by Mike Befeler
“My vase,” Meyer said with a sob.
“My ass,” I said. “If he had shot you, the vase wouldn’t have done you any good.”
“I don’t know how many more incidents like this Martha can take,” Meyer said.
I heard footsteps and a policeman burst into the room.
“Here’s the guy you’re looking for, Officer,” I said.
“I know you from the last time I was here,” he said.
I shrugged. “Can’t say as I remember you.”
“Yeah. Just like before. Gray powder all over the room.”
“We old guys are in kind of a rut,” I said.
As the police officer cuffed Harrison Young, Meyer paced the room.
“We can’t keep treating Martha like this,” he said.
“Think of it as her doing her part to save your life,” I replied.
He smiled wanly. “I guess you’re right, but I’ve lost two vases now.”
* * * * *
Detective Saito arrived as Harrison Young was regaining consciousness.
Saito read Harrison his rights.
Harrison glared at me. “I should have stuffed you down the trash chute with Tiegan.”
“That would have been kind of cramped,” I said.
He lunged toward me, but the police officer pulled him back like a dog on a leash.
“Go lock him up,” Saito commanded.
After the policeman had led Harrison away, Saito put on rubber gloves, took a pen out of his pocket, lifted the revolver by the trigger guard, and dropped it into a paper bag.
“Seems like every time I come here, Martha’s been spilled,” Saito said.
“Martha wanted to get some fresh air,” I said. “Do you have all the evidence you need, so I can help Meyer clean up?”
“Yeah. But I need to get a statement from each of you.”
Saito asked me to wait outside while he interviewed Meyer.
I walked into the open-air hallway. Leaning on the railing, I looked at the green hillside. I could hear roosters. Out in the wilds of Kaneohe. I imagined being young again and hiking through the jungle of trees and vines.
My reverie was interrupted by Saito, who asked Meyer and me to trade places. I walked inside to give my statement.
“So exactly what happened?” Saito asked.
“Simple. After you called me, I got concerned about Meyer and went to his apartment. I heard a voice inside questioning Meyer, so I sneaked inside. Saw Harrison waving a gun, and I whacked him over the head with Martha.”
“Pretty reckless thing to do, Mr. Jacobson.”
“It was what jumped into my defective brain at the moment, Detective.”
Saito closed his notebook with a snap. “That should do it for now.”
“Although I’ve enjoyed our frequent meetings, am I clear now to complete the rest of my short life unmolested by the police?”
“Yeah. We have the right guy now.”
“Aren’t you going to apologize for suspecting me?”
He shook his head. “Nah. You were a good suspect.”
That was as much of an apology as I was going to get.
“I’m glad I was able to give your work some meaning,” I said. “Now, if we’re finished, I’ll help Meyer clean up.”
With no further words he turned and headed out the door.
I cleaned up Martha for Meyer, as his wounded wing was still bothering him. Admiring the glass jar in which I had stored Martha’s remains, I said, “All recovered. She’s none the worse for wear. But you need to buy an unbreakable vase. Get a metal one and put a stopper in it. Then you’ll be ready for anything.”
“With you around, Paul, that’s a necessity.”
“Hey, I only try to keep your life interesting. Without me, you’d be pacing the floor and staring at all the vegetables.”
I took the plastic bag containing broken pieces of vase and emptied it into the trash chute. There was no body blocking the chute this time.
* * * * *
Later that morning, as I walked past the front desk, the receptionist called to me, “Oh, Mr. Jacobson.”
“Yes?”
“We found the missing page to the visitors’ sign-in log you were looking for.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. It must have been accidentally torn off and mixed in with some receipts.”
“Imagine that.”
“One other thing,” she said. “That name you were trying to identify.”
I thought back to what I had read in my journal. “The indecipherable signature with an ‘H.’”
“Yes, that one. We know who it is. She visited again this morning and signed in with the same signature.”
Obviously not Harrison.
“It was a Harriet Bowers visiting Mrs. Chang in room 704.”
“Well, that explains the mystery,” I said. “Thanks for the update.”
“No problem.”
No, it wasn’t a problem. I smiled at the receptionist.
I had one other piece of business to conduct. I found the office I was looking for and knocked on the door that had a sign: DIRECTOR FARNS.
“Come in.”
“You a mortician or the guy who runs this place?” I asked the stiff behind the desk. This guy made me want to puke. Slimy. I wouldn’t want him standing behind me with a knife. You had to give this place credit, though. Farns was the perfect overseer for this nuthouse. I sure wouldn’t want the job.
“Yes, Mr. Jacobson. What can I do for you?”
“A few weeks back you told me to pack my bags and leave on the next boat.”
He adjusted his spectacles and cleared his throat. “Ah . . . that was all a little misunderstanding.”
“You must have assumed I was part of the Hawaiian mafia.”
“When the evidence for murder and theft pointed to you, I thought it was best to allow you to . . . er . . . reside somewhere else.”
“As I said, you tried to kick my ass out of here. Just want to set the record straight. I’m not all that fond of this place, but I think I’ll stick around for awhile.”
“At some time you might need additional care because of your memory,” Farns said.
“This a sales pitch for your care home facility?”
“No,” he said, adjusting his tie. “Just one of the options for the future.”
“I guess I’ll tough it out for the time being. By the way, I hope you do a better job of selecting employees in the future. You won’t have to suspect your paying clients if you don’t have people like Moki on your payroll.”
Farns started twitching, and his eyes flicked from side to side like he was looking for an escape path.
“That’s okay,” I said. “I’m not going to sue your ass or anything. Just stay out of my way.”
I turned and sauntered out of his office. I wished I had a smoking gun so I could blow on the end of the barrel.
Returning to my apartment, I sat in my armchair and looked at a picture of a purple and white orchid on my wall. I contemplated what I wanted to be when I grew up. Now that I was stuck in this place, couldn’t remember squat, but had survived a near-death experience, what was I going to do?
Well, I guessed I would go on living day-to-day. I would wake up, and my life would be a brand new adventure every morning. I had friends like Meyer and Marion, as long as there was a way to jog my memory. Harrison Young and Moki were locked up. Life was good. Sort of.
* * * * *
The next day I slept late, read my journal to reacquaint myself with my recent activities, and then looked out my window at the mountains, glistening after a rain shower. I felt like a gutted fish. Empty inside. Sure, I had accomplished something. I had overcome my fear of the ocean. Well, not overcome it, really, since I would never go in again. But I had stepped up to the plate and done what I needed to do. And it should have given me solace that my good name had been cleared. After all, Saito had wanted my scalp and thought me a murderer.
I tried to reach deep d
own inside for that feeling of pride and accomplishment. I remembered that high when I closed a business deal many years ago. The special warmth I’d felt when Denny hit a home run to win a little league game in Torrance one time.
But now? Nothing. Maybe my defective memory erased part of my pleasure mechanism. Or maybe I was getting too old to care. This was the pits. Would I turn into a wrinkled old vegetable who didn’t care about anything? No highs? No lows? Just sitting there?
How did I feel now?
I pinched my arm.
Ouch. I was still alive.
Taking a deep breath, I slowly exhaled. I felt alone. Just me and my defective memory. A pretty exciting crowd.
Still, I was alive, had a solid appetite—enjoyed a good meal as much as the next guy—and could read a book. And, thanks to Jennifer, I was sticking to short stories, so I could complete a story in one sitting. I had lived a good life. That I could be thankful for.
I had never been too much of a jerk, never cheated my customers, never been like Harrison Young. So why not take each day as it came? Since each new day was an adventure for me, why not just play it out?
I stood up, walked toward the window, and watched a car pull up into a parking space in front of the building. Hey, at least I wasn’t looking out at a slum tenement.
A few minutes later my doorbell rang.
“Who are you?” I said to a man built like a fire hydrant holding some golf clubs.
“I’m Detective Saito, Mr. Jacobson.”
“I’ve read all about you. Lately, you’ve been busy getting criminals off the street.”
He handed me the golf clubs. “Just returning your property. By the way, thank you for your assistance in solving the Tiegan murder and the thefts.”
My mouth must have dropped open.
Saito smiled. “Don’t look so surprised.”
“It’s just that after all the crap from you, I’m flabbergasted.”
He shrugged. “It was nothing personal. Everybody’s guilty in my book until I arrest the culprit.”
I thought for a moment. “I guess you have to be that way to get your job done.”
“There was another crime on your list. A Mrs. Hughes accused you of entering her room at Turtle Bay.”
“Yeah, I read that.”
“You’re off the hook,” Saito said. “Apparently, she had such a good round of golf yesterday, she forgave you and the hotel and decided to drop charges.”
“Will wonders never cease!”
“And some final news for you. We recovered Tiegan’s stamp collection. It was in the trunk of Mr. Young’s car. Found something else. Relates to the lawsuit brought by Tiegan against you for stealing some stamps.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I remember reading that.”
“Turns out there was a pocket in the back inside cover of Tiegan’s stamp album. We found an envelope wedged in there. Contained the missing stamps.”
“So I’m not a thief or a murderer,” I said.
“That’s it.”
I thought back to something else I had read in my journal.
“Say, Detective. That stamp collection. Is it really worth half a million dollars?”
Saito laughed. “That’s what Mr. Young must have thought. The stamps might have been bought for that if they were all unused. Turns out the collection was primarily used stamps, which would have put the buying price at around two hundred thousand dollars. But the real grabber is that there’s a huge difference between the buying and selling price. A dealer would have paid Mr. Young thirty cents on the dollar, so maybe sixty thousand dollars, max. That’s how dealers make their money.”
“That explains why he was interested in selling directly to a private party,” I said.
“Yeah. He thought he might be able to get something substantial, but he never would have been able to get the amount of money he thought he was murdering Tiegan for.”
“Must be the impact of inflation,” I said. “Crime doesn’t pay what it used to.”
“Not on my watch, anyway. One other thing we found on Mr. Young—a set of keys.”
“Conveniently duplicated from Moki’s set,” I said.
“Exactly. But missing a key. The one to the trash chute.”
“I guess that wraps up everything you’ve been investigating here.”
“It does,” Saito said. “I’ve also given up smoking again, after seeing all the people with oxygen tanks around this place.”
“See, Detective? I’ve been a good influence on you.”
He forced a wan smile. “And since we won’t be seeing each other again, I brought you a little present.”
His eyes danced at my look of astonishment. He handed me a brown paper-wrapped package.
“Should I open this now?”
“Sure. Go ahead.”
I removed the brown paper covering and found a wooden box with a glass cover. Inside were six yellow and black monarch butterflies, neatly mounted with pins through their wings.
I laughed. “I’m glad I didn’t end up like that. It will be nice not having you breathing down my neck anymore, Detective.”
He smiled and opened his hands toward me. “You’re clean, for now. Keep it that way.”
I saluted him. “Will miracles never cease. Now I can go back to being an absent-minded geezer.”
He gave me a half-salute in return, turned, and strolled out of my apartment.
I guessed I’d miss Detective Saito . . . if I had been able to remember him.
I admired the butterfly collection and set it on my bookshelf. It would be something to show to Jennifer on her next visit.
So here I was, in my luxury resort, without a care in the world. Except, I was hungry.
Rather than chewing on a magazine, I decided it was time to hit the chow hall. See what gourmet meal was in store for me.
Chapter 29
I found a bald-headed runt chomping away at a hot dog. I stood in front of him and poked him in the chest. “From what I read, you weren’t very convincing in getting Detective Saito to come rescue Meyer and me.”
“You two nutcases deserved whatever happened,” Henry said.
“Fortunately, we’re fine, but no thanks to you.”
“The whole thing wasn’t my idea,” Henry said.
Just then a white-bearded guy showed up and pulled me away. “Take it easy, Paul,” he said.
“I’m pissed that Henry wasn’t more help.”
“We’re fine now,” Meyer said. “Cool your jets.”
I sat down, and then it all hit me. I started laughing and Meyer joined in.
“What a place,” I said. “This guy cares more about his hot dog than saving his buddies.”
“He did make the phone call,” Meyer said.
We chatted for a while, then Meyer leaned close to me.
“I’ve made a decision,” he said.
I sensed something monumental. “What’s that?”
“It’s time for me to move to a care home.”
“And break up our trio?”
“I’ve been trying to put this off, but it’s inevitable. I woke up this morning in a puddle. I can’t see well enough to even clean it up effectively anymore.”
“Too bad we couldn’t combine your problems and mine in just one of us. Then the other could still be a functioning human being.”
“That’s the crapshoot of aging, I guess,” Meyer said.
“Without you, I’ll really have to follow my instructions every morning when I wake up.”
“That’s why I think you should get together with Marion. She’d be able to remind you.”
“I read that we had discussed this hypothesis of yours,” I said, “but I still can’t accept the idea of foisting myself off on someone else.”
“I think she’d willingly accept it.”
“I don’t know. From what I read, we discussed it once and she had her doubts.”
He threw his cloth napkin on the table. “It’s your life, Paul. What’s
left of it. If I were you, I’d try to talk her into it. You can live out a lonely existence or be with someone who cares about you.”
I took a sip of coffee. “You may be right, but I know what it’s like being me every morning. I still can’t bring myself to impose that on Marion.”
“It’s your choice. Still seems like a wasted opportunity.”
“So, how are you going to afford the new place?”
“It’s less expensive than the care home here at Kina Nani. Not quite double the independent living fees I’m paying now.”
I whistled. “That’s a big bite.”
“I don’t have any other expenses. My pension covers it. That’s one of the benefits of having been a judge.”
“I wondered where all my tax dollars went.”
“You should come with me,” Meyer said. “Maybe we could swing a package deal.”
“I’m not ready for that. And my financial adviser might not approve. From what I read, I can just afford the Kina Nani rent. I’ll wait until I really need a care home. How soon are you planning to move?”
“Next week. You’ll have to come visit me, Paul.”
“Maybe we can meet for lunch at a neutral site.”
“Just write it in your journal so you’ll remember.”
“No sweat,” I said. “A note to myself to call the white-bearded freak.”
He grasped my hand, then leaned forward and gave me a hug.
I watched as he turned and shuffled away.
* * * * *
After lunch my telephone rang.
“This is Barry Tiegan. I was informed that you helped find my uncle’s stamp collection. I want to apologize for accusing you of stealing it.”
“No problem,” I said. “But, Barry, I have some advice for you. Stay away from lawyers and other denizens of the deep.”
* * * * *
Later my doorbell rang. It was the woman whose picture I had in my bedroom.
“We need to talk,” she said.
“Sure. Come in.”
We sat on the couch together.
“Meyer is going to move to a care home,” I said.
“Yes, I know. With all the changes taking place here, I’ve been contemplating some of my own.”
“Oh?”
“I’ve been thinking about the conversation we had at Hoomaluhia Botanical Garden,” she said.
