“Lemme call Damon and get back to you.”
Fred disconnected before Hamlin could respond, and Hamlin sagged against the side of his car. Fred sounded like a laid-back, trusting guy, but if he didn’t call back, Hamlin didn’t know where to go. He didn’t know Damon’s last name, though he figured he could canvas the streets and ask who was doing construction on the shop. Kihei was a small town; he’d find out, but it would take more time and effort than he wanted to spend. He was getting more anxious by the minute.
Five minutes later, Fred called back. Hamlin had already started to pace and glance at his watch. He was beginning to sweat, too. He needed to get out of his work clothes.
“He doesn’t answer. Probably at the beach. But you’re Storm’s friend.” Fred rattled off a street in Lahaina, and Hamlin wrote it down.
“You have Damon’s phone number?”
Fred gave it to him.
“Thanks, man. I really appreciate it.” Hamlin had the car heading onto the main road by the time he disconnected. No one answered at the number Fred had given him for Damon, and Hamlin didn’t have any other leads.
Budget Rental Cars had given him a map with their contract, but it wasn’t very detailed. Hamlin had it open on the passenger’s seat to the page with details of Maui’s south coast. He was probably going to have to stop and ask, as the map was geared for popular tourist destinations, and he doubted that residential areas would be on it.
Hamlin’s rental car hugged the lane of Honoapi‘ilani Highway closest to the chiseled cliff. A steel net like hurricane fence kept boulders from falling into passing traffic. Ten feet from the other side of the road, the Pacific Ocean caressed the shore. Shallow coral reefs under the gentle surface imbued the sea with undulating green and turquoise hues. Farther out, where the depth of the sea plummeted between the volcanic mountain tips that comprise the Hawaiian Islands, the ocean glittered sapphire.
The smaller isle of Lanai hulked along this coast; it looked close enough to swim, Hamlin thought, and the calm ocean lured people to try. There was a popular race from Lanai to Maui. But Hamlin knew individuals had died in the attempt. Though the island looked barely a mile away, it was nearly nine, and the channel was patrolled by sharks.
Ordinarily, big sharks are merely glimpsed by people enjoying the crystalline waters, but a couple times each year, a Tiger or Great White attacks someone. One theory is that the predator has confused the human with its usual prey: turtles, seals, birds, fish, dead animals.
Hamlin also knew that this stretch of the highway was notorious for car accidents. Its twists, turns, and tunnel required a focus that was easily drawn astray by the azure sea. So he kept his eyes on the highway, and found his curiosity aroused when he rounded a tree-shaded curve where the road curved inland and saw a line of police cars on the berm of the road.
Hamlin wasn’t the only driver to slow in order to see what was happening. A long column of cars threaded through the area at about twenty miles per hour, and all heads were turned toward the woods to see what was going on. Had to be something big; there was a fire truck, an ambulance, at least six blue-and-whites, plus three or four unmarked cars. People came and went from paths among the trees, which were plentiful enough to block any view of the scene. Not even the ocean was visible.
Hamlin, like everyone else, peered at the officials milling around the vehicles. But when he saw Terry Wu standing by his dark red Monte Carlo, Hamlin’s heart lurched. The anxiety that was simmering below the surface of his thinning facade bubbled to the surface. Worse yet, his eye caught Wu’s, and Wu, who looked miserable, looked away from him.
There was too much traffic to pull over. Hamlin drove a quarter mile up the road, where he found a narrow turnout on the ocean side of the road. It was approximately where the gawking drivers were speeding up again, and no one took any notice of his quick exit from the stream of traffic.
He dug into his overnight bag, found a T-shirt, chinos, and his running shoes, and changed clothes in his car. Then he threw his bag in the trunk, locked up, and jogged back to where he’d seen Wu.
A burly policeman stopped him where the line of official vehicles began, but he asked the cop to find Wu, and the man did it. Wu appeared after five or ten minutes, and didn’t look any happier than he had when Hamlin had driven by.
There was sand clinging to a damp spot on one knee of Wu’s dark trousers and the tail on his tucked-in aloha shirt poked out on his left side. Since tucking in one’s aloha shirt in the first place was considered fastidious, Hamlin surmised that whatever Wu was up to was rattling him.
Wu spoke first. “Have you found Storm?”
“No,” Hamlin said, and raised a hand in the direction of the woods. “Does this have anything to do with her?”
“She’s not here. Have you heard anything about this?” Wu waved his hand in the direction of the woods.
“No, but it doesn’t look like the annual police picnic, either.”
Wu ran his hand through his hair. “We’re trying to keep the press away as long as we can. Looks like a couple of local thugs had it out with,” Wu faltered, “someone.”
Someone? Hamlin’s heart squeezed with urgency, and he analyzed Wu’s words and the way he’d delivered them. Storm wasn’t in the woods, and Wu was being truthful. In a way. He hadn’t answered Hamlin’s question, either.
“I understand the need for keeping whatever this is under wraps,” and Hamlin tilted his head toward the protected area, “but I’m worried about Storm. Do you have any idea where she might be?”
Wu shook his head. “I was hoping you’d found her.” He sounded sincere.
Hamlin showed Wu the information he’d gotten from Fred. “Do you know where this is? She may have gone to this address.”
“It’s a few miles up the road, a little subdivision with townhouses and small homes. Take the first left after Front Street.”
Hamlin gave Wu a hard look. “Will you call me if you hear anything?”
“Yes, I will,” Wu said.
Hamlin jogged back to where he’d left the car. He forced his way into the slow-moving traffic going toward Lahaina, and found himself at Damon’s address within fifteen minutes. As Wu had said, it wasn’t far.
Wu was also correct in his description of the neighborhood, which was modest and middle class. No sidewalks, and mostly carports instead of closed garages. Damon’s house had a new coat of paint, but the yard was dry and needed mowing. The only car in his driveway was a sun-faded Subaru station wagon.
In Hamlin’s experience, most contractors drove pickup trucks, but no truck was parked near the house. He banged on the front door. As he’d expected—it was typical of how the day was going—no one was home. On the other hand, it was four-thirty on a sunny Sunday afternoon. Not quite late enough for people to be coming home for dinner, but way too late for Storm, who was supposed to have met him an hour and a half earlier.
Hamlin tamped down his rising panic, balled up his fist and banged again. Someone next door came to see what the racket was, but no one answered at Damon’s house. Hamlin walked across the lawn to the neighbor’s. A skinny teenager with an incipient moustache and acne was at the door.
“You know where Damon might be?”
“Haven’t seen him,” the teenager said. “I thought you were someone else.”
“Does he have a lot of visitors?”
The kid shrugged. “I guess. His wife left.”
“Any women come by lately?” Hamlin described Storm.
The kid shrugged again, rubbed his upper lip as if it might encourage the spotty moustache. “Maybe. Long hair or short?”
“Shoulder length, wavy. Usually in a French braid.”
“She looks like a model? Drives a white Corvette?”
“Maybe.” Hamlin thought he’d play out this line of questioning. “When did she come by?”
If he shrugged as much as this kid, he’d get a kink in his neck. But at least t
he boy was friendly. “Like, yesterday?” the kid said.
“Is that Damon’s car?” Hamlin pointed to a late-model white Chrysler Sebring sedan parked between Damon’s house and the kid’s.
“That’s one of his lady friend’s. That’s what my dad said, anyway.”
“Your dad around?”
“Nope, he’s out fishing.”
“Your mom?”
“No.”
Hamlin thanked the young man, and went to check the Sebring. No visible stickers or tags, because the rental companies didn’t want to draw attention to visitors’ cars. Their offices were full of signs warning tourists about burglaries.
Hamlin peered into the passenger window, and held his breath. On the front seat was a little hairbrush, one that he knew Storm kept in her purse.
The last communication he’d had from her was when she’d called from the beach. By that time, she’d checked out of the hotel. Perhaps she’d put other things in the trunk, but the doors were locked, so he had no way of finding out. The hairbrush was enough, though. She’d been here.
Storm had told him about Lara, and Hamlin knew Lara was the driver of the Corvette. He also knew Lara was engaged to a guy named Ryan Tagama, so Hamlin surmised that Lara’s visits to Damon’s house were probably either social or business contacts.
Maybe some of the other neighbors had seen Storm. A yapping dog drew him across the street, and he knocked on the door. An older gentleman answered, with a reprimand that silenced the dog. Hamlin explained that he was supposed to meet Storm, and began to describe her.
“I know who you mean,” the man interrupted. “Buster and I saw her. A real pretty wahine. Right, Buster?” The dog sat by his owner’s feet and wagged his tail.
“When?”
“Well, we’d had lunch. It was later than usual because Mrs. Dressle came by with tickets to a fundraiser. Let’s see…”
Hamlin wanted to jerk open the door and squeeze the answer out of him. Instead, he made himself take deep, even breaths.
“It was around two, I’d say. Maybe two-fifteen.”
“What was she doing?”
“Knocking on his door.” The man pointed to Damon’s house. “He didn’t answer, so she talked on the phone. Someone died. She was kind of upset.”
“Did she say a name?” Hamlin had difficulty keeping calm. Could Damon have died? His worker, Fred, would have known, wouldn’t he?
The man’s eyes rolled as if he were examining one bushy eyebrow, then the other. “Yeah. Buster, did she say Mary?”
The dog wagged his tail again.
“Do you know who Mary is?” Hamlin asked.
“No idea.”
“Thanks,” Hamlin said, already halfway down the front steps.
Two o’clock. Storm stopped here on the way to meet his plane, but her car was sitting stranded, and so was a Subaru station wagon. Hamlin had a strong hunch she didn’t leave this place. At least not under her own will. He looked at the closed house. The front curtains were drawn, and it sat still and unforthcoming.
He dashed back to his car and got his phone. “Wu, are you still at that crime scene?”
“I’m leaving, why?”
“I need help.”
Chapter Thirty-eight
Storm looked at the pain on Stella’s face. Though it was mostly due to hearing about Yasuko’s death and her concern over Tagama’s welfare, some of it had to be because her hands were still fastened painfully behind her back.
Storm stood up, bent her knees to move with the swaying cabin, and slid her feet along the floorboards. She was at eye level with the outside deck, stooped slightly in the six inch rise the locked hatch provided. Two oval portholes provided what little fresh air there was. The windows were secured from the outside by large screws.
She needed something sharp, an object with enough edge to saw through the heavy plastic ties that bound their hands. One trip around the tiny room at eye level didn’t give her anything to work with. There was nothing on or around the bunks, either.
She opened the door to the head. The toilet had a hand pump, and though the shaft was metal, it was smooth and round. The handle was plastic.
But the fire extinguisher was another matter. It was made of red-painted steel, and it had a metal pin and metal handles. It was also bracketed to the wall of the tiny lavatory with slightly corroded metal calipers.
Stella and Keiko had at first assumed she went into the head to use it, but when she hauled the extinguisher off the wall, they began to pay attention. Keiko got to her feet.
“See if there’s anything sharp on this,” Storm said, and handed the red tank to her. It was fairly heavy and about eighteen inches in length and six or seven inches in diameter. “I’ll try the bracket.”
Keiko didn’t need to be asked twice. She hauled it to one of the bunks and began loosening one of the bands that attached the hose and nozzle to the tank.
The upper edge of one of the wall brackets was rough and narrow, and Storm began to work her wrist restraints back and forth against it. Each tug sent pain shooting up her arms. Blood began to flow again, and Storm gritted her teeth. The plastic was beginning to fray, though, and she kept at it.
Five minutes later, her eyes were squeezed closed against the pain and the sight of her tattered skin. When Keiko tapped her on the shoulder, she was lost in the effort and she jerked with surprise.
“Put your arms out.” Keiko held the flat blade of a box cutter in her free hands.
Storm stared. “Where did you find that?”
“Someone slipped it under the door.”
“When?”
“I don’t know. We just found it.”
“You didn’t see who did it?”
“Must have been Lara,” Keiko said. She attacked the ties at Storm’s wrists.
There was a sharp, painful jerk, and Storm’s hands dropped free. Stella stood behind Keiko with a first aid kit.
“I found this in a storage compartment under the bunk,” she said, and squeezed a tube of Bacitracin ointment along the cuts on Storm’s arms. She then took a roll of gauze and covered the abrasions. Both her arms and Keiko’s were wrapped, too.
“What a relief,” Storm breathed.
Then the three women looked at each other. “Now what?” Keiko asked.
“Did Lara open the door?” Storm asked.
Both women shook their heads.
“You didn’t see her? Not even her feet in the crack under the door?”
“No,” Stella said. “But who else would it be?”
Storm thought for a moment. “I wonder how many people are on the boat. Lara, a driver, at least one other person to watch Lara. Probably two. “Did anyone look in on you while I was out cold?” Storm asked.
“No,” Stella said. “A man shoved us in here, and he loosened our hoods. We waited for him to leave before we worked at getting out of them.”
“He didn’t want you to see him,” Storm said. “I think that’s a good sign.”
“We thought so, too,” Stella said. “But why are we here?”
“Maybe because of Carmen.” Panic lit Keiko’s eyes. “They’re going to kidnap her again.”
“Carmen’s hospital room has a guard,” Storm told her. “The police won’t let it happen.” She told them about Yoshinaka’s gambling debts at The Red Light.
“You’re sure this is Lara’s boat?” Storm asked.
“Sure, it’s called the Quest. We’ve worked on it,” Stella said. “Obake must have stolen it.”
Storm looked around the cabin from her seat on the bunk. Someone had left water bottles even though their hands were tied behind their backs. It didn’t make sense.
Obake so far had been pitiless. Storm would bet he wasn’t on the boat. Yet, that is. Perhaps the three of them, four with Lara, were being taken to him. If Obake wanted information, their captors would be told to keep them conscious and coherent.
Stor
m stood up and went to one of the narrow portholes. The view was out to sea, blue as far as she could see. The dizzying vastness made her slightly panicky, and she darted to the porthole on the other side.
There she could see a sliver of coastline, a wedge of white sand alternating with rough, black boulders along the shore. But the boat was either rounding a point or was heading toward shore, because the limited scope of the window showed only a glimpse of land. The rest of the view was the same expanse of space.
There were no hotels or other buildings. That meant they probably weren’t headed toward Kapalua or Honolua Bay. Those areas would be more developed. There would be people, boats, and activity. She would also be able to see either Lanai or Molokai. Unless they were already off the far shore of one of the other islands. That thought brought another jolt of alarm.
She wondered where Obake might want to meet them. Someplace isolated, where no one could observe. It was easy to get rid of people in the ocean. People often disappeared at sea, especially from boats, never to be seen again.
“How long have we been under way?” she asked.
“You woke up not long after we got going,” Stella said. “I’d say we’ve been on the water for about twenty minutes. This boat was docked in Kihei.”
At that moment, Storm glimpsed a dive boat off in the distance. It was way off in the distance, too far away to notice them, but just seeing other people gave her some comfort.
The dive boat got Storm thinking about popular dive destinations. There were a lot of prime dive spots on Maui, including the extinct volcanic crater known as Molokini. She put her face as close to the window as she could and strained to peer around the edge of the window frame. If only she could get her face out farther for a wider scope. Impossible, though.
Her eyes ached with the effort of trying to glimpse a view just out of sight, plus the sun was slicing through the window on the open-ocean side of the boat and heating up the cabin.
“What time is it?” she asked. Her own watch was gone, probably lost in her struggle on the floor of Damon’s living room. She’d liked that watch; it was a bright turquoise Nixon surfer’s watch. Waterproof, naturally. Lot of good that was doing her now.
Pleasing the Dead Page 22
