Aloha Betrayed (5 page)

Bushes bordering the walkway on what Mike called the
makai
side of the path—that’s the sea side—blocked access to a rocky ledge, and a sign warned pedestrians to stay clear of where the soft earth had been disturbed. Apart from the sandy soil and a few crushed cigarette butts, there wasn’t much else to see. Mike ducked under the tape and carefully maneuvered himself onto the ledge so he could peer down into the cove.

“How could a jogger have seen her?” I asked. “You can’t see to the bottom of the cliff from here.”

“Maybe he took a break sitting on this ledge,” Mike said. “That’s the only way. Unless someone from one of the early-morning outrigger canoe trips alerted him to call the cops.”

I stayed on the path but walked a short distance back the way we’d come to see whether the angled approach allowed me to spot where the sandy soil might have collapsed. I paused in the shade of a palm tree, part of the condominium’s landscaping, grateful for a little respite from the sun.

“Do you see any vegetation growing out of the rock?” I called to Mike.

“No, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t there before she picked it.”

“Maybe she wasn’t trying to pick anything at all,” I said. “Maybe she just grabbed onto a bush to stop from falling.”

“Yeah, that’s possible.”

“Like this one,” I said, moving to where a tall, full bush with dark red flowers sat close to the path’s edge. Mike joined me.

“See?” I said, pointing to a broken branch. “This is what Mala might have grabbed when she started to fall.”

“Which begs the question of why she would have started to fall in the first place. She was young and healthy. It doesn’t ring true to me that she’d simply lose her balance.”

“Whatcha lookin’ for?” a young voice interrupted.

I shaded my eyes with my hand and looked up to the wooden railing where I’d seen the child, but he was gone.

“I’m over here.” He stood on the sill of an open glass door that led to a small patio under the deck where a little table and two chairs were set up.

I waved. “Hi. Does your mother know where you are?” I asked. “I’m not sure she’d want you to come outside without her.” I was thinking that I wouldn’t want to live in such a dangerous location if I had a small child.

“I’m allowed,” he said, stepping down onto the grass and walking toward me. “I can go as far as the tree.” He pointed to the palm.

“Tell you what,” I said. “You stay where you are and I’ll come to you.”

I crossed the grass and guided the boy back to the patio. Cool air from the condominium flowed through the open door.

“Is your mother home?” I asked.

He shook his head.

“There must be someone at home with you.”

“Tutu is, but she said not to bother her. She has a my, a my-something.”

“A migraine?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Those are pretty painful,” I said, “but still, I think she’d like to know that you’re outside.”

“What’s your name?” he asked, which made me smile. He certainly was a direct little fellow.

“I’m Jessica Fletcher.”

“My name’s Kona.”

“Like the coffee?”

“Like the place on the Big Island. But my daddy calls me Koko. You can call me Koko, too.”

“Nice to meet you, Koko.”

“Found a new friend, huh?” Mike said, easing his big body into one of the patio chairs. “Could use a break from the sun. You have any water with you, Jessica?”

“I have a couple of bottles in my bag,” I said, “but the water’s going to be warm.”

“As long as it’s wet,” he said. “Take a seat. We can spare five minutes.”

“But we don’t know who lives here.” I groped around in my bag for the small water bottles I’d tossed in it that morning.

Mike shrugged.

“You know me,” Koko said. I now could see large brown eyes through the thick lenses of his glasses.

“Yes, we do,” I said, taking the other chair and handing Mike a bottle, “but I would feel better if you went inside and told Tutu that we’re out here on your patio.”

Koko looked down at his feet. “She gets angry when I wake her up.”

Mike chuckled. “Guess we better let your grandma sleep, huh?”

Koko grinned at him. “What’s the yellow ribbon for?” He waved at the crime scene tape.

“A lady fell and hurt herself,” Mike said. “We want to make sure no one else goes there and gets hurt—like you. Promise me that you won’t walk over there.”

Koko shook his head. “I won’t. I’m not allowed to go on the trail, only as far as the tree.”

“Good boy. You listen to your
tutu
.” Mike took a sip of his water and swiped a hand across his damp brow. “Henry indicated they questioned everyone in the neighborhood, and no one heard anything last night,” he said to me.

“I heard something last night,” Koko said.

Mike leaned forward in his chair and gave Koko a little smile. “What did you hear, Koko?”

“I heard the rain.”

“Oh, it woke you up, did it?”

“No. I was already up. The birds woke me up.”

“Birds?” Mike said.

Koko nodded. “The loud ones. I hear them every morning, and last night when—”

“There you are, Koko. I’ve been looking all over for you.” A woman in a yellow apron stood in the open door. “You’re letting out all the cold air. Get in here this minute.” She glared at Mike and me. “And who are you?”

Mike stood and gave her a mild smile. “Investigators, ma’am.”

Her angry expression changed to regret. “We heard about it. Just awful. I’ve been saying for years that they need to build a fence along that path.”

“What’s awful, Tutu?” Koko asked.

“Nothing you need to know about. Get inside, little one. It’s time for your snack.” To us, she said, “You can sit as long as you like.”

“We’d like to ask you a few questions if you don’t mind,” Mike said.

“I already told the police I went to bed at ten and slept through to this morning. Didn’t see anything. Didn’t hear anything. Sorry.”

Koko started to say something, but his grandmother ushered him inside and closed the glass door.

Mike sat again. “What do you think?” he said.

“I think Mala might have fallen down the cliff before the rain came,” I said.

“Why do you say that?”

“The birds Koko heard. At the luau last night, a noise disturbed birds that nest on the ground behind the stage and they flew into the air making loud noises. Grace Latimer said they were francolins. Maybe francolins were nesting here, too. Mala’s presence might have roused them. Perhaps she screamed. If she did, it might have startled the birds into calling. They’re certainly loud enough to wake a little boy. It could point to the time she fell—or was pushed.”

Mike grimaced. “I’ll hold off on the second half of that statement,” he said, “for the moment. Meanwhile, let’s go look and see if we find any evidence of the birds.”

But whether or not we found a nest, I was convinced that the birds already knew what I only suspected: that Mala’s death was no accident, that she didn’t go rock climbing at midnight, that someone wanted to shut her up—permanently. That realization overrode the heat of the day and sent a chill through me.

Kōkua
—Help or Assistance

M
ike was in a hurry to get home. He bought takeout sandwiches for us at a fish restaurant in a shopping center and, before dropping me off at the small resort where I was staying, reminded me that I was invited to his family picnic after class the next day.

I took my paper-bag lunch out to the lanai, a shaded patio off my room with a view of the bay, and sat at a round metal table to unpack my meal. The sandwich—grilled fish with lettuce, onion, and tomato—was delicious, but so spicy that I was grateful Mike had gotten me an iced tea as well. The warm breeze, combined with our morning exertions and a filling meal, made me sleepy. I changed seats, relaxing back into a padded wicker chaise, and soon dozed off, visions of Mala and the rocky cliff and a flock of loud birds fighting for space in my dreams.

She was teetering on the edge of the rock, peering down into the water. I tried to call to her to be careful. She looked up and waved to me. Just then a flock of francolins rose into the air, startling her. Mala’s arms wheeled, her body tipped sideways, and she tumbled out of my sight down the precipice. The birds shrieked, their calls piercing in the night.

I awoke with a start, the dream fading but leaving a persistent sense of unease. The sun was high, the afternoon heat oppressive. I could still hear the birds calling. No, that was the telephone in my room. I pulled myself out of the chaise, shaking my head to clear the remnants of my daytime nightmare, and walked to the bedside table.

“Yes?” I said, snatching up the receiver. “Hello?”

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Mrs. Fletcher, but someone left a message for you at the front desk this morning. My apologies if no one informed you earlier. Would you like us to have it delivered to your room?”

“Thank you for offering, but I’d prefer to pick it up,” I said, thinking I could use a little walk. “Is the café open?”

“Yes, ma’am. It’s past lunchtime, but you can get a snack. Dinner service begins at five.”

“I’ll be there in a while.”

“We’ll have your message at the front desk. My name is Jack. If for any reason I’m not here, Eileen will have it at her station.”

I thanked him and hung up the phone. I briefly debated changing into a bathing suit. A swim would surely clear the cobwebs, but I decided a cup of tea would do the same without the bother of undressing and then dressing again for dinner. I checked the contents of my shoulder bag for a book in case I wanted to read, and reminded myself to stop at the newsstand to replace the water bottles Mike and I had consumed.

The resort where the foundation was putting me up was situated on Maui’s north shore and maintained a rack of bicycles for the convenience of its guests. Since the college was a short ride away, a bike was going to be my preferred choice of transportation, as long as it wasn’t raining. If the weather didn’t cooperate, there was a bus stop a block away, or the bellhop could call me a cab. The main lobby, an open-air space, faced the street, but the café in the back overlooked Kahului Harbor. I stopped at the front desk for my message and was handed a white envelope with the college’s return address and my name printed on the front.

“Would you like to sit outside?” the hostess asked when I approached her podium in the café. A pin in her lapel read:
LIVE THE ALOHA SPIRIT
.

“That would be lovely.”

She led me to a table for four, shaded by a large umbrella, and pulled out a seat for me. “May I get you something to drink? We have POG, piña colada, iced tea, or you can choose a drink from the menu on the table.”

“What is POG?” I asked, settling my bag on the seat next to mine.

“It’s a Hawaiian specialty, a fruit punch made with passion fruit, orange, and guava juices.”

“That sounds wonderful. I’ll have that.”

The hostess left to put in my order, and I opened the envelope, pausing only to decide if the handwriting on the front was male or female. Female, I decided.

Dear Mrs. Fletcher,

It is urgent that I speak with you about Mala Kapule.

I’m working in the laboratory all day today, and I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t tell anyone that I contacted you.

—Grace Latimer

Grace had included a room number in the new science building under her name.

I looked at my watch just as a waiter in a pink aloha shirt delivered an icy glass of punch sitting on a white doily-covered plate. The juice and his shirt were the same color and I briefly wondered if the uniform had been chosen to match the drink.

“My apologies if I’ve kept you waiting, madam,” he said.

“You haven’t kept me waiting at all,” I said. “I just remembered an important appointment. I’m afraid I have to go.”

“Would you like me to put the POG in a go-cup for you?”

“That would be perfect,” I said. “Thank you so much. And please bring me the bill as well.”

I left the fruit punch in my room, not wanting to juggle drinking and steering at the same time, and hurried to where the bikes were parked. I was still wearing the tennis shoes I’d changed into for my late-morning hike with Detective Kane. After checking out a bike at the front desk, I headed off to find Grace Latimer.

The campus was quiet when I pedaled in, most of the classes having finished for the weekend. I hoped Grace was still there. She seemed like a diligent type and her note had indicated that she would be working all day, but the clear sky and balmy winds might have tempted her away from her tasks to enjoy the outdoors.

One pair of the science building’s glass doors was locked, but the other was open, and I entered the cool, empty hallway. I checked the room numbers, counting down until I found the lab where Grace was working. She was alternately leaning over a microscope and making notes on a pad in a room with a battery of microscopes arrayed on aqua tables with gray tops. Her blond hair hung lankly, and she chewed on the thumbnail of one hand while she used the other hand to fiddle with a focus wheel.

I knocked softly on the side of the open door so as not to startle her, and entered the room. “Grace?” I called softly.

She turned and looked at me, a confused expression on her face. “Oh! Mrs. Fletcher. I almost didn’t recognize you.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt your work, but your note used the word ‘urgent’ and I came as soon as I could.”

Grace jumped up from her seat and met me at the door. “Please come in,” she said. “Sit anywhere.” She leaned over the threshold, glancing left and right, then shut the door.

“You’ve heard about Mala, I assume,” she said, taking a seat next to mine.

“Yes. Mike Kane told me this morning. We’re teaching a class together.”

“The retired detective?”

“Yes.”

“Boy, I’d love to hear what
he
has to say about this.”

“He isn’t saying much at all,” I said. “What do
you
know?”

“Me? I wasn’t there when she died. I left the same time as you and Professor Luzon and his wife.”

“But your note said you wanted to speak with me about Mala.” I dug in my bag and pulled out the envelope she had left for me at the resort.

“Oh, that. I guess that when I heard that they found her body, I went into shock, had to speak to someone. Still creeps me out to think about it.” She shivered. “Did the police tell you anything?”

I wondered if she had news to tell me or was more interested in what
I
knew. I figured that if she knew that the police believed Mala’s death to be an accident, she might withhold information rather than draw attention to herself. I decided to answer her question with one of my own. “How did you learn of Mala’s death?”

“Abbott told me.”

“Professor Luzon?”

“Yes. The college administration got in touch with him right after the police notified them.”

“Why would they contact Professor Luzon?”

“He’s the head of the department now. Hadn’t you heard?”

“When did that happen?”

“They made the announcement yesterday afternoon.”

“What time was this?”

“It was right in the middle of our class on horticulture and landscape maintenance. I was so excited. A lot of fuss was made. It’s going to be in the paper, I’m sure. Mala wanted the job; everyone knew that. She might have had a chance if she wasn’t so outspoken. There’s a lot of politics in academia. People don’t expect it, but it’s there.”

“There aren’t many fields in which politics doesn’t play some part,” I said.

“Abbott knows how to play the game; I’ll give him that. He made the case for our work in sustainable agriculture being especially critical to the Hawaiian economy. Money always talks when you’re trying to promote your position.”

“You don’t mean . . .”

“No. No. I don’t mean he bribed anyone or anything like that. It’s just he kept the big picture in mind.”

“What big picture is that?” I asked.

“The college administration is acutely aware of Hawaii’s difficulties. The legislature is always financially pressured.”

“It would seem to me that every state legislature struggles with finances. Is Hawaii’s any different?”

“It is and it isn’t. As an island state, it’s very difficult for us to maintain the same standard of living as the mainland. You can see why. Almost everything has to be shipped in.”

“That must make it expensive to live here.”

“Well, that is some gross understatement,” she said with annoyance.

I felt my eyebrows rise but decided I wouldn’t take offense.

Grace seemed not to realize she had been rude. She glanced down at her thumbnail and continued talking. “The more we can grow, nurture, and manufacture, the less our reliance on imported goods. Of course, the hippies who just want to live off the grid and skip paying taxes give our efforts a bad name. What we want to do—Abbott and I—is develop
systems
for sustainability and export our knowledge to the rest of the States. It could be big. Very big.”

“So you’re saying Professor Luzon’s economic proposals landed him the chairmanship?”

“Well, no one is confiding in me, but that’s my take on it.”

“Tell me, what does this have to do with Mala Kapule’s death?”

Grace picked at her ragged fingernail and shrugged. “She may have gotten wind of the announcement—or maybe Abbott told her himself. It must have been a terrible blow to her ego.”

“You’re not seriously suggesting that Mala threw herself off a cliff because she wasn’t given the chairmanship of the department, are you?”

“I don’t know that she actually jumped, but it’s possible the news was so upsetting that she didn’t look where she was going.”

“Tell me again when you saw Mala last night?”

“Just what I told you, when we were getting the drinks.”

“You said she was in a serious discussion with someone. Do you know who that person was?”

Grace nodded. “I think so. He looked to me like her boyfriend, or at least the guy who
was
her boyfriend. I heard they broke up recently.”

Now I felt I was getting somewhere. “What is this boyfriend’s name?”

“Carson Nihipali.”

“And what does
he
do?”

Grace’s thoughts seemed to have drifted off onto some other topic, so I asked again. “Does Carson Nihipali work here at the college?”

Grace burst out with a short laugh. It was the first time I’d seen an expression on her face that wasn’t glum. “Sorry. Carson’s as far from academic as you can get,” she said, still amused at my question. “He’s a ‘surfer dude,’” she said, putting on an accent. “And to support his obsession, he works as a deckhand on one of the sunset cruise ships.”

He didn’t sound like the type of person I’d have expected Mala to find attractive, but I knew enough not to prejudge a man by his occupation or preoccupation, and especially by the description given by someone who clearly felt herself superior.

“Can you tell me where I might find Carson Nihipali? Do you know where he lives?”

“No idea at all,” Grace said, the look of displeasure back on her face. “But here, I’ll write down the name of the ship he works on. It’s out of Lahaina, on the other side of the island. Have you been there?”

“Not yet,” I said, “but I’m sure I can find it.”
Or a cab driver can find it,
I thought, taking the paper on which Grace had written “Maui Ocean Star.”

She stood. “I’m afraid I have to get back to work,” she said. “Sorry if you think I wasted your time.”

“You haven’t wasted my time at all,” I said. “I appreciate your getting in touch with me.”

But as I pedaled back to my room at the resort, I wondered why Grace had written me that note. Did she think I knew Mala better than I actually did? Was she expecting to deliver the bad news herself? Some people delight in being the first one to pass along information without regard to whether it will—or perhaps even
because
it will—upset the listener. Grace knew something she wasn’t telling me. I was convinced of that. But would whatever she knew shed light on Mala’s death? That I didn’t know, but I was determined to find out.