5 The Elemental Detective

by Kirsten Weiss

  Sarah pushed the remains of a poached egg and toast about her plate. Her hair was pulled into a knot, thicker and fuller than Riga’s, held in place by two long, wooden hair sticks with carved tortoises on the end.

  “Good morning,” Riga said.

  Sarah looked up, startled. The skin beneath her eyes was the color of a bruise. “Mrs. Mosse! I heard what happened last night. How are you feeling?”

  “Embarrassed. It was clumsy of me.” Riga pointed to the remains of her meal. “Not hungry this morning?”

  Sarah pushed her plate away. “I thought I was. What can I do for you?”

  “I need some information about a woman who drowned here a few years ago,” Donovan said. “I don’t know the exact date.”

  “A woman who drowned?” Sarah’s forehead creased. “It must have happened before I started here. Why do you need to know?”

  “I heard a rumor there might be a lawsuit headed our way,” he said.

  She paled. “Oh. That’s the last thing we need. I’ll look into it.”

  “Thank you,” Donovan said. “And enjoy the rest of your breakfast.”

  They walked to an empty table near the open windows, and sat.

  “You heard a rumor?” Riga asked.

  “One I just started. Now you’ve heard it too.”

  “Hm,” Riga said. “How long has Sarah been at the hotel?”

  “She started two years ago, I believe.”

  “Long enough to grow close to Dennis.”

  “You still think there might have been something between them?”

  Riga spread her hands. “I have a nasty, suspicious mind. She was very upset by his death.”

  “Playing devil’s advocate, I will note that murder is shocking, and they worked closely together.”

  They ate slowly, enjoying the feel of the breeze off the bay. When they finished, they drove to the lighthouse. Donovan maneuvered the Ferrari into a parking spot.

  A warm breeze caressed her skin. The sky was brilliant blue. But all she could think of was the day before, the man vomiting shark teeth. At the end of the peninsula, the lighthouse winked.

  She stepped from the car. The green spit of land reaching into the Pacific seemed brittle, buffeted by wind and ocean. “It’s not quite as beautiful today, is it?”

  “No. Our memory’s been tainted.”

  They skirted the patch of red that stained the pavement and headed down the walk winding along the verdant peninsula. Rising ahead of them the lighthouse speared the pale blue sky. They passed other tourists, chatting, taking pictures.

  Donovan snapped a picture of her with his phone. “We need to look the part.” His smile was lopsided. “Besides, I don’t have enough photos of you.”

  “As if I’d let you forget what I looked like.” She tucked her arm under his, and they strolled the grounds, the wind freeing strands of Riga’s knotted hair.

  Beside the yawning lighthouse door stood a man with his back to them, speaking with Townsend. The non-profit director’s bald head had ripened to pink, and Riga thought that adding a hat to Townsend’s outfit – a blue Aquatic Protection Society windbreaker and khakis – wouldn’t be amiss. The second man turned. It was the lighthouse keeper, Grover, in a Dodger’s cap, shorts and a green jacket. It strained across his gut.

  At the sound of their footsteps in the gravel, Townsend waved to them. “Riga, Donovan! I was hoping we’d run into each other before you left the island.”

  “Oh, we’re in no hurry to leave, are we, darling?” Riga smiled up at Donovan.

  Townsend blinked. “Well, that’s wonderful news. I assumed you’d have to hurry back to Vegas. Have you had a chance to think any more about our organization?”

  “I have,” Donovan said, “and my assistant will be in touch with you about a donation.”

  “Wonderful!” Townsend rubbed his hands together. “Does this mean you’ll be buying the hotel?”

  Grover’s hand stilled on his jacket zipper. At least, Riga thought, his hand wasn’t trembling. Though the lighthouse keeper had been blasted when they’d first met, he didn’t show obvious signs of chronic drinking. No jaundice, no drinker’s nose.

  “You’re buying Dennis’s hotel?” Grover asked.

  “The hotel and I are still getting acquainted,” Donovan said. “I haven’t made a decision.”

  Townsend wagged a finger at him. “Playing close to the vest. I’d expect no more from a card shark like you.”

  “I heard another seal was killed,” Riga said.

  Townsend clucked his tongue. “Terrible. Sometimes I think the planet would be better off without people on it. Unfortunately, we weren’t there to protect the seal. We’re just a small organization, and the seals don’t let us know when or where they’ll be arriving on our beaches.”

  “How do you find out where the seals are?” she asked.

  He rocked on his heels. “There are certain areas they tend to show up, of course. And people will call us and let us know, and then we’ll put the call out to one of our responders.”

  “How exactly does that system work?” Riga leaned against the wall. The lighthouse was warm against her back, like a living thing, and for a moment she imagined she could feel the gentle swell of its breath.

  “Why do you ask?” Townsend said.

  “I wonder how many people knew that Dennis would be guarding that seal on that beach.”

  The lighthouse keeper cursed, pointed to a group of young boys crawling over the cliff-side barrier. “Get off that!” He raced toward the kids.

  Townsend watched Grover, arms waving, chastise the boys. “I’m not sure where you’re going with this, but anyone in the office could have found out. We keep our schedule on a white board in the conference room, so we know where everyone is.”

  “And how many people are typically in your office?” Donovan asked.

  “Not many. Myself. My assistant, Jay. The responders when they come in, but their work is primarily on the beaches.”

  “Did any responders come into the office the day of Dennis’s death?” Riga asked.

  “I wasn’t there the entire day, but I only remember Petra, the woman Dennis took over for on the beach.”

  “I imagine the whiteboard changes quite a bit,” Riga said. “Like you said, you don’t know when a seal is going to arrive or how long it will stay.”

  “That’s true. In the case of Dennis, we had him scheduled maybe three hours in advance. Fortunately, his hotel wasn’t far from where the seal turned up on the beach, so it was easy for him to get there on short notice.”

  “Was anyone in your office last night?” Donovan asked.

  “Only Jay and myself. There’s a board meeting coming up, and the two of us stayed late, preparing for it.”

  Riga looked down the trail, toward the parking lot. “A man died out here yesterday. You might have known him. Mana.”

  He shook his head once, frowning. “Grover mentioned the death, but not the name of the man. Mana, you say? Doesn’t sound familiar.”

  “He was a friend of Kimo’s,” Riga said.

  “Ah. I heard it was a suicide. Remorse, you think? Perhaps he and Kimo both were behind the seal killings.”

  “Kimo told me he didn’t have a problem with the seals,” Riga said, “just with your organization.”

  “You mean with Dennis? With me? Do the police know this?”

  “I don’t know,” Riga said. “But I’m not convinced Mana’s death was a suicide.”

  Sunlight glinted off Townsend’s round glasses. “If he was gobbling up things that weren’t meant to be eaten, it might not have been a conscious act, but certainly it would indicate a subconscious self-hatred. Don’t you think?”

  “Mm,” Riga said.

  “You don’t sound convinced.”

  “The options are limited,” she said. “Suicide, accident, or murder.”

  “Murder?” His smile was supercilious, smug, and Riga felt the cords twanging in her neck. The man had every r
ight to think murder by pica was ridiculous, and his reaction shouldn’t annoy her. But it did.

  “Now, I know the police don’t believe he was murdered,” he said.

  “If the police were perfect,” Donovan said, “we wouldn’t need private detectives.”

  Grover huffed back to them. “Damn parents. Their kids get hurt because they’re not watching, and we get sued. What did I miss?”

  “Mrs. Mosse was just telling me about her theory that the man who died in your parking lot didn’t commit suicide.”

  Grover adjusted his baggy pants. “He puked sharks’ teeth. There’s only one way those are going down, and that’s if he swallowed them.”

  “Wouldn’t swallowing the teeth have done as much damage as regurgitating them?” she asked.

  “But if it wasn’t this Mana fellow who killed Dennis, then who?” Townsend tilted his head. “There are some other people you might talk to. Not suspects, but they hang about the beaches, they’re aware of things.”

  “Oh?” Riga asked.

  “There is a group of, er, young people who live out on the Na Pali coast,” Townsend said. “They’ve got their own colony out there. They might be worth chatting with.”

  Grover snorted. “Come on. What would they know about it? They’re not involved.”

  “Not involved, no. But they’re more sympathetic with the rights of the so-called indigenous population than with the seals.”

  “So-called?” Donovan asked.

  “No one is truly native to these islands,” Townsend explained. “We’re all immigrants. Some just came later than others.”

  “How simple life must be,” Riga said, “when you can come down squarely on one side of a moral ambiguity.” Though she had chosen a side as well, she realized. Two men had been murdered. The seal politics were bound up in those deaths, but for Riga the human murders came first.

  “Er, yes.” Townsend’s phone rang, and he checked the number. “Excuse me, please. I need to take this call.” He hurried away from them, into the shade of the lighthouse.

  Riga gave the lighthouse keeper what she hoped was a sympathetic smile. “You were friends with Dennis Glasgow, weren’t you?”

  “Yeah.” He rubbed his face, his hands making scratching sounds against his five o’clock shadow. “I want to apologize to you both. I made an ass of myself the other day. I don’t usually drink much, but Dennis’s murder threw me. I’m sorry.”

  “I’m a private investigator,” Riga said, “and I’m looking into the murder.”

  “Are you?” He eyed her. “That might be a good idea. Everyone seems to think the murder was random – that he’d stumbled across the seal killer. But that doesn’t make sense, does it? He was there, watching the seal. Wouldn’t the seal killer have avoided him?”

  “It was dark,” she said. “Maybe the killer didn’t see him until it was too late.”

  “Maybe. Dennis was a great guy. We grew up together. He helped me get this job. But some folks thought he was a little too active in the community, if you know what I mean.”

  “You mean his good works got on people’s nerves,” Donovan said.

  “Exactly. He stopped new hotels from being developed, which I agree with – if we overdevelop the island then we’ll lose the very thing that people come here for – paradise. Peace. Natural beauty. But let’s face it, Dennis already had his hotel, and there were plenty of people who would have liked the jobs new hotels would have brought. Some folks said what he was really fighting against was competition.”

  “But there must have been plenty of people who agreed with him,” Riga said.

  “Most did,” Grover said. “Dennis wasn’t exactly swimming upstream with his views, but he rubbed some people the wrong way.”

  “Anyone angry enough to kill?” Riga asked.

  Grover looked at his tattered shoes. “I didn’t think so. Fact is, the really angry people were the developers, and they’re all from the mainland or other islands. Once they lost their opportunity, they left. But someone killed Dennis. Townsend might know more. They were both involved in the sustainable development hullabaloo.” He nodded toward Townsend, still on the phone, head bent, forehead creased.

  Scowling, Townsend jammed the phone into his pocket, and returned to the small group.

  “Problem?” Donovan asked.

  Townsend rubbed his domed forehead. “Just the usual hassles of getting ready for a board meeting. Broken photocopy machine, that sort of thing.”

  “Grover was just telling us that Dennis annoyed some developers with his sustainable development push,” Donovan said.

  “Oh,” Townsend said. “Yes, we did get under the skin of some people. The Aquatic Protection Society has always been the tip of the spear when it comes to sustainable development. Though if you’re looking at that as a motive for murder, I suspect I’d be a bigger target than Dennis. His death hasn’t changed anything on that score.”

  “He was president of the board, wasn’t he?” Donovan asked. “Who’ll be taking his place?” Donovan’s phone rang, and he pulled it from his pocket, checked the number. “Sarah from the hotel. I’d better take this.” He walked away from the group to stand beside a banana tree.

  Townsend’s gaze followed Donovan. “Damned cell phones. They’re supposed to be a convenience, but I think I preferred the days when I was unreachable.”

  “Amen,” Riga said.

  “But you were asking about the board,” Townsend said. “Carol Harding is the vice president. Dennis had just begun his two-year term, so she’ll be completing it. But I don’t see any change in the direction of the board with her ascension to president.”

  “Where does she work?” Riga asked.

  “She owns the Pineapple Bed and Breakfast in Hanalei.”

  “Were she and Dennis friendly?”

  “No more than with any other board member,” Townsend said, his gaze drifting to Donovan. “We’re all busy people. We get along, but we have lives outside the Protection Society. Or at least, they do.”

  Grover checked his watch. “Well, this has been fun, but I’ve got work to do. Let’s talk later about that fundraiser,” Grover said to Townsend.

  Absently, Townsend clapped him on the shoulder. “Good, good.”

  The lighthouse keeper walked across the trail, and into a whitewashed outbuilding.

  Townsend tore his attention from Donovan. “For all my talk of the seals, you must think I care more about them than Dennis.”

  “Not at all,” Riga lied.

  “Dennis was a good man and a good friend. I want his killer to be found and to be punished.”

  “Then we share common ground.”

  Donovan put the phone in his pocket and strode to them.

  “Word on your hotel deal?” Townsend asked.

  “No,” Donovan said. “It turned out the call wasn’t that important after all. Are you ready to go, Riga?”

  “I think I’ve seen everything I need,” Riga said. “Goodbye, Townsend.”

  They shook hands, and Riga and Donovan walked up the trail.

  “What did Sarah have to say?” she asked.

  “That a woman drowned at the hotel three years ago, but she’s been assured there’s no chance of a lawsuit over it. Apparently the statute of limitations in a wrongful death lawsuit in Hawaii is two years.”

  “Did she tell you the woman’s name?”

  “No, oddly enough. Sarah couldn’t get me that information, though she did tell me the woman was on her honeymoon. Apparently, she struck her head on the rocks near our bungalow, slipped into the water, and drowned.”

  “How is it that Sarah knows the details of the accident but not the victim’s name?”

  “I got the feeling she does know,” Donovan said. “She just wouldn’t tell me.”

  “Interesting.” The mystery was like a pebble in Riga’s shoe, impossible to ignore.

  Chapter 22

  Riga and Donovan walked up a stone path. Spiky violet and green pine
apple bushes brushed their clothing, snagging the fabric. Pineapple finials adorned the fence posts and gabled entryway. A pineapple door knocker hung beneath a pineapple stained glass window set in the top of the door.

  “I’m starting to detect a theme,” Donovan said.

  A woman opened the door. Her hair was pulled into a long braid, and two pineapple earrings swung from her earlobes. “Mr. and Mrs. Wiederhauser?”

  “No.” Donovan’s eyes crinkled in a smile. “Mosse. Are you Carol Harding? I’m considering a donation to the Aquatic Protection Society, and Townsend suggested we speak with you. We were in the area, so we thought we’d just drop by. Is this a good time?”

  Her return smile was forced, but she smoothed her pineapple apron over her pineapple print skirt, and stepped back from the door. “Yes. I thought running a B&B would be a fun semi-retirement. Little did I know how much work it would entail. But yes, I have some time.”

  She led them into a sitting room with a pineapple rug and needlepoint pineapple cushions. If the woman wasn’t a dark magician, she ought to be, Riga thought. She extended her senses, and didn’t even feel a whisper of magic.

  Carol settled herself in a wicker chair, and motioned them to the couch. “What can I tell you about the Aquatic Protection Society?”

  Donovan sat, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees. “I wondered how the direction of the Society would change now that Dennis won’t be at the helm.”

  “I can’t imagine it would,” Carol said. “The Society has been running smoothly with Townsend’s leadership as executive director, and we’re all in alignment on our goals.”

  “But what are your goals?” Riga asked.

  “Personally, I’d like to recruit more responders. It’s awful that we couldn’t get someone out to the last seal that was killed. And of course, all the board members are responsible for assisting with fundraising.”

  “And why couldn’t you get someone out?” Riga asked.

  “Our assistant, Jay, tried, but no one was available. It happens sometimes. As I said, we’re a small organization, though our goals are mighty.”

  “And what were Dennis’s goals?” Donovan asked.

  She blinked. “Dennis? Why, the same as everyone else’s. You should understand that in many ways we’re still a new organization. We went through a major transformation three years ago.”