by Toby Neal
“I can’t promise,” she finally said, her voice a whisper. “But I can think about it. I can try.”
She took her hands out of his, opened the box. In it was the old-fashioned ring his grandmother had left him, a cushion-cut diamond surrounded by baguettes set like petals on a daisy. She knew that ring and had missed it. She’d worn it for several months before the actual wedding plans had sent her running away in terror to Kaua`i.
“I love this ring.” She picked it up. “You don’t even know how much I wish I could be what you want, say yes, do the whole white picket fence thing. But I tried already and broke your heart. I don’t want to do that to you any more than you want me to. But I can wear this on a chain, and when I know one way or another, I’ll either give it back to you and we’ll be pau, finished, or I’ll put it on my finger, and we’ll get married. That’s the best I can do.”
“That’s fair.” She could tell it wasn’t what he wanted to hear by the way he sat back against the orange plastic of the booth, dark brows lowering—but it was all she could give.
“It’s Charlie Kwon’s fault. If I do something about what he did to me—I might be able to move on.”
“Fuck Charlie Kwon and that old pedophile shit. This is you; this is me.” He leaned forward, intense, and lifted the hand she’d slipped the ring on. He nibbled her fingertip, drew it into his mouth. Tingles of feeling shot down her arm and headed south. She’d forget about Charlie, forget anything, if he kept that up. The waitress appeared, and Stevens let go of her hand and picked up the check.
“Let’s get home so you can start convincing me to get married,” Lei said, leaning forward to put her hand on his leg, working upward.
“On it,” he said, fumbling for his wallet.
They hurried home. Lei’s hair was sure to be a wreck again in the morning.
Chapter Six
The dark was blooming with dawn when Lei got up. She padded into the bathroom, washed up, brushed her teeth, and got into running clothes. Back in the bedroom, she looked over at Stevens, his body a dark outline against the white sheets. Her mind filled in the long, solid contours of his body, the warm hollows and ridges she’d come to know so well, fitting under his collarbone, tucked against his side like she’d been measured for the space.
She wanted to climb back into bed, spoon up against the long, elegant curve of his body into that spot that was hers. But inside her, an inner restlessness wound tight in her sternum, pounded along her veins, demanding freedom and movement.
It hurt to leave, even while that tension drove her.
Lei opened the simple koa box Stevens had given her to hold her few jewelry items. Coiled in the bottom like a handful of rose petals was the Ni`ihau shell necklace she’d been given on Kaua`i, her Tahitian pearl earrings, and an eighteen-inch gold snake chain with a cross that Aunty Rosario had given her for Christmas. She slipped the cross off of it and fumbled the diamond ring out of its box. She threaded it onto the chain, tucking it under her shirt as she headed for the door.
Keiki danced happily by the gate as Lei put on her running shoes. She slipped the choke chain over the big dog’s head, snapping the leash to get her back on task.
They set off down the deserted two-lane road, a few wild roosters crowing greetings from the tops of mango trees as mynahs began their morning gossip against the lightening sky. The steep, jungled green slopes of `Iao Valley rose around her, cradling her with the ancient intensity they’d always held, making the Valley one of Maui’s most sacred places. Keiki lunged and snorted.
“Okay, girl.”
They picked up their speed to full blast, running down the deserted two-lane road toward the back of the valley, and the relaxation she’d been looking for came to Lei at last. At the park at the end of the paved road, they turned back, jogging beside the stream.
The liquid song of the stream was pierced by the chirping of her phone from her pocket, a jarring mechanical note. Lei checked the number—someone on the Mainland. They must not know it was only six thirty a.m. here.
“Texeira.”
“Lei Texeira? This is Diane Buchanan at Lompoc Federal Correctional Facility.”
“Oh hi, Diane. Something up?”
“You asked me to keep an eye on what’s happening with Charlie Kwon. Well, he was granted parole.”
“No. Seriously?” Lei stopped, bent over to suck in some air. She wasn’t just out of breath from running. Scumbag was supposed to be in for fifteen years and had served only five.
“Well, we’ve got a crowding problem, and he successfully completed the sex offender rehabilitation program. The psychologist signed off. I did what I could at the hearing, but in the end I think it was the space issue that did it. His parole is being handled by Corrections Aftercare Solutions, and he’s being returned to Oahu next week.”
Lei tried to get air, but it didn’t seem to want to go into her lungs.
“You okay?” the social worker asked. She’d been very sympathetic when Lei visited the year before and talked to her about being abused by Kwon; she’d agreed to keep Lei informed of his progress and whereabouts.
“I’m fine, thanks. I’m just out running.” Lei’s mind raced. Aftercare Solutions. She was familiar with them because of her father’s process last year upon his release after a long-term stretch for dealing. The private nonprofit handled parole monitoring and reintegration of ex-cons into the community with the end goal of lowering the recidivism rate. As far as Lei could tell, they were accomplishing that while saving the state some money.
The reintegration program was probably beefed up for sex offenders. She should be able to get Charlie Kwon’s location out of them with just her badge.
“Diane, I know you must have done what you could. Thanks so much for letting me know.”
“I just want victims to get help and closure.”
“I so appreciate your advocacy.” Social workers loved words like “advocacy,” and Lei definitely planned on getting closure on Kwon.
Lei closed the phone and slid it into her pocket, then cranked up the speed again to get home quickly. She’d waited a long time to deal with the man who’d stolen her childhood, and now he was almost within reach.
Chapter Seven
Lei pulled the Tacoma into a parking spot at Kahului Harbor. The Rainbow Duchess loomed above her, a vast floating wedding cake of cruise ship fantasy, glowing in the morning sun. Pono jumped out of his purple truck beside her, slamming the door. He looked fresh and sassy in a big man’s hibiscus-flowered aloha shirt and chinos.
“Hey, partner. Glad you got my message.” They fell in step toward the ship.
“Yeah, no problem.”
“You seem in a better mood. You okay about the chicken thing?”
“Sure.” He paused midstride, glanced at her. A dimple appeared in the brown wall of his cheek. “We have a new pet at the Kaihale house.”
“You’re kidding!” Lei stopped, put her hands on her hips. “Tell me you’re kidding!”
He walked on. “Nope. His name’s Jet. I know a guy who can do something to his vocal cords to chill out his crowing; once I promised Tiare we’d do that, she said it was okay. He’s bedded down in the laundry room.”
Lei laughed aloud. They did a fist bump.
“That’s my boy! What’d the Humane Society say?”
“Nothing. I said I needed the bird for evidence collection. I’m sure they thought I was going to take him out back and chop his head off.”
“Gotta catch you up on the follow-up from the raid, but here’s what we know so far about the missing guy off the ship.” Lei sketched in the details she’d picked up about the Simmons disappearance.
They boarded the ship and were met by the coordinator, a dapper young man with a wannabe mustache who led them up to the captain’s office. It was a handsome wood-paneled room with a magnificent view, fifteen floors above the harbor. Lei tried not to let on how impressed she was as the captain shook their hands and sat them at the conference ta
ble.
He was an imposing silver-haired man dressed in crisp whites, radiating authority.
“I hope we can get some traction on this soon. We’re set to sail out of here at nine a.m.,” the captain boomed.
“I’m sorry. That’s definitely out of the question,” Lei said. “You’re missing a passenger who may have met foul play or an accident on board. We have to at least have time to search the ship.”
“We’ve already done that. I had my crew do a top-to-bottom. We didn’t find him.”
“I’m afraid I can’t just take your word for it,” Lei said. Pono was already dialing Lieutenant Omura.
“You can speak to our commanding officer,” Pono said a moment later, and handed the cell phone over.
The captain had met his match in the lieutenant, and in the end he threw his hands up in disgust after handing back the phone. “Take the time you need to interview people and do your search, but I warn you, the natives are going to be restless. I’m going to make the announcement that we can’t leave port on schedule.”
The detectives ensconced themselves at the conference table. The purser brought in the red-eyed bride, a large woman in her fifties with orange hair and a flowing purple caftan. A gigantic square-cut diamond glittered on her finger.
“I can’t believe the police have had to be called. This is a nightmare.” The newly wedded Mrs. Simmons waved the hankie wadded in her hand. “Where could Robert be?”
“Ma’am, we’ll do all we can to find your husband.” A suspicion niggled at Lei’s mind as she looked down at the photo taken of the happy couple when they’d come on board, handed to her by the purser. Clara Simmons, looking almost pretty, embraced a muscle-bound spray-tanned man with a head of Fabio-like wavy locks.
After a few warm-up questions, Lei followed her hunch. “After your wedding, did any money change hands between the two of you?”
“What do you mean? What are you saying?”
“Nothing. I’m just asking, did you pool or exchange any money?”
“He signed a prenup, if that’s what you’re asking.” Clara sniffed, gathering her dignity. “That’s what all my friends insisted on. I mean, why else would a man like Robert be with a woman like me—at least according to my friends.” She shook her head. “I did transfer a hundred thousand for the down payment on our house in Napili into our joint account. We shopped for it for weeks before the wedding, and it’s going to close now that we’ve returned.”
“What bank?”
“Bank of Hawaii. But I’m sure—that can’t be it.” Tears threatened again. Lei turned to Pono, who was already standing up and dialing his phone.
A few minutes later, he had the bank manager on the phone, wanting confirmation from Clara, who gave it. The bank manager must have told her what was left in the account, because she gave a ululating cry of mortal pain and sat down abruptly on one of the cushy chairs.
The coordinator hurried forward, soothing, patting, and waving tissues.
“I think it would be best if we get Mrs. Simmons installed in a hotel, and we continue our investigation in Kahului after a quick check belowdecks, in case he’s still hiding on board.” Lei gestured toward the door, and the coordinator escorted the weeping woman out.
Pono was already calling the airport and Dispatch to put out an alert on one Robert Simmons, age thirty-two, six foot two, muscular build, wavy blond hair, probably traveling under an alias—if his name was Robert Simmons at all.
Lei went down to the cabin the honeymoon couple had stayed in. Empty, but for a set of matched Louis Vuitton luggage. Clara Simmons would have been good for more if he’d waited awhile, but apparently the honeymoon had been all that he could handle.
A staffer took them below and unlocked doors for them. After they’d done a sweep of the most likely hiding places, Lei glanced at her phone. It was eleven a.m., and the ship had already been delayed two hours. It was unlikely Robert Simmons was still on board; he’d probably hopped a plane yesterday. She signaled Pono.
“Check with the lieutenant, but I think we should let the ship go and focus on trying to catch Simmons at the airport.”
Pono nodded and made the call, then motioned toward the metal ladder back up to the next level, far from the luxurious upper decks.
They said respectful goodbyes to the captain. Clara Simmons had been taken in a cab to the nearby Maui Beach Hotel. Lei followed Pono off the ship with an echoing clang of footsteps on the metal gangplank, holding on to the rope baluster as the giant engines fired up for departure.
“Want to get lunch?” she asked Pono. “I need to tell you about the interview with Silva and what Bunuelos and I found out about Jane Doe.”
They pulled into Pinatas on Dairy Road in downtown Kahului and took a corner table with their burritos. Lei told Pono about the “House,” mysterious organizer of the cockfighting ring, and the white-robed hookers, including the name of the developer who’d bought hookers for his construction wrap party.
“I gotta follow up on that next,” Lei said, taking a bite of her kitchen sink burrito, the size of a small coconut. Pinatas didn’t stint on portions.
“I don’t think he’s going to just tell you who he ordered hookers from over the phone,” Pono said. “We should drive out there. Get eyes on him. What if he has a hand in it somehow?”
They flipped a coin, and it was the purple truck this time for the ride to Lahaina, where Wylie’s construction offices were located. Lei called back to the station and checked in with Dispatch as they drove along the Pali, asking if the lieutenant could send someone to work the meth house case that had shown up on her desk that morning.
She put her head back against Pono’s sheepskin-covered seat, surprisingly comfortable even in hot Hawaii. A tiny imitation Hawaiian war helmet decked with red and yellow feathers dangled from the mirror, and Pono’s gearshift was a chrome skull. Riding in Pono’s truck was always interesting.
“How are we going to do good work with so many cases? That’s not to mention the ones we had before these new ones started piling on.” Lei unscrewed a water bottle and sipped.
“Well, at least the cruise ship one isn’t a homicide.”
“We don’t know that. What if Clara found out Robert ripped her off, and she pushed him overboard? Ships are a great place for a homicide, actually. I’m surprised we haven’t had more cases involving the cruise lines.”
“That’s you, Sweets, always seeing more than the obvious. Why don’t you look up Wylie Construction, see what you can find out?” Pono had a line between his brows. Lei extracted the Toughbook from its stowage under the glove box, unfolded the retractable arm, and punched up the company. It was time to focus on the task at hand.
Wylie Construction was a big operation, according to their website. They were at the forefront of “gracious, custom, green living” on Maui, and planning a new self-contained community in West Maui, “where everything you need for life and living is in one piece of paradise.”
Lei snorted. “Sounds like a petri dish,” she muttered.
Pono glanced over. “What’s that around your neck?”
“Oh.” Lei reached up to touch the ring. It was surprisingly bulky and refused to stay tucked into the neck of her shirt. “Just a gift.”
“Uh-huh. It’s a diamond ring.”
“Yeah. So?”
“Looks like Stevens made his move.” Pono shook his head.
“What do you mean?”
“Gotta give the guy points for trying.”
“Hey, what if I want to get married? We’re good together.”
“Then why isn’t the ring on your finger?”
He had her there.
“None of your business.” Distraction was called for. “Says John Wylie came to Maui ten years ago with a vision to bring ‘gracious, affordable, green construction’ to the island. Nothing about him being married. I’m trolling through some Google articles—he appears to be a bit of a player. Lots of different women on his arm. Charity e
vents, things like that. Seems involved with the arts.”
Wylie looked like a typical middle-aged transplant haole: thinning blond hair brushed to look fuller over a weathered ruddy complexion, rugged build. “Look at this one—‘Millionaire Developer John Wylie brings Gallery Owner to Opening Night of the Maui Film Festival.’ Seems like a real high maka-maka type.” Lei used the pidgin expression for society. She swiveled the screen so Pono could glance at the photo of a striking blue-eyed, black-haired woman on Wylie’s arm.
They drove into the outskirts of Lahaina, the “blazing sun” the town was named for already high and hot, the ocean a glittering blue plate glass off to the left. Pono pulled into the Wylie Construction offices in a handsome strip mall off the main shopping area of Front Street. Lei took a minute to put on some lip gloss, straighten her rumpled jacket, and fluff her hair, which had seen more cooperative days. Too long to be short and too short to pull back, her curls were really driving her crazy.
“Enough with the fussing,” Pono said, hopping out of the cab. Lei gave one last pat to her hair, to no visible effect. The detectives walked into a beautifully appointed reception area.
Wylie Construction’s stylized logo hung over the glossy desk of a decorative receptionist. Original oils and sculptures stood out from neutral gray watered-silk walls with skillful lighting.
“We’re here to see John Wylie.” Lei and Pono held up their badges. The receptionist inspected them carefully, looking flustered, and picked up the interoffice phone. Apparently the great man was in a meeting.
“If you could wait a few minutes, please.”
They sat. The furniture was exquisitely comfortable and simple, silver suede couches arranged around a square coffee table covered in a fan of magazines. Pono found a golf magazine and settled in with deceptive ease. Only Lei knew his ears were tuned to anything unusual and his eyes were checking unobtrusively.
Lei browsed an O magazine, terrified herself with a brief foray into Parents, and finally stood up and paced. Went back to the receptionist.
