Bet Your Bones (9 page)

Dinah knew the weapon. She could recite the inscription on the barrel by heart. R Beretta Mo 1934 Brevet. Hollis Albright had confiscated it from an Italian officer during World War II. In his dotage, he showed off his prize to everyone who walked through his door and endlessly repeated the story of how he’d overpowered the Italian to take it.

“Why,” asked Dinah, “did you bring a gun with you to Hawaii?”

“I’m not used to gallivantin’ around the world by myself like you are, smartypants. I wanted some protection. With that Eleanor skulkin’ around, it made me feel safer.”

“You obviously thought you needed protection before you met Eleanor. Is it because you’re afraid of Hank?”

“The only thing I fear from Hank is a sermon.”

“Have you notified hotel management? They should call the police. Is the Beretta registered?”

“Georgia doesn’t require people to register their guns.”

“The feds do. And I’m guessing that anyone who brings a firearm into the State of Hawaii is required to register it pretty damn quick.”

“Then it’s not registered. Sheesh. It’s not like I’m carryin’ it around in my garters.”

Xander walked through the open door. “I just got your message. What’s wrong?”

“Somebody stole my gun.”

He looked as taken aback as Dinah had been. “You have a gun?”

“I had a gun. Somebody stole it.”

“Jesus Christ, Claude Ann.”

Dinah said, “The first thing you have to do is report the theft, Claudy. If somebody commits a crime with it, they can trace it back to you.”

“No.” Xander raked his hair out of his face and kneaded his forehead. “Not right away. Let’s sleep on it. Maybe it’s just been misplaced and will turn up in the morning.” He produced a weak laugh. “There’s no need to go off half-cocked.”

If this was an example of Xander’s fabulous sense of humor, thought Dinah, it was time for an intervention.

Chapter Twelve

The Polynesians invented kapu, a system intended to suppress objectionable desires by imbuing the desired object with peril. Kapu prohibits what is dangerous, stigmatizes what is unclean, and wields a profound psychological power upon those who believe. The Hawaiian religion designated an oppressive number of things as kapu, forbidden upon pain of death. To cross the king’s shadow was kapu. To wear yellow was kapu. To eat turtle or squid was kapu. Women were banned from eating bananas or pork, and it was kapu for women to eat anything at all in the company of men. In the circumstances, Dinah wouldn’t have objected if that particular kapu still applied.

She was thoroughly disgusted with Xander. She didn’t know if Hawaii or Georgia had a law requiring gun owners to report a stolen gun, but it was certainly the reasonable thing to do. It astounded her that he was so publicity shy he would risk putting his bride crosswise of the law when it would be a simple matter to file a police report. She had a bad feeling about that Beretta. A gun was an inauspicious accessory to pack for a holiday in Paradise. It was downright ominous as part of a bride’s trousseau. Claude Ann claimed that she’d transported it to Hawaii legally, in a locked box in her checked luggage. How it got here and why she’d felt the need for it were moot questions. Where it had got to and for what purpose was the mindboggler. It crossed Dinah’s mind that Xander might have discovered the gun in Claude Ann’s suite and boosted it to keep Claude Ann from doing anything rash. But why would he pretend he didn’t know about it?

She tossed her book aside and picked up today’s newspaper. Diplomatic setback in the Mideast, stalemate in the U.S. Senate, bomb blast in Baghdad. Why did they call it news? Her eye fell on an article on page ten.

“The badly burned body discovered in a steam vent on June 22nd has been identified as that of Patrick Varian, 29, an archaeology professor at the University of Hawaii, Manoa. He was on personal leave from the university and believed to be engaged in evaluating a burial site on private property. No one has reported having contact with Mr. Varian while he was on Hawaii and there is no information regarding the location of the property he was evaluating or the individual who hired him.”

An archaeologist. Archaeology was one of the four main branches of anthropology. Dinah felt as if one of her own kind had been killed. And in such a gruesome way.

“The women who found the body said they had recently seen a stranger in the forest illegally harvesting ‘ohelo berries, which are sacred to Pele. They believe the deceased must be the same man and when he left the forest and walked out onto the lava, the goddess lured him into the steam vent and destroyed him.”

The phone rang and Dinah flinched. She tried to muster a cordial greeting, but she was too much on edge. “Yes?”

“Jonathan Garst. I believe you’re expecting me.”

“Give me ten minutes and come up.”

“Fine.”

Show time. She squared her shoulders and went to put on her all-purpose little black dress. Could Patrick Varian be Xander’s archaeologist, the one who gave Uwahi a clean bill of health? She stuck the clusters of Pele’s tears in her ears and frowned. Was Patrick also known as Pash?

The face staring back at her in the mirror looked surly. If she didn’t lighten up, those lines would become permanent. She smoothed them out, added a swipe of lipstick, and tried on a practice smile. Too perky. She toned it down a notch. Too Barbie. Oh, the hell with it.

She was in no hurry to rub eyeballs with Xander or make small talk with a bunch of strangers. It would be best to show up as late as possible and blend unnoticed into the crowd.

Should she risk inviting the hermit in for a drink? How bad could he be? She scraped her brainpan for conversational grist. What did she know about rocks? Sedimentary rocks, igneous rocks, rocks break scissors.

Her date rapped at the door. Shave-and-a-haircut.

Oh, for the love of God. She hadn’t heard that cutesy little couplet of a knock since she was a kid. She arranged her face along more or less neutral lines and opened the door.

“Hello, Dinah.”

“Hi.” It came a beat behind cue. Involuntarily, her eyes gravitated to the right side of his face, which appeared to have melted and hardened like candle wax, pulling his mouth off-center and giving him a look of preemptive self-mockery.

“You’ll get used to it in a few minutes. May I come in? I’d like to kill as much time as possible before we have to put in an appearance. That is, if you don’t mind.”

“No. No, not at all.”

He sat down on the love seat. Dinah took the chair across from him and tried not to stare at the scar. He was tall and angular, a shade lighter-skinned than Lyssa, with leery brown eyes and a ponytail of long black hair. He wore khakis, a short-sleeved blue shirt, and Birkenstocks with no socks, whether in defiance of the coat-and-tie requirement or because he hadn’t gotten the memo. “So,” he said. “What’s your opinion of the match?”

Everything about him disconcerted her. Something Lyssa said to Xander echoed in her mind. Something about it being no mystery why Raif was scared of volcanoes. Xander had reacted as if he’d been stabbed in the heart. Had Lyssa been referring to Jon’s scars? She said, “You’re very blunt.”

“And you’re ducking the question. If you were for it, you’d have answered with a big smile and a resounding ‘made for each other’.”

“Jerusalem, is this your first wedding?”

He threw back his head and laughed, a shocking phenomenon that yanked his mouth back to the center of his face and showed the scar extending down his neck and into his shirt collar. “I wasn’t keen on this get-together, but you may surprise me and turn out to be an honest person.”

“Jonathan…”

“Jon.”

“Jon. Honesty is a heavy liability at weddings. Most people try to be tactful and hedge.”

“Not me.”

“All right then, what’s your opinion of the match?”

“Your friend’s getting in over her head.”

“In what way?” A half-dozen ways ran through Dinah’s head, none flattering to Xander. It might be tradition for the bride or her family to pay for the dress and the wedding reception, but the thought that Claude Ann was paying for the wedding
and
underwriting Xander’s business scheme to the tune of six figures offended Dinah’s sense of decency. “How is Claude Ann over her head?”

“She seems naïve, like someone who doesn’t analyze things very carefully.”

“What
things
hasn’t she analyzed? Or did you mean your father?”

“Dad’s a hard man to know. He doesn’t reveal much about himself, even to his family. Six weeks isn’t a long time. Your friend might end up wishing she’d waited.”

Was this another warning? Like his Aunt Eleanor, did he expect her to pass it on to Claude Ann? According to Claude Ann, there had been a rift between father and son. She put out a feeler. “Your father’s certainly waited a long time to remarry. After so many years a bachelor, any idea why he would decide to take the leap on so short an acquaintance?”

“Who knows? Chemistry. The usual mix of oxytocin and dopamine, I guess.”

Dinah guessed that cash also figured in the mix, but evidently Jon wasn’t disposed to get any more specific with his warning. She couldn’t think of a follow-up remark that didn’t sound antagonistic or pejorative. The silence built, like sedimentary rock. A minute went by and a cockroach the size of an Airbus buzzed in through the open balcony door. She got up and closed the screen. “Would you care for a drink?”

He smiled a lopsided smile. “Scotch with a touch of water would be good.”

She went to the mini-bar and hunted up a bottle of Johnny Walker. She fixed his drink and poured herself a glass of V-8. The Aloha State was raising her alcohol consumption to an unhealthy level and she had a feeling she would need all her wits about her to bandy words with Jon Garst.

When she returned with their drinks, he was leafing through her book of myths. He put it down and smiled. “Sorry if I sounded negative. The best man should be more upbeat and optimistic. Like the bride’s maid of honor.”

“Optimism,” said Dinah, “wasn’t what the Romans had in mind when they first came up with the idea of brides’ maids. They were afraid that evil spirits might try to molest the bride, so they hid her under a long veil and rounded up a bevy of look-alike brides to confuse any potential evildoers.”

“Interesting. Claude Ann said that you’re a connoisseur of myths.”

“I am. I’m intrigued by the stories people tell themselves to make sense of the universe. A belief only becomes myth when it’s proven false or when the next generation comes up with a better explanation.”

“I study lava, which in the Hawaiian language is pele. Pele, herself. I guess you could say I’m looking for a better explanation than a petulant goddess. Some days I like the mythological explanation better than the scientific one.”

“You must be close to your father to have followed him into the same career.”

“Not really. I’ve lived and played beside the volcanoes since I was a kid. Becoming a volcanologist seemed a natural extension of what I’d always been interested in. It’s like being a detective, only the suspects are all rocks. They don’t lie.”

Dinah held his eyes for a few seconds. Had he put a subtle stress on the word
they
or did she just imagine it? Either way, he made it crystal clear that she was not the only member of the wedding party with trust issues. “I expect you’ll miss working with Xander now that he’s retiring.”

“We’ve rarely worked together. Different areas of expertise.”

“But living on the same island and working for the same organization, you must spend a lot of time together.”

“We’ve shared a place up by Volcano Village for the last three years. He moved in to take care of me after my accident and forgot to move out. After the wedding, he and Claude Ann plan to live in his house on Kapoho Point, south of Hilo. It’s ultra-lavish with a panoramic view. He calls it Xanadu.”

“Cute.”

“Except for the colony of rats that have infested the garden. The gardener has been trying to exterminate them before the new bride takes up residence.”

“Claude Ann’s lived in the country most of her life. She won’t faint at the sight of a rat.” Since he’d brought up the subject of his accident, Dinah assumed it wasn’t kapu to inquire. “Was your accident work-related?”

“You could say that.” He grazed a finger down the scarred side of his face. “Madame Pele doesn’t take kindly to those who invade her privacy.”

He didn’t elaborate and Dinah took the hint. “Pele crops up in every conversation sooner or later. Hawaii has really embraced the Pele myth.”

“And I see you’re wearing Pele’s tears in your ears.”

“A gift from Claude Ann. Xander collected the stones and she had them set for me. What are they, exactly?”

“When particles of molten lava are ejected into the air after an eruption, they cool and solidify, often in the shape of teardrops. You’re not superstitious, are you?”

“A little. Why?”

“Hawaiian lore has it that those who steal from Madame Pele’s realm are pursued by bad luck.”

“Oh.” Her hands sprang to her ears.

He laughed his mouth-yanking laugh. “A little superstitious?”

“Okay, more than a little. I was just reading what she did to a man who stole her sacred ‘ohelo berries.”

“I read that, too. But I believe Pele had human help in the case of Mr. Varian.”

“Did you know him? I wondered if he might have been the archaeologist on your father’s Uwahi project.”

“I’m not in the loop on Uwahi.” The word came out charged.

“You disapprove of the project?”

“No comment.”

Her curiosity was piqued, but she didn’t press. “Over the last twenty-four hours, I’ve had two brushes with Pele’s disciples. Last night, one of them shouted what sounded like an epithet at me. Ka-ah-ee-hoo…something.”

“‘Aihui?”

“Maybe. It sounds like something you wouldn’t want to test positive for.”

“It means thief. You’re in possession of stolen property. No question, you’re in deep kim chee with our Lady of the Volcanoes.”

“You sound as if you half-believe this goddess actually exists.”

“My mother used to sing meles and tell stories about Pele, how she went about digging holes in the ground with her magic stick to make the volcanoes, how she stamps her foot to make the ground shake and the volcanoes spout fire. Pele’s as real to me as any other deity from any other religion. More real, I suppose, because I’m hapa…half Hawaiian.”

Two pagans in one day, thought Dinah. This was better than Mindanao. “How can I make amends with your goddess? I’ve heard that she likes gin, but Princess Ruth appeased her with brandy. What do you suggest?”

“Maybe you don’t need to do anything. It was my father who took the stones. If Pele played fair, the punishment would fall on him.” He swirled his Scotch and downed it in a single gulp. “Then again, I’m living proof that she doesn’t play fair.”

Dinah couldn’t tell if he was wishing calamity on his father or feeling sorry for himself. The remark was certainly fraught with feeling. Like the other pagan’s remarks. “Want to hear about my other brush with a Pele disciple?”

“Sure.”

“It was your Aunt Eleanor. She warned me that your father was no good for Claude Ann. You and she seem to be on the same page, but neither of you is what I’d call plainspoken.”

“It’s our Hawaiian mystique. We keep some things huna.”

“Under your hats?”

He made a wry mouth and his eyes crinkled at the corners. “I never wear a hat. Let’s say hidden.”

“Are you hiding the reason you think Claude Ann shouldn’t marry your father?”

“No.”

She studied his eyes. Rocks might not lie, but rock experts did, and badly. “What about Eleanor? Why is she so down on Xander? She said he’d have to answer for something by and by, Pash. Who or what is that?”

His dark eyes scudded around the room, hither and thither, as if picking up clues from the ceiling and the furniture. “How about…public…access…shoreline Hawaii?”

Damn it. He was hitching words together at random, having her on. She abandoned hope of ever finding out what Pash meant. It might as well stand for Prevaricating, Aggravating, Secretive Hapa Hawaiian. “For someone who doesn’t beat about the bush or waste his breath being tactful, you’re a very evasive guy.”