Authors: Deborah Turrell Atkinson
Tags: #FICTION / Mystery & Detective / General
Two police officers arrived in Storm's hotel room, along with the head of the hotel's security. The security man was concerned to the point of defensiveness.
“The electronic key card is changed after each guest. Did you lose your key?”
“No,” Storm said. “I had one copy and it was in my purse. Someone got the security code.”
“Impossible.”
“Not if this person had access to the front desk,” said Storm. She was in no mood to be the simpering pushover the security man hoped for.
One of the police, a short lean man, had the door propped open and examined the lock mechanism. “No sign of forced entry.”
The security man had nothing to say.
The other officer, tall and tan, asked if he could dust her car keys and driver's license. “Though I doubt we'll find anything.”
“Let's check the door, too,” said the smaller cop.
The security man watched the cops work and stayed out of the way. There wasn't much for him to do. “I'll need a copy of the report,” he said.
“Of course,” the tall cop said.
Meanwhile, Storm filled out her part of the report, which included her lap top computer and everything that was in her handbag.
“Call us if you think of anything else that's missing,” said the short cop. “Most people don't remember everything the first go-round.”
“Any idea what he was after?” the tall cop asked.
“I had about a hundred dollars in cash, but my laptop is worth more than that.” Storm thought a minute. “It's encrypted, but someone might want information I've got stored on it.”
“Hope your encryption holds up,” the tall cop said.
“Me, too.”
“He left you just enough to get home.” The short cop had just finished dusting her driver's license and keys. “You need your ID at the airport and your car keys to get there.”
About a half-hour later, the police were finished, and Storm called Grace's cell phone. The ever-dependable secretary was in the office on a Saturday morning.
“What's wrong?” Grace asked. She and Aunt Maile must keep each other up to date with the latest in telepathic techniques.
“Why are you in the office?”
“I thought I'd catch up on some filing.”
Storm told her the problem.
Five minutes later, Storm had a list of her credit card companies, and Grace had called the front desk of the hotel for a cash advance on the credit card Storm had used to check in. Grace's efficiency cut through most of Storm's confusion and fear. The burglary was a pain in the ass, but Storm could function for a day or two before she had to fly home and work on replacing everything.
“Call the companies, but I doubt this person wants your credit cards,” Grace said. “He wants you to leave.”
“I hate being manipulated.”
“I know, but this is not the time to be obstinate.”
“I can't do it today. I've got some details to nail down with the dive shop.”
“What about the guardian ad litem case?”
“I've talked to the grandparents. Everything looks good.”
“Any chance you can finish with the dive shop this afternoon?”
“No.” Storm told her about Lara's dive that afternoon. “We'll wrap it up tomorrow.”
“At the latest.”
“Grace?”
“What?” Grace sounded like she knew.
“Do me a favor. Don't tell Hamlin about my purse.” Grace sighed loudly, but Storm was reassured.
As they'd talked, other ideas had come to Storm. Her next call was to Sergeant Carl Moana, who was working a Lahaina art gallery after a break-in. She told him about her conversation with Carmen.
“Any chance I could go to her house and get her toy cat?”
“The house is still secured.” He paused. “Can I call you back?”
Storm was in the car on the way to breakfast, when he phoned. “I can meet you in an hour and a half. You remember where the house is?”
“Sure, I'll be there.”
By now Storm's stomach growled audibly, and a Cosmo-induced headache was digging in behind her eyeballs. Food was what she needed, and lots of water.
She went to Dina's, the restaurant near Lara's shop, where she'd seen Stella console a crying Keiko. Storm didn't recognize anyone this visit, but the menu was as enticing as it had been before. She ordered the omelet with pesto, goat cheese, and sun-dried tomatoes. Maybe she'd skip lunch.
The waitress was friendly, knowledgeable, and stayed close to keep Storm's coffee mug full of fresh brew, which prompted Storm to strike up a conversation.
“Do you remember Manny's Diner, Ice Scream, and Auntie Piko's Puka Shells?”
“Sure, the dive shop people bought them out.” Storm picked up a note of disdain.
“Who owned the stores? Did they retire?”
“Bucky Silva died.” The waitress didn't hide her distress with that pronouncement.
“Which store was his?”
“Ice Scream.” The waitress, whose name tag said Louise, ignored Storm's raised hand and poured more coffee.
“That's sad.” Storm added milk to her brimming coffee mug. “What about Manny? And Auntie Piko?”
“They're around. Auntie Piko is Pauline Harding. She lives up Makawao way. Manny Barrolo is in Lahaina.” Louise looked thoughtful. “I heard he opened an Italian deli. I need to go visit.”
“Sounds good. I will, too,” Storm said.
“We have to support local shop owners, right?”
“Aren't the dive shop people local folks?”
“Lara Farrell is.” Her tone implied that Lara was the only one.
Storm had an hour before she was to meet Sergeant Moana. Since Carmen's house was in Lahaina, she had time to drop by Manny Barrolo's new deli. She wasn't sure yet how she'd frame her questions, but she wanted inside, local rumor-mill type info on how the previous shop owners had been treated. She wanted to know if the new buyer was a faceless consortium, or whether Ryan Tagama or his father had negotiated the sale. But even more, she wanted intangible particulars. The sort Louise was giving her now, about how the owners were perceived in the community. Whether their business practices were on the level, opportunistic, or downright dirty. It was a small community, and the coconut wireless should have the scoop.
Manny Barrolo had thinning black hair, liver spots, and the lumpy, veined nose of a man who'd enjoyed his wine for a long, long time. He had a tall glass of iced tea next to the cash register and he raised it often. At first, Storm thought it was more than iced tea, but she couldn't pick up the scent of anything but tea and lemon.
“Joey, cut this lovely
wahine
a slice of that imported salami.” Manny shouted over his shoulder at the young man behind the counter without taking his eyes from Storm's face.
“No thanks, I justâ”
“You must. I get it straight from my cousin in Genoa. He sends a box every two weeks.”
Joey put three paper-thin slices on a piece of wax paper and slid it across the top of the glass display case. His enthusiastic grin and flopping ginger hair reminded Storm of a happy golden retriever. He didn't look at all like Manny.
Storm put one in her mouth. It melted like spiced butter on her tongue. “That is delicious.” She ate the other two.
“Told you.” Manny slapped the counter with one hand, raised his iced tea with the other. “Joey, give her one of those fresh mozzarella balls.”
Storm had to laugh. “I can't. But I promise I'll come back for lunch.”
“What are you here for?”
“I wanted to ask you about Manny's Diner.”
His shoulders slumped.
“Bad topic?” Storm asked.
“Kinda. Whaddya need to know?”
“I've got a client who's going into that space, and I need to find out if this person's business might be at risk.”
“Probably.” Manny's voice was bitter. He glanced over his shoulder at Joey.
“It's okay, Uncle Manny. I'll handle these customers.” The bell over the door rang as a group of three entered.
“Let's sit down,” Manny said. “Joey, can you get me another iced tea? And one for
la bellezza
.” He took her arm and guided her to a chair.
“I try not to think of that place,” he said when they sat down. “Not good for my health. But I'm gonna tell you about it. Part of my recovery is full disclosure, especially if it will help someone else.”
“What happened?”
“A lot.” Manny sighed. “Including my wife left me.”
Joey glanced over, a frown erasing his previous enthusiasm.
“It's okay, Joey. I have to admit my wrongs.” Manny took a sip of iced tea. “It's part of the twelve steps. I've been going to AA since this happened.”
“Good for you.” She, too, had friends who had turned their lives around with the help of AA or NA.
“Yeah, but.”
Storm waited while Manny made circles on the table with the condensation on the outside of his glass. He seemed to muster his courage.
“I had some other problems. The guy that bought the shopping center pressured me.”
“Pressured you?”
“Yeah.” Manny wasn't meeting her eyes. “To sell.”
“He had something on you?”
“Part of it was real and part of it wasn't,” Manny rushed to say.
“Did you make a mistake because of alcohol?” Storm asked.
Manny nodded. He waited a long moment. “Do I have to tell you?”
“It would help if I knew what he had on you. And what he made up.”
“I had an affair with one of the waitresses.”
“You wouldn't be the first.”
Manny sounded miserable. “Yeah, well.” He didn't look up. “It was my wife's second cousin. She was twenty.”
“Ouch,” Storm said.
“But she instigated it,” He added quickly. “She'd always been trouble. The whole family said soâmy brother told me not to hire her in the first place.”
Storm was beginning to see where this was going. She sat quietly and let him continue.
“Then the guy threatened me. Said he'd get her to say she was raped.” He popped the knuckles on his left hand as if he'd like to tear off his fingers. “I didn't do that.”
“I believe you,” Storm said, and did. “What did this guy look like?”
“Big heavy guy, dark tan.”
Storm didn't know what Ryan Tagama's dad looked like, but it certainly wasn't Ryan.
“My wife had already moved out. This guy was going to send me to jail,” Manny's voice was a whisper, “just to get my store. But I was done with that.” He finally met Storm's eyes. “You know?”
“Yeah, I know.”
“You believe me?”
“Yes, I do. And Manny, this stays with me.” Storm stood up and offered her hand. “Thanks for your honesty.”
He looked surprised, then shook it.
Walking back to the car, she was so lost in thinking about Manny's sad story that she almost collided with a skate boarder. The boarder kept going, lost in the cacophony of his iPod, but Storm looked back to see if she needed to shout a warning to the elderly woman she'd passed a few yards back. Fortunately, the woman was safely backed up against a store front.
But that's how Storm spotted the two suits hustling out of an unremarkable building across the street. Not only was the dark attire unusual for laid-back Lahaina, but their black Mercedes sedan, flanked by two rusting Toyotas, stuck out like a shark in an aquarium. Both men had stocky, bowed legs. The taller of the two, whose jacket pulled across his back, looked like his heavy thighs would soon chafe through his slacks. His thick arms stuck out from his sides like Gumby's. Probably on steroids. The shorter, older man had a very dark tan.
The windows of the Mercedes were tinted so darkly she couldn't see the men when they drove out of the parking lot. But she did recognize the next pair that exited the back of the building. They wore jackets over aloha shirts, still dressy, but common island business attire. The taller of these two was Ryan, Lara's fiancé. Storm figured the older man, who was thin and pale with brush-cut silver hair, was Ryan's father.
She sauntered to the corner to get a look at which real estate office they were leaving. But it wasn't a real estate office, it was a bar. The Red Light's neon sign wasn't turned on, but it was easy to read. So were the Budweiser and Kirin beer signs.
Perhaps the four men had been brokering a deal in a bar before opening hours, but it seemed odd. Even more significant was Ryan's and his father's demeanor. If they'd been brokering a deal, they'd wound up on the losing end.
Storm didn't have time to dwell on the Tagamas and the closed bar. Commercial real estate was their business, after all, and she didn't want to be late to her meeting with Sergeant Moana.
Ten minutes later, when she pulled into the driveway of the Yoshinaka's modest house, the sight of the pink bicycle on the lawn stung her eyes. Was it Carmen's? Would she ever want to play with it again?
Moana had already arrived. He leaned against the door of his patrol car and talked on his cell phone. A fuzzy, stuffed orange cat sat on the car's roof.
“Sorry I'm late,” Storm said when he disconnected.
“No worries, I just got here, too.” He put the phone in his pocket and handed the fluffy toy cat to her.
“You knew the family, didn't you?”
“My daughters played in a soccer league with Carmen and Crystal.”
“Did you know the father?”
“Not well. He didn't speak much English. Seemed like a caring dad, though I couldn't exactly talk story with him.”
“I heard he had some debts. You think he shot himself because of those?”
Moana scuffed his feet in the dry grass. “This is going to come out in the paper, but you can't say a word until it does.” He looked around, though no one was there. “Yoshinaka had a gambling problem.”
“Cards? Cock fights?”
“He's small time, so probably cards and Pachinko.”
“Pachinko?”
“Kind of a cross between a slot machine and pin ball.”
Storm frowned. “Small time?”
“He was down about eighteen grandâas opposed to white collar shakedowns, which run into the hundreds of thousands. Millions, for that matter.”
Eighteen grand. Storm wondered if she would look foolish telling him about last night's experience, but decided not telling him was worse. “I've got to tell you a story. Don't know if it means anything, but you can decide for yourself.” She told him about her visit to Maâalahi Storage and the owners, the $18,765 handwritten note on the contract, and how her room had been broken into while she slept.
“My purse was stolen, except for my driver's license and the car keys. There was a note telling me to go home.”
“This happened soon after you visited that storage place? Because that's the amount of Yoshinaka's debt.”
Storm nodded.
“Your only connection to these storage owners is through Lara's Aquatic Adventures?”
“Lara's future father-in-law owns the property under the dive shop. He's also on the board of the consortium that owns Blue Marine and the Yoshinaka's house.”
Moana screwed up his face. “He's a pretty big commercial real estate investor, but I'll look into it.” He thought for a minute. “You're sure about the dollar amount?”
“I remember the descending numbers.”
“Me, too.” He squinted into the distance. “Let me speak to the cops who went to your room this morning. I'll also check on that storage facility.”
“Will you let me know?” Storm asked.
“If I can.” He got in his car.
Storm watched him pull away. He'd follow up on her question, but he probably wasn't going to give her much information. She was curious about those Pachinko machines. Who ran gambling machines on this island? They probably weren't in private homes. The back rooms of bars? Hotels? Storage facilities?
Wait, she didn't want to get into this. She'd retrieved Neko the kitty, and done her duty by telling Moana what she knew. Now all she had to do was finish setting up Lara's corporation in a manner that protected her from liability and fraud. She could finish that project tomorrow morning and still have the rest of the day with Hamlin. It was perfect timing.
Storm was getting in her car when her mobile phone rang. It was a Maui number, not one she recognized.
“Storm? Is that you? It's Stella. You have a few minutes? I'd like to talk to you.”
“You caught me at a pretty good time. What's up?”
“Uh, is there any chance you could pick me up? Keiko took the car this morning and hasn't come back and Lara wants me at the shop by noon.”
Storm remembered how Stella had confided in her about Lara's struggles with her ex-boyfriend. She'd also told Storm a friend had recommended her services to Lara, so Stella must feel a level of trust. On one hand, this could be a big fat hassle. On the other, Stella would be a good source of information regarding the dive shop.
Storm stifled a sigh. At least she'd have a captive interviewee. Could be worse. “Where do you live?”
She got the address, which was off Mokulele Avenue, not far from Kahului.
It took Storm about twenty minutes to get there. On the way, she wondered why Stella didn't just take a bus or a cab, but the edge to the woman's normally easy-going voice made her think there was a reason for the call. Sure enough, when Storm got to the condominium, Stella was pacing in the parking lot. She pulled on a cigarette as if it were a pacifier.
She ground out the cigarette and got in the car, flushed and sweating. The smell of smoke clung to her. “Thanks for coming.” Her fingernails were chewed to nubs. “I need to talk to you.”
“Where's Keiko?”
“I don't know.” Stella's hair, usually pinned up with fresh flowers, hung limp. Dark circles underscored her eyes.
“What time did she leave?”
“Around nine, I think. I was having coffee and reading the paper. It took me a while to notice she was gone.”
“She didn't ask you for the keys?”
“No, but they're usually on the table by the front door. I thought she was in the bathroom. She liked to take long, hot baths.”
“Anything unusual happen? Did she make any phone calls or receive any?”
“I don't think so. Not that I knew of.”
“Does she take off very often?”
“No, and I think it'sâ” Stella drew a deep breath. “If I hire you, you're bound to confidentiality, right?”
“Yes.”
“Can I hire you on someone's behalf?”
“Yes, but if you're not my client, what you tell me isn't confidential.”
“Shit.”
Storm thought a moment. “But personal is personal. It'll take a subpoena to squeeze it out of me.”
“Okay.” Stella slumped in the seat. “I have to talk to someone.”
Storm put the car in park, but left the air conditioner running. “Is this about Keiko?”
Stella nodded. “She's had a hard life.”
“What's she done?”
“I'm not sure. Well, I thinkâ” She wrung her hands. “I have to give you some background.”
“I'm okay with that.” Storm kept her voice calm and reassuring.
Stella drew a deep breath. “She was in the
mizu shobai
. The water trade.”
Storm didn't know the term.
“You know. Night-time entertainment.”
“Prostitution?”
Stella flushed. “Look, she didn't have a choice.” Her hands were curled into tight fists.
“Tell me about this.” Storm kept her voice very soft.
“She's Chinese,” Stella stared out the windshield at a distance Storm couldn't see. “Her real name is Yuan Ling, and her parents sold her to cover debts.”
Stella had to clear her voice twice, but she went on. “The Yakuza pays about $5000 for young girls in China and the Philippines. They're told they'll be given good jobs.”
Her upper lip curled and her tormented eyes slid to gauge Storm's reaction. Storm worked to keep the shock off her face, and the effort must have been effective because Stella kept talking.
“The men like them very young, you know. Before they get their periods. They call it selling spring.”
“Jesus.” Storm could no longer keep her dismay hidden.
“They make the girls wear school outfits, like short pleated skirts and knee socks. Sometimes with high heels.”
Storm winced and followed Stella's gaze to the horizon. The older woman's face was waxy and pale, and she seemed to be revisiting a memory beyond the cane fields.
“How did you get Keiko away from them?” Storm whispered. She wasn't just asking about Keiko, and Stella knew it.
“I knew something about one of the men.”
“Good for you.”
Stella picked at a hangnail. “But Keiko tried to escape another way. She cut her arms and nearly bled to death.”
“You were with her?”
“No, I got out years ago. This was about eight months ago.” She chewed her thumb. “Someone called me about her.”
“Someone from the, uh⦔
“Club. They're called clubs.”
Storm grimaced at the euphemism. “Who called you?”
Stella looked nervous. “You wouldn't know her.”
Storm assumed it was one of the prostitutes. “Okay, but why you?”
“Keiko is my goddaughter's age. Twenty-three. The woman who called knew Angela.”
“Angela was in the same business?”
“Yes, and she died of a drug overdose. It was a means of escape.” Stella swallowed so hard Storm could hear it. “I'm afraid Keiko will try the same thing.”
Storm found her own hands curling into fists. “Did something happen over the last few days to upset her? That would make her take your car and leave?”
Stella returned from the world of the past, and turned reddened eyes to Storm. “Yesterday, I went to see an old friend of mine. It upsets Keikoâshe won't go inside.”
“Inside her home?”
“She's in a nursing facility.”
Hadn't Damon mentioned that Lara's mother was in a nursing home? Storm considered that connection.
“You think that's what made her take the car and leave?”
“That and Hiroki Yoshinaka's suicide.”
“Because he killed his daughter?”
Stella's eyes slid to Storm. “She's concerned about the sister.”
Debts, Storm thought. “You think she might have, um, done something with Carmen?”
“I'd like to check and make sure.”
“Stella, is gambling part of the water trade?”
Stella's eyes grew round. “You know about Hiroki's gambling debts?”
“I suspected.”
“It used to be part of the club scene, but I'm not sure anymore. Keiko ended up in the water trade because of her own father's debts.”
And Keiko preferred death over life in Obake's establishment. Apparently, Hiroki Yoshinaka had made a similar choice. Would Keiko have the nerve to do what Hiroki had attempted? Storm put the car in gear, her grip tight on the steering wheel.
“You want to go visit Carmen?”
“I called the hospital earlier, and Keiko hadn't been there.”
“When did you call?”
“Ten or ten-thirty.”
Storm checked her watch. “Didn't you say Lara wanted you in the shop by noon? You're going to be very late.”
Stella's shoulders drooped.
Storm felt for her. “Look, I need to call Lara to make an appointment to finish setting up her business. I can also find out if she's expecting you right away.”
The phone rang a long time. Storm was about ready to disconnect when Damon's voice came on.
“Did you get my message?” he asked.
“Shoots, I'm sorry,” Storm said. “My purse got stolen sometime last night and I completely forgot to call you back.”
“I thought you were mad at me.”
“No, I got distracted. Why'd you call?”
“I can't remember now.” He laughed.
“Okay.” If you say so. “Say, I'd like to talk to you. You free tonight after work?”
“Are you asking me on a date?” Damon sounded a bit too eager.
“Nice try. It's a professional date. I don't play golf.”
He chuckled again. “Neither do I. The Fiddler Crab again? I can meet you at six.”
“Sounds good. Is Lara around?”
“She and Ken took a group of travel agents out diving. Good promotional opportunity, you know.”
“When will she be back? I need to talk to her.”
“Late afternoon, I'd guess.”
Storm could tell that Stella understood the gist of the conversation. “Is there any reason Stella needs to come to the shop right now? She needs some personal time.”
“She could come in and answer this damned phone,” Damon said.
“She'll be there in an hour. Meanwhile, practice your social skills.”
Damon made a noise somewhere between a snort and a honk and hung up.
Ten minutes later, Storm and Stella pulled into the hospital parking lot. They went past the nursing station, straight to Carmen's room. The bed was rumpled and no one was in it.
“She could be in the bathroom.” Stella's words rang with concern.
Storm had already turned back toward the nursing station. “We came to see Carmen Yoshinaka.”
The desk clerk looked up with a practiced smile. “We released her to her auntie. Poor thing. Her only relative here in the U.S.”
“What's the aunt's name?” Storm asked.
The clerk fluttered through a pile of papers. “Here.” She handed a form to Storm.
Storm grabbed the paper, and Stella looked over her shoulder. The signature was illegible to Storm, but Stella recognized it.
“That's Keiko's,” she said.
Stella waited until they were in Storm's car to speak. “I'm afraid of what Keiko might do.”
“How far will she go to protect Carmen?”
Stella, her skin papery and grey, merely clenched her hands together.