Pleasing the Dead (3 page)

Chapter Four

Ryan got behind the wheel of the Lexus and glanced over at his father, who hadn't said a word. He drove three miles in slow traffic before the old man spoke.

“What do you know of Beach Rescue Alliance?” Tagama asked.

“You mean BRA,” Ryan said. “They protest laws like the ones that require women to wear bathing suit tops on public beaches.”

Tagama made a noise like he was trying to dislodge a kernel of rice from his sinuses. “I heard they were feminists and other leftists who protest discrimination. Like unequal job opportunities in hotels and restaurants.”

“No, BRA started as a joke. Lara got involved because one of her employees is active in it. I should never have said anything about them.”

“Are they well organized? And what's Lara's employee like?”

“No, they're not well organized.” Ryan's mouth twisted. “They were just trying to get people to think differently. Like, if men go topless on beaches, women should be able to.”

Tagama thought for a long moment. “It's not an angry group? They wouldn't plant a bomb, would they?”

“No.”

Despite the Lexus' luxury acoustics, the whine of the car's tires on hot pavement filled the air between them.

“We have different ways of looking at the same problem.” Tagama's eyes were hidden behind his dark glasses. “This is good. The way a father and son should.”

Ryan didn't respond. A mental picture of his mother's face when she put him on a plane to Tokyo the summer after his twelfth birthday flashed through his mind. Careful makeup couldn't conceal the puffy anxiety in her eyes.

“You don't have to worry about anyone in BRA setting off a bomb,” Ryan said after a few long moments. “Really, Dad, they're a little self-righteous, but harmless.”

Ryan stopped at a red light, waited, and proceeded when the light changed. He kept his eyes on the road ahead.

Tagama broke the silence. “How is your fiancée? Are plans going well?”

A worm of apprehension burrowed in Ryan's chest, but he hid it. “She's busy with the shop.”

“Protecting our interests?”

“Father—”

“What?”

“Lara is sensitive about this.” Ryan's knuckles whitened on the steering wheel.

“Maybe she needs a reminder that she wouldn't have a shop without us.”

Ryan swallowed. He'd already approached the topic, and the result had been a temper tantrum. Emotion in women made him feel as if his skin were shrinking until it got so tight he could barely breathe. Like when his mother got the phone call from his dad, asking for—well, demanding—that summer visit.

His father had nothing to worry about. Lara knew the terms of her lease were excellent, and Ryan was there to oversee the operation and keep an eye on his father's investment. He knew Lara wouldn't like the term “our interests,” but she didn't understand that his father's lack of tact reflected the fact that English was his second language.

It was, however, time to shift the topic and ask a few of his own questions. Ryan knew his father would hold back; keeping secrets was deeply ingrained in him.

“Wasn't the guy who died in the explosion under investigation for a conflict of interest on the Liquor Council?”

Tagama's mouth twitched in the beginnings of a smile. “People in government accuse each other all the time. Everyone points a finger. It distracts people's attention, especially the journalists.”

They rode for a while before Tagama spoke gently, as if letting Ryan in on a secret. “Don't lose sight of the big picture.”

“You think the guy who died had a connection to the Yakuza?”

“Could be. Local law enforcement thinks so.” Tagama turned his black lenses toward his son. “Even so, let's not talk about this to anyone else.”

“Of course.” Ryan shifted his hands on the steering wheel. “What about you? You still on the list of suspected local Yakuza?”

“Probably.” Tagama sounded nonchalant. For years, federal officers had surveilled him, and at one time, he'd sweated under their scrutiny. Ryan was aware the pressure was no longer an issue; he assumed it was because his father was aging. It also could be due to the fact that his father started a small commercial real estate company with local, well-known investors six or seven years ago. They'd been open and charitable in their business arrangements.

“You think the bombers were trying to kill Obake?”

Tagama frowned. “There were four people in that room, plus restaurant staff.”

“Obake and his guards were three of them, and they left early.”

“Yes, and for some reason, the one man lingered. He may have been waiting for someone.”

“Maybe it was a timed device.”

Tagama nodded. “I wondered about that, too. We'll have that information soon. We still won't know if Obake was a target or the instigator.”

“When he told us about Noboru's message, I believed him.”

“Then you think Obake was the target.”

Tagama paused. “I believe he's nervous about something. I'm not sure what that is.”

Ryan thought a moment. “How do you feel about working for him again?”

“He has a big ego, especially if women are involved.” Tagama gave his son an oblique glance.

“Don't worry, I won't let Lara get anyplace near him,” Ryan said.

“Good. We must be very careful, though I think the old shark's teeth are getting dull.”

Ryan wondered about that. Obake looked like a powerful man, both physically and professionally. So did the bodyguards. Despite what his father said, Obake looked like a shark whose teeth were still formidable.

Ryan was embarrassed that he'd revealed his nervousness at the meeting. He hoped he hadn't shamed his father, for whom showing anxiety would be a weakness. These men cultivated their inscrutability; they spun webs of deceit, layered with pawns and operators—and sometimes sacrifices.

Ryan's eyes flitted to his father. Tagama would know about using fear to get his way.

Ryan grew up in Beverly Hills with his Caucasian mother, whom he'd considered doting and high-strung. One afternoon after picking him up from school, she'd whispered about a man she claimed had been following her for weeks. Ryan wasn't inclined to listen to his mother's complaints, but that time he'd gone along with her. They ducked into a dress store and pretended to shop so they could observe the sidewalk.

To Ryan's surprise, a man with tattoos peeking from the sleeves of his dark, shiny suit passed by the window and smiled right at them. Two weeks later, she'd put him on the plane to Japan. Her eyes had been dilated with terror.

“You okay?” Tagama asked.

“Yeah, just thinking about what you said.” He kept his voice level, but his mind raced. A few years ago, his mother had remarried and was finally happy. Ryan was delighted for her, but he felt suspended between his parents, and his father was still a mystery.

Chapter Five

Storm picked up a newspaper at a sidewalk stand and found a cozy restaurant several blocks down from where Stella and Keiko had been. She ordered scrambled eggs, toast, and a big pot of coffee.

Two tables away, a man yakked into his mobile phone. “The hernia's gone, but my balls are black and blue,” he said, oblivious that his sense of privacy was a fantasy.

Storm ordered, then slipped into the women's room to phone a couple of clients and set up appointments. She got back to the table as her food arrived. She'd finished off her eggs and was salivating over the toasted homemade bread. Just as she took a giant bite, her mobile rang.

“Storm?” a familiar voice asked.

“Mmmph.”

“It's Damon.”

Storm washed the toast down with the remains of her coffee mug. “Hey, it was nice seeing you again.”

“Yeah. Hey, you want to get together later and catch up on things?”

“Sure.” Storm was pleasantly surprised.

“I won't get away until around six. Let's meet at seven at The Fiddler Crab.”

“In Kihei?”

“Lahaina. You mind the drive?”

“No, see you then.” Storm dropped her phone into her purse.

She tucked the newspaper under her arm and went outside. Her rented car was still parked at Lara's shop, but there was a cute bathing suit shop around the corner, and though buying a bikini after eating was a humbling prospect, the store was enticing.

It was about half the square footage of Lara's shop and the walls were artfully hung with women's beachwear. Storm picked out a handful of bathing suits and went into a dressing room. The first three were microscopic, and she took one look over her shoulder into the mirror and peeled them off with haste. The little
pua‘a
tattoo was supposed to be hidden. Storm suddenly felt old. She almost put on her clothes at that point, but decided to give the last one a try. This one looked good, and Storm headed for the cash register with a smile.

“You're quick,” the clerk said. “Most women spend an hour or so in there.”

“That would be torture.” Storm handed over a charge card. “Have you been open long?”

“A month.”

“You've got great taste. All the teenage girls are going to come. But I bet the lease rent is high in this area.”

“It is, though it's a great location. I'm getting a lot of tourist business.”

“My friend is opening a dive shop a few blocks from here. You mind my asking what you pay?”

“Four thousand a month. My step dad knows the realtor and got me a good deal.” The young woman nearly whispered, as if she couldn't believe it herself.

No wonder the bikini was five dollars a square inch. “It's what, about a thousand square feet?”

“Almost. But my accountant says I can make it work.”

“Sell sunscreen with those Brazilian thongs.”

The owner laughed. “Designer sunscreen.”

“In luscious scents. I'll send some friends your way. Good luck.”

Storm walked back out into the hot sunlight. That woman was getting a discount, and her store was less than half the size of Lara's. Plus, Lara's shop was more centrally located, which would make the rent higher.

Storm headed down the street back toward Lara's shop. On the way, her phone rang. “Where are you?” Lara asked.

“A couple blocks from your shop. I got a new bathing suit. You should check out this cute store.”

“I will. We could send customers to each other. Want to meet me at Dina's for lunch?”

“I'll be there soon.” That was the place Stella and Keiko had been. This might be interesting.

Lara's employees were no longer there. The table Storm had eyed earlier was now in the sun, so Storm chose one inside. Lara got there two minutes after Storm sat down. She looked around the room, still wearing her big dark glasses, as if looking for someone.

“Is your fiancé coming?” Storm asked.

“Yes, but he's running a few minutes late. That's good, we can talk.” She pushed her glasses to the top of her head.

“You're opening in a week?” Storm asked.

“Yes, but we're already doing PR. We've planned a catered party for the afternoon and some important customers are invited for a special dive tomorrow.”

“Hotel managers, tour guides, and people like that?”

“You've got it.” Lara grinned, and leaned into the table. “People are calling to book dives already.”

“You still windsurf?”

“No, I just dive now, both snorkeling and scuba diving. I love it.”

A handsome young man in a navy linen sports jacket appeared at the table.

Lara took his hand and steered him toward the seat next to her. “Ryan, this is Storm.”

“Ryan Tagama.” He shook Storm's hand, then shrugged out of the jacket and sat down. “It's good to meet you.”

“He and his father have a commercial real estate company.” Lara grinned widely and patted his hand. “Storm's going to help us with the liability issues.”

“Good. We need that.” He put an arm around Lara and she leaned into him. “Her windsurfing fame has people lining up. We've got one dive boat booked solid for the next two months and we're not yet officially open. We're trying to find a captain for the second boat.”

“That's wonderful. Though if you're already taking people out on the boats, we need to get your liability insurance established. I'd like to take a look at the paperwork you've got so far.”

“We can show you that,” Lara said.

“Setting up a Limited Liability Company would be the best way to protect you if you're sued by a client. We'll need to discuss who the major shareholders are, and what their portions of the stock will be.”

Lara's smile grew a little stiff. “We've already—”

Ryan patted her hand. “She's right, Lara. I asked a friend about it when we first started renovating.” He glanced apologetically at Storm, who shrugged. She would have done the same in his position. “He told us the LLC would protect our personal assets if we're sued.”

“Who holds the lease agreement on the property?” Storm asked. “The owner of the shopping center?”

“You don't need to get into that,” Lara said.

“I do, though. The lease agreement can affect how I set up the business. It's part of your overhead. For example, who's responsible for water and electricity? Is that divided among the tenants of the property? I noticed two other tenants, but your store is the biggest in the shopping center.”

“Water—well, we're putting in new copper pipes. New wiring, too. It'll help the other stores,” Lara said.

Storm smiled at her. “Do you know if the utilities come from the street? Are they on public property?”

Lara looked at Ryan, who played with his water glass.

“I'll check on that,” Lara said.

Storm wondered if they doubted her experience. “You can check with other attorneys if you like.”

“No, we trust you,” Ryan said. “You set up Steve O'Donnell's restaurant and Riley Murakami's tattoo parlor. You come highly recommended.”

“I'm glad you're checking around,” Storm said. “But now I'm curious, are Steve and Riley friends of yours?”

“Riley and I knew each other in California. Steve's a friend of Riley's, and I called him.”

“Good. I wish more of my clients asked for references and did background checks.” She winced at a memory. “And checked employee records before hiring.”

Storm had recalled a specific—and unfortunate—incident, so it took her a moment to notice that Lara looked a shade paler than she had a moment before.

“Anything wrong?” Storm asked.

“No,” Lara said. “That's good advice.”

A waitress appeared to take their order, and Storm figured since Damon's phone call had kept her from finishing her breakfast toast, she'd have the warm chocolate brownie with vanilla-flecked ice cream. Lara ordered an avocado filled with crab salad and Ryan ordered katsu curry rice with chicken and four gyoza.

“You can share my gyoza,” he said, and looked first at Lara, then Storm.

“I just ate an hour ago,” Storm said, though the offer was tempting. Storm loved the little fried dumplings.

“I have to fit into my wedding dress,” Lara said.

While they ate, they discussed the upcoming wedding, which was in mid-July, three months away. Not long after his cup of coffee arrived, Ryan peeked at his gold watch.

“I've got to go.”

“You do?” Lara looked up at him and her voice took on a wry note. “Meeting your dad again?”

“And some business associates. We're looking at a condominium in Kapalua.”

“Good hunting,” Lara said.

“It was great to meet you,” Storm said. “I'll see you again soon.”

“Yes, let's sit down tomorrow or the next day to set up details on the corporation.”

The women watched him leave, then Storm sprawled back in her chair with a sigh. “That brownie was wonderful.”

“I'm full too.” Lara thought for a brief moment. “Damon's got the shop covered this afternoon. Are you busy? If you're off the clock, would you like to go snorkeling? I'll show you my favorite spots down by Makena, where we're going to take some tours. Two of my favorite sightings are at Turtle Town and Bruce the shark.”

“Bruce the shark?” Storm straightened. “Do I want to see him?”

“Sure. Bruce is a four-foot, white-tipped reef shark. They're harmless.” Lara cocked her head. “He's accustomed to divers, plus the shark is my
‘aumakua
.”

“It is?” Storm grimaced. “I'll have to rely on you for protection, because my
‘aumakua
is the
pua‘a.
I don't think a pig will be much help in the water.”

“Pigs are known for their cleverness,” Lara said, though Storm picked up a note of condescension in her voice. People whose
‘aumakua
were the
manō
tended to think other
‘aumakua
didn't measure up.

She'd have to check with Aunt Maile, who was well versed in Hawaiian lore, as to how the animal totems interacted. Maybe they practiced some kind of amnesty. If you believed in that stuff to begin with.

“You sure Bruce is safe?”

“You could hand-feed him, though we don't, because he needs to hunt on his own. White-tips aren't aggressive to people. And they don't have very big teeth.” She grimaced. “Probably not as bad as getting bit by my mom's toy poodle. In fact, I'd say Bruce has a better personality.”

“Ouch. You have to deal with the poodle often?”

“No, he died last year, at sixteen.”

“How'd your mom handle that?”

“Not too well.” Lara pushed back from the table. “But everyone else felt like celebrating.”

“Get her a replacement. A nice one.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Lara sounded like she'd rather change the subject. “Let's gather some dive gear and go for a swim. You can see first hand what my clients are experiencing.”