with it.
“When did Angela die?” Storm asked.
“Five years ago. She was twenty-three.”
That was when Lara stopped windsurfing. “That must have been awful.”
“You have no idea.”
Storm did have an idea, though people had different perspectives. Sad family stories were like old fishing nets. Lines were cut, frayed, retied, and interwoven. One opinion couldn’t reveal truth; ten viewpoints just might begin to shed light on the knot of betrayal, heartache, and bad decisions. A knot that led to disaster.
Stella’s mind was still unraveling the Farrell family story. “Angela’s death finished off Michael. Barb, too, for that matter.”
“Lara thinks Michael’s death was due to his restaurant falling through. She said he died a week after some friends betrayed him on that deal.”
“Maybe, who knows?” Stella sighed. “Though Angela was gone, he still saw it as a means of success and independence. Plus, Lara was interested. She wanted her father’s approval.”
“Seeking a father’s approval is normal, isn’t it?” The hint of emotion in her own voice surprised Storm.
“It’s difficult when your younger sister is the one who gets noticed. Negative attention sucks up a lot of parental energy, and Angela was their baby. In the family, Lara was known as the dependable one.”
Hamlin’s family history was similar, Storm realized. The recollection sent a strong pang of longing through her. Hamlin would understand the friction between the good sibling and the rebel. He was the responsible one; his older brother had run away from home when he was in his teens. The brother had died in early adulthood, too, and Hamlin missed him deeply. He also admitted to feeling both love and resentment for that brother, a lost soul who’d put their mother through hell.
Thinking of Hamlin’s secrets, Storm missed him with a tenderness she’d been afraid to feel for a long while. Had she told him the emotional burden of her land near Hamakua? She didn’t think so.
Everyone has childhood scars, and people go on. They grow up to one degree or another. But it helps to share. Learning to trust and share is part of loving another person. Hamlin knew her mother’s suicide left a scar. But had she ever admitted that her father’s more subtle departure left a vacuum? It made her wonder about her own abilities to love and confide.
Storm pulled into the parking lot adjacent to Lara’s dive shop. Stella turned to her. “Thanks for going out of your way. I appreciate it.” She still looked pale and disturbed.
“We’ll find Keiko. I’m going to talk to a policeman I know.”
“No.” Stella’s hand flew to her mouth. “No cops. They won’t help.”
“This is a nice cop. He’s a young guy, with kids of his own.”
“No, you can’t trust cops. Them and the liquor commission guys. Too much money at stake.” She looked even paler, and Storm could see doubt in her eyes.
“Okay, I won’t tell him. Don’t worry.”
“Thank you.”
Storm began to put the car in gear, and thought of another question. “Stella?” Stella stopped and looked back, though wariness darkened her face.
“What’s the name of the guy who owns the club? The one that sells spring.”
Stella stepped to the passenger window and leaned in to whisper. “The Red Light. It’s in Lahaina.”
That was the bar she’d seen the Tagamas come out of. “The owner’s name?”
Stella looked around the parking lot, uneasy. “Obake. That’s all I know.” She practically ran into the shop.
Storm watched her flee. She knew elders who believed in ghost stories and didn’t want to mutter the word obake, for fear of conjuring the faceless ghost of local legend who sat on the chest of a sleeping person and sucked the life from her. But Stella didn’t seem the type. No, Stella was nervous about the man, whoever he was.
Chapter Twenty-two
Ryan and his father sat in silence for some time. Ryan slumped on the soft leather couch and felt as if his own stuffing had been knocked out of him. Tagama looked pale and ten years older than he had when Ryan had picked him up that morning.
“Who called you when we were driving to the meeting with Obake?”
Instead of answering, Tagama lumbered across the room to the neat little shrine. From a nearby cabinet, Tagama withdrew a bottle Ryan recognized as sake, and poured a few ounces into a small cup. He placed the cup carefully near the warrior god Guan-Gong and muttered some quiet words. He then bowed twice, clapped twice, and bowed once more before he turned and limped back to the couch.
“That was Yasuko,” he said.
“Obake’s madam? You’re still involved in prostitution?”
“No.” Tagama’s eyes widened. “That stopped with the story I told you.”
Too many questions ran through Ryan’s mind, and he missed the chance to question the risk Yasuko was taking. Instead, he returned to concerns about his father’s activities.
“Why does Obake let you do business here? Hell, why does he let you live?”
“His real name is Akira Kudo. He’s high in the organization, but he isn’t oyabun. He’s not the top man.”
“That means someone’s protecting you. You’re still connected.”
Tagama sighed. “No, but it’s complicated.”
“Really?” Ryan sneered.
“Yes.” Tagama glared at his son. “I’ve made bad decisions in the past, but I’m doing the right thing now.”
Ryan broke eye contact first. Doubt frayed his thoughts. His head felt like a bowl of overcooked noodles, a sticky blob. For the first time in years, he felt like calling his mother for advice, but she only knew the past, and she wasn’t particularly charitable toward Tagama. The present was his predicament alone.
Ryan took a few moments to reflect. “How did you meet Yasuko?”
“She knows the woman I told you about. Yasuko knows we are friends.”
Ryan stifled a snort of derision. Friends, indeed. “The blonde?
”
Tagama ignored his attitude. “Yasuko first contacted me because of another young woman.” His eyes rose to meet his son’s. “You know about Angela.”
Ryan swallowed. “Yes, it took a long time, but Lara told me.”
“Yasuko tried to save her, but failed. She had to inform Stella about her.”
His father had finally called Stella by name, which made Ryan feel marginally better. “That wouldn’t go over well. Stella is very protective.”
“It was awful for everyone,” Tagama said in a soft voice.
The men sat in silence for several minutes. Ryan was the first to speak. “I need to think.”
Tagama lowered his chin in acknowledgement. “I understand.” He stood, straighter than he had before. “I am proud of you, son. You’re one of the things I’ve done right.”
Tagama walked him to the door and either ignored or didn’t see Ryan’s bleak glance.
“I have some loose ends to tie up,” Tagama said. “Will you and Lara have dinner with me tonight? At seven-thirty? I’ll make reservations for four.”
The word four registered in the elevator when Ryan was halfway to the lobby. He also missed seeing his father hurry to the phone once he’d seen his son out. Nor did Ryan see Tagama, when no one answered, rush to the shrine to make another offering.
After that, Tagama dialed a different number and murmured into the phone as if he were afraid someone would overhear.
***
Storm backed carefully out of the dive shop’s parking lot. Lara’s Corvette wasn’t there, and though Damon’s truck was sitting in the hot sun, she would see him in a few hours. If she left right then, she might make it to Makawao and back in time for dinner, but it was no guarantee. She considered her options at a red light. No, she’d talk to Auntie Piko tomorrow morning. Right now she needed to do some work for paying clients.
First, Storm checked her phone for messages. Grace had called with an office update, and Hamlin had sent a text message. He’d be on a three o’clock flight tomorrow. That was good news, which actually made her next thought more tolerable.
Her phone had Internet access, but it was slow and reception was spotty. She’d be better off finding an internet café. What a headache. If she ever found the kekeface who’d stolen her lap top and her handbag, he’d better move like a mongoose crossing the freeway, because she wanted to crush him.
Two blocks from Lara’s dive shop was another cluster of shops, among them a coffee shop with computer access. They wanted twenty cents a minute, but the café smelled of rich, dark coffee and its frigid air conditioning promised to cool her simmering temper. A cappuccino would also help soothe the evil thoughts that were aimed at the guy who broke into her room. Storm settled into the most remote terminal, where she communicated with a handful of clients, emailed the O‘ahu Family Court on behalf of a child, sent a message to her secretary, and set up appointments for next week.
She took a contemplative sip of her cappuccino. It was delicious, and reminded her of an old friend, a technical whiz. Last time she’d spoken with Mark Suzuki had been over lunch as a bribe, er, thank you, for getting information from the state Department of Health. She hoped his personal email hadn’t changed. [email protected] was an easy one to remember.
Despite efforts to the contrary, her mind returned to Stella’s sad story, Keiko’s and Carmen’s disappearance, and the theft of her purse and laptop. She hoped her computer’s password held up. Meanwhile, the assholes who’d taken her stuff had only made her more determined.
Mark Suzuki, true to form, was plugged in. “Where are you?” he responded a half second after Storm hit “send.”
“Maui,” Storm typed. “How ‘bout you?”
“New job. Advanced Medical Systems, a software company. Two blocks from the old job. You going to buy me lunch?”
“Dinner, if you can help me. What’s your cell number?”
“Got my interest, girl. 808-224-0176.”
Storm caught the eye of the guy running the shop and pointed to the restroom sign. He nodded his understanding, and she left her cappuccino to reserve her computer terminal.
Inside the little one room lavatory, Storm called him.
“You on your cell?” Mark asked.
“Yes.”
“Our high school reunion isn’t for another five months. Why don’t you call me later?”
“Crap, Mark.” But he’d hung up.
When Storm exited the rest room, the manager was busy with his own phone call. She walked out of the café and scanned the street for a public phone booth, which she found on the side of a pharmacy two doors down. This was costing twenty cents a minute just for the computer terminal, dammit.
“Mark, both of these calls will be on your cell. And you emailed me the number.”
“I relay my calls through other numbers, and I change the number every week or two.”
“What the hell are you doing these days?”
“Selling software.” His voice oozed innocence.
“Yeah, sure.”
“Why’d you call me then?”
“Okay, okay.” Storm considered the information she needed. “Can you get me phone records?”
Mark wheezed.
“Are you laughing?” She wondered about his health, mental and otherwise.
“Storm, my beauty, you crack me up. Whaddya need?”
“The Red Light, in Lahaina. Ichiru Tagama, his son Ryan, Lara Farrell, and this one.” She read off the number her cell phone had saved from Stella’s call that morning. “And Pauline Harding,” she added as an afterthought.
“That’s a lot of dinner, sweetheart.”
“Was that your Sam Spade imitation, or a rusty hinge?”
Mark coughed. It sounded wet and gravelly. “Over what period of time do you want this?”
“Start with last Tuesday.”
He paused. “Wasn’t there an explosion in Kahului on Wednesday?”
“Yeah, there was.”
“You’re gonna owe me lobster and a bottle of wine, my choice.”
“Mark, it’ll be my pleasure.” Though she’d be doing him a better favor if she took him to Natural Health Café, which served tofu lobster. Probably flavored with tilapia.
“I’m holding you to it.” The warning in his voice cut through the rasp. “Watch your back.”
“Thanks,” Storm said, but the line was dead.
She went back to the internet coffee joint, downed the rest of the now tepid cappuccino, and responded to a few more emails. Eight minutes later, the computer timed out and her phone vibrated with a text message.
“Reunion confirmed for August 30. Call for your class assignment.”
Storm went back to the pay phone on the side of the pharmacy.
“I should have asked for two dinners.” He sounded impressed.
“Why?” It was her turn to exude innocence.
“Some high rollers on that list of yours.”
“You didn’t have to identify the numbers.” She didn’t know whether to be annoyed or grateful.
“You were going to do a reverse number search?” He wheezed. “From a pay phone?”
She’d planned to call a police friend in Honolulu. He was her best friend’s fiancé, and Storm trusted him with her life, which he’d saved on more than one occasion. But Lieutenant Chang played by the book, and he would have demanded a lot more information than Mark Suzuki before he did what he might see as dodgy research. Mark’s initiative had saved her some effort, not that she’d ever admit it. “I have my methods.”
“Yeah, right. Well, you need to find a fax. A safe one.”
“I’ll call you back.”
Forty-five minutes later, Storm found a pay phone and a fax at the public library. She’d taken the extra precaution of making a few stops to make sure she wasn’t being followed. Mark’s paranoia was catching.
“That will be $2.75,” the librarian sa
id, and lined up the edges of Storm’s eleven faxed pages.
A bargain, Storm thought, and handed over the money. Back in her sweltering car, Storm looked over the sheets of paper. This was going to take some work, and she needed a cool, private place to cross reference and compare. Her hotel room was probably the best place, as long as she didn’t use the hotel phone.
Just as she started the car, a text message came through on her cell phone. It was from Mark, and it said, “This # no longer in svc.”
Storm grimaced. The guy was a nut case.
Chapter Twenty-three
A half hour after sitting on her bed and looking through Mark Suzuki’s information, Storm knew she had to get to another computer terminal. This brought another surge of annoyance at the kukae-eating low life who’d stolen her lap top, but it was tempered by a wave of excitement.
Though she expected calls among family members and friends such as Stella, Lara, Ryan, and Ichiru Tagama, there were a couple of surprises on Mark’s fax. Ichiru Tagama appeared to have a girlfriend. There were calls at least twice a day to a mobile phone owned by Yasuko Matsui. There were two calls between Stella and Pauline Harding, but that wasn’t as interesting as the two made from The Red Light to Stella’s phone. Even more intriguing was Mark’s note, handwritten next to a call from Pauline to a number that was no longer in service. Mark had printed Akira Kudo changes phones more often than I do.
He’d also starred two calls from the same discontinued number to Ichiru Tagama’s phone. The calls were barely a minute long, and they went one way. Kudo called Tagama, not vice versa.
Shortly after sending the fax, Mark ditched his old phone. Storm would lay odds that he’d burned the film in his fax machine, too. Hell, maybe he’d changed fax machines. Which was why Storm had to get access to the Internet. Who was Akira Kudo, anyway?
It was already after four, and Storm had planned to meet Damon in Lahaina at six. She changed into a dress and sandals, applied a bit of mascara and some lip gloss, checked that she had what she needed, and headed for her car.
At the first traffic light, she dialed Stella’s mobile number. The shaky anxiety in Stella’s voice gave Storm the answer before she asked the question, but she asked anyway.
Pleasing the Dead Page 13
