by Mike Befeler
I flinched. “I didn’t recognize him.”
“I know,” Detective Saito said. “Your defective memory. This your golf club?”
“Yeah. I was getting my bag out of a storage locker when I heard a noise. I came to investigate and found Moki lying on the floor.”
Saito removed a pair of rubber gloves from his pocket and slipped them on. “Blood on the golf club. Were you and Moki having another argument, Mr. Jacobson?”
“Wait a minute. That club fell out of the golf bag. Moki was already on the floor.”
“You have some blood on your clothes,” Saito said, as he pointed to my pants. “You and I spoke a little while ago and you indicated you were going to ‘whack something with your golf clubs.’ Was that something Moki?”
“Look, Detective, I’m going to Turtle Bay tomorrow with my family. My son invited me to play golf, so I retrieved my clubs from a storage cage. I don’t know what Moki was doing here. I thought he was a night watchman.”
The receptionist who had come into the storage room after all the commotion spoke up. “That’s right. He’s not on duty for another five hours.”
Detective Saito ignored her and leveled his gaze at me. “Awfully convenient that you and Moki both happened to be here at the same time, given your previous encounter. Did you set up the meeting?”
“Are you kidding? It was a coincidence.”
“I don’t believe in coincidences,” Saito said.
“Give me a break. I just spoke with you on the phone. Knowing you were coming over, would I pick that time to whack Moki over the head?”
“You probably already had it planned.”
“When Moki regains consciousness, why don’t you find out why he was here? I’ve told you what I was doing.”
“I’m taking the golf clubs in for lab analysis,” he said.
“And how am I supposed to play golf with my son if you’re confiscating my equipment?”
“That’s your problem. Right now this is evidence. One more crime on your growing list, Mr. Jacobson.”
“Yeah, right. And you’ll find my fingerprints on the clubs, because I’m the only one who uses them.”
“And I need to take your pants and shoes.”
“Why?”
“ Because they have blood on them.”
“You want me to strip down right here?”
“No. We can go up to your room.”
“Great. Any other possessions you’d like me to donate?”
“You have a stamp collection?” Saito asked.
He accompanied me up to my domicile, and I changed my pants and shoes.
“Anything else I can do for you, Detective?”
He shrugged. “You could confess and make all our lives easier. Remember that Waianae jail. You ready to come clean about this crime spree of yours?”
“I’m only guilty of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“You and every other criminal. I should take you in.”
“Why don’t you talk to Moki when he regains consciousness? He’s not going to say he was hit over the head with a golf club.”
“We’ll see, Mr. Jacobson. We’ll see. Remember my warning. And don’t leave the island.”
“I’ll be at Turtle Bay for the next two days, Detective.”
After Saito left, I looked at my watch and decided it was time for some dinner. I found Meyer and Henry already eating.
Without looking up, Henry said, “You smell musty.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“And you have dust all over your shirt.”
“Crap. I’ve been rummaging around our storage area. What do you expect?”
Henry said, “Trying to hide from the police?”
“No. Just finding more bodies. You could be next, Henry.”
He looked up with eyes as wide as saucers and started chewing like a mulching machine.
* * * * *
The next morning, thanks to my journal, I was ready when my family came to pick me up.
“I get to go surfing, Grandpa,” Jennifer informed me as we sat together in the back seat of the once “stolen” rental car.
“And I’m going to play golf,” I said.
“Why didn’t you bring your clubs, Dad?” Denny asked.
“It’s a long story. I’ll spring for rental clubs.”
“There’s a neat surfing spot right next to the hotel,” Jennifer said. “I researched it on the Internet.”
“You’re a wealth of information,” I said.
“And you’ll be able to watch me,” Jennifer said.
“I’d like that, as long as I can do it from solid ground.”
After we arrived at Turtle Bay and checked in, we were led to adjoining rooms. Jennifer came bouncing through the connecting door from her room into mine. “Look at the cool view, Grandpa.”
I gazed out the sliding glass door to see a white sand beach below, with people swimming in the calm water. “I don’t see any surfers.”
“That’s because the surfing is on the other side of the hotel.”
“I’m glad you know where things are.”
“I’m going to put my bathing suit on and catch some waves.”
“I’m ready to come watch you,” I said. “Just point me in the right direction.”
After Denny rented a surfboard for Jennifer, he, Allison and I sat in lounge chairs on a bluff overlooking the ocean. We watched Jennifer paddle out and join some other surfers waiting on their boards.
I leaned over to Denny. “It’s amazing. I’d be scared shitless to be out there, and my granddaughter is in the middle of the ocean with no concerns.”
“She’s a good swimmer. Been competing in swim meets since she was seven.”
“This is a good spot to watch,” Allison said. “Usually you’re looking straight out from a beach, but we’re on this peninsula right alongside the surfers.”
Jennifer caught a wave and balanced on her board as she headed toward shore. We all clapped, even though she was too far away to hear us.
Later, when Jennifer took a break and returned to where we were sitting, I said, “Weren’t you scared out there?”
She looked at me like I had motored in from another planet. “Of course not.”
“What about other things in the ocean with you?”
“Oh, Grandpa. That doesn’t worry me.”
“I guess I’ll do all the worrying for both of us, then. You’d never get me out there.”
Later, Denny and I played nine holes of golf. I upheld the family honor by only feeding two balls into water traps. With some creative scorekeeping, I broke fifty for the nine holes.
After my golf exploits, we had a pleasant dinner, and Jennifer and I sat by the pool while Denny and Allison had a nightcap.
“How will you know where you are in the morning, Grandpa?”
“That’s a good question. When I wake up, I will have forgotten all the events of today and coming here.”
“There must be something we can do to help your memory.”
Besides Marion, I had no other suggestions. “I’ll have to write a note to myself and leave it in a place where I’ll read it first thing tomorrow.”
“But what if you forget to read it?”
“That’s a problem,” I said.
“You should do what I do. I put a sticker on my chin.”
“How does that help?”
“When I wake up, I feel the sticker on my chin and know I have something to remember,” Jennifer said.
“Kind of like tying a string around your finger?”
“I’ve never heard of that.”
“What we old folks used to do,” I said. “Trouble is, I don’t have any stickers.”
“But I do. I have stars and kittens and bells and . . . all kinds. I’ll give you some when we get upstairs.”
“I don’t know if it will help me.”
“Give it a try, Grandpa. It can’t hurt.”
Before Jennif
er went to bed, she brought me a strip of stickers. After I wrote up the day’s events, I considered what she had said. What the hell? I stuck a teddy bear on my chin. It was no dumber than anything else in my life lately.
* * * * *
Where was I? It was dark. I fumbled around and found a lamp by my bed and turned on the light. I was in some strange room. Looked like a hotel. Getting up, I found my robe and put it on. I looked out the window. A sliver of moon hung in the sky and reflected on the ocean. What was I doing in a hotel by the ocean? Where could I be?
Opening the door to my room, I peered outside and spotted a newspaper lying on the carpet across the hall. I had no clue what day it was. I stepped out and reached for the paper. There was a click behind me.
Horse pucky. The door had locked. I was stuck outside my room. I wandered down the hallway and found a staircase which I descended to a deserted lobby. Damn. I hadn’t even noticed what my room number was, or what floor I was on.
No one seemed to be around, so I climbed the stairs again. I thought I had come down two flights. I tried to retrace my route as best as my foggy memory could reconstruct it. This could have been the right floor. I wasn’t sure. Wandering down the hallway, I looked at room numbers. Fiddle fart. I should have paid attention before. Then I came to an ajar door. A book propped it open. What the heck? I pushed it open. A woman lying in bed was reading. She looked my way, her eyes went wide, and she screamed.
I raced out the door. I heard continued screaming as I reached the stairway and descended to the lobby again. I sat in one of the wicker chairs there.
Tightening my robe, I stared at an antherium in a green vase on the table in front of me. At least it wouldn’t scream at me. My eyes closed and I was ready to doze off when someone shook my shoulder.
My eyes popped open. A security guard stood there.
“May I see some identification please,” he said as he narrowed his eyes.
I patted my robe pockets. “My wallet seems to be in my room.”
“Room Key.” He held out his hands, his fingers motioning toward his palms.
“I’m locked out of my room.”
“Come with me.”
I struggled to my feet and followed him.
He motioned for me to go behind the check-in counter. We walked down a hallway and entered an office.
“Wait here.”
After he left the room, I heard the sound of the door locking.
The windowless room had several chairs, a desk, a computer and a file cabinet. What was going on here?
Shortly thereafter, another man entered. He wore dark pants and a blue aloha shirt. Stood my height with neatly trimmed dark hair.
“Your name please,” he said, tapping his fingers on the desk.
“Paul Jacobson. Who are you?”
“Peter Nakamura. I’m the night manager. Mr. Jacobson, we had a complaint that a man with a deformed chin, who was wearing a robe, entered a woman’s room on the third floor.”
“I don’t know where I am. I was wandering around and found an open door and looked in. A woman screamed. I don’t know about a deformed chin.”
“What’s that on your chin?”
I put my hand to my face, peeled off a teddy bear sticker, and said, “What in blazes is this?”
“Good question. Are you a guest here, Mr. Jacobson?”
“I think so. I woke up in a room. I can’t remember how I got here. What is this place, anyway?”
He stared at me like I was some kind of pervert wandering around with a teddy bear sticker on his chin. “You’re at Turtle Bay.”
“This is all very confusing.”
“Let me check the registration to see if your name is shown.”
He strolled over to the computer on the desk and clicked the keys, turning periodically to keep his eyes on me.
“No Paul Jacobson shown. I see a Denny Jacobson with two adjoining rooms.”
“That’s my son! My son must be here.”
“I’ll call and have him come down.”
I sat with my head bowed. Ten minutes later, Denny stormed into the office. He didn’t look awake.
“What’s going on, Dad?”
“You Denny Jacobson?” Nakamura asked.
“Yes.”
“Your father has been wandering around the hotel and intimidating a guest.”
“Wait a goddamn minute,” I said. “I was lost and didn’t know where I was. All I did was look in a room and a woman screamed. That’s all.”
Denny smiled at the hotel guy. “This is easily explained. My dad has short-term memory loss. He forgets things.”
“That doesn’t excuse going into someone’s room uninvited,” Nakamura said.
“Give me a break,” I said. “The door was open. I was trying to find where I belonged.”
Nakamura unfolded a sheet of paper. “Here’s the statement from Mrs. Hughes. ‘I couldn’t sleep as I felt warm. I opened the sliding glass door and the room door to get a cross breeze. I was reading in bed when this crazy man charged into my room. He was wearing a robe, had wild hair and a deformed chin.’”
“That what happened, Dad?”
“I entered a room with an open door,” I said. “As far as wild hair, it might be that way from sleeping.”
“Mr. Jacobson had this on his chin.” Nakamura held up the teddy bear sticker.
“Looks like one of Jennifer’s stickers,” Denny said.
“I have no idea what it was doing on my chin,” I said.
“Maybe Jennifer knows. She should be up soon.” Denny turned toward Nakamura. “This all seems to be a misunderstanding.”
“You may be right,” Nakamura said. “I still need to file a report with the police. Mrs. Hughes is threatening to sue the hotel.”
“Just because a menopausal woman lets her imagination run wild?” I said.
Denny put his hand on my shoulder. “Enough, Dad. Let’s get you upstairs.”
Inside Denny’s room it was light, and the commotion had awakened Jennifer.
The first thing she said to me was, “Did the sticker help you remember, Grandpa?”
“The house dick busted me for wandering around,” I said. “I had a sticker on my chin. What was I supposed to remember?”
“You wanted to remember to read what you wrote in your journal.”
“What journal?”
“You keep notes about what you do every day,” Jennifer said. “To remind yourself.” She walked into the adjoining room and returned with some note paper. “Here’s what you wrote last night.”
I sat down and read that I had watched Jennifer surf and had played a round of golf. “I live a pretty quiet life from what I wrote,” I said.
Jennifer shook her head and then leaned over and whispered in my ear, “I’ve read the rest of your journal. You’re a murder suspect and have a girlfriend.”
“What?”
“Sshh.” Jennifer put her index finger to her lips. “All the things I read are our little secret.”
“Now I’m really confused.”
“Come with me for a walk on the beach, Grandpa. I’ll help remind you what’s been going on in your exciting life.”
I dressed and followed Jennifer downstairs and out onto the sand.
As we walked along the shore, she recounted some of my exploits.
“This has all happened to me?”
“Yes, Grandpa. But you’re going to find the real murderer.”
“I can’t even remember who I am. How am I possibly going to clear my name?”
“You have lots of help. Meyer and me.”
I bent down, picked up a cowry shell, and handed it to Jennifer.
“See, Grandpa, it’s like finding a shell on the beach. You need to find the man with the scar on his cheek who stole the stamp collection.”
I thought of Mrs. Hughes reporting me as someone with a deformed chin. “If only it was that simple,” I muttered.
* * * * *
Denny and I play
ed another nine holes of golf before we headed back to a building I had never seen before.
“What’s this place?” I asked, as we pulled to the curb.
“This is where you live, Grandpa,” Jennifer said.
I stared at a group of old biddies sitting on benches in the front of the building.
“It’s full of old people,” I said.
“You’re no spring chicken yourself,” Denny said.
“I like being around young people like all of you.”
Jennifer whispered in my ear. “Marion’s old, but she’s nice and you like her.”
I shook my head in amazement. My own granddaughter knew more relating to my life than I did.
“Be sure to keep writing in your journal,” Jennifer reminded me, wagging her finger as if I were a naughty child.
“Yes, ma’am,” I replied.
They led me up to what appeared to be my apartment. Didn’t look the least bit familiar, except for some of the old furniture and pictures.
Denny looked at his watch. “We need to head to the airport.”
We said our good-byes. They were flying to Kauai for a few days at Poipu Beach, before returning to the mainland.
Jennifer had tears in her eyes as she gave me a hug.
“Write a letter once in awhile,” I told her. “I want to hear how all your activities are going.”
“It would be easier to send an email, but I will write.”
After the door closed, I sank into my easy chair and was seized by an empty feeling. My whole family had left. Here I was, no brothers or sisters, no other close relatives, and my family—Denny, Allison, and Jennifer—wouldn’t be back to see me for probably half a year.
I took a deep breath.
It had been quite a visit. I would miss them. The only good news was that tomorrow I wouldn’t remember that they had been here and that I had felt sad when they left.
My phone rang and it was a wrong number. A little while later, my phone rang again. This was like a Jerry Lewis telethon. “Paul, this is Marion. I know your family left today and wanted to invite you to a picnic tomorrow.”
“Sure. What are the particulars?”
“A bus will pick us up in front at eleven. We’re going to Ho’omaluhia Botanical Garden.”
What a busy social life I was leading. No blank spots on my dance card.
* * * * *
