Fire Prayer (22 page)

Chapter Thirty-five

Lambert Poele watched Dusty's truck bump down the dirt road. Skelly's overloaded Jeep Cherokee followed behind. They would caravan as far as the docks, where Dusty planned to drop the cartons of cheese and Skelly would go on to his office.

Skelly's business was doing great. The whole EcoTour idea was hot all over the country. Poele followed this kind of thing; it was how he got the idea to make and sell goat cheese. His friends might not know it, but Poele read at least three papers. He even got the Sunday
New York Times
. Sometimes it got to him on Monday, but he didn't care. He savored it all week.

Once the two vehicles were out of sight, Poele exited his house and strolled across his property, kicking a rock before him. He ignored the puffs of dust that arose. The goats had been penned during the cheese loading, or they'd have been underfoot. A dozen goats running around, butting and sniffing at Dusty and Skelly? No, that would not have been appreciated. Now he could let them out of the little paddock in the shade behind the barn. He liked them free to roam; their amusing, individual personalities kept him company. Jenny had teased him about how they were his best friends. She wanted him to get the truck fixed, too, he thought, and smiled sadly. She finally had wanted him to come to her house.

He'd let Storm think that Jenny had had an affair with Brock, but that wasn't exactly true. From what Poele could tell, Jenny had held him off. Yet Brock respected her. Poele had heard it in the man's voice, and marveled. It was the only thing he could find to admire in the slimy, promiscuous, ass-kissing little creep.

Brock had tried to suck up to Poele at first, by offering to loan him that big SUV and help with the truck repairs, but Poele saw through that ruse. It was obvious Brock wanted Poele's land, a measly four point eight acres, almost too dry for cattle. Goats weren't quite as picky. Prime view, though, which was why the Liu family wanted it. They'd irrigate, and develop the resort plan that was merely delayed by Alika's death ten years ago.

Poele hadn't trusted any member of the Liu family for a long time. He'd been the one to discover Alika's treachery, though none of the others wanted to believe him at first. It happened because Alika kept him waiting, as usual. Alika had been playing one of his little power games, keeping Poele waiting outside while Alika showered or something, not that Alika would ask any of the group in for a drink, even water. So when Poele heard Devon Liu's voice come tinnily over Alika's answering machine, he'd listened just for something to do.

“We got the results to the Hakina/Kaheu survey. Call me, son, I want a report.”

The old man's voice had carried, and Poele, who heard every word, knew right away Alika was scouting real estate for his father's developments. Hakina/Kaheu was the land adjacent to the Ranch, the very development the group was protesting. Alika Liu was a fucking traitor.

Unlike Alika, Brock had no pretenses about his aim to enlarge the family empire. But Poele could only take so much, and when he'd reached his limit and threatened to pound Brock's sorry ass into the ground, then burn him at the stake—maybe he shouldn't have made that fire reference—Liu had sneered that nothing better happen to him because Jenny Williams had proof, and he could trust her.

Poele figured Brock was making a reference to the fire, and he'd already walked those hot coals once in his life. The police had made it very clear they thought he was responsible for the fire. All they needed was more evidence against him, and the idea that Brock might have something made Poele skittish.

Meanwhile, Jenny didn't admire Brock, but she didn't hate him, either. Most annoying to Poele was that she wouldn't tell Poele what Brock's “proof” was. She told him she didn't know yet herself, because it was sealed up. But then she said he didn't have anything to be worried about unless he lost his cool.

Which pissed Poele off, but Jenny knew how to calm him. She had a very special way of soothing Poele's feelings. Kind of wrapped herself around him, with every means she could.

Poele pulled open the wide gate of the paddock and let the goats mill around him, looking for pats and treats. He had grass pellets and pretzels in his pockets, and they worked their velvet noses into his hands until he smiled. The smile faded when he recalled how he and Jenny had hidden her car in this same paddock one night. At that point, she didn't want gossip about their relationship spreading like a brush fire. So they'd sat out here under the stars, talking and making love under the full moon until they couldn't stand the hard ground any longer and had gone to his bed.

He'd fallen into a sound sleep, and thought she had, too. Still, she left around four in the morning because she wanted to be home when Luke got up for school. She was discreet that way. It made Poele feel excluded, but she was a very good mother to the boy. If only she'd stayed away from Brock, he thought, and his throat tightened.

Poele wandered back to his house with a few goats still nuzzling at him, though he paid no attention by this time. Skelly was right about one thing; he was drinking too much. He just didn't want to think about some of the events of the past week, but it wasn't going to get any better until he picked off the scab and let the pus out.

The night Jenny stayed was the night he tripped over the lamp. He'd gone to the kitchen to get her some ice water and himself a beer, and it seemed like the lamp was sitting farther out from his chair than usual. He'd cracked his toe, sworn, and turned on the hall light to take a look at what he'd crashed into. Then he'd merely sworn again and set the lamp upright to get it out of the way and get back to Jenny.

Later that morning, after he'd risen early and milked the goats, he'd hitched into town for some groceries. It had been a busy day, and he'd had a few beers for lunch while he was in Kaunakakai.

But reality wouldn't leave him alone, would it? He hadn't moved that lamp. Hell, he never moved anything around here. For years, he hadn't examined his life or anyone else's. He barely talked to people, except to restaurants who wanted his cheese and the occasional woman who took him on as a social rehabilitation project. He hadn't even asked for Jenny, but the universe kept tapping him on the shoulder.

Poele stumbled over a tuft of grass the goats had left. Jenny's death was the tap on the shoulder he couldn't ignore. He'd lost, again, what he should have held dear.

This persistent obstinacy of his undermined his life. He'd managed not to see the sculpture until he'd plopped into his reading chair with a couple beers in hand and a few more nearby on ice. And there was Maui, on his side and without his rope. His big, hammer-like hands were out-flung in an ambiguous gesture, while his muscular legs flexed with effort. Storm Kayama was right. He looked like a hula dancer. Not that hula was bad, it just wasn't what Jenny had intended. When he'd called Jenny to tell her, she'd laughed before saying she'd fix it.

A few days later, Skelly dropped by and offered to take it to her. He was on his way to Jenny's to pick up some medicine for Luke. Tanner wanted him to keep an extra supply at the office. Poele had the feeling Skelly hoped he might butter her up with the sculpture errand so she'd be more apt to give in to Tanner's request for insulin.

Poele opened his front door slowly and stood inside while his eyes adjusted to the dim light. Then he shook his head sadly, dug through a kitchen drawer for a tattered address book, and dialed a phone number.

***

Makani's truck was nicer than Dusty's. It was a much newer model, with no rust holes and a big diesel engine that towed the three-horse trailer with steady power. Uncle Keone took the wheel, with Aunt Maile in the middle of the wide bench seat, and Storm by the window.

“Do you mind if we go by the grocery and hospital?” Storm asked.

“Is Detective Niwa still there?” Aunt Maile asked.

“Yes, he was getting tests when I called this morning.”

“Anyplace else you want to go before we head to the bay?” asked Uncle Keone.

Storm grinned. She wasn't getting anything by these two. “Skelly Richards' business. It's on the way, and it'll take me five minutes.”

Storm put together a fruit basket at the market, then had her aunt and uncle drop her at the hospital while they went to get gas for the truck. The receptionist at the information desk gave Storm directions to Niwa's room.

He was alone, sitting up with his glasses perched on his nose, and it took him a second or two to register that someone had walked into the room. He was reading Jan Burke's
Kidnapped
.

Storm offered the basket. “I thought chocolate might be frowned on.”

“Hey, thanks. You musta read my doctor's mind.” Niwa put a finger in the book to hold his place. “What are you up to?”

“I got a call last night from Ian Hamlin, who told me Devon Liu's assistant got a letter from Brock Liu. It's postmarked last Thursday. We think Jenny Williams mailed it.”

“No kidding.” Niwa sat up straighter. “Jesus, I wonder if someone killed her because he knew she had it. Or had information, anyway. What did it say?”

“Hamlin's got a meeting with the assistant today, but I'm sure it's about the fire on the Ranch.”

Niwa raised one eyebrow. “Interesting. You don't look surprised, either.”

“It all seems to go back to the fire, or Alika Liu's death.”

“I've been seeing the same trend.” Niwa reached out for the phone by his bed. “You mind sharing this news with my partner?”

“Not at all, but my aunt and uncle are waiting for me in the parking lot. We're going riding down at Halawa Bay.”

He frowned at her. “Does this have anything to do with Tanner's cabin?”

“I wouldn't mind seeing if Luke is safe.”

“Do you know where the cabin is?”

“Not really. Do you?”

Niwa looked at her over his glasses. “Not exactly. And the only reason I'm telling you any of this is because Tanner called you to look after his boy.” He pushed a button on his bed that made him sit up straighter. “You have to go inland about a mile from the bay, then take a right when you get to a fork in the path. Problem is, I'm sure the trail will change again, and I don't know where. Tanner can get there from either Keawenui or Halawa Bay, so I'd go east if I were you. Some of this is guessing on my part, and if you get to the cliffs on the north shore, you've gone too far.”

“I've got a question about the fire, too,” Storm said. “Did you ever hear anything about a kahuna kuni, a person who starts a fire by sorcery?” But she could tell before the last words were out of her mouth that she didn't need to explain the term to him.

“Tell you what,” he said, and shifted his weight in the bed. “I'll tell you that when I hear who's mentioned in Jenny's letter.”

Storm glared at him for a moment, dug her mobile phone out of her fanny pack, and dialed Hamlin. He didn't answer, which disappointed but didn't surprise her, and she left a message for him to call both her mobile phone and Detective Niwa at the hospital.

“C'mon, you'll know soon,” Storm pleaded.

Niwa shook his head. “It's a murder investigation. And I don't want you going near these people.”

“I'm already near them. It's a small island.” She paused. “I heard the weapon that killed Jenny Williams corresponds to the one that killed Brock Liu. Can you tell me if that's true?”

“Not going there.” The pupils of Niwa's eyes contracted and bored into Storm's. “And neither are you. The less you know, the better off you'll be.”

“Hah.” Storm didn't believe that for a minute. “You know any good tattoo artists?”

Now Niwa's eyes popped wide. “You getting a tattoo?”

“I'm thinking about a souvenir.” For a short moment, she contemplated telling him that she already had one. There was a little
pua‘a
, her
‘aumakua
and guardian animal spirit, on her left cheek. The one her bikini barely covered. “It's the style,” she said instead.

“You kids. You don't think they're going to fade and sag, but it's nature's way. Just wait.” He glowered at her. “Try Body, Ink. They say he's the best.”

“Where's his shop?”

“I'm gonna hate myself for this. It's a block from Kanemitu's Bakery.”

Storm moved toward the door. “You'll probably hear from Hamlin before I do. Get better soon.”

“Thanks for the fruit,” Niwa said grumpily. He picked up his book and flipped through for the page he'd lost.

Aunt Maile and Uncle Keone were indeed in the parking lot. Somewhere they'd found a Honolulu paper and were sharing it in the cab of the truck.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Storm said as she climbed in.

“Only five minutes, no problem,” Keone said. “On to the Hawai‘i EcoTours office?”

“I thought of something else,” Storm said, which made both Keone and Maile turn their heads in tandem.

“Yes?” Uncle Keone said.

“A couple blocks from here should be a tattoo parlor. I wondered if we could stop for just a minute.”

“It takes longer than a minute,” Aunt Maile said. “And one is enough.”

“I'm not getting another tattoo. Not today, anyway. I've got a quick question.”

Body, Ink turned out to be right up the street, and Storm hopped out of the truck while Keone pulled to the curb. The little store was dark, though, and a sign on the door said CLOSED. It was nine o'clock on a Sunday morning. Not surprising that it wasn't open, Storm thought, but she desperately wanted to ask the owner if Makani, Poele, and Dusty, if she wasn't mistaken, had gotten their tattoos here. Maybe the artist would tell her whose idea it was, or who made the first appointment. She didn't have any paper in her fanny pack, but she found a pen and wrote the phone number posted on the door across the back of her hand.