Fire Prayer

by Deborah Turrell Atkinson

  Storm swallowed hard. “You’re not going to touch it, are you?”

  “No way. We’re not going to get that close.”

  Thank God. Storm was beginning to feel queasy. “Can’t you see enough from here? We don’t want to mess up a crime scene.”

  “Animals have been here.” Aunt Maile tiptoed closer, then stopped. Storm followed, watching her feet and the foliage along the path, anyplace except toward the dead thing. She almost walked into her aunt’s back.

  “It’s definitely human, and I think it’s a man. The hiking boots are pretty big.” Maile’s voice sounded thick in the stomach-turning atmosphere.

  Storm tried not to inhale, but it didn’t matter. The odor got to her even when she breathed out. And if Aunt Maile was close enough to see hiking boots and still couldn’t tell if it was a man or woman, Storm knew she didn’t want to see it. She kept her gaze on the grass along the path, which was thick and lush as if in defiance of death’s putrefying presence.

  Something glittered ahead in the green, about three feet away. Storm pointed over Maile’s shoulder. “What’s that?”

  Maile went closer, made a choking noise, and wheeled around. She darted, fumbling with her bandana, toward a tree stump. Storm cringed at the sound of vomiting. That was a first; Maile was known for treating cancer patients, necrotizing infections, and crippling diseases with unruffled professionalism. Of course, those people were still alive.

  The noise of her aunt’s sickness made Storm’s own bile rise, and she turned quickly to the sparkle in the grass. Keeping her eyes away from the corpse, she crept toward the shiny article.

  It was a watch, and its crystal face shone in the sun. She could see it now, a Tag Heuer, one of those nice diving watches with a navy blue or black face. Hamlin had given Storm a Fossil for her birthday last year, a step up from the reliable old Casio she’d worn for years. She was pretty sure Tag Heuer watches were in a higher price class than what she was used to. She also had a hunch there weren’t many Moloka‘i people who wore them.

  With her back carefully to the corpse, Storm looked around to see if any other articles lay in the grass, and noticed a scrap of reddish plaid fabric. She leaned over for a closer look, and recoiled in horror. The fabric was a flannel shirt cuff, and to her roiling disgust, a blackened hand emerged from it. Gagging, she reeled and dashed toward Aunt Maile, who leaned against a tree a good twenty yards away. Maile faced the direction of the breeze, away from the sickening stench.

  “Oh God, a hand. It was a hand,”

  Her aunt’s voice held respect. “You got close enough to see it. The empty eye sockets were too much for me. And the maggots.”

  “That’s disgusting.” Storm suppressed another gag. “The hand was in the grass, away from the rest of him.”

  “Probably dragged off by scavengers.”

  “Dogs?” Storm bent at the waist, her hands on her knees. She sucked in air and tried to convince her stomach to get out of her throat.

  “Or wild pigs, even cats.”

  Storm shuddered and shook the image of that hand out of her head. “Can we go back now?”

  Maile nodded vigorously and started off with long strides. The women were a hundred yards away before they removed the handkerchiefs and gulped fresh air. “I can still smell it—must be in my hair, on my clothes. I want a long soak in the ocean,” Storm said.

  “I’ll go for the chlorine in that nice, calm pool.” Aunt Maile still didn’t have her usual ruddy glow.

  “That’ll do, too.”

  They walked for several minutes, happy to be in the cleansing sunlight and sweet air, before Maile asked, “What was it that caught your attention?”

  Storm described the watch.

  “You’re right, those are expensive. That should help the police.”

  “I have a bad feeling about this.”

  “You think it’s Hamlin’s client’s son?”

  “He’s a missing rich kid, isn’t he?”

  “Yes.” Maile sounded thoughtful. They were within sight of the men. Hamlin was on his feet and waving at them with his uninjured arm. His other was in a bandana sling. He looked much better than he had when they left, and Storm waved back.

  The women told Hamlin, Makani, and Uncle Keone they’d confirmed a human body lay in the woods, and it had been there for a while. Weeks, maybe. The information subdued everyone, and Hamlin met Storm’s eyes with a question in his.

  She gave a little shrug, combined with a quick tip of her hand. Could be, but don’t know for sure.

  Before they climbed on the horses, Uncle Keone used a length of plastic food wrap to tie an ice bag around Hamlin’s shoulder. He also led the buckskin to a stump so Hamlin could mount without having to pull himself up. Though Hamlin assured everyone that his shoulder was much better since it had been repositioned, Storm could see that his posture in the saddle was less relaxed than it had been before the horses shied. His entire arm probably still hurt, and she gave him a lot of credit for getting back on the horse.

  To everyone’s relief, the ride back to the ranch was uneventful, though there was a lot less conversation than there had been on the ride out. Only the horses were livelier, as they knew they were headed for the barn and full buckets of oats.

  “Just tie your horses to the fence,” Makani said on arrival. “I’ll put away the tack and take care of the rest.”

  “We’ll carry our saddles in,” Uncle Keone said. He had Hamlin’s horse tied and pulled the saddle as soon as the younger man’s feet touched the ground.

  Storm and Maile followed his lead, and within a few minutes the group of four thanked Makani and headed back to the Lodge. It was a little after three, a beautiful time of the afternoon, when the sun’s rays cut a fiery swath across Kaiwi Channel between Moloka‘i and O‘ahu. They strolled along the gravel road back to the Lodge, each lost in his or her own thoughts. Even with the vista in front of her, Storm couldn’t forget the body in the woods. She could still smell the cloying reek of death, and though she was pretty sure it was a memory, she felt like the odor clung to her.

  “We may see the green flash tonight,” Aunt Maile said, and Storm felt certain her aunt was looking for beauty as a means of escape from the gruesome images.

  “I’d like nothing better than to sit on the lanai by the bar, watch the sun set, and have a cocktail,” Hamlin said. “Or two.”

  “We can arrange that,” Keone said.

  “Not until we’ve talked to the police.” Maile’s voice was sad.

  Storm nodded. “And then we’ll deserve that drink.”

  “I’ve got another thing to do first,” Hamlin said, and fatigue showed in his eyes.

  “See the doctor?” Storm asked.

  “No, I can do that later. The arm’s not urgent.” He moved it to show them he was doing better. “After my fall, when we were waiting for you two to come back, I had a chance to ask Makani about Brock Liu.”

  “Does he think that was Brock’s body?” Keone asked.

  “He didn’t say, but I’m sure it’s crossed his mind.”

  “What did he say?” Storm asked.

  “There are some things he’s not telling me, but he did talk about an old group of friends, the same guys who were involved in that protest Dusty Rodriguez told us about.”

  “Was Makani part of the group?” Storm asked.

  “Didn’t seem like it the way he talked, but he knew them. Remember the guy who died? Makani told me that was Alika, Brock Liu’s older brother.”

  Several moments passed and the only sounds were the crunch of their feet on the gravel road. Finally Keone said, “I don’t envy that father, no matter how much money he’s got.”

  “Yeah.” Hamlin’s voice was low.

  “If that’s Brock, it doesn’t look like he drowned in a kayaking accident,” Storm said.

  “True, but Devon will still press to see who and what is responsible for his son’s death.” Hamlin
squinted down the roadway. “At my last meeting with Liu and his legal assistant, I got the feeling Mr. Liu knew the Richards brothers. It was just a hunch, then. Now it seems certain he knew them.”

  “How old is Makani?” Storm asked, and everyone looked at her. “I was wondering if he was part of that protest, but he seems younger than Skelly, Tanner, and those guys.”

  “I’d say he’s in his mid-twenties, wouldn’t you?” Keone said. “Plus, someone told me he was from Maui.”

  Maile had been following the conversation. “Makani may be just passing on hearsay.”

  “More questions for me to ask,” Hamlin said.

  “What was it you wanted to do before cocktails?” Storm asked.

  “Go see Lambert Poele.”

  Storm frowned. “Wasn’t he the ringleader of that protest group?”

  “Yes, and Makani told me he had a big argument with Brock Liu right before Liu was to leave the island.”

  “Did he say what they argued about?” Storm kicked a pebble before her.

  “Makani told me Brock had been buying parcels of land around where Poele lives,” Hamlin said. “Apparently Brock Liu is pretty abrasive. And Poele doesn’t like the Lius in general.”

  “What’s Poele’s livelihood?” Keone asked.

  “Sounds like he’s kind of a recluse. A hippy drop-out type, with a flock of goats. Sells his organic goat cheese to restaurants throughout the islands. He’s not rich, but he does okay.”

  “Brock was probably representing Liu family interests,” Storm said.

  “Check how Lambert’s land is zoned. And if he’s on Hawaiian Homestead land.” Aunt Maile took off her handkerchief and wiped her face. “Lordy, I’m looking forward to that drink.”

  “What’s the significance of Hawaiian Homestead land?” Hamlin asked.

  “If he’s fifty percent Hawaiian and has leased the land under the Hawaiian Homes Commission Act, he has water rights. And he can only sell to another Hawaiian. Is Liu part Hawaiian?”

  “No,” Hamlin said. “But I bet Devon Liu could find some Hawaiian willing to stand in for him.”

  “You’re kind of cynical about your client, aren’t you?” asked Keone.

  “Actually, he’s realistic,” Storm said.

  “If that’s Liu’s body, it sounds like Poele might have a motive,” Keone added.

  “We can’t tell until we talk to him.” Hamlin wiped his forehead with his shirtsleeve. He looked tired. “There’s another little problem.”

  “What’s that?” Storm asked. The four had reached the Lodge’s front door and paused before splitting off to their rooms. Uncle Keone and Aunt Maile’s room was on the inside of the main building, like a hotel. Storm’s and Hamlin’s room had an outdoor, garden entrance.

  “Makani says he’ll probably only talk to a local—I’m too Mainland.”

  “He doesn’t like haole?” Keone asked.

  “Guess not.”

  “I’ll go with you, if you’d like,” Storm said.

  “Thanks, that’ll help.”

  “I’ll ask Dusty if you can borrow his truck,” Keone said. “His personal one, without the Ranch logo.”

  “And I’ll call the police about the body,” Maile said. “We’d better meet them before we do anything else.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Niwa hung up from talking to Haley and dialed his wife at the pharmacy where she worked.

  “Caroline, Haley told me you had to take Luke to the hospital.”

  “Yes, did you know he’s diabetic?”

  “No.” Niwa sat back in the driver’s seat with surprise. “Like he needs insulin?”

  “Yup. Recently diagnosed. The way I understand it, his insulin doses aren’t quite regulated yet. The ER doc said he’s brittle.”

  “One of the dispatchers is like that. If he misses a meal, or doesn’t eat enough, he can pass out.”

  “Yeah, well it’s worse for kids. Some kids, anyhow. Emotional traumas, unusual stresses can throw them way off kilter.”

  “Jesus, poor Luke. No wonder he looked so bad this morning.”

  “They’re keeping him overnight for observation.”

  “Sounds like a good idea.” Niwa looked at his watch. It was a bit before four. “I couldn’t find Tanner, but he’s supposed to come to the baseball game tonight. We can take him right to the hospital from there.”

  “Oh, honey.” He could hear Caroline’s sigh. “This poor family. On top of everything else.”

  “You mean Tanner’s illness?”

  “Yes, that and Jenny’s problems. Just when I’d heard she was doing better—”

  “Jenny’s problems? What—” Niwa’s phone beeped at him. “Shoots, the dispatcher’s calling me. Caroline, I want to hear more about this, but I gotta run. See you at the game?”

  “Sure. I better go, too.”

  Niwa got back out of his car and wiped his face with his sleeve. It was too damn hot to sit in that steel sauna and talk on the phone. He made his way back to Kanemitsu’s and ordered that second slab of sweet bread. Hey, it was air-conditioned in there, and that alone had to be better for his blood pressure. He was making his way to a chair and getting the phone out when the office called again.

  “You’re gonna hate this.” It was Jerry Sanchez, Niwa’s favorite dispatcher.

  “It can’t get any worse.” Niwa took a big bite of strawberry-cream cheese filling.

  “Oh, it can always get worse.” Jerry sounded way too cheerful. “We got a call about another body.”

  “You’re shitting me.” Niwa swallowed hard.

  “Nope.”

  “You don’t have to sound so happy about it.” Niwa took another bite. “And Jerry, I gotta ask you about insulin and stuff. Seems Luke Williams is diabetic.”

  “Bummers. Sure, we can talk later. Kid that young, he’s probably a Type I like me. Sarge, the people you need to talk to are up at the Lodge.”

  “Some tourist croaked? Am I a total prick if I hope it’s something simple like a heart attack?”

  “I have a hunch it’s not so easy. The people who found it are up there.”

  Niwa made a noise between a moan and a grunt, ate the rest of his bread in a huge bite and lumbered to his feet. “Shoots. Later, Jerry.”

  Betty, the grey-haired counter clerk, shook her head at him. “Eating fass bad fo’ da heart.” She pronounced it haaht.

  Niwa rolled his eyes at her and walked out the door to his car. Eating fast wasn’t as bad for his heart as this day had been.

  Fifteen minutes later, Niwa found three Hawaiians and a haole guy sitting around the bar at the Lodge, drinking cokes. They probably wanted a beer as bad as he did, but figured they’d better wait. Their expressions looked tired and serious.

  After introductions, the two women alternated telling him what they’d found and how they’d come upon it.

  “You sure the remains, they’re human?” Niwa asked.

  “Yes,” both women said together.

  “Can you tell me how to get there? I’ve been up in that area, but not for a while.”

  Keone, the rancher from the Big Island, spoke up. “I can. I’ve ridden that trail before with Dusty.”

  “Dusty Rodriguez?” Niwa knew the people heard the sharpness in his voice when four sets of eyes focused on his face.

  “Yes,” said Keone. “He’s an old friend of mine.”

  “But he wasn’t with you on this trip?”

  “No, one of his staff guided us. Why?” the man named Ian Hamlin asked.

  Niwa sighed and made a calculation. “Dusty’s daughter disappeared about ten years ago. This was more than a skeleton, right?”

  All four heads nodded. The younger woman spoke. “It looked like a man and it’s probably been out there a week or two, not years.”

  Niwa felt a wave of relief, but the rancher looked pensive. “I remember that. The daughter and her baby, right?”

 
“Yes, everyone said she ran off to Honolulu, but we would have found her,” Niwa said. “But I guess we’ll never know for sure.”

  “Dusty never thought she ran off, either. He had a terrible time when it happened, it changed his life.” The older Hawaiian woman nodded along with her husband’s words. The younger pair looked back and forth between the older couple. They’d obviously never heard the story.

  Niwa sighed. “I feel bad for the family of this person, but I’m glad to hear it’s not Tia.” He turned to Keone. “I think there’s an old road back in there, so we can drive at least part way. You mind going along to help with directions? It’ll save us some time and I’ll have someone bring you right back.”

  “Sure,” Keone said. Niwa pushed himself up from the table with an unintentional grunt. Keone stood, too. It went through Niwa’s mind that the rancher was about twenty-five years older than he was and had been on a horse all day, yet he’d risen without any groans. Niwa vowed to himself that after this case, he was going to start exercising, lose some weight. He walked off a few steps while Keone kissed his wife and the younger woman on the cheek. He also handed a set of car keys to the haole guy. “Be careful.”

  Keone turned to Niwa. “Let’s get this over with.”

  Storm, Maile, and Hamlin watched the two of them go. “Poor Uncle Keone,” Storm said. “He’s tired.”

  “That policeman looks exhausted,” Aunt Maile said. “Bodies in the woods have to be unusual here. Moloka‘i is a quiet, friendly place.”

  “Let’s hope so.” Hamlin didn’t sound like he believed it, and he stood up as if his whole body hurt. “You ready to go?”

  “You mind if I make a quick pit-stop on the way out?” Storm asked, anticipating the drive.

  “No, but I’m with Keone,” Hamlin said. “Let’s get this over with.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Ten minutes later, Storm and Hamlin found Dusty’s faded red pickup in the parking lot at the side of the Lodge. It would fit right into the Moloka‘i countryside; the hood had rusted through in a couple of spots and a few bales of straw were piled in the bed. Hamlin opened the driver’s door, took one look at the manual transmission on the column, and rolled his sore shoulder with a grimace.