Mystery of the Lei Palaoa

by Terry Ambrose

  Chance peered in the direction I’d indicated. “What has that got to do with Ricky Coyne?”

  “It’ll all make sense soon. Let’s go. I’ve got a feeling Cedrick has some juicy stuff to tell us.”

  We climbed a long flight of steps that had once been rust colored, but had worn through to the bare concrete. Halfway up, I said to Chance, “If you lived here, you’d never get old.”

  He chuckled, but didn’t stop. At the top of the stairs, we found a screened security door. Behind it, the front door stood open. Nice. The opening let air flow freely into the home, but kept out the unwanted—people such as us. Chance knocked.

  Inside, a high-pitched woman’s voice called out. “Cedrick? Get the door.”

  Moments later, the young man from the Book & a Latte appeared. Thank goodness I was with Chance. The kid was bigger than I remembered. He practically filled the doorway and his movements, though filtered by a screen and interior darkness, were tentative—cautious—those of someone harboring suspicion.

  “Cedrick?” I asked.

  “Who are you?”

  “Mandy must have told you we were coming.”

  His jaw fell. Good—being direct had caught him off guard.

  “Can we come in?” asked Chance. “We have a few questions.”

  “Who is it, Cedrick?” The woman’s voice was closer now. This time, more insistent.

  He called over his shoulder. “Just some…people…Mom.”

  Heavy footsteps thumped. The woman’s voice grew louder and was tinged with irritation. “Kids.”

  She appeared in the doorway next to Cedrick. Short, heavyset, long dark hair tied up. Green apron with Lei’d in Paradise on the front in large white letters.

  I nudged Chance.

  “Mrs. Rinehart?” Chance held out one of his cards. “My name is Chance Logan and I’m investigating the death of a man in Honolulu. This is my associate, Mr. McKenna. Cedrick may have been one of the last people to see the deceased. We have a few questions. May we come in?”

  Chance had delivered his lines with the perfect blend of “I’m not here to threaten you, but I’ve got terrible news, and you need to do something.” Mrs. Rinehart appeared stunned as she pushed Cedrick aside to unlatch the door.

  We stood in a tiled entranceway, which opened directly to the living room. Family pictures dotted the walls. The closest one was a faded sepia classic—a cane-field-worker photo in which a dozen grim-faced men in worn and dirty clothes posed in an open field.

  We’d just entered the room when Mr. Rinehart hobbled in on a pair of crutches. His clothes hung loosely, as though his body had been decimated by a long illness. Gaunt. The man was positively gaunt, nor did he seem happy his wife had let us in. He hobbled to a recliner near the couch and collapsed into the chair. He tugged at a lever on the side. It didn’t budge.

  “You want me to get that for you, Dad?”

  Cedrick moved toward his father, but the old man’s cold stare stopped the boy in his tracks.

  “Sorry,” said Cedrick. “You don’t want to be treated like an invalid.”

  “Mr. Rinehart, my name is Chance Logan and this is my associate, Mr. McKenna.”

  The muscles in Cedrick’s face relaxed and he backed away as Chance explained that we were investigating Ricky’s death. While he worked his way through our purpose in coming, I took the opportunity to do a quick survey. The backyard was one giant garden. There were flowers everywhere. When Chance asked if Cedrick had been upset over Ricky Coyne wearing a lei palaoa, the room fell silent.

  Everyone waited. Cedrick shifted from one foot to the other. No longer could he shrink away from notice. “Not so much.”

  This kid might be a young man ready to make his way into the world, but he wasn’t nearly so mature emotionally. He moved closer to his parents. If he’d really killed Ricky Coyne, could it have been anything other than an accident? Maybe a fit of anger?

  “Mandy told us you were going to make Ricky pay for what he’d done,” I said.

  The Mrs. glowered at her son. “We taught you better. Be respectful at all times.”

  “I was, Mom. That’s not what I said. What I said was that Ricky Coyne was trouble. I told Mandy to stay away from him and to let his karma make him pay. That’s what I said.”

  The boy’s eyes seemed to plead for her understanding. His English might be perfect now with no trace of pidgin, but I’d bet my Book & a Latte gift card he reverted with his friends.

  “What goes around, comes around?” I asked.

  “That not what we taught you, son. You can’t bend no rules just cause you don’t like someone.”

  Mr. Rinehart’s frail voice was hollow, almost like a reed vibrating in the wind. Dad might appear weak, but he didn’t seem the type to back down easily. Mom and Dad were clearly old school—hard working, strict disciplinarians. Had Dad worked his way through the cane fields? Was he in one of the wall photos I’d noticed? How many once-proud men had been humbled when they lost their ability to work? Men like that didn’t let their sons commit crimes—at least, not if they could help it. Hell, I was rationalizing. I simply didn’t want this kid to be a killer.

  I leaned forward and kept my gaze fixed on Cedrick’s face. “So tell me, do you think Mandy lied to us about what you said, or was she just mistaken?”

  “You mean that Mandy Spry girl?” Mrs. Rinehart practically spat out the words.

  “I take it you don’t like her,” I said. Damn, her outburst had caught me off guard. Still, there had been a slight tightening in Cedrick’s jaw.

  “That girl big trouble. She got all kinda plans for herself, but don’t care about nobody else. We told Cedrick keep away from her. She gonna cause him heartbreak.”

  Heartbreak? “Is Mandy your girlfriend, Cedrick?”

  “No.”

  “Was she ever?”

  “We went out a couple of times.”

  He shrugged again, but avoided eye contact. His jaw tightened visibly as I waited.

  “No big deal. Just casual.”

  “Is Cedrick some kinda suspect?” asked Mr. Rinehart. “I think maybe we need get him a lawyer before this get bad.”

  Talk about a conversation headed the wrong direction. This one was picking up downhill speed fast. I said, “If he hasn’t done anything wrong, he should have nothing to worry about.”

  “You sound like a haole cop.” Mr. Rinehart pulled himself up from the recliner. His worn jeans hung like bags on his scrawny frame. Despite the enormous toll this visit must be taking, he braced himself on his crutches. “I think you two bettah leave.”

  Damn, I’d pushed too hard and said the wrong thing at the wrong time. I chalked it up to distraction. The back yard…two plumeria trees…the dream.

  “Mr. Rinehart,” Chance said, “I think my partner has given you the wrong impression. We’re not with the police and we’re not here to accuse Cedrick of anything.”

  “We’re trying to find out why a man was murdered and we think Cedrick may have been one of the last to see him alive. Please, just a few more questions.”

  How many times had Chance used his Mr. Smooth impression when he was growing up? He’d obviously had lots of practice. When Mr. Rinehart didn’t move to forcibly eject us, Chance continued.

  “Cedrick, you said you told Mandy to stay away from Ricky. Was that recently?”

  A shrug. A shake of the head. But, beneath that unconcerned exterior, there was an unrelenting pressure building.

  “You’re still in love with her, aren’t you, Cedrick?”

  “We both loved theater. She’s got real talent. She paints…” His eyes were all weepy.

  Not what I was looking for. Grow up, kid. Blathering on about Mandy’s virtues wasn’t going to help anyone. I had to hand it to Cedrick’s parents, despite their dislike for Mandy, they hadn’t stopped their son from talking. But, we needed details, not lovesick ramblings. “When did she break up with you?”

  Tears filled his eyes. “She started hangin
g out with Ricky a couple of months ago. She’s just…lost right now.”

  “And that’s why you didn’t like Ricky? Because he took her away from you?”

  Mrs. Rinehart shifted position and muttered something under her breath as her son answered my question.

  “I never trusted Ricky. He was hiding something from her. From us. All of us.”

  “Like?” Chance asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  Who was the “us” in Cedrick’s statement? Would we get that detail before Dad lost his patience?

  Mr. Rinehart wavered on his crutches. Cedrick’s lower lip trembled. The kid could crack at any moment.

  And, Dad looked like he knew it. He braced himself on one crutch and pointed the other at me. He took two raspy, shallow breaths. “Cedrick, go to your room.”

  “But, dad—”

  “You don’t back talk me or your mother!”

  Cedrick left without another word. Having sequestered his son, Mr. Rinehart turned on me next. He might be the weakest person physically, but this man had strong mana.

  “You gotta leave. I’m calling a lawyer.” He planted his raised crutch on the carpet and leaned forward.

  Chance backed away, both hands raised in surrender. “We’re going.”

  He was giving up? No way. In thirty seconds we’d be out the front door and never get back in. It was time to gamble. I smiled at Cedrick’s mother. “Mrs. Rinehart, I know this is an imposition and we’ve not been terribly pleasant to deal with, bringing up all this about a dead man, but could I buy a few plumeria flowers from you?”

  “What?” She gaped at me, her jaw slack.

  “I’ve heard you make beautiful leis, and everyone knows that begins with fresh flowers. I’ll be seeing my girlfriend later and she loves plumeria. If I could just pick a few?”

  She rolled her eyes. “I let you do this, you gonna leave us alone?”

  “Cross my heart.”

  She guided me out the slider door onto the lānai, which was elevated about four feet above the ground. Heaven’s scent, sweet plumeria, surrounded us.

  We descended to ground level. “You and your husband keep a beautiful garden.” I walked to the closer of the two trees. My heart sank. It wasn’t here. Or was it? Hell, I didn’t even know what I was searching for.

  “It’s just me and Cedrick. My husband been housebound for a couple months.” Her eyes darted toward the house.

  “Is it serious?”

  “He past the worst.” She almost seemed relieved to have someone to tell, but she stopped there.

  I pointed at the other tree. “How about that one? If it’s okay.”

  She muttered under her breath, “Haoles. Help yourself.”

  I crossed the yard. Loose dirt lay in a small mound beneath the tree about three feet from the trunk. “Odd,” I said, “it’s almost like someone buried something here.”

  Mrs. Rinehart came, stood next to me, and inspected the ground. Her lips drew into a thin line. A moment later, she turned and stormed away. Halfway to the house, she yelled, “Cedrick Samuel Rinehart, what you been doing in my yard?”

  Chapter 8

  Cedrick appeared on the lānai, saw his mother, and blanched. Chance and Mr. Rinehart came out next. They watched us for about thirty seconds, then Mr. Rinehart’s knees buckled. He would have gone down had Chance not draped the weaker man’s arm around his neck and supported him. The Mrs. rushed up the steps and followed them into the house. I was alone with Cedrick. For how long?

  “I don’t think you’re a murderer, but there are things you don’t want your parents to know. Yah? Is that why you buried the lei palaoa under that tree?” I pointed at the mound of loose dirt.

  Worry painted the poor kid’s face. He shot a glance at the lānai, but his mother was inside. He had no support now.

  “Yes.”

  “Did you kill Ricky Coyne?”

  “No.” His head bobbed up and down.

  Obviously, the kid didn’t realize he’d just given me two very different answers. Which was closer to the truth? His body language? Or, his word? “You were involved in his death somehow, weren’t you.”

  His shoulders slumped and, again, his lower lip quivered.

  “How does Mandy figure into this? Come on, Cedrick. What happened?”

  “I didn’t kill him.”

  Maybe not, but he hadn’t answered my question. Chance came out of the house, grimaced, and stepped to one side. I cursed my bad luck when Mrs. Rinehart came out the door and down the steps. My time with Cedrick had been way too short.

  “How’s your husband?” I asked as Mrs. Rinehart approached.

  “He’s tired. This day was too much. He gotta rest.” She pointed at the plumeria tree. “Why you digging around my tree?”

  Cedrick avoided his mother’s gaze.

  “It’s better if it comes from you,” I said.

  “I buried something.”

  “You what?” She glared at her son.

  He patted his pockets as though he hoped to find an excuse stashed in his shorts. He shot a sideways glance at the tree. I stepped in front of him. He wasn’t going to make up any more BS. “Time’s up, kid. What are you going to do?”

  “It was something somebody gave me.”

  “Being vague isn’t—” I stopped shot, cut off by a parental scowl that made me thankful I hadn’t grown up in this household.

  “What? Who?” Mrs. Rinehart demanded.

  “A lei palaoa,” Cedrick said.

  His mother’s eyes grew wide, then her cheeks flushed bright red. She drew a slow, measured breath before speaking. “You lost all respect? Who told you do such thing? Your father and me taught you bettah.” A moment later, her eyes narrowed. “Maybe not.”

  “Ricky Coyne was bragging about it. He got it off an art dealer.”

  “The dead man? You took a lei niho palaoa from a dead man? And what gave a haole the right to wear something so precious?”

  “We think that’s why he’s dead,” Chance said.

  Mrs. Rinehart pulled back as though she’d been slapped. In a tight voice, she said, “You dig it up. Right now.”

  Uh oh, we had a problem. The lei palaoa was evidence in a murder. We had to get it to the police, no matter what any of us wanted. Cedrick went to a small plastic shelter beneath the lānai and came back with a trowel. “It’s not down far. I’m sorry, Mom.”

  Chance had stepped away and was engaged in a deep phone conversation on the lānai. Talk about the wrong time for personal business. Mrs. Rinehart looked like she might have a heart attack when Cedrick dug into the ground and unearthed a small cardboard box. The wet cardboard sagged under its own weight as he lifted it.

  “Put it on my work table.” Mrs. Rinehart pointed at a potters bench a few feet away.

  How could Cedrick have been so stupid? He might have destroyed or damaged a precious artifact out of…what? Fear? Stupidity? He looked small and helpless as he glanced between his mother and me. It was as though he’d read our minds.

  “It’s in plastic baggies.”

  He placed the box on the table and removed the lei palaoa. It was indeed sealed inside two baggies and appeared to have suffered no damage. I let out the breath I’d been holding.

  Chance approached, his phone in hand. “McKenna, there’s a forensic expert on his way here.”

  “You called the cops? Chance, we’re not sure yet.”

  “This is strictly on the QT. I called Lexie. She has a friend who works at the University. He’s coming over to authenticate and preserve the lei palaoa. He’ll give Cedrick a receipt, but it will end up with the police as evidence.” Chance stared straight at Cedrick. “And, you have to tell us exactly how you obtained it.”

  The man-boy’s turmoil played out on his face. Would he grow up and face reality in one heartbeat or stick with his friends using the Peter Pan approach?

  Wasn’t it obvious to the kid? If he didn’t tell the whole truth, he’d be choosing a path that could
destroy his future. I had to at least try to make him understand. “Cedrick, your next words are the most important ones of your life.”

  Mrs. Rinehart shook her finger in her son’s face. “Remember what me and your father taught you, Cedrick. This is your time.”

  “I know, Mom.” His cheeks twitched beneath eyes brimming with moisture. “I want to protect her, but I don’t think I can.”

  “Did Mandy…” My words faded out in mid sentence at a shushing sound from Mrs. Rinehart. Got it, let the kid do this on his own. I hoped for her sake he made the right choice.

  Cedrick took a deep breath as a pent-up tear tracked a path down his cheek. It was soon followed by another. “Mandy had nothing to do with this. I killed Ricky because he—made Mandy do things. Things she didn’t want to do.”

  His mother clamped one hand over her mouth. She swiped away her own tears with trembling fingers.

  I felt her pain. Had her son committed murder? If so, what an unbearable burden for her. For anyone.

  “That’s why I killed him,” Cedrick said. He jabbed his finger in the direction of the lei palaoa. “That’s why I took that thing.”

  Chapter 9

  The Rinehart backyard filled with the sound of Mrs. Rinehart’s heartbreaking sobs. Though the sweet breeze carried her cries away, her pain hung in the air. In contrast to his mother, Cedrick seemed at peace now that he had confessed which made his story one I could not accept.

  I turned to Chance. “We have one more interview to do.”

  “McKenna, we have to call this in. I’ll lose my license if we let this go.”

  “You don’t have a license.”

  “I meant, I’ll never get it.”

  “Relax, Chance. Mrs Rinehart, will you keep your son under house arrest until we get back?”

  “House arrest?” Chance scoffed, “Are you kidding?”

  “Yes,” she said. “He won’t go nowhere. If he do, I gonna call the police myself.”

  Chance might not understand Mrs. Rinehart, but I did. I knew this woman. Maybe not personally, but she believed in respect and revered the lei palaoa. Yes, she would obey the law despite the cost.