“You idiot! What are you doing here?”
He was going to kill me. I closed my eyes, waiting for him to shoot. All this time in the war, they told us if we got captured by the Japanese, we’d be shot. Not in a million years had I thought I’d be shot by our own shop teacher. My body went numb. Let it be quick.
“Look at me!” he said. I looked. Foam built up on the corners of his mouth and one of his eyes twitched. “You saw and heard nothing. Got that, Ella?”
I nodded.
“Fucking mess,” he yelled, pounding the dashboard with his giant hand. “This was all his fault. Your father was putting us all in danger. Lie down.”
He shoved me sideways onto the bench seat, smashing my ear with his huge palm. If there was one thing I knew, it was that Papa would never put us in danger. Never ever. My cheek stuck to the seat with tears and strings of snot. I was trying to make sense of what just happened.
Luther was a madman. Papa was dead.
“If you say anything about this, your mother will die, too.”
The whole time we were driving, I heard the two gunshots and felt them burning through my skin. What if Luther had missed? Even so, the ocean was miles below. Only birds knew those cliffs. No one would survive that fall.
Papa was dead.
“I have ears and eyes everywhere, Ella. If I end up in jail, others will come for Violet. I only did what I had to, to stop the spread of sickness. Promise me you won’t talk.”
Another car passed us, unaware of the terror going on inside. “I promise,” I squeaked out.
Luther slammed his hand onto his forehead. “Ah hell, I should just kill you now.” A battle seemed to be going on in his head. Kill Ella. Don’t kill Ella. Kill Ella.
I wanted to say, “No, please don’t,” but I lost my voice.
Papa was dead!
“I don’t want any more blood on my hands, but I will do it. I will. Keep your fucking mouth shut and you and your mother will live.”
I nodded. I wanted my papa at that moment. More than anything I have ever wanted or probably will ever want.
But he was dead.
Chapter Forty-Two
Violet
Before sunrise, Ella finished. Violet trembled. There was no air left in her lungs and her brain struggled to piece it all together. Friend. Liar. Murderer. Of equal concern was how Ella managed to exist without saying anything. Kids believed adults, plain and simple. And Ella would have done anything to keep her mother alive.
“Honey, I wish you had told me.”
Ella looked up at her with those big brown eyes. “He swore he would kill you if I told. And if they got him, he had others to do the job.”
“I know, but this was too much for you to handle on your own. Bad men lie.”
“I didn’t want you to die,” Ella said, her voice cracking.
“Promise me something, okay? If anyone ever threatens you again, you tell me.”
Ella nodded. “I was getting ready to, I swear. And then this happened.”
Violet lay down and hugged her with every ounce of love she could muster. She knew that Ella would have told her if she’d been capable and not threatened into a state of terror. But Ella was her own little person. One with an iron will. Still, disbelief swarmed through her.
Luther taught her shop class, came by the house, did them favors. When in reality, the man was hiding a terrible secret. More than one, actually. In hindsight, Ella’s sickness that first afternoon, the stomachaches and nervous picking, the fear of leaving Violet’s side all made perfect sense. How had she not noticed the connection?
She hugged Ella tighter, wishing she could scrub away any memory of that day. Something this awful had never crossed her mind. Grief, sure. But not in this form.
Now would be a good time to march over and point a gun to Luther’s head. To hell with the law. If a man killed your husband and threatened your daughter, he deserved an extra dose of his own poison.
Jean poked her head in the door. “Is everything all right?”
Violet sat up. “Everything is not all right. Call Setsuko and Irene.”
For once, Jean didn’t ask questions. She ran off to the kitchen.
Not five minutes later, Setsuko showed up. Violet told them everything.
“This is downright outrageous,” said Jean, her cheeks wet with tears.
“I’ll never be able to forgive myself.”
Jean grabbed her arm. “Look at me, Violet. You are in no way responsible for any of this. Do you hear me? None of us suspected.”
“But we knew something was wrong with Ella.”
“Her father disappeared, for Pete’s sake.”
“I should have seen it,” Violet said.
“Nonsense,” Jean assured her.
They walked out to the living room and Jean smoothed down Ella’s hair. “And you. To think you had such knowledge locked up inside you. I just want to hug you for the next thousand years.”
Ella sat propped on a pillow, looking brave. Wisps of hair stuck out in all directions. Violet got the feeling that she felt relieved. No longer the lone keeper of the secret that had been gnawing away at her insides and festering in her tiny heart.
Setsuko stood and began to pace. “We need to call Souza.”
“Oh, we will. Right now, in fact. But I also have a plan,” Violet said.
Jean looked worried. “What kind of plan?”
“You’ll see.”
* * *
Irene arrived fifteen minutes later, wearing rubber boots and a look of surprise. She agreed to stay with the kids, and in the kitchen. Violet quietly instructed her to lock the doors and call Souza in twenty minutes. Leaving Ella was the last thing she wanted to do, but had to. She told her they were off to tell the sheriff.
A small lie.
They took Roscoe and went straight to Setsuko’s house, where a gun lay hidden in a shoebox under the floorboard. Violet knew because the gun once belonged to Herman. She also knew how to shoot a fly from a hundred yards away. One of the perks of growing up in the boondocks of Minnesota. Setsuko pulled a chair to the closet and lifted down an old rifle.
“You never know,” she said.
Jean paced behind them. “This is a bad idea. And don’t point that thing anywhere near me.”
“I need to see the fear of God in his eyes, before Souza shows up. Make him squirm.” Violet fingered the cold, hard steel.
“I’m with you,” Setsuko said.
“What if he’s awake?” Jean asked.
“He won’t be.”
The moon had dropped behind the mountains, leaving only darkness and a thin announcement of sunrise. Violet held Roscoe close on the rope as they hurried toward Luther’s cottage at the far end of campus. As they approached, the hair lifted on her neck.
The small one-room building used to be the shop, but a few years back Herman helped Luther transform it into living quarters. Concrete floors aided in their plan, which hinged on Luther being asleep. Violet held open the screen door, and Jean and Setsuko tiptoed in. The first thing that struck her was the stench. Bottles covered the table, and the rank smell of liquor overwhelmed.
No wonder he is drinking himself to death.
Maybe it was her imagination, but Roscoe seemed to sense an importance to their mission and remained glued to her thigh. They had to pick up bottles from the floor in order to avoid a clamor. She counted sixteen. She stopped at the bedroom door, with Setsuko pressed behind her and Jean in the rear with a baseball bat in hand.
They slipped in.
Funny how life could change direction overnight. When they’d gotten home from the cave yesterday, Violet had every intention of telling Luther about Herman. Even if he was suspected of spreading lies. Only there had been no answer when she called and she was too sapped to leave the house
. The news could wait until morning. Now they were here with a different kind of news.
“Jean, stay over here,” she whispered. And to Setsuko, “And you point the rifle at his chest. Give me ten seconds to get in place.”
Setsuko nodded.
Once in the room, Violet’s bare feet stuck to the gritty floor. Sweat and old socks stunk up the air. Enough light shone in the window to reveal Luther lying half under the sheets in a white undershirt. His mouth hung open. Two seconds later Jean flipped the switch and the whole room lit up. Violet raised the gun.
“Luther,” she said.
He might have heard, because his mouth puckered up and he moaned, but he didn’t wake. “Luther!” she said, louder this time.
His eyes popped open and he immediately shaded them from the light. “What’s this all about?” he growled. When he removed his hand and saw Violet standing at the foot of his bed with a gun aimed at his face, he pulled the blanket up to his chin as if that might protect him. “Holy Christ, Violet!”
She held his gaze. His eyes were bloodshot and drool crusted in his beard.
“Why, Luther? Tell me why you killed him.”
No answer would ever be enough.
His eyes narrowed. “Have you lost your mind?”
Violet studied his shortened breaths and the look of fear falling across his face. “We already know that you’re a coward and a bully. But a murderer?”
“Don’t forget liar,” Setsuko said from the door.
For the first time, Luther looked away from Violet, catching sight of the rifle and the lion. Then his eyes went to his bedside table and he seemed to be measuring his chances of reaching something there.
“Take those guns off me,” he said.
With both hands on the gun, Violet took one step closer. “And just so you know, I could hit a walnut from two hundred yards.”
The blood ran out of his face.
Violet continued, not sure how she managed. “We know everything. We found Herman in the back of a cave yesterday. There were bullets. Ella broke down and filled us in on the rest. You son of a bitch, my daughter is going to have to live with this the rest of her life.”
“She’s lucky to be alive,” Luther said.
The words shocked her into immobility, while she wondered what turned a human into a monster. Something in his tone caused a low hum in Roscoe. Luther took the opportunity to lunge across the bed, out of her line of fire. At the same time, Roscoe flew across the room and pinned him down with both paws, sitting over him like a dead bird. Violet had seen cats move at light speed to catch a lizard or a mouse, but she wouldn’t have suspected Roscoe to be so quick.
Luther lay facedown, with Roscoe growling in his ear. “Oh, God, help me!”
All along, their plan had never been to kill Luther. Just pump him up with fear. The man who had killed her husband and instilled terror in her daughter, all the while coming over and acting helpful and concerned. She wanted to burn their pie stand that he had built for them. Let him think he was at the mercy of three crazy housewives and a lion. The plan seemed to be working. Soon, claw marks formed in the fleshy skin of his back. His whimpering gave her a small measure of satisfaction.
Jean came out of hiding and walked up to the bed. “You may not know this, but Roscoe has an affinity for fat old men.”
Luther tried to wiggle free, but Roscoe bared his teeth and rumbled. Violet forced herself to sound calm. “So, what do you say? Want Roscoe to finish you off, or would you rather rot in prison for the rest of your life?”
With his face pressed into the mattress, Luther sobbed and mumbled to himself. “I didn’t mean it. Going to hell. One last drink.” Roscoe looked over and she raised her palm. In the month before Parker left, he had tried to teach him hand signals. Violet had laughed, saying that cats couldn’t be trained. But Parker believed Roscoe knew exactly what they all meant. Whatever the case, it worked. He sat down on Luther and waited.
Outside, an engine roared up and tires screeched on gravel. Three doors slammed.
“We’re in the bedroom,” Violet called out the window.
When Souza got to the door, he about dropped. The way Luther lay like a dummy, it was hard to tell if he was still alive. Fear would do that to a person.
Two deputies trailed behind Souza, all armed. The men surrounded the bed from a distance and kept their guns pointed to the ceiling, away from Roscoe. “Luther Hodges, you are under arrest for the murder of Herman Iverson,” Souza said.
Luther groaned.
“Want to call off your lion, ladies?” Souza said.
Violet patted her leg. “Roscoe, come.”
He jumped off the bed and padded over, sitting at her feet and rubbing his scratchy head against her leg. She felt a swell of pride. Everyone in the room let out a sigh of relief. But she had known all along that Roscoe was not a man killer. All three policemen pointed their guns at the bed.
“You, get your slimy ass off the bed. You’re coming with us,” Souza said.
Violet turned and walked out. Luther had poured darkness over her family. How could she erase that?
Chapter Forty-Three
Ella
Murder is big news in a small town. Especially when the killer turns out to be the school shop teacher. That and the fact that everyone knows Luther and my papa were friends. Before the murder. Not that any murder is right, but somehow killing a friend seems more twisted. That’s what Jean says.
It also came out that Luther made up a story about Takeo, and his being taken to camp was one big misunderstanding. Seems like a pretty big misunderstanding, but Sheriff Souza is working on getting him out. Most of the people in his camp have been sent to the mainland, where there are a whole lot more camps. There, you don’t even need to have done anything bad. Just being Japanese is enough. I hope the sheriff has some pull.
Mama sat me down and explained that once in a while, a person goes bad, kind of like with coconuts. On the outside, everything looks fine, but you open it up and the meat is brown and smelly. I suppose you could say that Luther is a human version of rotten.
A few days after the arrest, early in the morning, someone came knocking on our door. I was already up heating cream for Roscoe. Mama was in the bathroom, so I peeked out to see who was there. Bernard Lalamilo stood with a newspaper in hand.
I walked out to greet him. “Hi, Mr. Lalamilo. Would you like to come in?”
He looked at me with sorry eyes and one less tooth than just the other day. “You doing all right, girl?”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
I could tell that he wanted to make things better. He might drink a lot of moonshine, but he was a good man. I had seen that right off the bat. And I never told Mama this, but he helped me into the cave. He knew I had to see for myself.
Mama showed up behind me. “Bernard,” she said.
“Ma’am, just wanted to give you this.” He held out the rolled-up paper. “Glad you got the bastard. Luther came down plenty for okolehao. Something not right with that man.”
“With all that guilt burning through him, he’d have needed it,” Mama said.
She took the paper. Would you believe that even larger than the photographs of Papa and Luther was a photograph of Roscoe sitting on the front of a jeep, surrounded by all us schoolchildren. Someone must have taken it that first day the soldiers brought him, out in the school yard. Of all the kids in the picture, I was the only one petting him. In the picture, you could see my underwear, but I’m long past caring about that sort of thing.
We spread out the paper on the table and read.
LION NEW TOWN HERO
January 4, 1945.
Roscoe, the infamous lion of Camp Tarawa, helped catch a cold-blooded killer. On New Year’s Day, new information as to the whereabouts of missing Honoka’a High principal Herman Iverson was uncovered
. Sheriff Bobby Souza remained tight-lipped on details, but suggested that the remains of a body were found, with evidence of gunshot wounds and bullets still at the scene. Just before dawn the following morning, Souza and his deputies apprehended the suspected killer, none other than Luther Hodges, the shop teacher. Souza said that in the process of the arrest, Hodges lunged for his gun, but Roscoe the lion pinned him down, saving the officers from a scuffle, or worse.
No motive was available, nor information about how they found the body so long after the disappearance. Several unnamed sources revealed that Hodges had lost a son at Pearl Harbor and believed Herman to be somehow responsible. Iverson was a well-known supporter of local Japanese, and reports are that the two clashed and it turned deadly. Hodges had also turned to the bottle.
Violet Iverson, Herman’s widow, has been helping to care for Roscoe while the marines are away. According to Souza, Roscoe is going to be deputized and honored in a ceremony. Police dogs are common, but this is the first known case of a police lion. Long live Roscoe!
I was so proud of Roscoe I cried. Big sobbing gulps. We all did. Mama said he was a hero in more than one way. Not only did he help them get Luther, but he helped nurse me back to health. Not that many people have a lion for a nursemaid. I guess that makes me lucky.
* * *
Planning a service for Papa with a real and proper goodbye, and a ceremony for Roscoe, kept us busy through all the next week. “Doing is the best medicine,” Mama liked to say. And she was right. All that turmoil that had built up inside me was now slowly leaking out, little by little. I hardly had time to think about what I had been through.
We crawled through the forest, cutting ginger and ferns for the church ceremony. Mama even strung an extra long yellow plumeria lei for Roscoe. By Friday, we ended up with enough coconut pies for the whole island.
On the morning of the funeral, Mama told me to dress in color rather than black. She had insisted on Aloha attire as standard dress. Something about celebrating life, not death. Plus, we were in Hawaii. As usual, I picked a flowered yellow dress and Jean helped me pin a red hibiscus in my hair. When she bent over me, I smelled roses.
Island of Sweet Pies and Soldiers Page 28
