Pleasing the Dead (14 page)

Chapter Twenty-five

Damon pulled to a stop next to a white Corvette. Lara's car.

He was out of the truck before Storm found a place she could park without blocking everyone else.

“Lara,” he shouted, and rushed toward a small group of people facing a line of police.

Storm got out of her car more slowly. Lara and two men stood under a grove of trees whose graceful canopies sheltered the flat shapes of picnic tables and the faint glow of an emergency call box. The trio looked lonely and frightened. In the dim light, Lara wrung her hands.

Storm hung back for a few moments, but Damon ran toward Lara and the men. A group of four patrolmen approached from the other direction, probably to keep Lara's group from getting closer to the beach. Their manner was gentle, even sympathetic. One of police was Carl Moana.

Lara held the older man's elbow. Ryan stood on the other side of his father, his strained white face reflecting the search lights. He looked more shocked than the older man.

Damon touched Lara's shoulder. “What happened? Why are you out here?”

Lara glanced at Storm, who'd caught up to Damon. Her eyes glistened in the dim light. “What are you guys doing here?”

“We saw the police, and your car,” Storm said. “Can we help with anything?”

Lara gestured to one of the policeman, who answered Storm's question. “There's nothing to do right now.”

Storm caught Moana's eye and saw the discreet shake of his head. No one was giving out information.

Lara saw it, too. “Let's keep our appointment tomorrow morning, and we can talk then.”

“You've got my number if you need me,” Storm said.

On the way back to her car, she slowed to observe the officials who were coming and going with resolve, but without urgency. The engines to the cars and the ambulance were off. One of the cars was unmarked and had the plates of a county vehicle. Storm would bet it belonged to the Medical Examiner's office. A woman in tailored business clothes softly closed the door to a police cruiser. In her hands was a big roll of yellow crime-scene tape.

Footsteps crunched in the gravel, and she turned to see Damon. “Do you know who's on the beach?” she asked.

“No, but Ryan looks more upset than anyone. I wonder if it's one of his friends.”

“Maybe,” Storm said. “His dad looked grim, too. Almost wooden.”

“Lara doesn't deserve any more heartache.”

“No, she doesn't.” And there was nothing else to say or do. They got into their separate vehicles and eased onto the road.

Passing cars had slowed down to see why the police were gathering. Some had even pulled onto the side of the road, along with two vans from television stations. As Storm joined the crawling line of traffic, a couple of automobiles pulled from the shoulder. Others took the open spaces. Whoever had died wouldn't stay secret for long.

By the time Damon turned off the main road, the line of cars had thinned to normal traffic. When Storm got into Kihei, she remembered she needed some deodorant, and while she was at it, some bottled water and juices for the room. She'd seen a supermarket on South Kihei Road a mile or so from the hotel. This required leaving Pi‘ilani Highway before the cut-off to her hotel, and she wasn't sure which cross streets would go all the way to the smaller, parallel road. At ten-thirty, she didn't want to loop around a residential neighborhood, setting all the dogs barking.

She chose a street with a traffic light and made her turn. Behind her, the high, bright lights of some shiny-grilled SUV reflected from her rear-view mirror. Another car trailed behind it, all heading to the hotels and businesses along the ocean road.

Storm stopped at the store, got her supplies, and headed in the direction of her hotel. Two or three blocks down the road, she came upon a black Land Rover, which was inching away from a green light. When she braked, the lights of the car behind her lit the inside of her car. Her own lights lit the inside of the Rover.

With a flicker of apprehension, she wondered if the Rover had been the SUV behind her when she turned off Pi‘ilani Highway. At first, she'd assumed the driver was creeping along because he was on the phone. But she could see the back of his head, and there was no phone at his ear. Bluetooth? Maybe. But then she saw the flash of what appeared to be sunglasses in his rear view mirror.

Suzuki's and the assistant U.S. Attorney's paranoia had rubbed off. Who wore dark glasses at night? Was that guy watching her? There were few other cars on the road, but she was sandwiched between two of them.

About fifty yards ahead, an old, decal-covered car with surf racks waited to exit a restaurant parking lot. Storm slowed and motioned for the driver to move out. When he did, and shot a happy shaka from his side window, she waved and returned the gesture.

The SUV, which now led a line of four vehicles, slowed again. The surfer put on his brakes, probably assuming the SUV driver was lost. Storm jerked her wheel hard, veering into the parking lot the surfer had just left. She was going a little too fast for the turn, and her tires squeaked in protest.

The car behind her slammed on his brakes. So did the SUV, and the surfer's car swerved, squealed, and came to a smoking stop after thunking into the SUV's rear bumper. The surfer hadn't been going fast, but his car was old and rust-pocked, and its hood humped into a rusty accordion. Water hissed from the radiator. The SUV stopped at the impact, but appeared to be unmarred.

“Hey, assholes,” the surfer screamed, and jumped from his car. “You did that on purpose.”

Storm, phone in hand, dialed 911. They did do it on purpose, but not for the reasons the hapless surfer thought. In the little time she'd had to come up with an escape plan, she'd only hoped her pursuers would decide not to make a scene in front of witnesses. She hadn't meant to set the surfer up for a wreck, poor guy.

A big muscular guy climbed down from the SUV. His dark glasses glinted. A smaller guy got out of a sedan. The big guy approached the surfer, who was half his body mass.

The surfer was undaunted. He shouted, pointed, and stamped his rubber slippers. Storm thought she might fall in love. Meanwhile, the cringe factor of crunching metal and breaking glass had lured others to the scene, and people emerged from nearby restaurants and shops.

For a moment, Storm considered taking off, but the thugs already knew who she was. What good would running do? So when the police cruiser arrived, Storm approached the patrolman.

“I saw the whole thing,” she said. “The SUV braked suddenly for no reason. It looked like a setup.” She gave the officer her name as a witness and left.

But now she had to go somewhere. These guys recognized her car. They probably even knew where she was staying.

The first person Storm thought of calling was Stella, but Storm needed someone with a car, and Keiko had it.

Storm phoned Damon, who sounded sleepy. “Sorry to bother you so late.”

“S'okay. I was watching the tube.”

“Do you have a car I could borrow? I mean, other than your truck?”

“You have an accident?”

“No, but I need to change cars. I think someone's following me.”

“I've got old station wagon. It's my ex's. The battery's probably dead, but I can get it going. You seen the news?”

“No, what happened?”

“I'll tell you when you get here. Why is someone following you?”

“I'll tell you when I get there.”

***

Ryan and Lara drove Tagama to their place. His apartment was part of the crime scene. The police were certain by the mayhem in Tagama's condominium that Yasuko had been attacked there and taken from the premises.

It was bad enough, Ryan thought, that Yasuko had been killed. But the fact that Yasuko's and Tagama's shared place was the place of her final struggle made him even sadder. For the first time in his life, Ryan knew that his father had a home he cared about. And it had been destroyed, along with Yasuko.

Ryan walked from the car with a heavy sorrow that slowed his steps to the pace of his father's. The old man hadn't said a word since he'd identified her. Tagama had slipped one of the crushed gardenias from the tangle of her hair, and now that they were out of the crime scene tech's view, he took it out of his pocket. The way he caressed the ruined flower nearly broke Ryan's heart.

Right before they'd left the scene, one of the detectives had rushed up to them. He was doing his best to show Tagama a kindness when he promised, “We'll find who did this, sir.” He'd then turned to an ID tech and said, “Bag her hands. Looks like she put up a fight.”

Lara had made a choking sound and Ryan had cringed, but he'd been watching his father. Tagama's only reaction was to blink twice. It would have been better if he'd made a noise.

On the way home, Tagama's cell phone rang, but he let it go. He'd been like a statue in the back seat of the car. When bumps in the road caused him to lean, he'd come to rest upright against the door.

Ryan got his father settled in their guest room. Tagama murmured a thank-you, closed the door, turned off the lights, and sat on the bed. For nearly a half hour, he stared out of the window. The moon was a sliver and the night was dark. He couldn't see stars from the room, but he knew they were there, and he wondered if Yasuko was among them.

“I'll get him, angel,” he whispered.

In the dark, Tagama pulled off his pants and felt the weight of his phone in the pocket. It reminded him of the call he'd received. Sure enough, his aide had left a message.

“Tagama-san, she caused an accident. She saw either me or the Land Rover, I don't know. When the police asked me what happened, she drove away. She didn't go to the hotel. I lost her.”

Tagama tossed the phone onto the bedside table, folded his slacks and shirt on the back of the chair in the room, and climbed into the single bed. He turned on his side and looked out the window, into the night sky.

***

Damon's directions to his home were easy to follow, and Storm arrived about twenty minutes after calling him.

He answered the door in sweat pants and a T-shirt, probably what he slept in. “The dead person was on the news. She was a Lahaina bar maid. I don't know why Lara was there.”

“What's the woman's name?” Storm asked.

“Yasuko Matsui. You ever heard of her?”

“Just recently. I think she was a friend of Ryan's father. Did they mention the bar she worked in?”

“The Red Light.” He scrutinized Storm's face. “You think Ryan and Lara know her, too?”

“Ryan's dad was involved with her.”

“You sure?” He looked confused. “That's a hostess bar. Lara wouldn't have anything to do with one of those.”

Like she'd suspected, Damon did know more about hostess bars than he'd let on. “Because of Stella and Keiko?”

“Partly.” He dropped onto the sofa, then remembered his manners. “Have a seat. Can I get you something to drink?” He pointed to the beer he'd been drinking. “A nightcap?”

“No, thanks. What were you saying?”

“Lara tried to help women. She wouldn't do anything to support a place like that.”

“Stella told me some things,” Storm said.

“Really?” Damon picked at a hangnail for a long moment, then seemed to come to a decision. “You need to know something about Stella. She's had a hard life, and one of the results of it is that she exaggerates. Oh hell, she lies.”

“What does she lie about?”

“You know, how bad her life was.”

“What about Lara's sister?”

“She died of an overdose. Angela was a cocaine freak, then she got into crystal meth.”

“Why'd she use drugs?”

“She couldn't live up to Lara's standards.”

“Did anyone in their family make her feel she couldn't?”

Damon threw himself back in his chair. “No, it wasn't like that. Well, maybe Barb was a little hard on her, but Angela had it coming.”

“What happened to Barb? Why's she in the rest home?”

“When Michael died, she went to pieces. She just couldn't go on. Lara takes care of her.”

Storm nodded. “It's really sad.”

“No shit. I hate to see anything else happen to Lara.”

“Yeah, I understand.”

Storm looked at Damon, who was frowning into his bottle. “Have you ever heard of a guy named Obake?”

His raised his eyes slowly to hers. They were bloodshot and tired. “No, who's that?”

“I don't know.” Storm stood up. “I'd better let you get some rest. Thanks for letting me use your car.”

“I already jumped it. It's been running, so you should be okay. If it doesn't start in the morning, give me a call. Your hotel isn't that far from Lara's shop.”

“I'm going to stay around here,” Storm said.

He looked surprised. “Hey, I've got an extra room.”

She was grateful for the offer, but staying in his place didn't feel right. “Thanks, but I'll be okay.”

“Where are you going?”

“Not far, believe me.”

He blinked a few times. “'Kay then. Call me if you change your mind.”

The Subaru Legacy station wagon was dusty, but in decent shape. Storm waved her thanks and started down the road. Even if she'd looked, she wouldn't have seen Damon watching her. He stood in the shadow of a big monkey pod tree a few doors down from his house, checking to see if she turned right or left at the stop sign at the junction of Honoapi‘ilani Highway.

A few miles away, near the turn at the beginning of Front Street, Storm saw a modest, two-story motel with a lighted welcome sign. Twenty minutes later, she was in a room, comfortable in the knowledge that no one knew where she was, at least for a few restful hours. She settled into bed, thinking about what Damon had told her that night about Lara's Makena house.