Fire Prayer

by Deborah Turrell Atkinson

  The night she died, he left the marriage license behind, but he took the postcard with the Chicago postmark and put it inside the book he was reading for his English class. He was supposed to have read Chapters Ten and Eleven of From the Mixed-up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler for Friday’s class, but he’d never made it to school that day. It was a paperback, not much bigger than the card he’d stuck between its pages, and it was the only book he’d put in his backpack.

  Last night, when his dad retrieved the blood monitoring kit, the card had crossed his mind, but he’d been too tired to do anything about it. But now he needed to check on the contents of his pack.

  Luke stood up, noticed that his father had not only undressed him, but put him in too-big but clean pajamas.

  Tanner peeked around the kitchen door. “How’re you feeling?”

  “Better. I’m starved.”

  “That’s good, I’m cooking. Get dressed and come sit down.”

  “Dad, is my bag around here? I’ve got some stuff in it.”

  Tanner pointed at a chair in the living room. “Over there. I took your insulin out and put it in the fridge.”

  “Is the glucose kit in there?”

  “Sure.”

  The first thing Luke did was to remove the kit and set it aside. When he heard his dad’s steps go back to the kitchen, he withdrew the paperback novel. The postcard was still there.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  After breakfast, Storm went back to her room to change into the boots she’d deemed too dusty to wear to the dining room. She stuffed her mobile phone, a bottle of water, and a light jacket into her fanny pack. At the last moment, she crammed in an Almond Joy bar, too. Not that she’d need it after that big breakfast.

  She bustled out the door and scanned the walkway. Aunt Maile and Uncle Keone weren’t in sight yet, but Delia was, and she gave a wave.

  “Any news on the boy?” Delia yelled from across the parking lot.

  Storm walked over to her. “No, you heard anything?”

  “No, but Connor’s going to a camp down past Halawa today and said he’d keep an eye out for him.”

  Great, Luke would go tearing in the opposite direction again. Storm changed tactics. “Did you know Jenny Williams very well?”

  Delia shrugged. “I hate to speak ill of the dead, but she wasn’t all that friendly to me. Maybe it’s cuz we both dated Dusty. People say she was a good artist. A good mother, too. It’s sad.”

  “Poor Luke.”

  “Yeah. The last few years, she stopped making art, drank more, and seemed more and more unhappy.”

  “You ever see any of her work?”

  Delia looked thoughtful. “Sure, you can see it here and there. She had a show about ten years ago and sold some, plus I heard she gave some to friends.”

  “You know anybody who has any of it?”

  “The bank has a humpback whale and her calf. It’s really big. I love that piece.” Delia thought a bit more. “Lambert Poele has one, too. I saw it in the back of Connor’s car. He was supposed to drop it off at Jenny’s because something broke off it.”

  “When was this?”

  “Couple weeks ago. I mean, I don’t know when she gave it to him—that’s when it was in the car.”

  “I see,” Storm said, then added, just in case Delia wondered why she was asking, “I was interested in picking up a piece myself.”

  “Good luck,” Delia said with a laugh. “Doesn’t it get real expensive when the artist dies?”

  “Yeah, maybe. I’ll let you know,” Storm said, and headed up the road toward the barn.

  She watched the puffs of dust her feet sent up on the crushed coral as her mind turned over Delia’s information. How many broken sculptures could there be on this island, anyway? And was it in Connor’s or Skelly’s hands when Brock disappeared? From their kayaking establishment, no less. Which was a little too convenient in Storm’s view, though she’d often heard her police friends talk about the stupidity of criminals. Problem was, Skelly Richards didn’t sound stupid. He’d overcome personal obstacles and built a thriving business in a place where financial success was difficult to achieve.

  She hadn’t met the man yet, but it was time. From her short observation, he appeared to be the person who’d best emerged from the ashes of a decade-old fire and death. He just didn’t seem like the kind of guy who would leave an incriminating weapon in the trunk of his car. Question was, was Skelly the kind of man who bashed in another guy’s head? Or a woman’s head, for that matter? Storm couldn’t answer those questions. Not yet, anyway.

  When she got to the barn, Makani and a young woman were tying horses along the paddock rail and laying out baskets of grooming tools. They didn’t look as if they’d been told that Keone, Maile, and she wanted to trailer three horses.

  “Hi there,” Storm said, and Makani looked up with a cheerful smile. “Any chance we could saddle three horses for a ride?”

  “Uh, I guess.” Storm’s hunch was right. Makani hadn’t been warned of their plans. “Your aunt and uncle going, too?”

  “Yes, but we were wondering if you might let us trailer them to state land around Halawa Bay.”

  Now Makani looked outright startled. “It’s Dusty’s day off and I have to stay here for other guests.”

  “We can take them alone. Uncle Keone talked to Dusty about it this morning.”

  “He did? But Dusty’s using his trailer today.”

  “I think he mentioned that, and he thought you might have one here we could use.”

  Makani laid a curry comb in a basket of grooming tools. “I guess you could use mine. I mean, we wouldn’t do it for anyone, in fact almost no one. But your uncle just bought some brood mares for Parker Ranch, and he’s interested in a couple of our ropers.”

  “He’s on the way up from the Lodge. You could talk to him about it,” Storm said. She walked over to the horse he was working on. The woman she’d seen earlier had disappeared into one of the stalls, where Storm could hear the scrape of a shovel or pitchfork. “I’ll help you groom.”

  “I’m not supposed to let guests—”

  “I know, but I’m not a regular guest and you look like you could use a hand.” Storm picked up a hoof pick and approached the first horse in the line of animals Makani had tied to the paddock rail.

  “Thanks, we’re short handed. A few of our non-rental horses need exercise, too. When would you be back?”

  “We won’t get there until ten or eleven. Maybe around six, or about dusk?”

  “I guess that’ll work. I’ll give you my mobile number in case you have any trouble.” He paused. “Except cell phones don’t work down there.”

  “I noticed that already.” Storm spoke into the horse’s left forefoot, where she dug out the stable debris. The ranch took good care of their horses; they were newly shod, and she could tell they were brushed and their hooves were cleaned often. She liked Makani and Dusty for that fact, and she moved easily from the horse’s front feet to its rear ones. Because the job was done frequently, it didn’t take as long as it might have, and before long she reached for a curry comb.

  When she did, she found Makani watching her. “You know your way around the stable,” he said. “I knew you rode well, but I wasn’t sure about the dirty work.”

  “It’s all part of having horses, and I enjoy this part, too.”

  He was quiet a minute, and carefully straightened a twist in his horse’s halter. “Do you know Kathy Matayoshi?”

  “Sure, we surf together. I haven’t seen her for a month or so.”

  A slow flush spread over his cheeks. “I’m going to see her next weekend. She told me you guys were friends.”

  “You’re dating?”

  His face reddened further and he nodded. “She was a guest at the Ranch about a year ago and we’ve been trying to see each other every few weeks. She’s going to teach me to surf. There aren’t as many good breaks here as on O�
�ahu. I’m hōlona, a real beginner.”

  “Awesome. Can I come, too?”

  Makani grinned at her. “Kathy was going to give you a call. Especially since I told her I’d met you.”

  “I’ll check the surf reports when I get back. That’ll be fun.” She worked on a knot in the horse’s tail and after a few minutes, she asked, “Say, where’s Dusty this morning? We saw him briefly, but he didn’t have time to join us for breakfast.”

  “He’s running errands, mostly for Lambert Poele. His truck is on the fritz—still. Hand me that sponge, will ya?”

  Storm got a sponge from the basket and held it out to him. Makani reached over the appaloosa he was grooming, which Storm recognized as the one she’d admired before. “Is that Moonlight?”

  “Yup, he’s one of the ropers your uncle likes.” Makani strained to grab the sponge and a dark tattoo peeked from the sleeve of his white T-shirt. It looked a lot like Poele’s, plus she could see a similar halo of redness around the dark pattern.

  “That a new tattoo?” she asked.

  “Yeah.” Makani pulled his sleeve down. “Some friends talked me into it.” He shrugged and ducked behind Moonlight. Storm worked on her horse quietly for a moment and pondered Makani’s reaction. He didn’t want to talk about it, which corresponded to Poele’s reaction, though at least Poele had told her about the oath. She found it interesting that Makani was in on it. Storm would have given odds Dusty had a new tattoo, too.

  “Could we take Moonlight today?” Storm asked.

  Makani frowned. “He shies at stuff. Dusty thinks he needs more ring work.”

  “Okay. He’s a beautiful horse, isn’t he?”

  “Yeah, I kinda hate to see him go.” Makani rubbed Moonlight’s ears, and the horse turned to rub his head on the young man’s shirtfront.

  “I can ask Uncle Keone to leave him with you for a while,” Storm said.

  Makani shrugged, but he couldn’t hide the happy expression creeping across his face. “I’d like to work with him a bit longer.”

  “I’ll ask him.” Storm picked up the basket and walked to the next horse in line, a big roan. In the distance, she saw two figures walking along the coral road. Keone and Maile would arrive momentarily.

  “Makani, does that tattoo have anything to do with the old protest group?”

  Makani dropped the sponge, which splattered dust on Moonlight. The horse then shifted his weight, and placed a forefoot squarely on the sponge, which flattened and oozed soapy water.

  “Now how did he know to do that?” Storm asked. She eyed the appaloosa, who seemed to be watching for a reaction from Makani. She stepped next to Moonlight and leaned her weight into his shoulder. Moonlight grunted, stepped off the sponge, and bent his head to snuffle Makani’s hair when he picked it up. “This horse is teasing you.”

  “He does that,” Makani mumbled, and tossed the dirty sponge into a bucket of water.

  “My aunt and uncle are walking down the drive. What about the protest group, Makani?”

  “It might have something to do with that.” He looked around. “You can’t tell anyone I told you about this.”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t.”

  Makani looked tormented. “Look, Storm, no one knows what happened that night. I swear. Dusty thinks Poele started the fire, but he’d turn himself in before he’d tell anyone.” He shook his head. “But I heard Poele tell Skelly he’d take the rap before he’d say a word about Connor. Skelly thanked him over and over. Both of them thought Connor started the fire, see? And they didn’t know I was listening, either.”

  “What about Alika? Anyone accuse him of starting it and underestimating how fast it would spread?”

  Makani wouldn’t meet her eyes. “I don’t know.”

  “What was he really like, Makani? Was he as big an ass as Brock?”

  Makani’s face darkened. “Alika made Brock look nice. Except he was better looking. I think he got Tia pregnant on purpose. You should have heard him mock Dusty for trying to protect her.”

  “On purpose? Like she didn’t consent—”

  Makani shook his head violently. “I don’t know for sure. Tia didn’t tell anyone until she was about four months pregnant, and Dusty went crazy when he found out.”

  “Because she got pregnant?”

  Makani’s voice tightened. “He blamed her.” Makani rested his head against Moonlight’s shoulder, and the rest of his words came out muffled. “Then he told her to get an abortion.”

  “Oh, no,” Storm said softly. “Did she ever tell him she was raped?”

  “She tried.”

  Neither said anything for a long moment. Makani was the first to break the silence and his voice was low when he spoke. “The fire was bad. Tanner got worse after that night. He was always prone to ups and downs, but man, he really flipped out after the fire.”

  “You think he lit the fire and felt guilty?”

  “No one ever talked about Tanner that way, but I don’t know. He might have known about the rape.” Makani swallowed hard. “He and Tia were friends. But it was Skelly, Connor, and Poele people suspected.” He brushed the horse slowly and kept his head turned away from her.

  “What did you think?”

  Makani didn’t say anything for a few moments. Keone’s and Maile’s footsteps approached, crunching in the gravel. Keone yelled a greeting and Storm waved over the back of her horse, then whispered to Makani, “Well?”

  “I think Tanner might have known there would be a fire. It made him hyper, a little crazier.” Though Makani rushed his words, Storm detected sadness in them.

  “Then what happened?”

  “Alika used to tease him, make fun of his neatness fetish. Tanner walks into a room and rearranges things. Maybe it’s kind of funny, but no one except Alika would dare mock Tanner. It pissed Skelly off big time.”

  “How did Tanner react?”

  Now Makani met her eyes, and his held puzzlement. “He laughed, but it was like he was laughing at himself. One time Tanner got this sad laugh after Alika teased him. Skelly went crazy. He jumped on Alika and started punching him. We had to pull him off. And what I remember was, there’s Alika’s nose streaming blood, but he just kept laughing. Like Skelly didn’t matter. Tanner, neither.”

  “And what about Tia? What happened after Dusty found out she was pregnant?”

  “She and Dusty were never the same. She finally moved in with Poele.”

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Lambert Poele watched Dusty’s truck bump down the dirt road. Skelly’s overloaded Jeep Cherokee followed behind. They would caravan as far as the docks, where Dusty planned to drop the cartons of cheese and Skelly would go on to his office.

  Skelly’s business was doing great. The whole EcoTour idea was hot all over the country. Poele followed this kind of thing; it was how he got the idea to make and sell goat cheese. His friends might not know it, but Poele read at least three papers. He even got the Sunday New York Times. Sometimes it got to him on Monday, but he didn’t care. He savored it all week.

  Once the two vehicles were out of sight, Poele exited his house and strolled across his property, kicking a rock before him. He ignored the puffs of dust that arose. The goats had been penned during the cheese loading, or they’d have been underfoot. A dozen goats running around, butting and sniffing at Dusty and Skelly? No, that would not have been appreciated. Now he could let them out of the little paddock in the shade behind the barn. He liked them free to roam; their amusing, individual personalities kept him company. Jenny had teased him about how they were his best friends. She wanted him to get the truck fixed, too, he thought, and smiled sadly. She finally had wanted him to come to her house.

  He’d let Storm think that Jenny had had an affair with Brock, but that wasn’t exactly true. From what Poele could tell, Jenny had held him off. Yet Brock respected her. Poele had heard it in the man’s voice, and marveled. It was the only thing he could find to admire
in the slimy, promiscuous, ass-kissing little creep.

  Brock had tried to suck up to Poele at first, by offering to loan him that big SUV and help with the truck repairs, but Poele saw through that ruse. It was obvious Brock wanted Poele’s land, a measly four point eight acres, almost too dry for cattle. Goats weren’t quite as picky. Prime view, though, which was why the Liu family wanted it. They’d irrigate, and develop the resort plan that was merely delayed by Alika’s death ten years ago.

  Poele hadn’t trusted any member of the Liu family for a long time. He’d been the one to discover Alika’s treachery, though none of the others wanted to believe him at first. It happened because Alika kept him waiting, as usual. Alika had been playing one of his little power games, keeping Poele waiting outside while Alika showered or something, not that Alika would ask any of the group in for a drink, even water. So when Poele heard Devon Liu’s voice come tinnily over Alika’s answering machine, he’d listened just for something to do.

  “We got the results to the Hakina/Kaheu survey. Call me, son, I want a report.”

  The old man’s voice had carried, and Poele, who heard every word, knew right away Alika was scouting real estate for his father’s developments. Hakina/Kaheu was the land adjacent to the Ranch, the very development the group was protesting. Alika Liu was a fucking traitor.

  Unlike Alika, Brock had no pretenses about his aim to enlarge the family empire. But Poele could only take so much, and when he’d reached his limit and threatened to pound Brock’s sorry ass into the ground, then burn him at the stake—maybe he shouldn’t have made that fire reference—Liu had sneered that nothing better happen to him because Jenny Williams had proof, and he could trust her.

  Poele figured Brock was making a reference to the fire, and he’d already walked those hot coals once in his life. The police had made it very clear they thought he was responsible for the fire. All they needed was more evidence against him, and the idea that Brock might have something made Poele skittish.

  Meanwhile, Jenny didn’t admire Brock, but she didn’t hate him, either. Most annoying to Poele was that she wouldn’t tell Poele what Brock’s “proof” was. She told him she didn’t know yet herself, because it was sealed up. But then she said he didn’t have anything to be worried about unless he lost his cool.