The Green Room (8 page)

Chapter Thirteen

Storm got to Food Town at four forty-five. She dashed in the wheezing pneumatic door to see Ben at a checkout station, loading grocery bags into the basket of a very old man with flowing white hair and mahogany skin, a baggy T-shirt and shorts that hung past his knees. Too-large rubber slippers slapped against his wide, cracked feet.

“Is your daughter waiting in the parking lot, Mr. ‛Oama? Ben asked.

The ancient nodded, and shuffled past Storm. Ben followed with the cart. “I'll be right back,” he said to Storm.

He returned in less than a minute. “Thanks for coming by. Did my mom tell you where I was?” His expression was wary. Storm figured she wouldn't let on that Stephanie had confided her fears about the tow-in contest.

“No, Goober did. You heard anything from Nahoa?”

Ben shook his head. “But I haven't seen Sunny today.”

Storm looked at her watch. “You think she'll be home?”

“I don't know. She works at Kimo's Pizzeria, so she might be starting a shift.” He unpinned his name tag from his aloha shirt, which was covered with the Food Town logo. “We can walk over and check.”

A petite young woman with curling dark hair that reached to her waist waved as they entered the front door of the small restaurant. “Hi, Ben.” She beamed at him.

Lacquered wood-topped tables were crowded into the single room and people were already lined up at the counter for pitchers of beer. The combined aromas of basil, tomato sauce, and beer on tap made Storm's stomach growl. She was hungry, but didn't want to pause in her search for Nahoa.

“Naomi, is Sunny around?” Ben asked.

Naomi's smile diminished by a couple of watts, but she kept up her enthusiasm. “She's off tonight, but she'll be in at ten tomorrow morning.” Her eyes wandered to Storm.

“I'm Storm Kayama.” Storm put out her hand. “I'm a friend of Ben's and his mother's.”

Naomi's smile amped back up a few notches. “You want a seat?” Her eyes flicked to a group of men on the other side of the room and she lowered her voice. “I can have a Kimo's Parmesan Special ready in about ten minutes.”

“No thanks, but I'll come back later,” Ben said.

Outside, Storm grinned at him. “You better go back tomorrow.”

Ben shuffled his feet. “Yeah, she's really nice.”

Storm got out her car keys. “You mind going with me to Sunny's?”

“Sure, she lives in Pupukea. We can check out Nahoa's at the same time.”

“They don't live together?”

“Not technically, but she's there a lot. Sunny shares a house with two other women. It's kind of run down, but it's a cool place. Nahoa's cottage is just down the beach.”

Storm led Ben to her car, which she'd left in the Food Town parking lot. As she made her way through the traffic in Haleiwa town, she realized how little she knew about Nahoa's lifestyle.

“What does Nahoa do when he's not surfing?” she asked.

“He's a shaper at the Tubin' Tanker. He and Mo‛o Lanipuni are well known for their surfboard designs.”

“That's a good job, isn't it?”

“Sure, Nahoa does okay. He's been getting some endorsements, too. Clothing and stuff.”

Storm realized that Ben was a bit in awe of her cousin, who was kind of a local celebrity. Not only did Nahoa have a reputation for being a ballsy, red-hot surfer, the six years in age that separated the two seemed to be more than chronological. Ben was till a teenager, living with his mother, while Nahoa was a confident young man.

Sunny's house was a big rambling frame affair that looked as if it had undergone renovations by at least two different builders. Not even the paint matched. It sat on stilts on a large lawn shaded by two sprawling mango trees and a fringe of banana plants. Typical of old plantation homes, the place lacked a garage and driveway, and three older-model cars were parked in the grass, which was mowed and otherwise uncluttered. It reminded Storm of a college fraternity, except with the single-wall redwood construction and traditional hip roof common to Hawai‛i. It had a certain scruffy charm.

Ben went right in the screened front door and shouted a greeting. No one was in the living room, which was situated inside the entry. Delicious cooking aromas were coming from the back of the house, and Ben headed in that direction, calling out a few more hellos. Storm followed and noted the comfortable, but unmatched furnishings, batik drapes, and high-end stereo equipment.

“Jenna, Charlie,” Ben said. “Howzit?”

A pretty, rotund woman whose pareu barely covered a figure that conservatively could be called Rubenesque looked up from where she sat. The toddler she fed gurgled and banged his fists on his high chair tray. Storm wasn't sure if he wanted more of the pasty stuff she was feeding him or whether he was greeting Ben.

Both Charlie and Jenna grinned when they saw him and Jenna got to her feet and gave Ben a big hug. She went over to the stove to stir a pot, while Charlie hammered harder on his tray, and everyone but Storm ignored him. Flecks of food flew with each whack.

“What smells so good?” Ben asked. Storm thought he might be trying to ignore the big brown nipple that flashed where the flowing Tahitian garment gaped.

“Beef stew and rice,” Jenna said. “What you up to?”

“This is my friend Storm. Sunny around?”

Jenna rolled her eyes at Storm. “She'll be back
bumbye
. It's getting dark out.” Charlie sat open-mouthed, like a baby bird, and Jenna shoveled another spoonful into the chasm. “She's been
habut
ever since Nahoa broke their date. Can't hardly talk to her.”

“He's not back yet?”

Jenna shook her head. Charlie shook his, too—with his mouth open. The front door banged.

“Maybe that's Sunny.” Storm thought she heard a note of relief in Ben's voice.

She followed Ben toward the front of the house. It was nearly dark outside, but no one had turned on lights in the living room, and they could see a tall silhouette against the waning daylight that filtered through the screen. The figure leaned over and turned on a table lamp, then flung her wet blonde hair over one shoulder.

“Sunny?” Ben said.

Sunny's face lit up momentarily, then went blank. “Ben.”

“This is Nahoa's cousin. Storm's—”

“Hi,” Sunny said dully. “Are you first cousins?” She seemed to ask the question out of social convention, not interest.

Sunny looked familiar to Storm, but she couldn't place her. “Second. His mother was married to my mother's cousin.”

Sunny gave her a second, harder look and shivered, then proceeded to wrap a beach towel tightly around her waist and do as deft a deck change as Storm had ever seen. Her bikini bottoms dropped to the floor, and in a swift move, she slid board shorts up legs that looked like they were half Storm's height. After that, she removed the towel and wrapped it around her broad shoulders.

It was when the light caught the myriad of earrings in her left ear that Storm remembered where she'd seen Sunny before. She was the woman at the surf contest who'd defended Goober's grumpy nature.

“I talked to you at last weekend's meet. My friends and I were there to watch Ben, Nahoa, and Goober surf.”

“Oh,” Sunny said. She whirled to peer through the screen door at the sound of a car passing.

“Did you see that package Nahoa got last Saturday?”

“Ugly thing, with shark's teeth?”

“Yes, do you know what happened to it?”

“No, but it pissed him off.” Sunny gave up on the sound of the car and walked into the living room, where she dropped into a chair. She waved a hand in the direction of the sofa. “He called a couple people about it.”

Ben hovered, standing, but Storm sat on the edge of the couch. “Do you know who?”

“No, but what's your interest in him?” Her voice was low, almost resigned, but she emphasized the “your” a tiny bit.

“I grew up with him. He's family, plus his mom and mine were friends.”

Sunny sat unmoving, watching Storm as if evaluating her, while her eyes glistened in the lamplight.

“I haven't seen her for years,” Storm said, “but she lost her husband when Nahoa was very young. I'm worried that the shark tooth thing was a threat.”

Sunny's chin came up. “I'm worried, too, but I don't run his life. If a guy wants to move on, good riddance.”

Sunny had apparently heard the rumors about other women. Storm felt sorry for her. She'd experienced cheating boyfriends, too. “Will you tell me if you see him? And that package, if you find it, would you let me know?”

Sonny looked at Storm out of the corner of her eye. Yes, her eyes were definitely wet. “Sorry, I need some time alone.” She got up and walked out of the room, but turned to look over her shoulder. “I'll let you know, okay?”

Storm and Ben let themselves out the front door. Ben hadn't looked either woman in the eye for the last several minutes. Typical guy, Storm figured, paralyzed by a woman's emotions.

Ben slumped in the passenger seat of Storm's car. “I'd better get home.”

“Want me to call your mom and tell her you're with me?”

“No.” Ben's voice was much more abrupt than it needed to be, and Storm once again wondered about the dynamics between him and his parents. There were secrets in that family, and Uncle Miles' warnings about family secrets and how no one came out on top in a bitter divorce chafed like sand in a bathing suit.

Chapter Fourteen

Ben had only monosyllabic responses to any of Storm's attempts at conversation on the way back to Haleiwa. He did direct her down the street where Nahoa lived, and they crawled past his dark, closed cottage. Two newspapers in their waterproof plastic bags sat on the front step where the paperboy had tossed them. It was obvious no one was home.

Storm dropped him off at the townhouse where he and Stephanie lived and declined a polite, but perfunctory invitation to come in. On the way from Haleiwa to Laniakea, she stopped at the Food Town and bought a few grocery items, but her mind was occupied with whether she'd been as moody as Ben, Goober, and Sunny when she was their age. She'd probably been worse.

At sixteen, she had endured the Big Island police department's scrutiny for allegedly cultivating
pakalolo
, which she was definitely doing; they just hadn't located her patch in the sugar cane fields—yet. Aunt Maile and Uncle Keone didn't doubt her activities for a minute, so they shipped her to O‛ahu, Miles Hamasaki's household, and a much stricter high school. At seventeen, she was depressed enough to flirt with the idea of ending the struggle like her mother, with a bottle of pills. If it hadn't been for the Hamasakis, Aunt Maile and Uncle Keone, she'd have checked out.

With those thoughts, the beach cottage felt empty and lonely. She poured Yoshida's Teriyaki Sauce over a chicken breast and settled it on the grill, then went back inside to call Hamlin.

“Don't you ever check your phone?” he asked her.

Sure enough, there were four messages on her mobile phone. “I didn't hear it ring. But I was running around quite a bit.”

“Were you back in the mountains?”

“Yes, Nahoa's girlfriend, Sunny, shares a house with some other surfers in Pupukea. The signal is probably weak back there.” She went on to tell him about how Nahoa hadn't shown up for a date Monday, so she and Ben had gone to talk with Sunny. She also filled him in on her cousin's reputation with women, the upcoming tow-in surf contest, and Stephanie's fears.

“When are you coming back to town?”

“Could I talk you into coming out for the tournament?”

“When does it start?”

“From what Stephanie told me, the holding period started today and the surf is coming up. If the swell is big enough, they'll start the qualifying round Thursday or Friday afternoon.”

“I've got two depositions on Friday, but I could leave town around five. Come back and we'll drive out together.”

“I want to hang around and see if I can find Nahoa. I'm worried about him.”

“You need to talk to the police.”

“I did. I talked to Brian Chang.” She told him about Matsumoto's injuries and how she wanted to ask some of the locals if he'd received a package like Nahoa's.

“Storm, I worry about you out there alone, asking questions.”

“Chances are, Nahoa pissed someone off over a woman. He's probably lying low for a while. I'm mostly just going to surf. If I'm lucky, I'll see him. At least I'll see some of his friends.”

“Be careful, okay?”

“I will and I'll talk to you tomorrow.”

The next thing on Storm's list was to touch base with Leila and see if she'd been able to pick up Fang. She felt much better after talking to Hamlin, and she unwrapped a musubi she'd picked up at the supermarket. When Leila answered the phone, Storm's greeting was muffled by rice, Spam, and
nori
.

“She's already curled up with Pua,” Leila assured her. They made their usual jokes about why Pua, Leila's grizzled English bulldog, let the fat cat into her bed.

“Pua can't see well enough to chase her out,” Leila said.

“Nah, Fang's like a warm blanket. I should know.”

“And she puts up with Pua's snoring.”

When Storm hung up, the house felt considerably less lonely. Hamlin would be with her in two days, and the grilling chicken smelled heavenly. After dinner, she'd curl up with a good book and go to bed early so she could make dawn patrol.

Storm slept well until the crash of the surf and the watery morning light, filtering through the narrow blinds, woke her around six-thirty. Wind ruffled the gauzy white curtains and brought the smell of salt and sea into the bedroom.

She brewed a pot of coffee, just to warm up in the cool, damp morning air, and downed a large mug while she waxed her board and pulled a heavier-than-usual rash guard over her head. She still shivered, and contemplated that she'd probably never be able to surf where the water temperature dipped below seventy. Some hardship.

The morning was calm and the water glassy and smooth. There were already a couple of people out at the Laniakea breaks, but no one she recognized, so she tucked her board under her arm and strolled down the beach toward the break surfers called Himalayas. She set her surfboard in the sand and stood to observe for a few minutes.

A tiny rider cut away from a curling wave that looked twice his height. Good move, Storm thought. But that wave was a monster. She picked up her board; the waves were too big for her here, but the morning was beautiful and she'd find a smaller break down the beach a bit. Even if she ended up just going for a stroll, the sky above her was the hue of a fine Tahitian pearl, and it met the horizon in a hazy blue line, where the sun glowed the color of pale hibiscus. In those moments, Storm knew why many of the North Shore population eschewed the bigger salaries and faster pace of Honolulu.

Storm sighed with contentment and picked up her board. She'd heard Ben and some of his friends mention the Puaena Point break, and though she thought the waves might be too big for her, she would enjoy the walk and she might see someone she knew.

Sure enough, when she climbed over an outcrop of lava rock and down the other side to a flat sandy area, she saw Goober and Gabe, ready to head out into the water. Goober saw her and waved. He seemed in a better mood than when she'd seen him the day before.

“Storm, you going out?”

“You think I can handle it?” She squinted at the waves, where they broke about two hundred yards off shore.

“Sure, you can let the big ones go by,” Gabe said. “Get off on the shoulder, or duck-dive under them.”

Storm strained to see the surfers already on the waves. They looked smaller than the ones she'd seen at Himalayas, but she needed to get a perspective of a person's height against a wave's in order to judge whether the break was beyond her ability. And even that was no guarantee, because wave height varied within a set.

Storm did not want to get clobbered by a hefty wave that was closing out. She'd been tumbled in the washing machine before, lungs convulsing with oxygen deprivation. She'd also seen surfers lunge to the surface for air, only to have their surfboard, attached to them by the rubber leash, boomerang back to the water and slice the gasping person with a sharp skeg. And then there were the boards that got snapped in two as easily as ice cream sticks.

A couple of women were on the waves, and Storm judged the wave to be about their height. She suppressed a little shiver. “I guess I'll go,” she said.

“You can do it. It'll be good for you,” Goober said.

Storm shook her head, but he didn't see it. Good for her? Sounded like the kind of things guys say to each other before they tried some stunt that would either kill them or give them bragging rights, with nothing in between.

Gabe seemed to pick up on her apprehension. “There's a channel to our right, and the current will carry you out. The waves don't break as hard in there. Follow us, but stay on the inside.”

In some circumstances, Storm would have been offended by Gabe's suggestion. It was sort of like saying, stay out of our way once we get out there. But this time, Storm's jitters told her it was a good idea. She had no need to go where the break was biggest, and if it weren't for the two women she could see out there, she wouldn't have considered following Gabe. Even Goober had shaken her confidence lately.

She plunged in after the guys, and gulped when the chilly water surged around her. There was a stronger current than she had ever felt, and she vowed to be extra attentive. Though the trio waited out a set of four or five big waves before they paddled through the break, going out wasn't as bad as Storm had feared. When they got to the wave lineup, she looked back at the shore and aligned two objects, a chunk of lava that rose from the sand and a lifeguard stand, so that she'd have a point of reference. A couple of rock formations on her left would serve to make sure she wasn't being carried out to sea by a rip tide, often undetectable in surging waters.

As Goober had instructed her last weekend, Storm paddled onto the shoulder of the first wave of the set and let it go by. He and Gabe left her there and headed fifty yards to the right, where a small group of men sat on their boards, facing the open ocean and waiting a turn on a wave. The two women Storm had seen were only about twenty yards out from where she sat, and Storm recognized Sunny, in tiny bikini bottoms and a long-sleeved turquoise rash guard, as one of them. Sunny hadn't seen Storm yet, because she glanced continuously toward the knot of men nearby.

She's searching for Nahoa, Storm thought, and squinted against the rising sun to try to identify the surfers. Though she couldn't make out any of them except Gabe and Goober, she was certain Nahoa wasn't among them. She shivered, then lay on her board to paddle out of the way of Sunny's friend, who was stroking hard toward her. Storm swooped over the curl as the young woman rose to her feet. Storm saw the flash of white teeth in her delighted smile.

Storm didn't see Sunny waiting for the next ride, and guessed the two women must have taken off together. Though it was hard to be sure with the water rising and falling around her, Storm assumed she was alone and in position for the next wave. Storm sat up, ready to kick her board around, and saw a flash of turquoise above a rising wall of water. She lay back down and moved to the side to watch Sunny's takeoff.

The woman was good. Those long, rock-hard legs were in an easy right-angle crouch, urging the short board at an angle across the face of the wave. Storm couldn't help but feel delight and admiration at the woman's strength and finesse. It was a big wave, whose vortex and thundering speed sucked air and water droplets back at Storm with a force that made her duck her head and squint. She exhaled with relief that she hadn't taken it, yet Sunny rode it as if she could handle twice its size.

Storm's relief was short-lived, though, because a black-clad rider that was hard to see shot out from the side, screaming at Sunny that she was in his way.

“Hey,” Storm yelled.

That was before she realized that the surfer in black was Gabe. He had taken off on the wave a couple of seconds after Sunny, who had the right of way. It was a blatant snake.

Friends often rode the same waves, and safely negotiated their turns in opposite directions so that no one would be startled, or worse, injured. But in the split second after Storm saw Gabe, she knew he was deliberately bearing down on Sunny. It was a game of chicken, and anyone in Sunny's position with half a brain would bail out, rather than face a high speed collision in turbulent, roiling water.

But Sunny hadn't seen him yet, and the howl of wind and crash of the wave kept her from hearing his approach. Storm couldn't tell if he was shouting at her, but she wasn't going to wait around to see.

“Sunny,” she shrieked, “watch out!”

Some high note of panic in Storm's voice carried over the rumble of tons of water, because Sunny glanced behind her. Just as Gabe reached her, she launched herself from her board.

Gabe looked back at Storm in surprise, which caused him to lose his balance and windmill his arms in an attempt to stay upright. Screaming a string of foul names, he tumbled backward and was swallowed by the breaking water.

Storm snorted in disgust. That act was just what Nahoa had warned her about, and she'd bet that he'd warned Sunny, too. However, from watching Sunny's smooth expertise, Storm would have bet there wasn't much the young woman hadn't already seen on the waves.

Sunny surfaced a couple hundred yards from where Storm sat. A smaller wave, probably the last of the set Sunny had taken, rose behind Storm. Storm looked around for other surfers, lined up her board, dropped onto her stomach, and dug into the water with deep, strong strokes as the wave sucked her into its crest.

Though smaller than Sunny's, the wave had excellent form and curled above Storm's head. Storm crouched, bending her legs as pistons, using her quadriceps to bear her weight and urge the board along its face. She was glad she'd had some experience over the last week on powerful North Shore waves, because she'd never had surf curve above her before. It was a left-hand break, which was perfect for her stance, and she let the board slow so that the water arched above her.

Jesus, she was actually in a tube. She couldn't believe it, and a moment of claustrophobic panic came over her. No, don't think about it. You can hold this position, you're strong, she told herself. And she did. She spurted out the side of the curl, stood upright with an excited whoop, jabbed two fists into the air, and tumbled exuberantly into the water.

When she popped to the surface, her excitement was squelched by the scene before her. Gabe and Sunny were thirty yards from her, and Sunny was ripping mad.

“I'll have you thrown off the ASP, you gutless fu—.” A surge of water garbled some words after that, but Storm got the message.

So did Gabe. “Stupid bitch.” He gave a cruel laugh. “No one gives a shit what you think. Not even Nahoa hung around for you.”

“You jerk, you can't even catch a wave unless it's got a woman on it.” Sunny's voice quavered, though Storm couldn't tell if it was with tears or rage. Maybe both.

Gabe narrowed the distance between himself and Sunny, which bothered Storm even more than Gabe's cruel words. Sunny was a strong woman, but if he got physical, she'd have real problems. Storm began to swim toward the two.