Primitive Secrets

by Deborah Turrell Atkinson

  “I’m going outside to say goodbye to Hortense,” she said. She wanted to see if the coconut husk poultice was working, and she also wanted to look at the animal’s hooves. She was sure that the huge sow’s feet were much smaller than the print in the mud.

  The small shed was lit with warm, yellow lights and Hortense lay on her side in a pile of clean straw. She raised her head when Storm walked through the door. Lots of little piglets swarmed around her teats, so many that Storm not only couldn’t count them, she couldn’t see the infected nipple.

  Sam came in behind her, humming softly. “She much bettah, yeah?” he said softly. He patted her arm. “You no worry about Bebe’s scoldings, okay? She gets carried away. You one fine Hawaiian gal.”

  Bebe arrived and went to the hog. “Sam, I’ll put one more poultice on her. I left the paste in your sink.”

  “I’ll get it for you.” He gave Storm a wink and ambled toward his house.

  Bebe looked up at Storm. “Thank you for bringing your friend to gather the noni for me.” She put her hand on Storm’s arm. “Be aware, though, your friend is hiding something.”

  Before Storm could respond, Hamlin called out, Storm?” He popped his head into the shed.

  Storm turned away from Bebe. “Did you get hold of him?”

  “Yes, we’re going to meet later.” They walked toward the car, slowly because Storm was limping.

  “He should understand, after the day you’ve had,” she said. “Wish I could go home, too.”

  “You can’t?”

  “I have to go to the office.”

  Hamlin looked at her and frowned. “No way. Don’t worry about Meredith. She gets grumpy under stress. She’s really okay.”

  Storm looked at him. “Really? She’s taking over Hamasaki’s office. Tomorrow.” Despite Bebe’s warning, his brush with primitive spirits convinced Storm she had nothing to fear from him. “I have to go through Hamasaki’s old files, clean out the desk and stuff.”

  “I know she can be impatient.” He sighed. “Look, just ask for a few more days.”

  “She’s already started moving stuff in.”

  “You need to go home and pack that ankle in ice. You can’t go to the office alone.”

  Storm put her hand on the door of the old VW and faced him. “Hamlin, I have to. All these weird events started with Uncle Miles’s death. With his murder. I’ve got to see if he’s left any answers to so many questions. What if someone else is injured or died because I didn’t bother?”

  “How long will it take?”

  Storm thought for a minute. If she could just find those private files, she could do the rest later. Lorraine would have kept his filing system well organized. “Maybe an hour.”

  For a moment, his eyes showed anguish. “I’m going with you then.”

  “Hamlin, are you sure?” Storm felt a rush of gratitude. Her foot and ankle throbbed and she had not wanted to go alone.

  He sighed. “Yes. I’ll phone Chris again. If he needs me, he knows where I’ll be. You ready?”

  “Sure. And thank you,” she said.

  Hamlin just shrugged and Storm started to duck into the car. With a gasp, she backed up and stepped squarely on Hamlin’s foot. He grunted and peered over her shoulder with a frown.

  Her ‘aamakaa rested on the driver’s bucket seat. Storm stared at it while her mind whirled. She had stuffed it into her purse, then jammed both behind the front seat. Now it leaned, its piggy snout and folded arms facing belligerently forward, against the upholstery.

  “What’s wrong?” Hamlin asked. The dark carving covered most of the beige seat.

  “It…it was in my purse.” Storm picked it up. “You didn’t get it out, did you?”

  “I haven’t been out here.”

  “It’s my ‘aamakaa.”

  Hamlin paused a beat. “I know, the pig. He looks pretty ferocious.”

  “It’s supposed to be protective. You know, like a totem or fetish.”

  He watched her stuff it back into her purse, then walked around the car to get in the passenger’s seat. He looked warily at Storm. “This has been a very strange afternoon.”

  “I agree.”

  Hamlin pulled out his cell phone, left a message. Then neither of them talked during the drive down the pot-holed gravel road. When the silence got so dense that Storm didn’t know how to begin to break it, Hamlin finally spoke. “Why didn’t you tell me about the dead man on the Big Island?”

  Storm chewed her lip. She hadn’t because it had sounded too incredible at the time. Now, the edges of believability blurred in the darkness. The sea was ten feet from the side of the road, but she couldn’t see it in the blackness of the night. They could hear the rumble of pounding breakers, though, and a salty mist covered the windshield. Under the infrequent street lamps, she could see the tension of Hamlin’s jaw.

  “I didn’t want to believe that it had anything to do with me.”

  “How could you find another body and not think so?”

  “I didn’t find it. I didn’t even see it. Aunt Maile told me about it.” Storm took a deep breath. “But I think I saw what you saw today.”

  She looked over at him and saw the flash of his eyes in the dark car.

  “Would you have believed me if I told you? The link is the smell, the gardenias.” She paused. “What exactly did you see, anyway?”

  “I’m not sure. I thought it was a man, but it seemed to glide rather than walk. And yet, you saw that big hoof print.” He shook his head. “Sam got a better view than I did. So, do you believe in those old legends?”

  Storm shrugged. “Not really, but right now I wouldn’t discount them. What do you think?”

  Hamlin sighed. “I don’t know, Storm. I really don’t.” He looked out the car window. “Ask me tomorrow when I’m not so tired.”

  She nodded. He was right. The blackness of the night surrounded them and the surf pounded the beach like some ancient drum. Salt spray shot up in billows and clouds from the sea wafted around the moving car—another reminder of the earth’s unpredictable forces.

  Both of them were shaky and the conclusions they reached tonight might change when they were surrounded by city daylight, in presumed control of their world. Hamlin stared out at the ocean. He rolled the window down and took deep breaths of the tangy wind. “I’m glad we’re back near the water again. Those cliffs, the humidity back in there, the air sits on you.” He gazed out the window for a few long minutes. “I’m also tired and I can’t help worrying about the scream we heard.”

  “You must be worried about DeLario, too.”

  “I guess that’s part of it.”

  “Is he upset about the blood test?”

  “That and his…his relationship with Martin.”

  “Artists don’t have to worry about their sexuality, do they? Not as much as a stockbroker, I’d think.”

  “A lot of his commissioned work comes from wealthy widows. He told me once that his income would drop drastically if people knew he was gay.”

  “He didn’t hide it in college, did he?”

  “He was pretty discreet, though people guessed. The only time he didn’t care was when Neil was in the hospital.”

  “You were there, too, weren’t you?”

  “Yes. But Chris spent as much time with him as I did, maybe more.”

  “Were they still lovers?”

  “No. By the time we all shared the apartment, Neil had moved on to another relationship. Chris, too.”

  “And Chris still stayed in the hospital with Neil?”

  “Yes, Chris would give him sponge baths, even administer his medications. By then, Neil’s veins were collapsing and the IV sites needed to be changed often.”

  “That must have been terribly hard,” Storm said.

  “There were days when I could hardly bear to see him, watch his deterioration. When he got pneumonia
, he couldn’t talk because of the respirator, but his eyes seemed to plead with us. I wondered on more than one occasion if he were begging for life or death.”

  “I imagine the patient considers ending it,” Storm whispered. She reached across and touched his hand.

  “We talked about it, once.” Hamlin looked out the side window, his voice very soft. “I told him I couldn’t, that he’d beaten infections before. And he pulled out of that one, came home for a couple of months.”

  Storm didn’t know what to say. She doubted that she would be able to give a final injection, especially if the tiniest shred of hope remained.

  “My mother tried to kill herself twice before she succeeded. When she finally did it, I was furious with her.” Storm’s eyes burned with a surge of familiar emotion. She kept her gaze locked on the sinuous solid yellow line of the road and thought about the complexity of the feelings she had for her mother. For the first time in her life, she was able to sort through and separate some of them. One of them was guilt.

  “Want to hear something crazy?” she asked. She could feel, rather than see, that Hamlin had turned his head to watch her. “I felt I had failed her because I couldn’t make her happy, and at the same time, I felt rotten because I kept her from her version of relief, which was death.”

  “I know. I would be devastated one day, angry at Neil the next.” Hamlin spoke softly. “Dealing with your mother would be even worse. She gave you life. She was your teacher and defender. And you were a child. You still needed her.”

  Storm nodded, her throat so tight that she couldn’t speak. Yet some of the burden she had carried for fifteen years lifted just a little. Though she’d never stop missing her mother, she was beginning to forgive herself.

  Chapter 35

  Storm used her after-hours pass to get into the underground garage and parked next to Hamlin’s Porsche. Going back to the office was the last thing she wanted to do and she could tell by looking at Hamlin that he felt the same way. He appeared to be gazing with longing at his car. His face was muddy and scratched; leaves clung in his hair. Bless him for coming along with her.

  She felt like the day had lasted a week. If any of the security guards saw their muddy sneakers, torn shorts, and bedraggled tee-shirts, they would probably think it had been that long since the two of them changed clothes. With luck, they could avoid running into any of them. She was going to do this as fast as she could. Just find the private files tonight. She could save moving the rest of the stuff for later.

  The elevator whirred them to the eleventh floor and softly ka-chunked to a stop. “Hey, Joe,” Hamlin greeted the guard who was strolling down the corridor.

  “Hey, boss.” He looked them over. “Where you guys been?”

  “In a taro field,” Hamlin answered.

  Joe laughed loudly. “Right. Have a nice evening.” He wandered down the hall.

  Hamlin raised his eyebrows at her. “See? Tell the truth and no one believes you.”

  “Right.” Storm shook her head.

  “You’re just feeling vulnerable this evening,” Hamlin replied.

  “Wonder why.”

  Storm used her keys to open the elegant koa door of the office suite and shook her head in dismay when she caught sight of her reflection. Mirrored in the shining brass that proclaimed Hamasaki, Cunningham, Wang, & Wo, Attorneys at Law, was a mud-splattered face, frizzy hair, and eyes circled by fatigue.

  She avoided looking at Hamlin, who followed closely, and marched through the dimly lit reception area to her office. She unlocked the door, flicked on the lights, and left Hamlin standing in the doorway. He watched her open her desk drawer. Sure enough, there was a lumpy envelope that made a key-jingle noise and had her name on the outside. Hamlin’s eyebrows shot up.

  Storm said defensively, “Meredith changed the locks already.”

  “You have a friend here in the firm, don’t you?”

  “Not everyone thinks Meredith walks on water.”

  “Right. I guess I’ll do some paperwork, too, while you work.” He turned away.

  Storm heard him unlock his own office door and saw the lights of his office illuminate his end of the corridor. She sighed loudly, then left her own office, closing the door behind her. What was his problem now?

  She locked her door and stomped down the hallway, unlocked Hamasaki’s office, and turned on the lights. The custom recessed lamps set the room aglow with soft, warm light. Storm stood for a moment and looked around. The tall mahogany cabinets that held his case files were still along one wall, too heavy to be moved until they were emptied. She also noted with relief that Hamasaki’s antiquarian books were still undisturbed.

  She jingled her old key ring in her shorts pocket. Hamasaki had given her keys to his files when she started to clerk for the firm. What she was not accustomed to was the stacks of folders on the floor, cardboard cartons spilling over with papers, frames, and doo-dads. Meredith’s junk. All over the place, making dusty rectangular impressions in the thick carpet.

  Storm frowned and moved over to the mahogany cabinet. She tugged on a drawer. Good, it was still locked. She wondered if Meredith planned to make the Hamasaki family an offer on the furniture or just figured that possession was the better part of ownership.

  Storm unlocked the cabinet at the top, which released the four vertical drawers. She started at the highest drawer and worked her way down. Each file was labeled, usually typed, but occasionally printed in a tidy hand that Storm recognized as Lorraine’s. Many of the cases were familiar to her. In fact, there was a file on Ray Tam that would probably help her in getting background on some of his projects. She ruffled through the thick stack of papers. It went back to 195. The file behind it was labeled 1975194. This was great. Storm took them out and piled them in a corner. She’d take them with her when she left.

  She sat down on the floor to look through the bottom drawer. It was jammed with cases that were older than the files in the top drawer. Nothing of a personal nature, though. She didn’t even recognize most of the names on the folders.

  Storm wiped a dusty hand across her forehead and sighed. Meredith’s boxes surrounded her like tree stumps in a clear-cut forest. They made her about as sad.

  Storm couldn’t resist poking into the closest box. Stuff was spilling out, anyway. There was a law school diploma, a chipped porcelain cat, a bunch of desk clutter, and hundreds of spilled and rusting paper clips. Under all this was jammed a stack of stained and ruffled files. Hamasaki would shudder.

  Storm snorted with disgust and turned around to look at the room. She got to her feet, grimacing at her aches. She was so damned tired. Walking over to Hamasaki’s desk, she sank into the comfortable leather chair, then stood up abruptly. That was where she had found him.

  A click and the thrumming sound of the air conditioner coming on brought Storm back to her present imperative, the search for Hamasaki’s personal files. She shivered in the draft of chilly air and loosened the fists she had unconsciously clenched. Her fingernails had made deep crescents in the palms of her hands. She sat down on the carpet to think.

  If someone had been sitting in the office chair, she had just assumed the posture of a fawning dog at its master’s feet. With her legs crossed in a yoga position, she squared her shoulders and took several deep breaths. She didn’t have time for distracting emotion. Maybe later, after she got things out of Meredith’s new domain.

  She got to her knees and tugged on the wide, shallow desk drawer right below the desktop. It was locked. She settled back down on the carpet and frowned. From where she sat, the drawer was slightly above her eye level. And there was a metallic glint of a slightly different brass than the bottom of the drawer runners. Storm reached up and felt around, then unhooked a small key.

  L.T. was etched onto the key. She’d found Lorraine Tanabe’s private key, which she left where she needed it. Hamasaki probably carried his in his pocket.

&n
bsp; She fit one key into the pencil drawer and opened it. Inside were Hamasaki’s good pens, including an elaborate gold number that had been a gift from a grateful and wealthy client. The drawer was arranged neatly and held Hamasaki’s personal stationery, a checkbook, small office items like a stapler, a staple remover, a bottle of white-out, and personal odds and ends: a little bottle of mouthwash, nail clippers, and a pair of reading glasses. Nothing outstanding, though the reading glasses flooded Storm with nostalgia. He’d worn them whenever they went over papers and contracts together. Everything looked exactly as Hamasaki would have left it.

  Storm paused. If he’d been reading when he died, he would have been wearing those glasses. He must have had time to put them away and lock the drawer before the drug took effect. Maybe as he was talking to the person who killed him.

  She relocked the drawer and tried the little key in a deep drawer to the side of the desk. It not only didn’t fit, the drawer wasn’t locked. It slid open with the pressure of her hand on the handle. Inside was a hanging file, neatly arranged with big phone books: Honolulu, Los Angeles, Manhattan, Chicago. Nothing personal.

  Storm turned the little key over and over in her fingers. Why did he lock the pencil drawer? Because Ed Wang kept borrowing his Montblanc and forgetting to return it? Maybe, but…She opened the drawer again and started to poke around. She knocked against a box of extra staples and felt an unexpected weight.

  Inside were a few staples and a ring with two keys: a tarnished old-fashioned one, three inches long, and a small, modern, stainless steel one.

  Storm sat back down and swiveled in the leather chair to survey the room. The antique bookcase looked like it would match a key like the large one. And it did. With a little jiggling of the key in the big hole, she felt the bolt slide. Not much of a security system; she could have opened it with a bobby pin. Storm pulled a couple of legal volumes off the shelf. Dusty old things.