Bet Your Bones (4 page)

Chapter Four

In November of 1880, Mauna Loa burst open and began discharging lava. There was no great concern during the winter, but over the spring the lava oozed closer and closer to Hilo. The forests west of town glowed red and the air was thick and acrid with smoke. By June, the fiery flow had reached the outskirts of town and real estate values plummeted. On June 26th, the flow coursed down from the streambeds above Hilo gobbling as much as five hundred feet of earth each day. Methane explosions sounded like cannon fire and the heat and glare were intense. The Christian inhabitants closed their shops and businesses and thronged the churches to beg the intercession of Jehovah. The Hawaiian inhabitants sent an urgent message to Princess Luka Ke’elikolani, a descendant of King Kamehameha I and an unreconstructed worshipper of Pele.

Princess “Ruth” as she had been re-christened by the Western missionaries, was fifty-five years old and tipped the scales at four-hundred-and-forty pounds. Her nose had been crushed in a pitched battle with her second husband and her voice boomed like thunder. She wasn’t one to be overawed by the U.S. government, or the white man’s Jehovah, or Madame Pele’s flare-ups.

When she came ashore in Hilo in July, Princess Ruth ordered a batch of red silk handkerchiefs, a large quantity of brandy, two roast pigs, and an unrolled taro leaf and commanded her underlings to conduct her royal personage to the edge of the flow. The horse selected to pull her carriage wasn’t up to the task and a crew of prisoners from the Hilo jail was drafted to haul her to her destination.

When she was satisfied with her vantage point, she disembarked and directed that a luau be held on the spot. Then, chanting a sacred poem and swaying her imposing hips in a hula, she fed the taro leaf and the handkerchiefs into the flames. When these had been consumed, she smashed a bottle of brandy against the hot lava sending up a hair-singeing gust of fire. The Princess and her party drank the rest of the brandy, ate the pigs, and slept all night in the path of Pele’s progress. By morning, the lava had cooled and the goddess had retired to her mountain. Score one for Ruth, whose attitude and description called to mind the formidable woman leading the anti-Garst demonstration outside the hotel.

Dinah closed the book, turned the no-smoking sign to the wall, and lit a Sincerely Yours. Showered and smelling of some citrusy lotion, she lay propped up on her king-sized bed in her luxurious ocean-front room thinking about Eleanor’s views on Hawaiian real estate and Xander Garst. Claude Ann had sounded perplexed by Xander’s lack of assertiveness with the protesters, even a little fearful. Did she feel she had to stand up to them because he wouldn’t, or couldn’t? She’d showed her loyalty, but Dinah didn’t think her bravado would discourage the woman who resembled Princess Ruth.

She picked up the newspaper and glanced over the front page. The man who’d fallen into a steam vent near Ocean View on the Big Island still had not been identified and no one had come forward to report a missing person. The police were now calling it a homicide. Due to extreme decomposition of the body, fingerprints had not yet been obtained, but with advanced forensic techniques, the police expected the identity question to be resolved within the week.

The telephone rang. Dinah picked it up and listened as Claude Ann delivered her dinner-time instructions. Dress to the hilt; wear the new earrings; don’t tell any Needmore stories no matter how hard you’re pressed; and be in the Paliuli restaurant downstairs at 9:00 sharp.

Dinah stubbed out her cigarette, her first in nearly a month. Even the Philippine government had jumped on the health bandwagon to stamp out smoking. Once cigarettes made men look macho and women look sexy. They had bolstered men in times of war and pacified them in times of boredom, and they went so perfectly with martinis and mood music. A cigarette had once been the finale at the end of lovemaking and the final solace of men brought before a firing squad. Now smoking was just one more discredited myth. Like burning witches to prevent sorcery or taking calcium supplements to prevent osteoporosis. While she was thinking about it, she pitched her Calci-tabs, which had apparently been shown to cause heart attacks.

She slipped into her only dress, a sleeveless black sheath with a jewel neckline and a side slit, combed her hair, and assessed her reflection in the mirror. It had been months since she spruced up to go out for a social occasion. She’d almost forgotten what she looked like in a dress. When her fieldwork on Mindanao ended, she would return to the States and rejoin civilization. Maybe she’d return to Emory and complete her graduate degree. In the meantime, this was as close to the hilt as it got. She added a tinge of lipstick, stepped into a pair of sling-back heels, and headed for the elevators.

The Paliuli was two floors down, tucked away on the mezzanine. As she entered, torch ginger and red anthuriums and birds of paradise blazed from every nook and cranny. Xander and Claude Ann were already seated. The maitre d’ ushered her past a mural of an Edenic island scene to her host’s booth.

Xander stood to greet her. “Dinah, mahalo for coming so far to celebrate with us. I’m delighted to meet you.”

He was six-three at least, broad-shouldered, with a wide, rather sensual mouth and penetrating brown eyes. There was a stippling of gray at his temples, but a forelock of still-dark hair fell across his forehead, and he had been blessed with a strong, clean jaw line. He wore a brown turtleneck and a tan cashmere jacket and seemed casually at ease with himself and his place in the world. Whatever his reasons for not wanting to cross swords with the protesters, he didn’t look like a man accustomed to tiptoeing.

Claude Ann said, “We’re expectin’ Xander’s daughter, Lyssa, and her husband, Raif, to join us in a little while so scooch in close. Marywave’s with the sitter so we can drink and cuss to our hearts’ content.”

Dinah settled herself next to Claude Ann, who wore an asymmetrical, one-shoulder blue cocktail dress and a radiant smile.

Xander sat back down and held up his hand to summon their server. “Claude Ann refuses to tell me a thing about Needmore, Dinah. I’m counting on you to enlighten me.”

Dinah wanted to talk about the protesters, but she tried to contain her curiosity until after the initial pleasantries. “Needmore in the nutshell…”

“It better be an itty-bitty nut,” warned Claude Ann.

Dinah held up her hand. “Needmore is best known for its killingly high humidity, its speed trap, and the captivating aroma of its onion processing plant.”

Claude Ann laughed. “Don’t forget the captivatin’ quicksand.”

“The quicksand is metaphorical,” said Dinah.

Xander grinned a winningly boyish grin. “I’m overjoyed that you two ladies made it out of the quicksand, real or metaphorical.”

The waiter breezed by and took their drink order. Claude Ann wanted a champagne cocktail. Dinah ordered a dirty gin martini.

Xander shot her an amused look and asked for the same. When the waiter had gone, he said, “Claude Ann and I are having our first fight. She thinks of you as a sister, Dinah. Will you please help me persuade her that I can’t possibly write my own vows?”

“The first duty of the maid of honor is to support the bride, Xander. Whatever Claude Ann wants, I’m on her side. But why do you feel you can’t write your own vows?”

“I’m not a poet. And the examples Claude Ann has shown me of other people’s vows are so high-sounding and sappy.”

“That just means you’ll have to come up with something better,” said Claude Ann.

Dinah smiled. A man who could say it was torture being away from his lover for a few extra hours had a finely nuanced concept of sappy.

He raked his hair off his forehead. “Thirty years ago, my wife and I wanted a no-frills civil ceremony, but she was Hawaiian and her family traditional to the nth degree. They insisted on the whole nine yards of Hawaiiana and the show they put on was like something from another century. Somebody blew a conch shell to call forth the gods. There was lots of chanting and hula and some godawful potion that was supposed to be sacred to Pele that we had to drink. My wife and I exchanged maile leis and promised to make the Aloha eternal. It was the ceremony that seemed eternal. It lasted until dawn.” He nuzzled Claude Ann’s cheek. “You know that I love you, darling, but I want to keep it simple this time. I see no reason to gild the plumerias.”

Claude Ann laughed. “The last time I married, all I had was a handful of puny, no-smell roses Mama bought at the Piggly-Wiggly Market. It was a rainy Februrary day and cold as blue flujins. The groom was dressed like an undertaker and he had to bum the weddin’ band off of my daddy’s finger. This time it’s gonna be a sunny June day with a beautiful ring and everybody lookin’ like a million bucks. I want to wallow in plumerias and have everything be perfect.”

Xander lifted her hand and kissed it. “It will be, Claude Ann. You have my word.”

Claude Ann rhapsodized about the absolutely divine Vera Wang gown she’d ordered and the reception she’d arranged at Xander’s house on the Big Island—caviar, Dom Pérignon and “the whole cotton-pickin’ works.” Xander appeared to take a genuine delight in her enthusiasm.

Dinah said, “It sounds lovely, Claude Ann. I’m thrilled for you.”

“There’s one thing you may not be so thrilled about.” She bit her lip and looked sheepish. “I invited Phoebe Marshall. I know she used to say stuff that rubbed you wrong.”

Dinah hadn’t thought of Phoebe in years. She’d been another of Claude Ann’s broken-winged birds, a beneficiary not just of Claude Ann’s kindness, but also of her clout. With Claude Ann as her champion, she’d been elected editor of the Needmore Nuggets Newspaper and fancied herself the Boswell of the class. Some of the nuggets she’d printed, especially about Dinah and the goings-on in her family, had been less than complimentary, but it was the maid of honor’s duty to back the bride. She said, “It’ll be fun to see Phoebe again.”

Their drinks arrived.

Claude Ann touched her glass to Dinah’s and Xander’s. “Here’s to happy days.”

“Happy days,” they said in unison.

Xander held Claude Ann’s eyes in a way that made Dinah feel like an intruder. She was about to excuse herself and leave them to their trance when Xander snapped out of it.

“I’m about to retire from the U.S. Geological Survey, Dinah. I’ve bought and sold several parcels of land over the years, but nothing as big as the deal I’m working on now. The contract has been signed and it’s scheduled to close the day after the wedding. Then Claude Ann and I are off to Bali for our honeymoon. Her friend, Phoebe, has agreed to stay for a few weeks and take care of Marywave for us.”

Claude Ann said, “I feel kinda bad leavin’ Marywave behind, but Phoebe gets along with her real well. She’s spent a lot of time handholding the two of us over this last year. Maybe she can talk some sense into the little mule.” Her smile was cheery and blithe, but Dinah had a hunch she was more worried about Marywave than she let on.

“Xan, honey, Dinah’s prob’ly dyin’ to know about that hullabaloo with the Pele gang. Tell her what you told me.”

At last. Dinah sat forward. “I take it they’re opposed to your development.”

“It’s nothing, really. A minor nuisance. As a matter of fact, the Land Commission issued its approval only a few hours ago. That’s why I was late.” He heaved a longsuffering sigh, like what’s a guy to do. “Somebody finds a few bones or an endangered haha plant in a pasture and immediately there’s a hue and cry for a moratorium on development. Hawaii is the endangered species capital of the world. There’s always some new flora or fauna in danger of extinction.”

“Did the protesters find an endangered haha on the land you plan to develop?”

“The environmental studies say not, but the fanatics are never satisfied. I’m all for preserving Nature, but I have all of the requisite county, state, and federal permits. Uwahi Gardens is makai property…”

“Makai means toward the ocean,” said Claude Ann. “Uwahi is right on the ocean.”

Xander smiled indulgently. “Uwahi is prime oceanfront property, the opportunity of a lifetime. My company has done all of the preliminary studies and we’re selling it development-ready to one of the country’s premier development corporations. The CEO, Paul Jarvis, took one look at the property and shook hands on the spot. Of course, we had to get the Land Commission’s okay and there’s a short lag while his attorneys check our bona fides. That’s why these protests are a headache. I don’t want their rant giving Jarvis or his legal team second thoughts ahead of the closing date.”

“What frosts me,” said Claude Ann, “is the ignorant way those people talk, dis ting and dat ting. How do they expect you to even understand what they’re bellyachin’ about?”

“Everybody in Hawaii speaks some pidgin, darling. It’s our local language, a mélange of English and Hawaiian with smatterings of every language spoken by the immigrants who came to work the sugar plantations back in the eighteen hundreds—Chinese, Japanese, Korean, Portuguese, Samoan, Filipino. Pidgin is the bridge, the lingua franca.” A note of grievance seeped into his voice. “Unfortunately, not everyone wants to bridge differences.”

Dinah inferred that reference was to Eleanor. “What does kanaka maoli mean?” she asked, recalling one of the protester’s signs.

“The kanaka maoli are native Hawaiians or their descendants. There’s always a group of them decrying the exploitation of Hawaiians by white and Asian foreigners and protesting the overthrow of their queen.”

“The way that Eleanor struts around,” said Claude Ann, “you’d think that she’s the queen.”

Xander raked his dark forelock out of his face and drained his martini. “I don’t mean to be critical, darling, but I wish you hadn’t spoken to her. The last thing we need is for that woman to start turning up on the evening news peddling her rubbish. Put her out of your mind. Don’t egg her on or let her know that she’s rattled you. Three more days and nothing she says or does will matter.”

“If you say so. But she better not cross me after Mr. Jarvis has signed on the dotted line.”

Dinah sensed a more personal animosity between Xander and Eleanor than any housing development should have caused and a greater fear of her “rubbish” than he was willing to admit. “There was another sign,” she said. “Uwahi joose. What does joose mean?”