She slipped one of her hands from my grip and made a little “x” over her heart. “I’m in love.” Her breath caught as she bit her lower lip. Glancing down at what she was wearing, she shrugged. “The ball’s in your court, McKenna. I can’t run dressed like this. Are you turning me in?”
I shook my head slowly. “I couldn’t do that. You saved me from myself.”
She broke the grip on the other hand and pulled me close, then whispered in my ear. “You are one of a kind. Anything you need. Anytime, anywhere. I mean it.”
Studley, I mean, Skip, now stood. “Skip Cosgrove,” he said, gripping my hand with a firm, but not too severe handshake. “Where did you and Roxy meet?”
Roxy? Was she running a con on him? She gripped my hand tight. “It’s okay, McKenna. He knows what I do—did. My real name is Roxy.”
“Call me McKenna. She rented a place from me for a while in Honolulu.”
Skip’s eyes darted toward Roxy for a second, but he didn’t blink. For a moment, I wondered which side of the law he was on. Had I stumbled into another con? I felt her hand touching mine, then she was placing a scrap of paper in my palm and wrapping my fingers tight.
“Don’t lose that. You can call me, just like I said.”
“Okay.” I glanced at the paper. It had a phone number, a heart beneath that, and was signed, “Roxy Tanner.” Was she placing her faith in me? Trusting me? Or putting on a show for poor Skip? Today, I didn’t want to know.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
Roxy glanced at Skip, then she smiled. “We’re making wedding plans.”
My face flushed with embarrassment. This had been a mistake. A stupid thing to do. I glanced back at Alexander, who was waving at me. I looked across the street. The traffic flow was steady, with no breaks, but moving in his direction, weaving through the line of pedestrians on his skateboard, was Donny. He had earbud wires extending down from his ears and was bobbing around to a tune I probably didn’t know. “This can’t be,” I said. “I’ve gotta go.” I shook hands with Skip and gave Roxy a quick hug, then hustled out the restaurant and across the street without even thinking about the traffic.
I closed in on Donny, just sure he was oblivious to anything outside his little music and skateboard world. I don’t think he ever even saw me or the big guy standing right in his path. I went wide to get behind him, thus making his only escape into the street. He was almost on top of Alexander when he jammed the front end of the skateboard on end to stop. He did a quick 180, but I was there. Donny’s hesitation cost him his escape. The big guy clamped a hand on the kid’s shoulder, making sure he wasn’t going anywhere.
“What—what do you guys want?” Donny stammered.
“Aw, come on,” I said. “This is like a little reunion. I’ll bet I know right where you’re headed. You’re at the center of the little Andi universe, aren’t you, Donny?”
His eyes darted in different directions. One of those directions was toward the park where Boston Pete waited. Obviously, the kid wanted to escape our clutches, but he wasn’t going to do that without losing his shirt—Alexander had it firmly in his grasp. “McKenna, grab his skateboard.”
For a second I thought Donny might yell for help, but he kept his trap shut. His behavior reinforced my suspicion that talking to the police was the last thing he wanted to do. I picked up the board. “You get this back after we talk to Boston Pete.”
His mouth opened and closed a couple of times, then he smirked. “You don’t have this loop wired, man.”
We didn’t have time for a lot of BS from this kid. “I’m running out of patience, you little brat. What the hell does that mean?”
Donny glared at me. He was daring me to do something, but what?
Alexander shoved the kid forward. “Let’s go see your friend.”
Sullen, Donny shuffled toward the bench where Boston Pete sat. Petie was busy playing the ukulele until he looked up and saw Donny, then me, then Alexander. After the shock registered, he lumbered to his feet.
Alexander kept his grip on Donny’s shoulder. “You think he’s gonna run for it?”
By now, we were close enough to count the strings on the uke. “Give it up, Pete, you can’t escape.” I had the distinct impression Boston Pete’s biggest exercise was girl watching. Given how much he was huffing just from getting to a standing position, I was pretty certain that if he ever got a big moment, it would be his last.
“Chill, Petie,” said Donny. “Don’t hurt yourself . . . not cause of these two.”
Boston Pete sat back on the bench; Alexander shoved Donny onto the seat next to him. “Donny, we’re not the bad guys here. Alexander really is Andi’s uncle and he wants to help her. You and Burroughs told us she was looking for Shaw and you didn’t know why. Is that true?”
Pete did a double take. “What kinda bullshit is that? You know what’s going on.”
Donny rolled his eyes. “Pete . . . you bonehead. Okay . . . okay . . . Sam told you what he knows.”
We’d already heard two radically different stories, were we about to get a third? The only way we might know for sure was if Donny’s account matched Pete’s version. I pointed at Boston Pete. “You, keep your mouth shut.” I turned to Donny. “And you, give me the truth. Otherwise, I’m bringing Benni into this. I think you both know how pissed off she’ll get if you two are giving us a bunch of BS.”
Donny snorted. “Right, man.” He went on to give us a version of Andi’s disappearance that was almost identical to Boston Pete’s. When he was done, he said, “Look . . . this guy that’s after Shaw? You can’t do nothin’ about it. It’s, like, karma or something. You can’t stop what’s gonna happen.”
“It’s a 1942 Martin D-18,” said Pete.
“Shaw was gonna give the guitar to Andi,” said Donny. “He can’t. It’s cursed.”
“It was supposed to be a present for her twenty-first. Then he found out about the curse. Donny’s right, this is bigger than all of us. It’s cosmic.” Pete added, “Bet you didn’t know Elvis himself played one of those models for years.”
“Alexander, do you believe a word these two are saying?”
He shook his head. “I’m about ready to crack two heads open.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Maybe if you mix their brains together they can come up with something believable.”
“That Martin was owned by one of the musicians on the first overseas USO tour,” said Pete. “The plane crashed in some river over in Europe.”
Donny rolled his eyes and huffed. “The Tagus, dude. It was the Tagus River.”
Boston Pete smacked his hand against his forehead in a mock self-reprimand. “That’s right. Hey, anyway, why don’t you tell it? You’re good with all those details.”
I motioned for Donny to move it along. He said, “The jazz singer, Tamara Drasin, was killed in the crash. Twenty-four people died in the crash. The thing is, before the tour left, this guy gave the guitar to his best friend for safekeeping.”
“What has any of this got to do with Andi?” I asked.
“That guitar’s cursed, man. Everybody who ever owned it died in an accident.” Boston Pete’s head solemnly bobbed up and down.
“Who gave you that line of BS? A psychic?”
“McKenna, these two just wasting time.” Alexander smacked his fist into his open palm. Both Pete and Donny jumped.
Pete looked like he might have a heart attack as he stammered, “No, man, it’s true. She was a psychic. Tell him, Donny!”
Donny seemed disinterested in the whole conversation, but he did nod agreement.
Pete continued, “You can research it yourself. Gerald Carre, he’s the one. They found a letter on his body after the crash. They sent it to his dad. The letter said he’d had a run of bad luck ever since he got the Martin.”
This whole thing was beyond trying my patience. I was about ready to turn Alexander loose on them both. “What the hell does some guy dying in a plane crash have to do with Andi? All y
ou’re doing is bullshitting us. Alexander, they’re all yours.”
Pete shot a glance at Donny, who said, “No, dude, it’s true. Gerald Carre’s father got the guitar and the letter. He died when he decided to get rid of the guitar. When Shaw bought the Martin, he took on the curse.” He paused for effect. “And that’s why he’s next.”
“That’s two deaths,” I said. “Not exactly what I’d call a curse.”
“Shaw didn’t believe it either,” said Boston Pete. “Even when he almost got killed in that robbery. Everything was cool until someone tried to kill him while he was rounding up strays. Right after he decided to give the guitar to Andi.”
“So?” I said.
“There’s no hunting on the ranch where Shaw works, man. And there was no hunter to be found.” Pete’s eyes were white with fear. There was no doubt in my mind that he actually believed this entire line of BS.
Alexander was watching me out of the corner of his eye. Finally, he said, “You the one talking to Kimu.”
Sheesh, just because I had a little conversation with a ghost, all of a sudden I was the expert on all things woo-woo? “Terrific. I’ll just speed dial 1-800-DEAD-GUY. Maybe your Great Grampa Kimu can get me out of this jam I thought was my life. So, Pete, you, uh, think we’re dealing with—what? With this nonexistent hunter thing.”
“I ain’t saying nothing like that, man, it’s just very weird. Don’t you think?”
I glared at Donny. “How about you, Blueslover? You seem to know a helluva lot about this, especially for someone who stole my wallet just to teach me a lesson.”
Pete did a double take. “Ouch, man. You did that, Donny? Bad karma, man. Seriously bad karma.”
“I didn’t mean nothing by it. I said I was sorry. I’m into this kind of stuff. There’s serious documentation . . . out on the web . . . about this. Way too much for it to be bogus.”
Alexander took a couple of steps back. “This whole thing stinks, McKenna. I’m heading to Waimea. You comin’?”
“Let me ask these guys one more question.” I watched Alexander’s face for acknowledgement. When he finally agreed, I said, “Pete, what do you think is going on with Andi?”
He shrugged. “Look, man, I don’t know. She’s like a little sister.”
It was hard for me to believe Pete wasn’t lusting after Andi, trying to bed her at the first opportunity, but he’d dropped his flirty schtick completely and seemed sincere. “You don’t think she’s attractive?”
“Hey man, you never make a mess in your own backyard. Know what I mean?” His voice shook with regret.
The guy was a regular Aristotle.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
To get to Waimea we headed mauka, or inland, to the Hawaii Belt Road. According to Alexander, we’d be avoiding most of the tourists and would shave a few miles off the trip by taking this route. On the way, Alexander began explaining how the poor little town of Waimea ended up with two names.
“The original name of the town was Waimea,” he said.
“There’s practically one on every corner.”
Alexander shook his head and continued. “Yah, it’s a popular name. Anyway, the Post Office won’t let a state have more than one place with the same name.”
I chuckled at the irony. “I get it. The Postal Service can’t dictate town names, so the local station has one name and the town another. All the old timers go by the town name, so you can tell how long people have lived here by whether they say they’re going to Waimea or Kamuela.”
“Unless they going to another Waimea.”
“You know what?” I said. “I think I need another shot of Benni’s tequila.”
The trip took us through extremes similar to what we’d seen on the Queen K during our short trip from the airport to Kona. One minute, we were in the midst of a 150-year-old Mauna Loa lava flow that had wiped out all living things, the next, we were passing high-end housing developments, small farms, and rolling hills covered with wild grass. The trip showed just how easily Madame Pele, when pissed off, could raze anything we mere humans thought might be impervious to her power.
If you don’t know who Madame Pele is, let’s just say she’s the Hawaiian goddess of volcanos and runs the show at our dominant force on the Big Island, Kilauea. Looking mauka, only the hardiest island flora interrupted the miles of black and brown lava rock until, in the distance, Mauna Kea rose majestically from the ground into the clouds.
As we rose in elevation, the air cooled gradually and pastureland surrounded us in every direction. “Is this all Parker Ranch?” I asked.
“I ain’t exactly sure. Seems like they owned all this a long time ago. Town’s ahead. We need directions.” Alexander stopped at a gas station at what appeared to be a main intersection. When he returned to the car, he said, “Guy said it’s a couple of miles to the left.”
I was charged with watching for the Big Island B&B sign. Piece of cake, I thought. Coming from big cities, Honolulu and LA before that, I had expectations of certain amenities. For instance, I kind of expected a sign larger than a kitchen cutting board. Silly me. I’d also expected the driveway to be paved. Wrong again.
On the other hand, the inn itself was majestic. White pillars enclosed a welcoming lanai, paned windows lined the front and sides of the building, and a red roof added a distinctly island flavor. The vast expanse of front lawn finished off the impression that the inn had been built during the heyday of the Big Island’s 160-year-old ranching lifestyle.
We parked and took the brick walkway to the front door. With it’s ten-foot roof overhang and rattan seating area, I imagined the first residents sitting out on the front lanai watching children play on the vast expanse of grass in the front yard. Inside, the ambience of a bygone era called from every corner and detail. Koa hardwood floors had been polished to a brilliant sheen. An overstuffed couch and chairs sandwiched between a deep-red, flowered area rug below and a massive chandelier above formed a seating area where I could envision friends and co-workers sitting around discussing the day’s business.
“Alexander,” I whispered, “this looks like big bucks.”
He gazed around the room, nodding. Finally, he said, “This must have been a Parker Ranch house.”
In contrast to the rich surroundings, a small boom box sat on a table to one side playing soft jazz. A slender blonde woman approached us, a smile on her face, a cleaning cloth in one hand. “Aloha, welcome to the Big Island B&B. Can I help you with something?”
“We’re looking for Carla.” The serenity in the room had me wanting to plop into a chair and while away my days. Unfortunately, my money would probably run out a few thousand days before my desire to hang around.
“You’ve found her. I’m Carla.” She wiped her hand on the towel. “Cleaning up. It’s a constant.”
Her grip was firm and assured. “McKenna. This is my friend Alexander Kapono. You work in a lovely place. It’s absolutely stunning.”
“Thanks—it’s always nice when someone notices the attention our hale gets.” She bit her lower lip. “Sorry, that’s home for mainlanders.”
“We’re both kama’aina.”
Her smile brightened. “Oh! Locals. how nice. What brings you here?”
“We’re looking for Shaw Hardy. I understand you’re a friend of his.”
The smile faded as she drew in a breath. Her hand went over her heart. “He’s not in trouble, is he?”
Interesting question, I thought. I wondered how often people came looking for Shaw. “No, no trouble,” I said. “We just need to talk to him. It’s kind of personal.”
She frowned. “Sorry, but he hasn’t been around in a few weeks. They get busy out on the ranch and I may not see him for a long time. This is just one of those times. He doesn’t have a phone.”
“What ranch does he work at? They have a phone, yah?”
“Not in the little house where he lives. He sometimes comes in on paydays.”
No phone? That seemed almost impossible in t
oday’s society. Unless you were deliberately off the grid. I wondered if the truth would loosen her tongue. “This is about Andi.”
She examined Alexander closely. “How do know Andi? Wait!” She put a finger to her lips while she thought for a moment. “Alexander Kapono. You’re Andi’s uncle. ”
“So she has been here,” I said.
Alexander stepped forward, apparently tired of letting me botch the introductions. “Her mom’s worried about her. Me, too. How do you know Andi?”
“Sorry, I’m Shaw’s fiancée. I met Andi for the first time when she was here a few days ago.” Her eyes grew moist. “I’ve never introduced a man to his daughter before.”
“Why was she here?” Alexander asked.
“Your niece is a good detective.” Carla smiled, then gestured for us to follow. “I’ve got some fresh lemonade. Why don’t we go sit outside and talk story?”
We didn’t have a lot of time to sit around and chat, but I found Carla’s observation about Andi oddly intriguing. What had happened while Andi was here? Had she left? If so, what was her next destination? I hoped that’s what Carla wanted to talk about. We followed her to a huge side lanai where tables and chairs were shaded by an overhead trellis covered with honeysuckle. If I lived here, this would probably be one of my favorite spots—unless there was an even more welcoming gem hidden in another part of the inn. “It’s beautiful out here.”
Carla picked up one of the orange flowers that had fallen from above. “Thanks. It’s a lot of work.” She tossed the bloom into a nearby trash can, then looked at Alexander. “She said you might be coming.”
“You two must have had quite a talk.” I wondered how much, or little, Carla really knew.
“Look, I want to get all the facts, then I’ll tell you where you can find them.”
“Fair enough.” My pulse sped up just a bit. She’d said, “them.” Andi was with Shaw and we weren’t far behind. Perhaps if she understood the urgency, she might move this along more quickly. “Boston Pete told us you could put us in touch with Shaw. He thinks there’s some bad guy looking for Andi. It all has something to do with an old guitar of Shaw’s.”
Big Island Blues Page 12
