JoAnn Bassett - Islands of Aloha 07 - Moloka'i Lullaby (15 page)

Ah, so maybe that’s why Amanda was so skittish about getting the marriage license. Perhaps she was afraid her current marital status would pop up on the computer.

“What’s the story on the forgeries?” I said.

“Ah, that. As you probably know, we’re art dealers,” he said. “We’ve got galleries in major art markets around the world: Tokyo, Paris, New York, Los Angeles, and so on. We built the business from nothing.”

His voice softened. “It was tough going, in the beginning. We put up everything we had to buy a few paintings from middle-of-the road artists. Richard was great at promotion. The guy could crash an A-list party and work the room like he owned the place.”

He chuckled, ostensibly remembering happier times.

“Anyway,” he went on. “After about ten years, we hit it big with an unknown artist. You ever hear of Ivan Raminsky? A Russian, but still a decent enough guy. His work took off in the mid-seventies when the Cold War was raging. Bobby Fisher had just beat the Ruskies at chess, and everyone wanted a shot at the commies. Ivan defected as a political refugee and became the darling of the Western art world. Our gallery in New York suddenly became the ‘it’ place because we represented him. Our events and openings were like red carpet affairs. It was heady stuff.”

By now, we’d reached a wide metal gate near the end of the pier. From that point on, Homeland Security took over since cargo barges and ships from around the world docked there. Outside the gate, a wide parking area had been built for the dock workers’ cars, and to allow space for fisherman.

We sat on a bench and looked back at Kaunakakai. The four-block town appeared to be no more than a wide spot in the road; the hills behind looming like a furrowed brow. The green mounds were dappled by sun and shadow from passing clouds, creating an ever-changing scene of peace and serenity. From this perspective, the island appeared to be a living, breathing being. It wasn’t hard to imagine why the people of Moloka’i hold fast to the literal meaning of the Hawaiian term for a native-born person:
kama’aina.  Kama
means
“child” and
‘aina
is
“
land.” As children of the land, those born and raised here are obliged to respect the environment with the same reverence we extend to our elders.

“So, anyway,” George continued, “Richard and I opened new galleries, and built up a rather impressive reputation. For the next thirty years, we handled all the major names. We have well-connected clients who will only buy from us. That’s why Richard’s lapse is so unforgivable.”

“What’d he do?” I said.

“It’s what he
didn’t
do. He was so smitten with this tramp—this
bigamist
tramp, I might add—that he failed to perform the proper due diligence on six works he acquired. These weren’t silly works by unknown nobodies, mind you. These were major acquisitions.”

“And they turned out to be forgeries?”

“Precisely. Rather clumsy forgeries, to my way of thinking. But he’d already sold and shipped them before I had a chance to weigh in.”

“He must’ve been really embarrassed when it came to light,” I said.

“That’s the strange nut of it,” he said. “He didn’t seem all that concerned. He told me to ‘get a grip’ and ‘calm down’ and such twaddle. In the fifty-odd years we’ve been in business together I thought I’d seen all sides of the man: charming, high-spirited, vigilant, but I’d never seen him lackadaisical. Quite frankly, it shocked me.”

“So, the fight you and Richard had last night was about the forgeries?”

“Yes, and other things as well. He said he’d make things right on that account, but when I brought up what I’d learned from the private investigator about his so-called fiancée, he became livid—claimed it was all rubbish. I countered if he didn’t want to believe me, that was his right. But I was unwilling to host a charade wedding in my own home. I told him they’d have to leave.”

“And that was the last time you spoke with him?”

“I’m afraid so. He flew out of the house and down the walkway like a man possessed. It’s black as sin out there at night. He must’ve gotten himself turned around.”

“Where was Amanda while all this was going on?”

“I assume she was in the
ohana
. I didn’t see hide nor hair of her until she started screaming that Richard had toppled into the pool.”

“She was the one who found him?”

“It appears so. She must’ve heard the splash. You know, the
ohana
is right next to the pool area.”

“Was Richard in his wheelchair when he went in?”

“Oh, that,” he said, batting the question away with a wave of his hand. “The whole wheelchair thing was an affectation. Richard wasn’t paralyzed. He could walk as well as you or I. He’d slowed a bit in the past few years, but haven’t we all? It was as though he thought the chair gave him a bit of
cachet
. Like he was pulling something over on people.”

“Seems he wasn’t the only one,” I said. “I can’t believe Amanda was already married.”

“Indeed,” he said. “Twice.”

By now our coffees had gone cold and the wind was picking up. We made our way back down the pier.

“I appreciate you letting me get that off my chest,” George said. “I don’t know why I felt the need to tell you all that, but I trust you’ll keep it to yourself.”

“I understand,” I said. “You know the police are looking for Lono. I guess Amanda told them she saw him push Richard in the pool.”

George shook his head. “That’s rubbish. That tramp fingered that poor boy for no good reason whatsoever. It just goes to show what a strumpet she is.”

“Maybe she thought there might be an insurance pay-out for her if Richard’s death was due to unnatural causes,” I said.

“But she’s already married to
someone else
,” he said in a strident voice. “She’d have no claim.”

“Ah, that’s right,” I said. “Seems I can’t get my head wrapped around that.”

“Take heart, my dear. It appears neither can she.”

CHAPTER 20

George and I got back to the gas station just as the sun dipped behind the western hills. He walked me over to the Geo and pulled a twenty-dollar bill from his wallet.

“Here,” he said. “You’ll need to get something to eat.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll not have a guest of mine walking around town like a vagrant,” he said. “Take it.”

I said my good-byes, once again promising to reimburse him, and then I got in the car and called Hatch. It’d been over five hours since I’d left for the Honolulu airport. Surely they’d know something about Farrah’s condition by now.

“Are you on your way back?” he said when he picked up.

“Not yet. I’ve still got a few things to do, but I’ll catch a flight later tonight. How’s Farrah?”

“She’s good. Her BP’s down, and her temp’s stabilized at ninety-nine. But Ono had to finally come clean with her about the babies being in the neonatal ICU.”

“How’d she take it?”

“Better than expected. They took her to see them and I think it helped.”

I filled him in on Richard having a heart attack and dying, and Amanda leaving for the mainland. I explained that I was waiting for Malama to finish up at the police station, but since the wedding was off, there wasn’t much reason for me to hang around any longer.

“I’ll get back as soon as I can,” I said. “Oh, by the way, did you get a chance to call about my wallet?”

“Yeah. The dispatcher called the cab driver, and he said he’d found it under the seat. He was taking a fare to the North Shore, but he’d return it when he gets back in town. How’d you manage to get on a plane with no money and no ID?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Well, hopefully you’ll be able to do it again tonight.”

“Yeah,” I said.

There were a few beats of dead air.

“Hatch? Is everything okay? I’m picking up a strange vibe here.”

“Everything’s fine. We’ll talk tonight when you get back. Until then, don’t worry. We all miss you, but Farrah and the babies are doing well.”

We signed off with our usual “Love you’s,” and I hung up. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I was pretty sure he was holding something back. I hoped Malama was finished at the police station, because more than anything, I wanted to be on a plane headed for Honolulu.

***

The lobby in the Kaunakakai police station looked like the interior of every Hawaii police department I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen my share. It had beige flooring, beige walls, and a long, low counter separating the public area from the private offices and interview rooms in back.

“
Aloha
,” I said to the guy manning the front counter.

“
Aloha
, how can I help you?” he said. I told him I’d brought Malama in about an hour ago and I was her ride home. It dawned on me I didn’t know her last name, but it didn’t seem to faze him.

“Malama? She’s still back there. If you want, you can take a seat while I check and see how much longer.”

I thanked him and he disappeared down the hall.

He came back and shot me a contrite smile. “Sorry. Seems they’re not done yet. You can wait here or, if you leave your number, I’ll call when she’s ready.”

I gave him one of my business cards and left. I headed down the main street of town, peeking into the windows of an art gallery and an eight-table restaurant before crossing a near-empty parking lot with a small bar nestled at the far end. I noticed that, of the seven cars in the lot, four were small silver Toyotas.

I went inside, hoping to discreetly use their facilities without having to buy anything. The interior was dimly lit, which made the place feel kind of ominous, even though only a few people were in there. Once my eyes adjusted to the gloom, I spotted a sign with the word,
Wāhine
, the Hawaiian word for “Women,” along with the universal sign showing a stick figure wearing a skirt. I made my way alongside the bar, and I was ten feet from the women’s room door when I spotted Lono. He was hunched over an oversize beer mug at the far end of the bar.

I slipped up behind him. “You know they’re looking for you. The police are questioning your mom right now about your whereabouts.”

He swiveled his head toward me; bloodshot eyes narrowing defensively. “So? She doesn’t know nuthin.’ And by the time you tell ‘em, I’ll be long gone.”

“I’m not telling anybody anything.” I nodded toward the beer in front of him. “How many of those have you had? You know, if you’ve been drinking you shouldn’t be driving.”

“Who do you think you are? My mother?”

“Look,” I said. “I’m curious about what happened last night. There are always at least two sides to a story; I’d like to hear yours.”

I figured it could go one of two ways: either he’d feign ignorance, or he’d want to get something off his chest.

He snorted. “Like you’d ever believe me instead of her.”

“Amanda’s gone,” I said. “She went back to the mainland. And from what I’ve heard, I’d be surprised if the police still consider her a reliable witness.”

He eyed me warily, as if contemplating whether I was friend or foe, but he stayed silent.

“Okay,” I said. “Here’s the deal: yes, she was my client, but I’ve found out she was a total liar. She hired me to do her wedding, but I’ve since learned she’s already married to someone else. Can you believe that?”

He shot me a thin smile. “I know.”

“You know?”

“Yeah, she told me she was still legally married, but she said the dude wasn’t going to last long enough for anyone to find out.”

My face must’ve reflected my confusion. By now, the coffee I’d drunk with George was becoming ever more insistent to leave my body, but there was no way I was going to head off to the john before I’d heard the rest of what Lono had to say.

“When did you talk with her?”

“Yesterday. She called me to pick her up at the stable after she’d bagged out on the mule ride. We spent the rest of the day together.”

“Together? Like in, together-together?” I felt my eyes squint up like they do when the dentist says, “
This is going to pinch a little
.”

“You got it. She put the moves on me as soon as she got in my truck. We went back to my place, and, well…you know.”

“That’s why I couldn’t find her,” I said, thinking out loud.

He nodded.

“Her old man called around six and said he was on his way in from the airport. She blasted out of bed like he was already knockin’ on my door or somethin’. Told me if I said anything to anybody she’d make me sorry I’d ever been born.”

“So, what happened when Richard got there? I heard he and George got into an argument.”

“Yeah. Mr. Bustamante and him were really going at it. You could hear the yelling all the way outside.”

“What happened after that?”

“The yelling stopped and Mandy’s old man comes tearing out of the house. A minute or so later, he’s in the pool. I was outside fixing a busted light on the walkway and I see him come by. Next thing I know, I hear a scream and then a splash. I ran over to see what was going on, and there’s Mandy standing by the pool and the old guy’s thrashing around in the deep end. I had to fish his ass out.”

“So, you didn’t push him in?”

“No way. I was nowhere near the pool when that dude went in. And I was the one who pulled him out and called nine-one-one.”

“Why would Amanda tell the police she saw you shove him in the pool?’

“Who knows?” he said. “Maybe because she did it.”

“How come you took off instead of telling this to the police?”

He grunted and looked away.

“Ah, that’s right, ‘cuz you’re still on parole,” I said.

He slid his eyes over to me.

After a few beats he said, “Yeah. BS like this will put me right back inside. The guy died, you know? That means they could get me for manslaughter. I can’t go back there. I’m used to being outside all day, ya know?”

“You can’t hide forever,” I said. “I found you. And sooner or later, so will the police.”

“I know. I jus’ need a little time to think.” 

The bartender came over and wiped the bar with a bleach-y smelling rag. He nodded at Lono, “You want another beer?”

Lono and I both answered at the same time. 

“No,” I said.

“Yeah,” he said.

The bartender took Lono’s empty mug and refilled it.

When he came back, he put the mug down and said, “Your tab’s up to nineteen bucks.”

“You know I’m good for it,
brah
,” said Lono.

“The owner don’t like me to let tabs get over twenty.”

They locked eyes for a few seconds, and then Lono ducked his head. The bartender retreated.

My cell went off just as my bladder was screaming for a “time-out.” I told Lono I’d be right back. I answered the incoming call as I pushed through the swinging door to the ladies’ room.

“Ms. Moon?” said the caller. “This is Officer Kenaka at the police station. Miz Malama is ready to go now.”

I thanked him, and then did what I’d come in there for. I washed my hands, but had to wipe them on my pants since there weren’t any paper towels in the dispenser. When I walked back out to the bar, Lono’s stool was empty. So was the beer mug.

***

I parked and went inside the police station to get Malama. She was sitting on a backless wooden bench, her head bowed as if she was praying. I came up to her and she didn’t look up. Maybe she
was
praying. I waited a few seconds and then touched her arm. She jumped the way people do when they’ve been caught dozing in church.

“Were you sleeping?” I said.

“No, no. Just resting my eyes. These lights are too bright.”

She was right. Outside, the sky was inky black, with a new moon barely making its mark against a blanket of stars. But inside the police station lobby, the bluish-white glare of fluorescent tubes blazed on in an unrelenting frenzy of daytime luminescence.

“
Mahalo nui loa
for waiting for me,” she said.

“My pleasure. I had a chance to chat with George a little.” I said.

I decided I wouldn’t mention my conversation with Lono. After all, I’d told him I wouldn’t rat him out to the police, and I figured Malama would be heartbroken to learn her son was out drinking and driving.

“I’m happy to spend a little more time with you.”

She looked up at me, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“Are you okay?” I said. “Did everything go all right?”

“They kept trying to get me to say something different, and I kept getting mixed up.”

“I know. They ask you the same questions over and over. But that’s only because they’re trying to see if your story holds up.”

“Do they think I’m lying?”

“Not exactly lying. Maybe just not telling them everything.”

She put a hand flat on the bench beside her and heaved herself upright. Once again, I was surprised to see how much older she seemed than she’d appeared a week ago.

“Can you take me home now?” she said.

“Of course.”

We walked out into the silky darkness and I opened the passenger door for her. She shot me an imploring look, hesitating before sliding onto the passenger seat.

I got inside but didn’t turn on the engine.

“Malama,” I said. “Whatever’s going on, you can tell me. I promise to keep it to myself. I doubt if the police would ever want to talk to me. I wasn’t even on the island when all this happened.”

“Oh, Pali,” she said in a weary voice. “It looks bad for my boy.”

“What looks bad?”

“I gotta show you something.”

She dug around in her red vinyl handbag and pulled out an object about the size of a child’s fist, wrapped in a purple shop rag.

“What is that?” I said.

She unwrapped the object and held it out. In the gloom of the sodium parking lot lights, at first I couldn’t make out what it was. Then, I recognized it. Cradled in the rough purple cloth was a roll of cash. An unfortunately familiar-looking roll, with a thick yellow rubber band around it. Just as it had been when I’d accompanied Amanda and Richard to the marriage license bureau on Maui.

“Oh, Malama.”

“Yeah,” she murmured. “Like I said, it doesn’t look good for my boy.”