Dead On Arrival (A Malia Fern Mystery)

by Kym Roberts

  I left the store numb to my success, and filled with fury about what I had to do. I told myself to get over it as I sat on my scooter and dialed Pai’s number. I was immediately sent to voicemail. His smooth radio voice coaxed me to release my edge.

  It didn’t work. His frickin’ phone was turned off. And I hadn’t charged my phone the previous night, so I had very little battery left to continue calling him.

  I wanted to growl my frustration. He knew I would check in, and yes, part of me was checking up on him with Windy. The other part of me needed to tell him I’d found an invaluable source. And…I needed a picture of Windy’s chest.

  Again, I wanted to growl. What woman asked a guy she was involved with to take a picture of another woman’s boobs?

  Yeah, technically we weren’t involved, but like my relationship with Makaio, I’d crossed a line with Pai. A line I didn’t comprehend and the whole thing was driving me crazy and pissing me off. I left a very short message, my voice deeper and angrier than usual.

  “I need pictures of the booby trap.”

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Everything was wrong. My senses were on fire. My head throbbed so hard, tribal drums couldn’t compete with the beat. My heart raced while unreasonable fear snaked through my body. I tried shaking the sense of doom encircling me, but everywhere I looked, I saw tattoos and wondered if they were meant to enslave me to a life of aimless wandering with no direction.

  To make matters worse, the Mauna Koa Resort had closed the path to the resort’s restrooms so workers could replace it with a new, bigger and better trail to the Big Surf Company tents. The detour took more time than I anticipated, causing me to drive around to the other side of the complex through a large traffic circle and into the parking lot, after I changed my clothes in the hotel.

  Rob was in an exceptionally bad mood when I arrived late for my surfing lessons. A busload of tourists had showed up wanting surf lessons on the spot. All the other companies had booked up in advance, and Rob had the opportunity to cash in.

  My tardiness cost him a few bills. Big bills.

  I tried to make it up to him by working my butt off for the next several hours, which actually helped me focus on something other than the mystical vibes threatening my sanity. Thankfully, we had more customers than we’d seen all last week, possibly the last month. Some of the tourists took a break, and then actually came back for a second lesson. All in all, it was a pretty busy, yet uneventful afternoon teaching honeymooners, some guys looking to get laid by the surfing chick, (I always scoped out a group of babes on the beach before each class and point the players in their direction, whether they scored or not was totally up to them), and a couple of big families who fought, laughed, and competed for the best ride. The best surfer of the day? A little blonde ten-year-old cutie from Wisconsin. The girl had moves.

  After putting up the last board in the shed, I felt a little better. Tattoos be damned. And I decided my indecision about the two men in my life wasn’t that different than other women my age. I dropped the despair. Dropped the deprecation. Dropped the despera... forget it. I dropped the baggage and decided to go on with life.

  I was done bouncing back and forth. Ping…pong…ping…pong. I wasn’t desperate. Not about Makaio. Not about Pai. I had kicked ass on the job (I should clarify, surf instructor job). I didn’t know what type of crap I was currently working on with Pai, but it was new and different, so who cared.

  I clicked the lock on the metal shed and turned around to say good-bye to Rob. I spotted him standing near a picnic table, talking to a tourist dressed in a Hawaiian print t-shirt and shorts, and I smiled. Hopefully tomorrow’s schedule was getting busier by the minute.

  I closed the distance between us, waving to the competition from Big Surf who were leaving for the day, and suddenly heard the desperation in the man’s voice as he spoke to Rob.

  “I’m your brother. I need your help this time.” His emphasis on need reached the desperation level.

  Rob spotted me and something flickered in his eyes. He smiled and it was gone. “Mal, I’d like you to meet my brother, Dave.”

  Rob’s brother turned around and it was like seeing double, except Dave had hair on his face and his head. A floral t-shirt hid his back, so I reserved judgment about his need for a shave.

  “You’re the guy responsible for my days off?” I smiled and reached out to shake his hand. “Mahalo.”

  Dave tentatively took mine with a sweaty palm, and glanced around the area. “No problem.”

  I looked down and noticed the tattoo on his forearm as I pulled my hand back and discreetly wiped it on my shorts. “Is that the same tattoo Rob has?”

  Dave brushed his arm, like maybe he could wipe if off and looked at his brother’s red lizard. He laughed.

  “At one time, they were the same. Rob’s has expanded a little bit.”

  Rob patted his tummy. “Mine has grown past puberty.”

  We laughed and I asked, “Did you get them at the same time?”

  “Right after high school. We went to a kahuna in Waikiki who insisted mine belonged on my stomach since I was older and wiser.” His brother scoffed and Rob’s smile grew. “He said Dave’s belonged on his arm, he was doomed to be my helping hand.” He shrugged his shoulders and his lizard jiggled.

  “Can you make your lizard move like Rob’s?” I asked Dave.

  He lifted his arm and twisted his wrist around in a circular motion. The tail and tongue of Dave’s geometric lizard wiggled eerily.

  Leave now! Peter returned inside my head.

  Distracted, I looked around. The beach had emptied, trash cans were full, sea gulls walked around looking for scraps left behind in the scattered footprints. “That’s pretty cool, Daven. I mean…” I met his eyes. “Dave.”

  The deep brown eyes of the man with brown hair and a goatee searched my face. A red lizard wrapped around his arm. My knees suddenly felt as wobbly as if I’d just finished riding one of the three mile-long waves deep at sea.

  “Ah, listen, I gotta get going.” I turned toward the lot, vacant now except for two vehicles. My scooter and a red Mustang. I looked back at my boss, who was more than a little bit confused by my behavior. Rob was looking at me as if a coconut had struck me senseless. I wished one had. Then I wouldn’t have to worry about Daven Raines being Rob’s brother. A brother who needed help. A brother who had already hired someone to kill me.

  There was no way I was going to stick around with a killer and his brother, even if I had worked for Rob for the past six years. Blood ohana was thicker than surf ohana.

  “See you tomorrow!” I started jogging toward the parking lot, leaving Rob and Daven Raines standing together watching me. My boss looked totally confused, my would-be killer looked totally upset.

  I jumped on the scooter, skipping the helmet attached to the rear of the seat, I hit the road, looking behind me the whole time. I didn’t see Rob or Daven, but the driver’s door to a red Mustang that looked exactly like the john’s car I’d seen outside The Garden of the Gods with Windy, slammed closed in the parking lot.

  Shit, just another confirmation that I was in deep trouble.

  I cranked the throttle and went around the traffic circle, leaning into the curve. One look at my speedometer sent my heart into palpitations. Thirty-five mph was not exactly a speed that could lose a Mustang. I looked back.

  The Mustang was exiting the parking lot. Panicked, I quickly turned off the circle and headed up the coast, hoping to get lost in the condos before he could catch up. I glanced in the side mirror, but didn’t see anyone behind me.

  I looked down at the speedometer. Thirty-two mph. I cranked the throttle harder and looked down at the speedometer. Thirty mph.

  WTH?

  I cranked it harder, hurting my hand and stressing the rubber grip on the handle. Twenty-eight mph.

  Shit! I looked in the mirror, a red Mustang was making the turn at the circle. The speedometer now read, twenty-six mph.

 
My heart fell to my toes. The scooter needed to be charged.

  I did the only thing I could. I turned into the parking lot of Spouting Horn, praying the vendors were still there.

  One car graced the lot. Stand after stand was closed, the metal doors pulled tight and locked. The place was deserted.

  Hua.

  I drove my scooter in between the small wooden buildings and laid it down. With fumbling fingers, I unlocked the seat and pulled out my phone. Five percent battery left on the screen. Enough to call the police. I dialed 911 as the mustang pulled into the lot. I ran for the forbidden path blocked by a chain-link fence and a yellow hazard sign stating, ‘Keep Out, Danger Beyond This Point.’ I couldn’t help but think the danger on this side of the fence was currently higher than hazards I’d face on the rocks.

  The operator answered as I topped the fence and scratched my leg on the wire.

  “Hua!”

  I landed on my feet on the other side. Thankful for the barrier, but totally aware it wouldn’t stop a man with a gun — just slow down an overweight guy with a knife.

  “Ah…what’s your emergency?” She asked.

  I’ve been walking down this path my entire life and I still experience the exhilaration of danger, now cranked up by the crazy man following me. Shrubs, immune to the salt of the ocean spray, reached out past the trees. At the edge of the bushes, where the sand was still prevalent, I slipped down the side of the lava shelf to hide.

  “I’m being chased by a killer!” I breathed into the phone, making my way down the path to hide behind the rocks closer to the water’s edge.

  The tide was high, creating spectacular views with the setting sun. Surely, the tourists would begin to show up to watch the display. I couldn’t imagine being in a better spot.

  I could imagine nicer company, but not a better location.

  “Who’s chasing you?” She asked.

  “It’s Daven Raines. The police are looking for him.”

  I was vaguely aware of the clicking of her keyboard while I slipped on the moss-laden rocks under my feet.

  “What’s your location?”

  “Right now, I’m at Spouting Horn, down on the rocks.” I slid and smacked my knee against the rough lava. “Shit.”

  “Your name?”

  “Malia Fern. John Kumu’s baby sister.” I wasn’t sure why I identified myself as his baby sister, maybe something to do with my need for him to hurry up and save me from the big, bad bully on the playground like he used to when we were a kids.

  The chain-link fence rattled behind me.

  “Can you make it quick—” I looked at the darkened screen. Dead.

  Crap.

  Beautiful crystal clear pools of water glistened on the rocks. A hauntingly prophetic and painful moan echoed through the caves below as pressure built forcing the water upward. The puhi — blowhole — exploded with a powerful stream of water spraying through the air. A visual thing of beauty, the shelf hung out over the ocean with one giant hole in its midst. If you happen to get washed off, or sucked down, the chances of survival were next to nil.

  My heart skittered with the sound of a rock tumbling behind me. Rocks don’t tumble on their own. Not on this path. They tumble with the fall of someone’s feet. I turned around hoping to see a tourist. Praying it wasn’t Daven Raines.

  The man with the red lizard tattoo stood behind me wielding a knife, but it wasn’t Daven Raines. It was my boss, Rob.

  My fear was replaced with disbelief. Until a sad smile spread across his face and the fear returned with a vengeance. It was possible for me to escape Daven Raines, but it wasn’t possible for me to get away from the man who taught me how to survive on these very rocks. There was no route for me to escape, unless I took the lava shelf that I was too smart to venture on. The shelf where too many uninformed or just plain stupid people died.

  “That was your Mustang?” I asked, dumbfounded.

  He shrugged and smiled. “Yeah, it’s pretty hot, huh?”

  “But I’ve never seen you drive it.” I argued.

  “It’s not exactly like I could take you for a ride in it. You of all people would know I didn’t have the money for it.”

  “But …” My hands displayed my confusion, waving around in front of me, trying to grasp the meaning of it all. “… why?” I asked.

  Rob shrugged again, this time, however, his lizard appeared ready to pounce. “You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, Mal.”

  “But I don’t understand. You have different last names,” I insisted. I had known this man for six years, had worked side-by-side with him. Laughed with him, had my first beer under his supervision, and leaned on him like an older brother who didn’t like to yank my chain. He had never shown a mean bone in his body, except maybe when we laughed at our customers behind their backs. But I got just as much joy out of the know-it-all from Utah’s dry heaves as Rob had. That didn’t make me a killer.

  “Rob Aaron is a fictional name I took for business purposes. The double ‘A’ got us listed first in the phone book, and if tourists wanted to confuse us for a famous surfer’s company, who was I to stop them?”

  I had to admit, I’d heard Rob use his last name and hint that he was related, but it still caught me off-guard. I really believed Aaron was his last name.

  “You don’t have to protect your brother,” I insisted.

  Rob shook his head. “I’m not.” His smile increased as he took a step forward and I scooted down the shelf. He laughed. “He actually tried to stop me from coming after you, but when you figured out who he was, I couldn’t let you go to the police. Not yet, not until we worked out how to get him out of the mess you created.”

  Still confused, I asked, “But, why?” That seemed to be the only question my amateur detective brain could spit out.

  He laughed again, almost as if he saw humor in my stupidity. It wasn’t a laugh I wanted to join. I did anyway, hoping to remind him of what we had together. He immediately stopped and took a step toward me with his stainless steel knife pointed at my chest.

  I countered with a few steps backward toward the shelf. My mouth dried. My laugh disappeared in the hiss of Spouting Horn and the ‘oooh’s of a few people who’d arrived at the visitor’s center above. Their voices blowing in the breeze. (Now they show up.)

  Rob glanced in their direction. “That’s far enough, Mal.”

  “You owe me an answer.” I insisted.

  “Fine. The truth is Aaron’s Surf Zone was moving to The Garden of the Gods, but then your brother found the Heiau and insisted it be preserved, which moved the spa to our location on the beach.” He pointed the knife at his chest and mine, as if we were a team or something.

  “There was no more room for us. Unless the spa went back to its original location, we weren’t going anywhere. The only way to ensure Aaron’s Surf Zone got a new home was for Peter Johnson to be out of the picture. My brother didn’t care whether the Heiau stayed or went, but he wasn’t going to piss off his bank roll either, so he went with Johnson’s plan. With Peter Johnson out of the way, Daven would have put us back in, until you insisted on getting in the middle of it.” He shook his head as if he just couldn’t believe I screwed everything up.

  It didn’t make any sense. This man could not be a cold-blooded killer. It wasn’t possible. “But Daven moved the spa on the plans before Peter even got involved,” I reasoned.

  Rob stopped, his brow pinching in confusion. “Peter Johnson bumped the Heiau to the beach, not Daven.”

  He didn’t know. Rob didn’t know his own brother was responsible for Aaron’s Surf Zone losing its spot at The Garden of the Gods. I shook my head, an over-whelming pity filling my gut. Rob had done horrible things for all the wrong reasons. His brother had lied and blamed Peter for taking Aaron’s Surf Zone out of the plans when he’d been responsible all along.

  I told him the truth, knowing it would break his heart, but hopefully stop his desire to kill me. “Kionni told me that Daven changed
the plans before Peter even got involved.”

  Rob’s face dropped. It lost all animation, all life. His eyes turned dark, like the last bit of his soul escaped into the depths of the lava tunnels below.

  If he wasn’t holding a knife, I might have thought he regretted what he was doing, but with the big military blade pointed in my direction, I had no doubt what he was planning. His hand tightened around the handle.

  “You’re lying.”

  I put all the conviction I had behind my words, even if I was guessing at part of it. “No, I’m not. I think that’s why Dave offered to help us with our schedule and teach some of our classes. He felt guilty about pushing you out of the plans.”

  Rob’s lips thinned, anger rolling off his shoulders. “Apparently loyalty doesn’t even extend to ohana anymore.”

  I wanted to scream at him that I’d stood by his side. Through the good and the bad, I’d stayed. He read my thoughts.

  “Even you were ready to abandon me. You’ve taken on new jobs; it was only a matter of time before you left altogether.” His voice lost all anger. There was nothing left of the Rob I knew. The shell of a cold, calculating man bent on my destruction stepped in my direction.

  “I should have cut your heart out the night you screamed at The Garden of the Gods.”

  My hand rose to my chest. Covered my heart to keep it where it belonged. I tried to speak but the words stalled in my mouth.

  Rob was there the night I thought Windy beheaded the guard. The red Mustang with Windy, the car I heard at the gate — it was the same car with Rob behind the wheel?

  Stalling for time and trying to keep him talking, I asked, “What were you doing there that night?”

  He sneered. The lizard on his stomach move, stalking me. Its bladed tongue slithered out to reach for me, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. I didn’t think he’d answer.

  Rob ‘Aaron’ Raines, however, was a cliché. Like all the bad guys in the movies, he wanted to brag. Confess. Blame all his mistakes on everyone else. The perfect crime-gone-bad wasn’t his fault.