Pleasing the Dead (15 page)

Makena was the new hot spot for investors, and Lara had prime ocean front property. The house could make the young woman millions in profit.

Lara was working to cement her financial independence in a way that couldn't be threatened. It made sense, especially in light of her family and their problems. It also explained Lara's evasiveness on the ownership of the strip mall where the dive shop was located. If Lara bought it, the terms of incorporation would be changed. What would Ryan's role in the shop be? And what did he know about her plans to buy the land from Mālua LLC?

Storm decided she'd have to raise the subject when she met Lara in the morning. She could do it tactfully, mention that she'd heard about the Makena house, and compliment Lara on her real estate acumen. Their appointment was at ten-thirty. If she got up in time, she could drive to Makawao, pump Auntie Piko for information on Paradise Consortium and Mālua LLC, and be back in plenty of time to meet Lara.

Chapter Twenty-six

Storm couldn't get comfortable. The bed was hard; there was a lump in the center of the mattress. She was hot, she was cold. She should have adjusted the motel's air conditioner better when she went to bed, but now she couldn't muster the energy to get up and do it. It hummed and made rattling noises. She drifted into deeper sleep.

An elegant woman touched her shoulder, but Storm couldn't rouse herself. The woman leaned over her, and Storm shivered. Now the air conditioner was on too high; it was inconsistent. She'd have to tell the management about it.

She was freezing. Not enough blankets. The woman loomed before Storm's face, but Storm knew it was a dream because somehow she knew her eyes were closed. If she were awake, she'd get up and put on another blanket.

The woman was Japanese, middle-aged, with expressive almond eyes and perfect, rosebud red lips. She wore an elegant suit with a silk flower on the lapel. At some level, Storm knew her mind was unraveling the trauma of last night, when she'd observed the wooden stoicism on the older Tagama's face.

Storm had never seen Yasuko, but she knew she was the lovely woman in her dream. Storm wondered what Yasuko had really looked like, but she liked the vision she'd imagined. Ryan and Lara were there now, too. Lara's face so white, it glowed like the light behind her. Ryan's eyes were wet.

No, no, on the beach, Lara's eyes had been wet and Ryan's face was white. But this was a dream, so it didn't have to make sense.

When a ray of sunlight worked its way through the drapes and scraped against her burning eyelids, Storm felt as if she'd worked all night. It was six-thirty; she was as tired as if she'd had two hours sleep instead of seven. A shower helped a bit, and she was grateful for the motel's little bottle of shampoo. When she'd bought deodorant the night before, some guardian angel had whispered in her ear that her old toothbrush looked like it had been flattened with a steam iron and her toothpaste tube was nearly as bad. So she was set for the basic morning ablutions, but she'd have to put on the same clothes that she'd worn to dinner. Jeans and a sweatshirt would have been her choice for a trip upcountry, but the dress and sandals would have to do.

Storm knew it could take an hour or more to get to Makawao, which was across the island to Kahului and another eight or ten miles up Haleakala Highway. She had to be back at Lara's Aquatic Adventures in Kihei by ten-thirty.

She got a large coffee at a Starbucks in Kihei, near the northbound road to Kahului. In Kahului, she pulled into a little mall and picked up another travel cup of Bad Ass coffee. It was the inspiration she was seeking. She was beginning to feel like herself.

She also filled the tank in Damon's ex's station wagon, which was running like a dream. A few loose papers—they looked like soccer-signup sheets—fluttered around the back seat, which made Storm feel right at home.

The weather in Kahului was clear and sunny, with trade winds blowing about ten to fifteen knots, and
mauka
showers. Mauka, in this case, was exactly where Storm was headed: up the mountain called Haleakala, House of the Sun. This was where the Hawaiian god, Māui, had lassoed the sun. After using his grandmother's magic rope to catch Kalā, Māui then tied him to the roots of the wiliwili tree and chopped off some of his legs with a sacred adze.

Violent tales, Storm reflected as she drove upward, into the clouds. Mist clouded the windshield. A brutal legacy, those Hawaiian tales, like so many other cultures' birthrights. A shiver passed through her, and Storm felt vulnerable in her sleeveless dress and sandals. Not the clothes for a confrontation, certainly, and she reconsidered her purpose for this drive, which was twofold: to see how Pauline felt about the sale of her shop to Mālua LLC and Paradise Consortium, and to see if Pauline had heard from Keiko and Carmen. The second reason overshadowed the first at this point.

Storm had grown up in small towns like Makawao, and she found the local grocery without any trouble. Inside, she breathed in the aromas of fresh baked goods and the earthy smells of produce. It took her five minutes to fill a small basket with four papayas, limes, a jar of passion fruit butter, and a loaf of fresh Moloka‘i bread.

The clerk rang it up and added a few home-grown mangoes to the bag. “My tree,” she said.

“Thanks, I love them,” Storm said, and sniffed at the sweet fruit. “Do you know Pauline Harding?”

“Where you from?”

“O‘ahu. I'm here for the weekend, doing some work and visiting friends.”

“She lives about a mile from here. Real pretty place with a great view. I heard her son bought it for her.” The clerk gave Storm directions, and even threw in two more mangoes. “Here, she'll like these. Someone told me she's got some friends visiting.”

“I'll tell her they're from you,” Storm said, and wondered about those visitors. Back in the car, she called Stella's number. Stella must be sitting on the phone, because it didn't have time to ring.

“Any word from Keiko?” Storm asked.

“No.” The woman's voice was ragged. “I don't know what to do.”

“Call the cops.”

“I have to, don't I?”

“Yes, and do it now. Have you talked to Pauline since noon yesterday?”

“I called her again last night.”

“What did she say?”

“She said she already told me she'd call if she saw them.” Stella sounded embarrassed. “She told me I'm bugging her.”

“Really,” Storm said. Some friend.

It was easy to follow the clerk's directions, and Storm marveled at the homes on the mountainside. Elevation was around fourteen hundred feet, and many of the homes had views across miles of velvet green foliage to the sparkling sapphire of the Pacific. They might not be as expensive as ocean front estates, but people paid for vistas like these.

Pauline's address was easy to find by the number on a lava rock post by the street, but the driveway was long and tree-lined, and anyone watching from the house would see her coming for a quarter of a mile. Storm didn't want to give Pauline that much time to prepare for a visitor.

When Storm saw the Rainbow Bed and Breakfast only three properties from Pauline's place, she allowed herself a big smile. To make things better, across the street from the B & B was a turnout. Storm pulled into it, looked around at a scattering of cigarette butts, and surmised that she wouldn't be the first to stop and enjoy the scenery.

A low lava rock wall ran between Pauline's property and her neighbor's, and Storm stayed on the neighbor's side of it. She walked along and thought up excuses for taking this route if someone asked, but there was a narrow path and she figured she wasn't the only one to have used the trail. Eucalyptus trees and ironwood provided shade, while Pauline's side had only a few plumeria trees and some flowering shrubs.

Storm wished she wore sneakers instead of sandals, and she now questioned the wisdom of stopping at the store for omiyage. It was an island tradition to take a host or hostess small gifts when visiting, but Storm had a nagging feeling Pauline wasn't going to greet her with open arms, especially since Stella said she was annoyed.

As Storm grew parallel to the house, she saw steps incorporated into the wall. They led to a path across Pauline's lawn. Storm set down the gift bag and climbed over. She picked the bag up again. It gave her a degree of legitimacy.

The view was outstanding, and a wide lanai encircled the house, whose front window panes looked out onto the wide green lawn, flowering plants, and wisps of clouds. The house itself gave off a feeling of self-imposed isolation. It took a minute for Storm to realize that the reason for this was that all the windows were closed. If this were her house, she'd have them all open to the cool, eucalyptus-scented air.

Maybe Pauline had taken her guests to another island or to Hana, a long drive from upcountry Makawao, for a day or two. The quiet, closed house could be entirely innocent.

Storm walked around to the front, climbed the steps to the lanai, and called out. “Hello?”

No answer. She thought she heard a noise from within, but it could have been something in the yard, a branch or a nearby bird. “Hello? Pauline?”

Not a sound this time, so Storm walked toward the carport, which was to her immediate right, on the far side of the house from where she'd climbed the wall. The driveway widened around the structure to include a parking area. Like many of the homes in the area, the carport had walls, but no door. Inside was a late model BMW sedan.

Storm's feet crunched on the gravel of the drive. “Hello?”

She could see a car parked on the other side of the house, pulled off the gravel of the drive onto the lawn, where it sat in the shelter of a Plumeria tree.

It was a blue Toyota sedan with a dull finish, a few rust spots, and a Save the Whales bumper sticker. It was Stella's.

Chapter Twenty-seven

Storm's heart raced. Pauline had lied to Stella. Unless Keiko had hidden Carmen without telling Stella—a possibility—Storm had to assume the worst. The girls were being held against their will in Pauline's house.

Storm fought the urge to drop her gift right there on the grass and tear across the yard to safety on the other side of the rock wall. Her arms trembled, and she tightened them around the bag. But no footsteps sounded, no voice called out, no window shade trembled. The house stood mute.

Storm tiptoed down the steps and forced herself to saunter back to the wall as if she were a disappointed caller. She climbed over and set the bag down.

Either no one had seen her or there wasn't anyone home. So get a grip. No dogs, no running guards, no warning shouts. The only sound was the wind soughing through the soft needles of the ironwood trees.

Except for the thumping noise she'd heard, and the memory troubled her. It was the kind of thud a falling branch would make, or the sound of an elbow or head striking a wall.

Storm slipped into a copse of ironwood trees where she could lean against a broad trunk and observe Pauline's house. Graceful grey-green needles on drooping boughs acted as a screen, a reassuring partition that allowed her to catch her breath, slow her heart rate, and gather her wits.

Five minutes went by, and nothing moved in the house or garden next door. Storm tried to make a call on her cell, but couldn't get a signal. While she stood there, she thought about Carmen, helpless, and Keiko, who looked terrified sitting at comfortable restaurants in Kihei.

What had she promised Carmen? “I'll be back. I'll bring you your kitty.”

And when the little girl asked, “Will you help me go home?” Storm said yes.

She stared at the curtained windows of the house. It was broad daylight and once she stepped out of the trees and crossed the wall, anyone who looked out would see her. There was no point in running across the lawn, as it would only make her look more furtive.

Storm picked two mangoes out of her bag and marched back across the lush grass. If someone stopped her, she would say her tree was dropping mangoes and she was offering them to neighbors, a common activity for islanders whose trees had bounty crops. She hoped Pauline didn't recognize her neighbors.

Storm got to the side of the house without hearing or seeing anything suspicious and paused between two closed and curtained windows to decide what to do next. Now she had to choose among the plans she'd rejected on approach.

It didn't take her long to decide to head in the direction the sound had come from, and she rounded the corner toward the back of the house. Shrubbery and flower beds bordered the outside walls, but most of them hadn't filled out to the point where could use them as cover.

If she crept behind them, she'd make more noise than if she walked on the lush grass, so she strolled as if she hadn't a care in the world. Or so she hoped.

Not far from the back door, she stopped again, nervous. They're not here, she thought. Keiko is protecting Carmen and Pauline took them for a drive. Sure, the BMW was there, but Pauline could have another car. The problem was, she couldn't deny Stella's car and how Keiko had disappeared without a word to Stella.

No, chicken shit, you've got to do something. Bang on the door, check to see if it's open.

Storm had her hand on the doorknob, and a child's voice rang out. “It hurts,” the thin voice cried.

A second voice said something, but Storm couldn't hear the words. Then a third voice carried through the house. “I'm sick of your crying. Dammit, I didn't ask for this job.” And a door slammed.

A whimper floated to Storm's straining ears, then no other noise.

Storm shrank against the side of the house and crouched between two mock orange shrubs.

The grumpy woman's voice moved closer, and spoke to someone else. “The kid looks sick. I don't want them here anymore, you hear me?”

Storm couldn't hear an answer, which strengthened her hunch that Grumpy was on the phone. She put her ear up to the wall. When the back door slammed, it practically deafened her. It also scared her so much she froze, which was a good thing, because a heavy woman in a loose dress and dyed red hair stormed out of the house, twenty feet from where Storm crouched between the two inadequate shrubs.

The woman stomped in the opposite direction of Storm's hiding place, along a cement walk toward the carport, her rubber slippers slapping at cracked heels. She muttered to herself as she disappeared around the corner. A moment later, a throaty engine growled from the carport, followed by the crunch of tires on gravel.

Storm waited until the crunching stopped, the car changed gears, and the powerful engine hummed away. The back door was locked, of course. She went to the car port. There, arranged along on the wall, were the yard tools she'd hoped to find. She grabbed a hedge clipper, a shovel, and a pair of work gloves.

Wearing the gloves, she returned to the back door and used the handle of the shovel to break out one of the panes of glass. She knocked away all the jagged edges. Then, she stood to the side of the door with the face of the shovel raised like a bat in case anyone came running to check out the noise.

No one came. No one made a noise, either. Keiko and Carmen were probably too frightened.

After a few long moments, she reached through the hole and fumbled with the door knob. The bulky gloves made the job difficult, but she got the door opened and stepped inside.

Her sandals crunched over the glass on the floor. “Keiko?” she called in a soft voice.

“Hello?” A young woman's muffled voice came to Storm from above. “Who's there?”

“It's Storm.” She pounded up the staircase, which was off the living room area. “Keep talking. Where are you?”

“Here,” Keiko called again.

“Help,” a weaker voice echoed.

“I'm in the hall,” Storm said.

“We're in a bedroom.” Keiko's words were muffled. “In the closet.”

The master bedroom had a great view, but the bed was unmade and the room smelled of unwashed clothes. “Talk to me.”

“Back here,” two voices said together, and Storm flung open the only other door leading off the room.

It was a big, walk-in closet, packed to the ceiling with boxes and assorted paraphernalia. A Stair Master was jammed against one end, though the clothes strewn over it would have kept anyone from using it to exercise. It was an effective restraint, though. A length of chain, the kind used to tether big dogs, was looped through handcuffs that held Keiko's arms behind her back. She could sit and stand, but that was it.

Carmen's hands were tied in front of her, but the ropes that held her must have been agonizing to the injured shoulder. Her face was the color of the pale beige carpet and she smelled of urine.

Storm knelt before the little girl. She positioned the hedge clippers and snipped carefully at the clothesline around the girl's wrists.

“How long have you been tied up?”

Keiko answered. “She untied us at night, but we slept in here. She tied us up right after she gave us some tea and toast.”

“Was it light out?”

“No,” Keiko said. “I tried to tell the time of day when she opened the door.”

Poor injured Carmen, kept two days in this scruffy suburban prison. The little girl gasped at the sudden jerk when her arms fell free, then wrapped the injured one in the good one and rocked back and forth. She shivered, and Storm pulled a sweater off a nearby hanger and wrapped the girl in it.

“Carmen, you're going to be all right. We're going to take care of you.”

Storm had to take a calming breath before she lifted her hedge clippers to Keiko. “I think I can cut that chain, but we'll have to take the handcuffs off later.”

“As long as we get out of here,” Keiko said. “I want to get Carmen to the doctor.”

Storm looked at the young woman. This wasn't the same self-destructive waif she'd seen a couple of days ago. And that wasn't the statement of a suicidal victim. Keiko was angry, and it was a good thing.

The hedge clippers worked well on the chain. “Do you have your car keys?” Storm asked.

“No, Pauline took them.”

“I parked down on the main road. We'll have to walk a bit.” She bent down to Carmen, whose color looked better. “You think you can do this? Keiko and I will help you.”

Carmen nodded and got to her feet. Her legs wobbled, but she walked. The three of them exited the closet, and Keiko stopped next to the bed.

“Wait a minute,” she said, and slid her cuffed hands down the back of her legs. She bent over at the same time, and stepped over her hands.

Storm marveled at her agility.

“It's easier than it looks. She caught me trying it. That's why she chained me to the exercise machine.”

She took a cold look around the room. “Hey, her cell phone's plugged in. They don't work up here.” Her face, thin and pale, transformed with a grin. She went to the dresser, pulled the phone out of the wall and slid it into her jeans pocket.

“Let me see those clippers.”

Storm handed them over, and watched her skip to a land line on the bedside table and snip the wire to the wall. She managed despite the handcuffs.

Keiko dashed from the room and down the hall. Storm and Carmen were slower, and they heard the door of one room slam open, then another. Keiko took a little longer in that room, while Storm and Carmen headed down the stairs.

While Storm took Carmen to the kitchen to scrounge for something to eat, Keiko made her rounds. With each clipped wire, she looked happier. Carmen's eyes were taking on a shine, too.

“How ‘bout the electrical wires?” the little girl asked.

Storm had gathered two apples and a couple of bagels. “Forget it. Let's get out of here.”

Keiko was already out the kitchen door and into the back yard. Storm and Carmen could track her movement by the jangle of the handcuffs. Storm handed Carmen one of the apples and the two followed. Carmen munched the apple and Storm looked in the direction Keiko had gone.

She'd disappeared around the corner toward the car port, the opposite direction from the lava rock wall and the path down to the main road. Storm wanted to get the girls as far away from Pauline's house as fast as she could.

“Keiko? C'mon, let's go.”

No response. Then, a crashing thud and a yelp of pain interrupted the peace.

Storm bolted in the direction of the noise. Around the corner of the house sprawled Keiko, half on the gravel drive, half under a hedge. Beside her was a large, overturned plastic flower pot. The hedge clippers dangled from a thick wire that led up the side of the house. Sparks flew from the blades, still embedded in the wire's insulation.

“Keiko,” Storm shouted, and ran to her. “Talk to me.”

The sparks gave a final burst, the hedge clippers dropped to the ground, and Keiko sat up. She took a couple of deep breaths. “It knocked me off the flower pot.”

“That flower pot saved your life.” Storm gaped at the cable. “Are you all right?”

Keiko grinned. “You think I stopped the electricity?”

“I'd say so.” Storm stuck out a hand and pulled Keiko to her feet. Keiko winced, but looked happy. “Can we go?” Storm asked.

It took about ten minutes to get down the hill to Damon's car and another half hour to get to the hospital in Wailuku. When her mobile picked up a signal, Storm called Stella.

“Did you call the police about Keiko?”

“Yes, right after I talked to you.”

“I've got her. And Carmen.”

“Thank God.” Stella's voice trembled with relief. “Where were they?”

“I'll tell you later. They're okay, but they need food and rest. I'm taking them to the hospital.”

“I'll come. I'll call a cab.”

“No, sit tight. Don't tell anyone yet.”

“Lara will want to know.”

“Not yet. I have a meeting with her in,” Storm looked at her watch, “a little over an hour.”

“But—”

“Please, Stella, it's important.”

“Okay.”

Storm handed the phone to Keiko, who reassured Stella that she and Carmen were fine. Storm noticed that she didn't tell Stella where they'd been, either.