Pleasing the Dead (9 page)

Chapter Fifteen

By the time Storm got back to her hotel, it was late afternoon. Carmen's dark, frightened eyes still haunted her. She flopped back on the bed and punched in Aunt Maile's phone number on the Big Island.

“You sound a bit blue,” said her aunt.

“Right now, I wish I were in Pa‘auilo with you and Uncle Keone.” Storm told her about Carmen.

“Storm, there's a reason you keep finding needy children.”

“Orphans, you mean.”

“Not always. You're a good friend to Robbie.” Robbie was Storm's best friend's son. Leila owned a popular bakery in Honolulu, and Storm often helped her pick up or drop off Robbie from school.

“Except for the time we tried skateboarding down his driveway.” Leila was working one Saturday morning, and Storm ended up calling her from Queen's Hospital. Robbie had a broken wrist, and Storm a badly sprained ankle.

“You were the first to sign each others' casts.” Aunt Maile chuckled.

“I'd rather forget that incident.” So Storm told her about Lara's
‘aumakua
and how the shark had chased them.

“Do you have your little
pua‘a
with you?”

“I wear it all the time.” Storm touched the emerald-eyed pig.

“Good.”

Storm detected the relief in Maile's voice. “Lara was very upset.”

“She'd better pay attention. It's a warning.”

“What kind of warning?”

“I don't know yet.” Maile paused. “You'll figure that out before I do.” She didn't sound happy. “Is she a friend?”

“She's a client, but I like her. We're about the same age and we have things in common.” Storm asked about Uncle Keone, who got on the phone for a few minutes to send his love. When she hung up, Storm felt much better. She called Hamlin, left a message on his voice mail, splashed some water on her face and grabbed her handbag. She was getting her appetite back, and there was a casual restaurant not far from the hotel.

The restaurant's bar was an open lanai that fronted the dining room and looked out onto the ocean. Twenty feet away, the sea glittered a deep sapphire in the fiery obliqueness of the waning sun. Elongated shadows in the dining room kept Storm from seeing Lara until the hostess came back and pointed her out.

“You're meeting a friend? She's waving at you.”

Storm had been expecting a quiet dinner with a paperback she'd stuffed in her purse, but this option looked like more fun. “Sure.”

The hostess led her to Lara's table. “I'll check back with you in a while.”

“Are you waiting for someone?” Storm asked.

“Ryan had to cancel.” Lara gestured at the chair. “Join me? I hate eating alone.”

“Sure, thanks.” Storm admired Lara's sleek, upswept hair as she turned her head to catch the eye of the waitress. The tendrils that strayed were strategic. Storm patted at the fluff that was springing free of her French braid. She hadn't touched her hair since that morning. Beauty takes time and effort.

The waitress came over. “You like Cosmopolitans?” Lara asked, and pointed to her drink.

“Never had one.”

“Two, please,” Lara said. The waitress took away Lara's empty glass and returned in about two minutes with a couple of pink concoctions in martini glasses. Lara sank her chin into the palm of one hand and lifted the fresh drink to Storm.

“I'm glad you showed up.” Her tone was wry.

“Does this happen often?” Storm asked.

Lara gave the pink liquid in her martini glass a swirl. “He and his dad have a handful of new clients.”

Storm hoped the smile she offered was some consolation, but she wondered how long a person could drink alone, even at candlelit tables in nice restaurants. Storm faced the bar, and it seemed as if at least four guys were eyeing Lara. One of them caught Storm's eye and smiled. She took a quick gulp of her drink, which was delicious.

Lara looked lazily over her shoulder, then back at Storm. “His dad is kind of demanding, but I guess he's teaching Ryan about the family business.” She sighed. “Your boyfriend ever do this to you?”

“Not really.” That was true, and the admission made her miss Hamlin. “Our arguments are about whether I take too many chances.” This popped out before Storm's brain had a chance to put on the brakes. “And how differently we run the business,” she added.

Lara raised an elegant eyebrow. “Sounds manageable.” She sipped her drink. “And as if he cares about you. What's his name?”

“Ian Hamlin.”

“He's on O‘ahu?”

“Right now, he's in L.A.” Storm made a face. “Taking a break.”

“Really? What happened?”

Storm told her about Uncle Miles' death. Everyone but Storm thought he'd died of old age. Even Hamlin, but despite his doubts, he'd stuck by Storm through the investigation. Because he'd tried to help her, he'd almost died.

“Did he save you?” Lara looked much happier than when Storm had first entered. Her cheeks were pink and she signaled for another drink.

“Yes,” Storm said. “And then I helped him.”

“How romantic.” Lara acknowledged the arrival of her fresh cocktail. “You'll work it out.”

She leaned forward and Storm reflected that Lara might have had more than one Cosmo before Storm had arrived. “So, what do you think of Ryan?” Lara asked.

“Handsome guy, and he seems to adore you.”

“If he adores me, why'd he go out to dinner with his dad?”

“Because it's his dad. Plus, guys approach work differently than women. We multitask better.”

“What does your dad do?”

“He worked for Hamakua Sugar Plantation, but he died a while ago.”

“What happened?”

Storm opted for the short answer. “He had a kidney disease.”

“Do you miss him?”

“Yes, I do.”

“We never stop, do we?”

“I guess not. Your dad died, too?”

“Yes.” Lara's eyes grew distant, as if she could see into the past. “Four years ago.”

“How'd it happen?”

“A broken heart.” Lara finished her Cosmo. The pink in her cheeks had faded.

“Marriage troubles?” Storm's voice was soft. She could have said her dad died of a broken heart, too.

“No, my parents worshipped each other. He saved my mom.” She looked at Storm over the rim of her glass. “Kind of like your boyfriend did for you.”

“What happened?”

Storm wanted to hear how Lara's father had saved her mother, but Lara waved her empty martini glass around the bar. “You like this place?”

“Sure, it's nice. The view's great.”

“It should have been my dad's.”

“Really?” Storm used an old technique of Aunt Maile's—make a few encouraging noises and people will tell you a lot.

“He was on the verge of buying it.”

“He decided not to?”

A frown cast a deep shadow on Lara's face. “No, he got squeezed out of the deal.” She drained half of her Cosmo. “He was in business with friends, but it turns out they weren't friends.”

“I guess not.” Storm watched the clouds build in Lara's eyes. “That hurts.”

“Yeah.” Lara's voice was thick. “A week later, he had a heart attack.”

“I'm so sorry.”

“Me, too.” Lara's consonants were getting a bit mushy. “But I'm going to fix it.”

“How?”

“I'm thinking of buying the place.” Lara grinned at Storm. “Will you do the legal work for me?”

“Sure, but let's get your dive shop settled. We still have some things to finish up—”

“Sunday. Can't do it tomorrow, I'm taking out a dive group.”

“I need to get back to O‘ahu on Sunday.”

“Sunday morning, I promise.”

“Right.” Storm's brain was feeling soft and she'd only had two Cosmos. These things were sneaky.

Lara directed a manicured finger at Storm's chest. “I noticed your pig necklace on our swim yesterday. He's beautiful. Did your boyfriend give it to you?”

“No, my aunt did. He's my
‘aumakua
.” Storm looked down at her necklace, which was set off by the black cotton V-neck sweater she wore. His emerald eyes winked in the candlelight.

“Oh yeah, I remember.” One side of Lara's mouth turned up, more of a smirk than a smile. “My
‘aumakua
was giving me a hard time.”

“Probably wasn't the right animal. Lara, let's order some food.”

“I'm not hungry. Ryan is going to pick me up.” She lifted her drink. “I'll wait for him.”

Storm looked around for the waitress, who was busy at a table across the room. Instead, a young man appeared.

“Lara, who's your friend?” he asked.

“Casey, this is Storm.” Lara gave him a melting smile, then slid her eyes to Storm. “Casey likes the new girls.”

Storm slowly sat back in her chair and gathered her fuzzy thoughts. Lara's words reminded her of another incident. She'd been sixteen, a self-conscious high school transplant from the “country.” A basketball player had asked to join her in the school cafeteria. A cheerleader type had walked by the lunch table and said in a loud voice, “Brian, she won't be new for long.” As if she'd be used goods in a week. No one stays new.

As it had back then, an uncomfortable silence settled over both Storm and the young man. Storm pasted a placid smile on her face. “Nice to meet you, Casey. I was just telling Lara it was time for me to go.”

She stood, put money on the table and walked away. She was pretty sure she moved in a straight line.

Back in her hotel room, she called room service and ordered a hamburger, a tossed salad, and a pitcher of ice water. After gulping dinner, she booted up her lap top to catch up on email. Fifteen minutes later, she'd nodded off. Her computer put itself to sleep, too.

When her cell phone woke her, bright light streamed through the crack between the heavy draperies. It took several rings before she found the phone next to the bathroom sink, where she'd left it after checking for messages the night before.

It was Hamlin. “How's the dive shop business?”

“Interesting, in more ways than one.”

“Want to tell me about it?”

“Very much,” Storm said. His organized, rational outlook would be a welcome sounding board. “When will you be home?”

“I'll be in Honolulu tomorrow afternoon. I could come join you, if you want company.”

“That would be great,” she said, and hung up with a big smile.

That smile turned into a grimace when she glanced into the bathroom mirror. Her hair stuck out at all angles, and creases in the pillow had embedded a tic-tac-toe grid on the side of her face. Dehydrated from last night's drinks, she swilled a gallon of water directly from the tap, showered, and put on a fresh outfit. She got her mobile phone from the bathroom counter and went to the dresser to put it in her handbag.

Except her purse wasn't on the dresser. Nor was it in her open suitcase, which was beginning to look like a magpie nest. Not on the back of the toilet, and though the white countertops were scattered with mascara, toothpaste, and other small items, there was nothing the size of her handbag. She looked under the beds, and straightened the rumpled sheets where she'd slept. No purse.

Despite the Cosmo-fog, she remembered lifting her handbag from the back of her chair at the restaurant. She'd taken money from her wallet to pay for the drinks, and then put the bag over her shoulder. Not only that, she'd used her room key to let herself into the room. She'd also tipped the room service guy a couple of bucks. No, her purse had been with her in the room.

That's when she saw the rental car keys sitting on the dresser top. They sat on top of her driver's license, which should have been in her wallet. Startled, she grabbed the keys. A piece of hotel stationery fluttered to the floor. It said “GO HOME” in block letters.

Storm's mouth went dry. The room key was an electronic card, and the door locked automatically, though she didn't remember fastening the dead bolt. Someone had been able to open the door without making a sound, no scratching or fumbling. Slick as an eel on the reef.

Another revelation hit her, and it was even worse than her missing purse. She ran to the bed and ripped back the sheets. Her lap top was gone. When she'd fallen asleep last night, it had been right next to her. Not only had someone broken into her room, he'd been a foot from her head.

Chapter Sixteen

Ryan insisted on stopping for a large cup of very strong coffee before they arrived at The Red Light. The cooks wouldn't be working yet at the hostess bar, and he hadn't had much sleep again. When he'd picked up Lara last night, she'd been drunk and madder than a cornered barracuda. Mostly she was pissed at him for standing her up for dinner, but he had the feeling there was more to the story. He'd spent the night on the sofa, neck cricked at one end, feet hanging over the other.

He left before she was up this morning, and that wasn't going to please her, either. His father seemed to take the stop at Starbucks in stride.

“You want anything?” Ryan asked before he got out of the car.

“Sure, I'll take one of those green tea lattes,” Tagama answered, and rolled down his window to wait in the car.

That's a first, reflected Ryan, right before the barista took his order. He ordered two blueberry scones to go.

Tagama was eating the scone with gusto when his mobile phone rang. Ryan couldn't make out what the person on the other end of the call was saying, but he could tell it was a woman's voice, and he could hear it rise and fall with dismay. Tagama grunted a few times into the phone then snapped it closed. He tossed his green tea latte and the half-eaten scone, paper bag and all, out the car window.

Ryan kept his eyes on the road. His father's face was a dangerous red. Neither man spoke, and when Ryan bumped into the rutted gravel lot behind the hostess bar, Tagama was out of the car before Ryan had shifted into park. While Ryan fumbled the key out of the ignition, Tagama squared his shoulders as if he were a gladiator entering the arena.

Yasuko greeted them at the back entrance, where her obsequious bows were stiff. Her face was paler than usual, a white mask. Tagama's gaze lingered on her as if reading a message. His glower then moved toward the meeting room. No “Flower of Japan” endearments this time.

Because his father had seemed to watch Yasuko for a signal, Ryan observed her, too. He saw the dark shadow under her left eye, which her makeup couldn't quite conceal. Nor could the crimson lipstick hide the swollen upper lip. Yasuko turned away from him.

In the meeting room, Obake sat at the same table. His body guard son stood behind him. “Sit,” he commanded.

Tagama sat across from him, and Ryan stood behind his father. Ryan avoided the hooded, smoldering gaze of Steven Kudo. What was going on? Hostility hung in the air like ozone at a thunderstorm.

Not that Obake had been welcoming the first time, but his demeanor had been neutral and he'd sent his body guards away. Ryan was learning that every motion, gesture, and word this man presented had significance. Keeping a body guard in the room sent a blatant message.

Who'd made the phone call to his dad? Yasuko? He could tell from what little he'd heard that the speaker was troubled, but he hadn't been able to identify her.

“Keiko.” Obake snarled the word.

“Keiko?” Tagama said. “I just met her.”

“Stella called you.” Obake slapped the table for emphasis.

“Keiko just recently came to my attention. My future daughter-in-law's new employee.” Tagama, whose face was more flushed than Ryan liked to see, responded as if he and Obake were discussing which friend to include in their weekly golf foursome. Not that he'd ever seen his father play golf with Obake. “Why would Stella call me?”

Ryan felt a breath of cold air along the back of his neck. Keiko? The first he'd seen of the girl was when Lara hired her a couple of months ago. She was a thin wisp who barely made a sound. He hadn't given much thought to her, except to wonder about the fact that she didn't swim very well. He'd asked Lara about it. She'd assured him Stella would teach her, and Keiko was cheap—a few cents over hourly minimum wage.

“You cannot play me, Tagama.” Obake's voice cut through Ryan's thoughts.

“Nor would I want to.” Tagama sounded calm and sincere.

“I have kept the doctor's report.”

Ryan felt his father stiffen. “That was a long time ago. The statute of limitation in Hawai‘i—”

“Is worthless. Rape is a Class A felony, and the doctor will say it was five years ago.” Obake's fat brown face was hard as a plate. No jolly tan lines now.

Ryan was frozen in place. At one level, he knew Obake was playing to him as the stunned audience. On another level, he was so shocked he couldn't process the information he was receiving. Rape? His father?

He'd never seen his father on the defensive. He'd never seen him react in front of anyone like this, particularly an adversary like Obake.

“I have reformed. She knows this.” Tagama's spine was as straight as a fence post. “She will not testify.”

Ryan had to brace himself by putting a hand on the back of his father's chair. Through the roaring in his ears, he realized that Obake had picked up on his shock, and the thug was pleased by it.

A flush of shame spread from his chest and up his neck. Burning, he gathered himself and met Steven Kudo's leer with eyes like obsidian. His pallor might betray his angst, but he wouldn't give them anything else.

“She doesn't have to. Someone else will.”

Tagama opened his mouth, then closed it without making a sound. Ryan's chest ached, and he knew he had been holding his breath. He exhaled slowly. His mind began to work through what he was hearing.

“The young woman has defied me,” said Obake.

“Stella?” Tagama asked.

“No! Keiko.” Obake slammed the table with his fist, then lowered his rumbling voice so Tagama unconsciously leaned toward him. “Stella knows better.”

Ryan observed the man's performance. It was masterful, every gesture and tonal inflection. Even the accent, a reminder of his fearsome status in his own country.

“Keiko, then. What has she done?” Tagama's voice was agreeable, though Ryan knew a razor-sharp wire vibrated through it.

“She has stolen from me. You will find her.”

“I need more information.”

“You'll get it yourself, and have Keiko and the—property—,” he paused for emphasis, “back here tonight.” Obake rose, a dismissal.

But he had one more knife to twist. He turned to his son. “We're a few minutes late, but Wayne Harding and Larry Johns will wait.” His capped teeth gleamed against his tanned skin in a sneer. “I don't want these people to make me late for my sunset swim.” He stood and rolled his oversized head in the direction of the Tagamas.

“Let's go.” Steven Kudo sounded as if they were leaving excrement on the floor.

Though Ryan's feet seemed to be cemented in place, he didn't expect his father to sit still for this. Yet the older Tagama stayed in his chair until Obake and his son left the room. Ichiru Tagama's expression betrayed no strain; he looked, if anything, thoughtful.

Ryan knew the names Obake had thrown at them. Larry Johns was Maui County Commissioner and Wayne Harding had just assumed the late Tom Peters' position as Deputy Director of Liquor Control. He'd filled his boss' shoes in no time.

Obake was letting Tagama know that his contacts had more power than any Tagama could scrounge together. His message was that few would believe Tagama if it came to Obake's word against his. And even if they did believe Tagama, they'd be too afraid to say so.