Fire Prayer (2 page)

Chapter Two

The brisk trade winds nearly tore the duffel out of Storm's hand. She preceded her partner and lover, Ian Hamlin, down the steps from the thirty-passenger Turbo-prop—Moloka‘i Airport didn't bother with jet ways—and looked back at him. “Did you actually meet this guy?”

“Briefly,” Hamlin said, and jammed a cowboy hat over his sandy hair. It looked good with his bushy moustache. “He didn't say much. His assistant does most of the talking.”

“But he's paying you a retainer to look into this.”

“Sure. He may have a legitimate negligence suit if Hawai‘i EcoTours didn't warn his son of dangerous water conditions, or if the equipment was defective.”

“How will you find out?”

“We know Brock went out two weeks ago because we've got a charge on his credit card for March 26th. The morning was calm, but the surf had risen considerably by early afternoon.”

“How old is he?”

“Twenty-six.”

“Pretty young.”

“Old enough to be an executive at Pacific Shipping and Transport. He also sits on the board. Missed a board meeting for the first time ten days ago.”

Storm squinted at him. “He grew up in the islands, didn't he? He'd know how treacherous the ocean on those unprotected shores can be.”

“I've still got to check it out.” Hamlin looked away from her. “Brock is Liu's only son. Devon Liu is pushing eighty and looks like he's aged a decade in the last two weeks. Plus, he's not an easy man to ignore.”

“I see.” Storm didn't want to argue. They'd had disagreements before about personal injury suits and had different points of view on the topic. Hamlin was more ambitious in terms of his client list and their connections. Storm maintained that she didn't want her job, and her life, to revolve around social connections and the size of her paycheck. She also wanted her vocation to be about good will, and didn't hesitate to point out to Hamlin that it was working; she'd made enough money on her last case not only to pay her share of office expenses, but to put a generous hunk into an IRA.

Tanner Williams' phone call had been a surprise, a voice from the past. The last time she'd seen him, he'd saved her from a dismal science grade. That was the year she'd transferred to O‘ahu from the Big Island, a lonely, displaced sixteen-year-old.

Though they'd never discussed it, she'd known that Tanner had his own struggles. He was a year older than the other seniors. According to rumor, he repeated his junior year because of health problems and was monitored by a doctor on his home island of Moloka‘i. Students whispered that none of the Honolulu specialists had found anything wrong with him. He was just
mental
.

Tanner never discussed personal issues, and he rarely sought the company of other students. But he'd been honest, kind, and smarter than anyone else in the school, including a lot of the teachers. He'd given Storm support when she needed it, and now she would do the same for him.

Not that she needed much of an excuse to come to Moloka‘i, especially when Uncle Keone and Aunt Maile were going to be there. They didn't often leave Parker Ranch, on the Big Island of Hawai‘i, where Uncle Keone was one of the long-time
paniolo
and a ranch foreman.

Hamlin caught up to Storm and gently touched her arm. Storm could tell he knew he'd touched on a sensitive area and wanted to change the subject before it grew into a dispute. They needed this long weekend to linger over wine-soaked, unhurried dinners and breathe deeply of the peace that was Moloka‘i. They needed long walks under the stars, cuddling before the cozy fireplace of the Lodge, and retiring to the sophisticated and cozy cabin-style rooms.

“Devon Liu's situation is sad, that's for sure,” Storm said, to put the difference behind them. She was glad to be distracted by the sight of a bandy-legged, cowboy-hatted figure who stood by the low platform that passed for a baggage claim, just inside the chain link fence.

“Uncle Keone,” she shouted, and dashed toward him.

The man, whose skin was darkened by the weather to a leathery mahogany, wrapped his arms around her. “Hey, honey girl. It's been way too long.”

“That's cuz you won't leave the Big Island and come to Honolulu,” Storm teased.

“Not. We just been plenny busy lately, clipping calves and training colts. I been meaning to come see Dusty Rodriguez for months. When Maile and I found out you'd be here, nothing would keep us away.” The lines around Keone's eyes radiated like the warmth of the sun. “Plus, get chance to pick out some good cutting horses. Dusty got the best.”

“He gets his cattle from Parker Ranch, doesn't he? We once helped him round them up and load them on the barge.”

“Sure enough.” Keone sighed. “That was quite a few years ago, back when your daddy was still alive.”

Hamlin caught up to Storm and Keone. “Keone, it's great to see you. How's life on the Big Island?”

“It's good,” Keone said and grabbed Hamlin in a hug. “But it'd be better if we saw more of you two.”

Storm linked her arm with Keone's. “When can we see the horses?”

“Soon,” Keone said, and gave Hamlin a wink. “Depends on what else you need to do.”

“I need to make a run into Kaunakakai, but other than that, I'm going to relax,” Storm said.

“From what I hear, you need a vacation.”

“I'm fine,” Storm said, but her smiled disappeared as she took in the glance that passed between Hamlin and Keone. “I wasn't hurt in that cave, just scared.”

“You were damn lucky not to end up drowned like those surfers,” Hamlin said.

Keone put his arm around Storm's shoulders. “Let's just thank our lucky stars that you and Aunt Maile's
‘aumakua
got the job done.”

Storm's hand went to the little gold pig she wore on a chain around her neck. Aunt Maile was not only a registered nurse, she was a
kahuna lā‘au lapa‘au
, or native healer, and believed deeply in the ancient Hawaiian traditions. She'd sent the necklace, their shared family totem, to Storm during her last case. The emerald-eyed charm had been a gift for Storm's thirtieth birthday, and Maile's timing with its arrival had been prescient. The case, though Storm would never admit it, had left a thread or two of silver in her dark hair.

“Where is she?” she asked.

“Out gathering
limu
before the tide comes up. She'll meet us at the ranch.”

“What's the medicinal use for
limu
?” Hamlin asked.

“All kinds of things.” Keone grinned. “But mostly it makes me happy, especially when the chef has fresh ahi tuna coming in. He and Maile are in cahoots. They going make one fresh
poke
to have with our beer, um, cocktails tonight.”

“Yum,” Storm said, conjuring pictures of her aunt in the kitchen with the chef, adding the fresh seaweed, ground kukui nut, and other seasonings to the raw fish dish.

A golf cart pulling a trailer piled with bags drew parallel to the baggage claim counter. No mechanized, hidden workers or conveyor belts here; bags got piled on and off by hand and in one sweep.

“Dusty's out front,” Keone said, and pointed to a white van with the Moloka‘i Ranch logo printed across the side. Like most things on the island, the vehicle was covered with a layer of red dirt.

Storm remembered Dusty from his visit to Parker Ranch because at fifteen, she'd thought he was hot. Especially for an old guy. Now she realized he'd been around thirty, or her present age. But he'd seemed so different than Uncle Keone, who'd essentially raised her, and the other men she knew. Keone may have been a father figure, but Dusty definitely wasn't. He'd been sort of an unattainable movie-idol type, like that Magnum P.I. actor Tom Selleck, though she would have swallowed her tongue before she told anyone.

One day, Storm rounded a corner of a barn and saw him leaning into a woman, one hand on the wall behind her and one inside her blouse. The woman, a pretty brunette named Darlene, was fast closing the gap between them. Storm had whirled on the heel of her boot and scooted back around the barn, her face burning with embarrassment.

A few days later, she'd overheard Aunt Maile whispering to Keone, who chuckled. “Guess he hasn't grown up yet.”

Maile made a snorting noise, kind of like a horse when you tighten a girth too quickly. Storm knew that noise; the last time she'd heard it was when she got caught playing hooky with Howie DeSilva and had to spend an entire weekend weeding Aunt Maile's herb garden.

Storm regarded Dusty's approach with interest. He was still over six feet tall, and broad shouldered with thick black hair shot with gray, but his eyes had changed. His gaze was direct, not flirtatious, and conveyed a touch of sorrow.

His quick grin erased any sadness Storm thought she'd seen and he grabbed her in a jovial hug. “More beautiful than ever,” he said, and Storm was glad her blushing cheeks faced away from Hamlin and Keone.

Dusty, oblivious, released her and grasped Hamlin's hand. “Great to meet you.” He grabbed their bags. “You two travel light.”

Storm and Hamlin were the only passengers in the van, so they sat on the bench behind the driver's seat. Keone rode shotgun to Dusty, who asked Hamlin if he'd ever been to Moloka‘i.

“This is my first time. Storm's told me about it, though. She loves coming here.”

“How long since you been here?” Dusty asked Storm. He regarded her in the rear-view mirror. “I haven't seen you since the Big Island.”

“That was a long time ago. I was here with friends about ten years ago, right after the fire on Moloka‘i Ranch.”

“A brush fire?” Hamlin asked.

“If only,” Dusty said. He turned left onto the highway, a winding picturesque two-lane road that led east, through grazing lands and fallow fields toward the town of Maunaloa and Moloka‘i Ranch. There was a long pause before he continued.

“Someone burned down the ranch owner's home one night. Those were hard times.” The corners of his mouth turned down at the memory.

“Are people more accepting of the ranch's presence these days?” Storm asked.

“I think so.” Dusty shrugged. “But it might be that we're all getting older. Ten years ago, there was a lot of friction. Seemed like the ranch owners were just here to make money, wouldn't pay any heed to the people who call this place home.” The sadness returned to his eyes. “People lost their favorite fishing spots, couldn't get to the old Maunaloa cemetery to visit their families' graves. They felt betrayed.”

He pointed to a sign that greeted visitors leaving Moloka‘i Airport.

ALOHA

SLOW DOWN

THIS IS

MOLOKA‘I

“We want to keep the lifestyle here. The population's only about seventy-five hundred people and half of 'em are related. Still no traffic lights, you know? But it's hard, and maybe not realistic all the time. We can't close ourselves off from the rest of the world. We talk more now, have meetings.”

“How did the land owners and the local people get so far apart in their points of view?” Hamlin asked.

Dusty took a deep breath before he answered. “My opinion, for what it's worth, is that big land owners and locals, they have different perspectives. In the old days, land was the source of life for the Hawaiians. They didn't have a western concept of land ownership.”

“Like Native Americans on the mainland?”

“Similar.” Dusty's expression became thoughtful again. “We all know it's hard to get people to accept change, and who knows how much to accept. But if we're going to survive as a culture, we need jobs. Moloka‘i's unemployment is the highest in the state.” He looked briefly into the back seat at Hamlin and Storm. “What's the rate in Honolulu?”

“Things are good right now. It's under ten percent,” said Hamlin.

“It's twenty, thirty percent here. We need work, but just when we think we can trust a big land owner to give us fair jobs and still honor our lifestyle, you get someone like that software guy, McAfee, who begged to buy a big wedge of land from an old family, then auctioned it to the highest bidder.” Dusty shook his head with disgust.

Hamlin had been staring out the side window. “I can understand people's reluctance to give up their land, but violence just antagonizes people. That protest ten years ago—didn't someone die?”

Dusty didn't answer for a second or two, and Storm saw his shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath. “Yup. Those were bad times.” He seemed to settle himself deeper in the driver's seat.

A few uncomfortable seconds passed before Keone spoke. “Storm, you been riding much since you moved to the city?”

“No, and I miss it. I guess I could go to Waimanalo, but I haven't had the time lately.”

“Dusty's got a roundup tomorrow.”

Dusty perked up. “She's good, you know,” he said to Hamlin. “Won a coupla trophies for barrel racing back in her teens.”

Hamlin's eyebrows shot up and he looked at her. “She never told me.”

Storm shrugged in embarrassment and poked Uncle Keone in the shoulder. “Tell him the real story.”

Keone chuckled. “How old were you? Thirteen? You'd been training Butterfly for weeks, getting ready.”

Storm turned to Hamlin. “Butterfly was my mare. Best horse in the world. We'd been looking forward to the all-state rodeo for months. The best
paniolo
in the islands compete there. Butterfly could feel my nervousness, and she wanted to do a good job for me. When I let her go at the gun, she jumped out so fast, I lost my seat and bounced over the back of the saddle. All I could do was flop around and hold on to the saddle strings. The reins were flying behind and I didn't even have my feet in the stirrups.”

Keone and Dusty were laughing out loud. “And she won.”