Primitive Secrets (12 page)

“I can't help but feel a little sorry for the doctor. Was he really drunk?”

“That's what Meredith's family was convinced of and she set out to prove it. Drunkenness would justify criminal charges.”

“What do you think?”

“No one thought to take blood alcohol levels at the time of surgery. I doubt very much he was drunk. The guy's hands trembled because he was old and nervous. He shouldn't have been doing the operation, and he knew it.

I think the prosecutor's office made a mistake in allowing the charges, but by this time, there was a volcano of emotion ready to blow. There should have been compensation for the family and all that, but because of the criminal charges, the case got huge publicity.”

“I remember reading about it. Didn't the doctor have a stroke during the trial?”

“Yeah, he was devastated. You could tell he felt betrayed. All these people who had used his fame and skill backpedaled so fast they were falling over each other. His lawyers got the charges reduced. There was no proof of drunkenness, but the damage was done. He's in an institution and Meredith got a big out-of-court settlement.”

“And became the youngest partner in my uncle's firm.”

“That's right. And I came on board soon after.” Hamlin did not sound proud of the fact.

“You helped her get the criminal charges?”

“She didn't get the charges, remember?” Hamlin met Storm's eyes. The scar on his chin stood out white in the lamplight. His mouth was tight under the bushy mustache.

Storm suddenly got it. “When did you break up with her?”

“Right after I joined the firm. I tried to resign, but Hamasaki talked me out of it. He said Meredith would act like the relationship never happened and that I shouldn't sacrifice my position if it was where I wanted to be.”

Storm sat back and chewed on a bite of pizza. This rang true. It also explained Meredith's familiarity with Hamlin. And Meredith had phoned his home to tell him of the accident. Storm watched Hamlin reach for another piece of pizza, then pulled her eyes away from the athletic slouch of his body on the couch.

She wished Hamlin had told her about this earlier, though when she thought about his actions, Storm was fairly sure that Hamlin was no longer Meredith's lover. But something else was bothering her. Hamlin had been more upset at the hospital than she would have expected, as if being there had touched a deep source of sadness in him. In the parking lot, he had seemed downright depressed.

The living room lamp threw a comfortable arc of light across his face and half of the pizza box. Though subdued, he no longer looked as pinched and gray as he had earlier.

Storm plucked at a string of cheese that drooped from a bite she'd just taken and sorted through a barrage of thoughts. Hamlin drew on his bottle of beer, caught her eye, and raised his eyebrows at her as if he wondered what she was thinking. She gave him a little smile. She knew he was a good lawyer who, like the others in the firm, made a living convincing people. And she hoped he was telling her the whole story.

Chapter 19

The ringing phone was a surprise intruder on their melancholy peace. Storm started, then reached for it with a sigh. Hardly anyone called her after ten, and it was much later. “Hello?”

Meredith's voice came over the line. “Storm, Lorraine died about twenty minutes ago. Is Ian there? I tried his apartment, but no one answered.”

Storm handed the phone to Hamlin. She was aware that her face had telegraphed anguish to him. His jaw muscles were clenched when he took the phone from her. After a few monosyllabic responses, he hung up.

Storm's eyes spilled over. “Oh, no.”

Hamlin draped one arm over her shoulder and turned her to face him. He rested his cheek on top of her head. The prickly hairs of his mustache brushed her forehead and she leaned against his chest, soothed by its sporadically uneven rise and fall. In a few minutes, she looked up at him. His eyes were dark with pain and he stared into a dark corner of the living room.

“Good grief, Hamlin, what's going on?” she whispered.

“What was on that list?” His voice wavered a bit.

“I told you what I remember.” Storm looked up at him. “The only unusual conversation was an argument between Hamasaki and his wife about David's diabetes.”

“A family problem.”

“Right.” Storm sank into her seat. “What do we do now?”

“We try to help Tanabe, hope he's got good friends and family to lean on.”

“Do we need to talk to the police again?”

“We can try.” Hamlin lowered her into a chair. “The guy who hit Lorraine ditched a stolen truck and got away. He even left an empty vodka bottle rolling around on the floor. Cops don't suspect drunks of having a plan other than getting from one bar to the next. This was the kind of accident they see way too often.”

“I suppose.” Storm took a deep breath.

Hamlin stroked her hair. “You need some rest,” he said.

She nodded under his soft touch, glad for the comfort. She felt so guilty she couldn't look up at him. Could she have prevented Lorraine's death?

“Storm, did you find out who Hamasaki was meeting with on Tuesday night?” Hamlin whispered into her hair.

“Not exactly, but I found the appointment book.”

“No kidding? What'd it say?”

“Some initials, I couldn't decipher what he meant. And I had to send it to Fujita. Good grief, I'd forgotten about it.” Storm shook her head. “I'm exhausted, Hamlin. I can hardly remember what day it is.”

“Would you feel safer if I slept on the couch?”

“Here?”

“No, at the neighbor's.”

Storm had to smile. She could feel the warmth of his body from a foot away and she looked up at the scar on his chin, white against the tawny skin. Someday she'd have to ask him how he got it, but tonight she didn't trust herself. Those sympathetic arms felt too good. “No, go on. You need a good night's sleep, too. I'll be all right.”

When she closed the door behind him, though, the room was so still she could hear the kitchen faucet drip. When Fang padded around the corner of the kitchen, she scooped her up in both arms. “Want to keep my feet warm tonight, furball?”

Despite her sadness about Lorraine, Storm slept as if the pizza had been laced with sleeping drugs and when the cat woke her up by sitting on her chest and purring into her face, she was surprised to see that her clock radio said nearly ten o'clock.

Fang had been patient, but once Storm was vertical, the cat demanded attention. By the time Storm pulled on shorts and a tee-shirt, Fang had given up on mere meows and had left for the kitchen where she batted her bowl against the refrigerator door.

“All right, all right.” Storm dumped a can of fishy stuff into Fang's bowl, then stood with her hands on her hips. The cat's purrs were punctuated by gulping noises. Maybe Fang had the right idea. Though she didn't have much of an appetite, breakfast would help her face the day, too.

Two cups of coffee and a bowl of Cheerios later, Storm noticed the message light blinking on her answering machine. She pushed the play button and listened to Aunt Maile's voice give her Bebe Fernandez's phone number and ask Storm to call back as soon as she could, she had something she wanted to tell her. The time of the message was shortly before she'd arrived home from the hospital the night before.

Maile's phone number was busy, so Storm dialed Bebe's. A warm, older woman's voice sounded delighted to hear from her and invited her over. She gave her rather complicated directions which involved driving all the way up the Wai'anae coast, then taking a couple of gravel roads back toward the mountains. It was going to be an hour and a half drive each way.

Some O'ahu folks would spend the night if they had to drive that far in one day. Storm had spent her college undergraduate years on the mainland, though, where people drive an hour and a half just to go to a movie. She looked forward to it, as the coast was beautiful and she hadn't been on the leeward side of the island for several years.

When she hung up the phone, it rang. Leila was on the line with an invitation for tennis, then dinner. Storm smiled. Her friend's proposal sounded like a ray of sunshine poking through the black cloud that had been following her around. She hadn't seen her tennis friends or worked out for over a week, not since Uncle Miles's death. It was just what she needed. “I've got to drive to Wai'anae. What time were you thinking of playing?”

“How about four? We'll play for a couple of hours, then meet here and cook burgers on the grill.”

“I'll meet you at the courts.” Storm hung up and looked at the kitchen clock. She had time, but she had to get moving.

She was twenty minutes out of town, barreling west on the H-1 freeway, when she remembered that she hadn't connected with Aunt Maile. She'd call her later from Leila's.

Storm always found the Wai'anae coastline to be one of the most beautiful stretches of beach in the Hawaiian Islands. Massive lava rocks were strewn from the mountaintops as if Pele and another Hawaiian goddess had been playing jacks. The great boulders marched across hot white sands to the sapphire ocean. The beaches were wide and interrupted only by the jet-black boulders and a few fishermen, surfers, and the ubiquitous coolers of beer.

Storm had to force her eyes back to the flat two-lane highway before her. In her bartending days after college and before law school, she'd spent the early mornings and late afternoons surfing. She still felt the pull of the cool, azure waters. She would have enjoyed stopping to chat with some of the attractive young men and women who stood on the dazzling sand, waxing their boards and studying the break, but she didn't have time.

She found the first turn back toward the mountains, but when the road surface eroded to gravel, then to a dirt two-track with potholes the size of the calves that grazed lazily behind dilapidated fences, she consulted the notes she'd made.

Banana trees brushed the right side of the car. Their tattered leaves drooped around the vulgar purple flowers that preceded the heavy bunches of dangling fruits. An aroma of decaying vegetation filled the air. Between the cows, buzzing bees and flies, and the water-retaining banana stems, the fecundity of the jungle was almost oppressive.

The right front wheel of the VW dropped into a hole and splattered black mud over half the windshield. Storm nearly bit her tongue with the clonk of the undercarriage hitting dirt. “Shee-it,” she said with the bump of the car's climb out of the pothole. But the VW still putted onward without any new rattles of protest.

She peered around and looked for the old bunker Bebe had described. There it was, a concrete pillbox, flaking with what must have passed for camouflage green in World War II. It was mottled chartreuse, a sterile wart among teeming grasses and flowering plants. At least she was on the right track. Boy, she'd have a great excuse for leaving early. She'd never find her way out of here at night.

Fifteen minutes farther down the trail, Storm saw a neatly painted, square cottage whose lanai stretched along the front and around the sides of the house. Neat bundles of plants hung at regular intervals beneath the eaves. A porch swing swayed among the drying herbs as if a benevolent spirit relaxed on it with a good book.

The homestead had a warm, inviting air. The wheel ruts of the trail ended at the rear of a vintage Jeep, painted bright pink. Storm pulled up behind the vehicle and turned off the VW at the same time a woman about Aunt Maile's age trotted down the front steps.

Bebe Fernandez showed white teeth in a big grin, her walnut face framed by wisps of short gray hair. Her cheeks and eyes were creased into permanent smile lines like Aunt Maile's. From there on, the resemblance ended. Bebe was tiny and thin. She was dressed in an oversized tee-shirt painted with outrageous red and pink floral designs. It covered all but the bottom three inches of neon green bike shorts. Knobby-kneed mahogany legs ended in a pair of what looked like wooden Dutch shoes.

“You made good time,” Bebe said. Her dark, sharp eyes scanned Storm's face as if they could read her personality from her skin.

“Thank goodness for your directions.” Storm grabbed Maile's wrapped carton and got out of the car. Mud seeped up the soles of her tennis shoes, sucking at each footstep. As she got closer to Bebe, she noticed that the bright yellow shoes were rubber. Bebe was a practical woman.

“Come on in.” Bebe took Storm's elbow and led her on higher tufts of soggy grass to the house. “It's really nice to meet you. I can see the family resemblance between you and Maile.”

“Did you know my mother, too?” Storm asked.

Bebe's dark eyes met Storm's squarely. “Of course. She was a beautiful person.” Bebe took Storm's box and opened the front door. “I'll get you a glass of iced tea. It's a dusty drive, isn't it?”

“Either dusty or muddy.”

“I still prefer it to the bustle of the city.”

“I would too, if I could. Does Tom Sakai come out here?”

“He used to, his wife would drive him. They'd bring the kids along, too. But he's weakening and they have a baby now.” Bebe shook her head sadly.

“So he's still really sick?”

“Yes. All I can do is ease his pain with lomi and ho‘oponopono, you know, massage and spiritual comfort. I help him with his diet, too, when I can get him to eat.”

She showed Storm to a comfortable koa rocking chair, handed her a tall glass of iced tea, and took a seat opposite her. “Maile told me you wanted to talk to him.”

“Yes, I want to ask him if he knew Miles Hamasaki, the lawyer. Hamasaki died recently and I'm trying to wind up some cases he was working on.”

“Tom's being treated by Unimed. Is he going to sue them?”

Bebe's directness would have surprised Storm if she hadn't known Aunt Maile. They were similar in personality, if not looks. “Not that I know. Hamasaki left some papers with me and I'm tying up loose ends. Tom's doctor was trying to get a bone marrow transplant for him and I thought maybe I could help.” She sighed. “You know, I started out with just trying to take care of Hamasaki's affairs, and then I read Tom's file. He's just a little older than I am, he has kids, it just struck me that maybe I could do something to help.”

“I went to see him yesterday and asked him if he felt up to talking to you. He said he'd try to help, but he didn't know much. He's a friendly type when he's feeling all right. If he's not, you'll have to try another time.”

“How about if I take his family dinner? At least I can do something for them.”

“Lani would like that, I'm sure. So would Tom, for Lani's and the kids' sake.”

“You think tomorrow would be all right?”

“Why don't you give them a call and ask?” Bebe went to an old roll-top desk and jotted down a number, which she handed to Storm.

Before Storm left, Bebe explained how she and Maile shared plants that they could only find in their own locales, increasing each other's repertoire of treatments. They also shared their experiences. “Your aunt is a talented kapana.” Bebe handed Storm a dried coconut husk. “Did you know the ashes of this husk heal burns and cuts?”

“She told me you were the best healer in the islands.”

Bebe's dark eyes sparkled. She reached for Storm's hand. “And you, you may have the gift, too.” She ran her own warm, dry palm over Storm's, along her fingers. “Maybe someday, you'll come and learn. There are too few of us left.”

Bebe led Storm around her garden behind the house, a large tract of lovingly cultivated land arranged in quilt-like blocks with different greenery. Bebe showed Storm plants that Storm had seen discarded by landscapers in Kahala. How many people knew that they had powerful medicines growing in their yards, around their mailboxes and dog dishes? Kailua dump was piled with coconut husks. Storm was going to look at plants with a more respectful eye.

The trip to see Bebe Fernandez left Storm with a lighter feeling, respect for the earth's generosity, a feeling that humans participated in a bigger whole than they usually acknowledged.

She drove back to the city and noticed that Lorraine's death did not rest on her quite so heavily, though from time to time, the image of Mr. Tanabe's hunched and grieving figure returned to her. She'd try to go see him this week, but right now she was looking forward to some physical exertion and lighthearted competition with friends.

Storm's timing was perfect; she pulled into the parking lot at Diamond Head tennis courts ten minutes early and dashed to put her name on the list of people waiting for courts. Leila had already staked out a spot and was sitting on a bench, smearing suntan lotion onto her freckling arms. Two more of their team members ambled in and the four sat and chatted while they waited for an available court.

Two sets later, the women drove their cars to Leila's house where they showered and set out their contributions to the potluck dinner. The evening, on top of the uplifting trip to the country, was exactly what Storm needed to escape the feeling that catastrophe followed on her heels. She drank three beers over the course of the night and insisted on staying to wash dishes with Leila after their other friends left. Not only did she want to make sure she would be safe to drive, she wanted to tell Leila about the weekend's events.