Big Island Blues

by Terry Ambrose

  “This should be going to you.” Donny shoved the guitar at Andi. “There’s no curse. I made all that stuff up.”

  Andi stroked the neck of the Martin as she gazed at the body. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered. “Thank you, I’ll cherish it.” Andi took a small breath and her jaw tightened. “You’re going to turn yourself in, yah? You’ll tell the truth?”

  Donny hung his head. His reply was so faint I didn’t hear the words, but Andi seemed satisfied. She held the guitar to the side with one hand while pulling Donny close with the other. She planted a kiss on his cheek, then turned and walked away.

  When Donny returned to the lanai, tears streamed down his cheeks. Malama folded him into her arms. “I’m proud of you. That was a brave thing to do.”

  Slowly, Donny melted into Malama’s embrace. He buried his face on her shoulder and began to sob. His cries grew more ragged as Malama’s mixed with his. When he wailed, “I killed my dad,” Malama’s grip around him tightened until the muscles in her arms were tight cords.

  The familiar blue-and-white of an island police car rolled to a stop out front. Alexander caught my eye, holding his hand to his ear with his thumb and pinky extended as they drove away. I smiled to indicate I understood that Andi had agreed to meet with Donny, but that Alexander wasn’t willing to let him escape justice. It was a good move in my estimation.

  Two officers approached the house. I wondered if Donny would finally understand the consequences of his actions, or if anyone might be able to do something to mend this broken kid.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  That evening, Alexander and I went to see Andi’s performance at the Mauna Kea Resort. Benni had said she’d meet us at “our table” at eight. My first clue that we were headed into Big Money Land was the gated entrance, guard and all. As for the golf course and grounds, let’s just call them immaculate.

  Inside the open-air main lobby, palms rose from the first floor through an atrium surrounded by gleaming, blue-tiled floors, expensive furnishings, and swanky shops. “This place reeks of money,” I said to Alexander.

  “You can say that again.”

  We turned right as the valet had instructed us and the tiles soon gave way to utilitarian concrete flooring and raised planters containing full-sized palms, ferns, and a variety of tropical foliage. Ahead, a large grass area had been set up for the show.

  By mainland standards, this shindig would be considered small, more like an outside jazz club on steroids than a music festival. But, for an event on the Big Island, this seemed just right. Tables and chairs filled the grass. To our left, a statue with crossed legs meditated on a marble pedestal in front of a large banyan tree. A giant concrete ring with three full-sized dolphins leaping through the center dominated the area furthest to our right.

  I spotted Skip sitting alone at a table near the stage. He motioned for us to join him and once we were seated, I asked why he was alone.

  He gestured at a table near the bar. “Girl talk going on. McKenna, I told you, those two get along in a way that has me worried.”

  “My sis can be a talker,” said Alexander. “I can go get them.”

  I shook my head. “Who needs them to drink, yah?” The truth was no matter how badly I’d like to spend this last night getting to know Benni, I would most likely never see her again. Go with the flow, that’s all I could do.

  We ordered Kona Pale Ale for Skip, ditto for Alexander, and wine for me. A couple of sips into our drinks, Skip got curious about what Donny had said inside the house. I filled him in, but partway through, Alexander’s question about Kimu’s guidance blew my presentation.

  Now, Skip was getting curious. I revealed how I was haunted by Alexander’s Great-grampa Kimu.

  “How do you feel about that?” Skip asked.

  Hmmm, not the question I’d expected. Why hadn’t he asked, “Are you off your rocker?” It would have been a lot easier question to answer. I sipped my wine and stared at the sky. Another gorgeous sunset was beginning. Pinks blended with bright red, grays fused with deep blues, and purple streaked through the canvas.

  If there was one thing I didn’t want tonight, it was to be psychoanalyzed. “Are you a shrink or something?”

  “Funny.” Skip chuckled. “I was trained as a criminologist, but fell in love with hypnosis. That’s all.”

  Talk about woo-woo. This guy was worse than a shrink, but his response told me one thing. If anyone was going to be able to wait me out for an answer, it would be Skip. I examined the sky for a moment more, then decided to get the sure-fire ridicule session over. “The last thing I ever wanted was to be under the wing of a dead guy.”

  Skip cocked an eyebrow and motioned for the waitress. “I have to hear this, but not without another.”

  The waitress he’d waved to acknowledged Skip with a friendly nod. Unfortunately, Roxy must have seen it, too, because she grabbed Benni. Arm-in-arm, they weaved in the general direction of our table, giggling and laughing almost hysterically. They raised their empty margarita glasses and Skip got the message—two more for the ladies. The very tipsy ladies.

  As Skip placed the order, Roxy came and stood next to me. She bumped my chair with her hip, which sent Benni into another fit of laughter. “Move over, McKenna,” said Roxy. She gestured at the seat two spots away. The girls settled into their seats. I’d ended up with Benni on my right, Alexander on my left. One big happy ohana.

  Andi’s band appeared on stage. So far, I’d only seen her wearing jeans and baggy tees. Tonight, she wore a short, black evening dress accented by a pattern of giant green ferns. One shoulder was bare and she wore her hair long and straight. She’d placed a plumeria over her right ear. “You go, girl!” Benni yelled as she held up her glass.

  Andi gave her mom the shaka sign and winked.

  “Are you drunk?” I asked.

  Benni giggled. She downed the last of her margarita “Not yet.” She and Roxy burst into more squeals of laughter.

  Skip locked his gaze onto mine from the other side of the table and mouthed, “Trouble.” The second the waitress left, he said, “Well? What’s this grandfather thing?”

  Why didn’t he just make me stand up on stage and tell the world? I was sure the Kapono kids would be happy to tell the story their way, which meant it was best for me to keep control. I pointed at Alexander and Benni. “Their great grandfather was a big-time chief. His name was Kimu. Apparently, he’s decided to take me on as his personal project from the hereafter.”

  I noticed that Alexander had turned quiet and was downing his beer far faster than I’d seen him do in the past. Benni’s eyes, however, were bright and mischievous. “You know,” she said to Roxy, “Great-grampa Kimu was always on the side—“

  “I know! I know!” I shouted. “He liked to help the underdogs. Your Cousin Whoever from the North Shore told me all about it.”

  With that, Roxy and Benni were at it again. I felt my face light up in about forty shades of red. “At least we got Andi back,” I snapped. “And took down your crooked wannabe councilman.”

  “About that wannabe?” Alexander leaned forward with both elbows on the table edge. “The cops think he skipped when he figured out Donny took all his money. He must’ve closed the store early.”

  “So he was gone when they got there? Great. I told Donny that Breenfield would figure it out when his money disappeared.”

  Roxy laughed at something Benni had said, then stood, her glass held high. “We’re here to celebrate Andi’s band.”

  We all raised our glasses for the toast. Ten minutes later, deepening sunset colors stretched further across the sky. Pinks were redder, deep blues had darkened to gray, and purples blended with blacks. The band finished tuning up and Andi waved at her mom with one of those little girl wagging-hand waves and a smile borne out of pure excitement and enthusiasm.

  I felt a lump in my throat when she picked up the Martin guitar. Sadly, Shaw was in jail and the instrument was the only way he could be with her tonight. I
hoped at some point he would have the chance to see his daughter on stage. In the corner of my eye, I caught Benni watching me. “She’s beautiful,” I said.

  She blinked back tears, nodding her agreement. Andi sat on a barstool, legs crossed, guitar on her lap. She leaned forward to the microphone, caressing the guitar with loving grace. The audience, which had been rowdy just moments before, fell silent. Benni leaned into me. “Table on the right? See those two?” she whispered.

  I tried not to be too obvious, but did catch sight of the man and woman she’d indicated.

  “They’re from a big mainland studio. Cam got them here.” Her eyes were moist and her lower lip tight. “I hope she does good.”

  “She will,” I said as I held Benni’s gaze. “I take it Cam came through for you.”

  She smiled. “It was worth it. Just to see her get this chance.”

  Our conversation ended when Andi’s voice came through the speakers. “This one’s for my mom.” The first sweet plink of a guitar filled the air, then was followed by a run of notes traveling down the scale. Andi smiled as she picked the last note, then strummed a chord. The bass kicked in along with the slack key guitar. When Andi sang, her tone was clear and captivating. I felt as though I were in the presence of some mystical talent only the lucky few might ever see in person. “Come Back to Me” was sweet and soulful and filled with longing and I marveled at not only the singer, but also the misty-eyed songwriter sitting next to me.

  Even my fingers tingled. Then I glanced down. Benni’s hand had slipped into mine. When I looked at her, she smiled through her tears. Whatever moment was about to happen, I never wanted it to end.

  The crowd erupted in applause when the song ended. Our table stood and cheered loudest of all. Benni whispered into my ear when Big Island Blues finished their last song. “Let’s go for a walk. They only had the one set.”

  Benni stroked her bare arms with her hands as we walked.

  “Are you cold?” I asked. It didn’t seem possible, but eighty degrees to her was like seventy to a mainlander. She was also wearing a sleeveless, flowered dress and high-heeled sandals. The sandals wouldn’t make her cold, but that flimsy dress—either that, or she was preparing to give me bad news.

  “No. Let’s go this way.” She stepped ahead of me and I hurried to catch up as she descended the stairs.

  We turned right at the lower landing and walked to an area where the walkway led us past outdoor tables set up for dinner guests. To our right, the sun had dipped below the horizon. I stopped for a moment to gaze at Mother Nature’s evening wear: dark shades of black, gray, and purples that reminded me of an overripe peach. To my right, I saw a cardinal peering at me from the ledge of a raised planter.

  “Crap. Can’t you leave me alone!” I stamped my foot at the bird and he flew away. I watched him leave, feeling foolish and thankful at the same time. That’s when I saw the man following us. Under my breath, I swore. “Shit.”

  Benni stood next to me. “What’s wrong?”

  “I just saw Mike Breenfield.”

  “No way.” Benni laughed. “The police arrested him this afternoon. You’re getting paranoid.”

  “You were talking to Roxy when Alexander told us what happened. He was gone when the cops got to the store.” In this light, as in any other, she nearly stopped my heart. “Let’s get out of here.” I took Benni’s hand and moved forward, determined to turn our stroll into a getaway from danger.

  It was possible I’d been wrong, but if it was Breenfield, we couldn’t go back. He would be waiting just around the first corner.

  “There are stairs leading to the lobby just ahead,” said Benni.

  I glanced over my shoulder. The man was still there, something in his hand. A gun? There was no doubt in my mind. Mike Breenfield was after us. When we got to the stairs, he quickened his pace. “Up! Quick!” I yelled.

  Benni stumbled on the second step. “Shit!” She yanked off both shoes and we ran to the lobby.

  We were one floor ahead of Breenfield, but he could easily pick us off if he was willing to shoot his way out of here. At the top of the stairs, we ran for the front desk, but there was nobody there to help us.

  So far, Breenfield had been smart. He hadn’t fired off any wild shots that might alert security or the cops, but standing there, we were a pair of open targets on a well-lit shooting range. My heart felt as though it would explode with fear. How could I protect Benni from this killer? In the hallway to our right, just outside the elevators, a maid’s cart awaited its owner.

  I yanked Benni’s hand. “This way!”

  We stood next to the cart, wheezing at the run up the flight of stairs and across the lobby. My only hope was that Breenfield was in terrible shape and had a heart attack while trying to catch us. I examined the cart for some sort of weapon. Unless I was going to vacuum or mop him to death, we were out of luck. Or maybe not.

  I lifted the mop out of the dirty water. It had a standard cotton head. I used one of these in my job and the head was removable with a single wing nut. “This will work.” I grabbed my weapon and we ran around the elevator columns, where I took up a position immediately around the corner. We waited. In thirty seconds or so, Mike would be here. The wing nut was on tighter than I’d expected. But, when I used two hands, it loosened, then spun freely. In seconds, I had the handle separated from the head. Each second seemed like an eternity, but each of those seconds fueled my rage toward the man whose greed had caused so much heartbreak.

  Benni hissed, “What are you doing?”

  It was time to give Mike Breenfield what he deserved. I looked into her eyes. “Trust me?”

  “Yes.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  This end of the hotel was almost deserted thanks to the show. We had passed the front desk, had rooms above us, and elevators directly behind us. With all that potential for activity, we had nothing. One sound echoed in the hallway, the flip flopping of someone’s slippas on concrete. It was impossible to tell whether it was a man or a woman, but we waited with our only weapons, surprise and a wooden mop handle.

  When the footsteps sounded as though they were just around the corner. Benni pointed at the floor. It was a shadow cast by the overhead lighting. I said a silent thank you to Kimu. I’m sure he had nothing to do with the architecture at the Mauna Kea Resort, but I wasn’t taking any chances. At first, there was only a head. Whoever it was stepped cautiously. Then, shoulders. I hoisted my makeshift bat. Choked up on the handle.

  I needed total focus. No margin for error.

  Based on how much of his shadow I saw, Breenfield had to be just around the corner. On three, I thought. One. Two.

  I nearly jumped out of my skin when the elevator bell dinged. The shadow reacted, too. He backed away. Doors slid open. More footsteps. The shadow on the floor came closer. In the shadow’s right hand, I clearly saw the shape of a gun. The arm disappeared as he slipped the weapon behind his back.

  Another shadow. A woman’s voice, shrill as grinding metal, pierced the silence. “What happened my mop?” It was followed by a string of Chinese. The tone and sharpness reminded me of the man at Honolulu International I’d almost run down with my suitcase.

  Breenfield’s deep voice barked at her. “I didn’t touch your damn mop. Beat it!”

  The woman spewed more Chinese. The shadow’s hand went up, and the woman screamed. He was going to pistol whip a defenseless old woman? No way.

  I raised my mop-weapon and spun around the corner, using my left foot to pivot.

  Breenfield hovered over the maid, his back to me. He screamed, “Shut up!”

  I put one foot forward and yelled at him. “Mike!”

  He whirled, saw me, and frowned. His eyes were glassed over. How many drinks had he had? A moment later, he recognized me. He took one step in my direction.

  “Three!” I yelled and swung with all my might. The heavy handle connected with the side of his head just above his ear. The gun fired as he recoiled into the b
rick wall. Breenfield’s eyes defocused. The gun slipped from his hand, clattering loudly on the concrete. Breenfield slumped down the wall into a heap next to the weapon.

  “You’re out!” I jabbed a finger at him, but he didn’t see or hear me. He was truly out. Unconscious. I kicked the gun away.

  Down the hall I heard running footsteps. Security had probably heard the echo of the shot. Relief and anger filled my system simultaneously. I wanted to thank them for showing up, but curse them for not being around when we’d needed help. I held the mop handle in both hands as though it was a samurai sword, bowed, and extended my weapon to the old Chinese woman. It was still in one piece. Nice. Solid and effective. She stared at it, then me.

  Instead of thanking me, her invective started again. Benni came to my side. “She’s pretty pissed at you,” she said.

  “You speak Chinese?” I asked.

  “Do you really need a translator?”

  I had a sudden flashback to the little old man in the Honolulu airport whose crutches caught on my roller bag when I’d lost control. “No, I’d rather not know what she’s saying.”

  Then, my feet felt damp. I glanced down. Gray water leaked onto the floor. The old woman’s rant continued while she jabbed her bony finger at the yellow plastic bucket. I pointed at Breenfield, who was still out cold on the floor, water now outlining his body. “It was him! He shot your bucket. Not me!”

  The maid was right in my face now, yelling at the top of her lungs. To the side, Benni leaned against the wall, giggling.

  I looked straight at her and said, “Why me?”

  By the time we were done with the cops, statements, and Breenfield’s arrest, we’d missed the rest of the show. Alexander had come looking for us, so I had him report back to the others. Andi’s set had been a huge success. At least I could return to Honolulu knowing I’d done some good for her and Benni.