Aloha Betrayed (12 page)

“You could help.”

“Oh, really? In what way could I help? And make it quick. I have a meeting to get to.”

I cast around for a reason to extend our discussion. It was unlikely Witherspoon would have put himself in jeopardy by killing anyone personally. But by the looks of the men who worked for him, it wouldn’t surprise me if Mala’s death had been a contract killing. I needed more time to assess the man to gauge how far he would go to protect his interests. “I’d appreciate meeting with you to help me understand the background and recent developments in the Haleakala project.”

“All you have to know is that it’s going forward.”

“What happened to the open door you boasted about? Anyone can come and talk to you, you just said.”

“I don’t have time for this,” he said, making a show of looking at his watch.

I was about to admit defeat when I looked at his taller assistant—I suppose you could call him that—and had a moment of recognition. If I wasn’t mistaken, he was one of the men I overheard at the luau. My mind flashed back to the conversation that night.

“Did he try talking to her?” he asked.

“It’s too late for talking,” the other replied. He was a beefy man in a colorful patterned shirt, shorts, and flip-flops. “She’d better quit if she knows what’s good for her. They’re not going to put up with it anymore.”

“She’s not going to convince him to change his mind, even if she tries.”

“If she scuttles this project, I swear he’ll kill her.”

I pulled myself back into the present moment.

“Excuse me,” I said to the young man. “Weren’t you at the luau the night Ms. Kapule fell to her death?”

He looked to his boss before turning and walking away.

Witherspoon gave me a baleful look. “You mind some advice, Mrs. Fletcher?”

“Go ahead.”

“I suggest that you enjoy your stay here on Maui like any other tourist. Stick to writing a magazine article or something. Maybe I’ll buy a copy when it comes out. Don’t worry that pretty head of yours about things that don’t concern you. You’ll be flying outta here back to where you come from. Have yourself a good trip and let the Hawaiian people enjoy the sorta success that the Haleakala telescope will give ’em. Excuse me. I’ve got another appointment.”

What arrogance,
I thought as I watched him and his acolytes leave the room.

I was poised to depart, too, when a man who’d been sitting with the other reporters approached. “Jessica Fletcher?” he said.

“Yes.”

“My name is Joe Luckey, the
Maui News
.” He pronounced his name “LOO-key” and handed me his card.

“Yes?”

“I’m writing an article on Mala Kapule and the Haleakala telescope project.”

“Oh?”

“Some of the people I’ve interviewed mentioned that you were here on the island and have been—well, I suppose you could say that you’ve been delving into the circumstances surrounding her death.”

“Mind if I ask who told you that?”

“Not at all. I heard it from one of Ms. Kapule’s family members.”

I thought back to when Mike Kane and I visited Mala’s house and wondered whether one of her cousins had been the source of that information.

“Could we talk for a few minutes?” he asked.

“I really have nothing to say to the public about Mala Kapule’s unfortunate death,” I said, “other than it’s tragic to lose any young person and especially someone with such intelligence and promise.”

“But I’m told that you and Detective Mike Kane are trying to prove that she might have been murdered.”

“We’re hardly in a position to do such a thing. Any investigation remains in the hands of the authorities.”

“Nevertheless, I hear you’re asking questions,” he replied. “People are talking about it. Maui’s not a big island, Mrs. Fletcher.”

“I’m beginning to find that out,” I said. “I know you’re working on your article and I respect that, but I have nothing to contribute. It was nice meeting you, Mr. Lucky.”

He gave a boyish grin. “Mr. Lucky. That was a TV show, wasn’t it? My name is LOO-key.”

I smiled and shook his hand. “My mistake,” I said.

With a disappointed expression, he turned away.

I was about to take my leave when it occurred to me that there might be something to be learned from this young reporter. After all, it’s what I’d been teaching police recruits—take in any and all information from anyone, including those who are doing nothing more than circulating unsubstantiated rumors.

“Mr. Luckey,” I called out, pronouncing his name correctly this time, “I apologize if I was somewhat curt. I’m having a change of heart. I would be happy to speak with you. Perhaps we can help each other.”

“That’s great, Mrs. Fletcher. Can I buy you a cup of coffee?”

“There’s coffee over there,” I said, pointing to the table with breakfast items. “Might as well take advantage of it.”

With a cup of coffee and a glass of pineapple juice—Joe Luckey also fortified himself with two pieces of raspberry Danish—we settled in a corner of the room. He turned to a fresh page in his slender reporter’s notebook, removed the cap from his pen, and asked, “What have you uncovered about the way Ms. Kapule died?”

I had to make a fast decision about how much to share with him. The answer was as little as possible, although I also knew that in fairness I had to offer something in return for learning what, if anything, he had come across.

“I have to warn you, I don’t have anything concrete. There’s a question of where she actually fell. It’s not clear from the markings on the ground precisely where she ended up going over the edge. And while my knowledge of her personality is only from short acquaintance, I find it hard to believe she was collecting plant samples in the middle of the night.”

He made a note in his pad.

“But that’s conjecture, Mr. Luckey. Please don’t report it as fact.”

“Oh, I would never do that, Mrs. Fletcher. And please call me Joe.”

“And I’m Jessica. Now, what have you heard about Ms. Kapule’s death in your travels around Maui?”

“Just the usual scuttlebutt. Mostly, I hear that you and Mike Kane are working together.”

“You know Detective Kane?”

“Sure I do. The big
kahuna
. Hollywood used to use that term to refer to surfers. But here on the islands, it’s always meant an important person. Mike’s a
kahuna
. Any time there’s a tough case, the police call on him for the answer. Another reporter on the paper wrote a profile of him a few months ago. Great guy!”

“He certainly is. We’re teaching a course together for the new class of police recruits. What did you think of Mr. Witherspoon’s comments this morning?”

He laughed. “He’s a big blowhard, Jessica, a real
moke
, but I suppose he’s got a right to want to push the telescope on Haleakala forward. There’s lots of money involved. And as the lowest bidder, he probably doesn’t have the reserve some of the other bidders had.”

“Moke?”

“Hawaiian for a big, tough guy.”

“Sounds appropriate. Money is a powerful motivator,” I said.

He started to write but stopped and looked up at me. “Are you suggesting that he might have had something to do with Ms. Kapule’s death?”

I held up my hand and said, “Let’s not start reading things into our conversation.”

“I wouldn’t blame you if you felt that way. Witherspoon sure had a motive for wanting to see Mala Kapule dead.”

“You need more than a motive to charge someone with murder. He certainly wanted her to stop interfering in the construction of the telescope. Beyond that, I don’t think we can say. There may have been others with different motives. Let’s not go jumping to conclusions.”

“Sorry.” He cocked his head at me. “You write books about murder.”

“That’s right.”

“You ever do books about true crime?”

“No. I only write fiction. Why do you ask?”

“Well, I thought that if Ms. Kapule’s death was murder, I might try to write a book about it.”

“I think that would be a good idea,” I said, “provided it
was
murder. We don’t know that.”

“Right, right. I just mean that if—you know, just thinking out loud.”

“I understand. Have you spent time with the group opposed to the telescope?”

“I went to one meeting and reported on it as part of a longer piece.”

“I’m going to a meeting tonight,” I said. “I’m sure it will be different without Mala there.”

“She was a tough leader.”

“You knew her?”

“Met her a few times. She was no-nonsense, about protecting Haleakala, I mean. Stopped anyone cold if they even tried to express a different point of view. Have you been up there?”

“To Haleakala? No, but I would like to see what it’s like.”

“It’s pretty impressive. Bus companies run trips up there for the sunrise. Lots of people go up by bus and come back down on a bike. You ever ride a bike?”

I laughed. “If you’re asking, am I too old to ride a bike, the answer is no, I’m not too old. A bicycle is my principal means of transportation back home in Maine, and I’ve been doing some cycling since coming to Maui.”

“Then you definitely should take the sunrise trip, Jessica.”

“I’ll think about it, Joe.”

He made a face. “That’s what my mother says when she wants to stop me from arguing with her. Okay. Don’t go, but you’ll be the one to miss out. Don’t say I didn’t tell you.”

I laughed. “All right, all right. You’ve convinced me. I’ll make the arrangements at the front desk. Now, let’s get back to the subject at hand. Anything else you can tell me about what your research for your article has uncovered?”

“Afraid not.” He looked down at his notes. “I guess we really didn’t give each other much information, but I appreciate your time.”

“It was my pleasure.”

Before we left the room, he wrapped two pieces of pastry in a napkin and slipped them into his backpack. “A snack for later,” he said sheepishly.

“Better than letting it go to waste,” I said.

“Witherspoon was right about that. The press loves to get fed. We just don’t like to admit it.”

We parted in the lobby, agreeing to stay in touch if we learned anything. I doubted I would share anything more Mike and I might discover with a reporter. Joe’s goal was to get a story into print, and mine was to fit together the pieces of the puzzle of Mala’s death. They were two strictly independent and, to a certain extent, selfish goals. I wanted to know if the Mala I’d met was the same exemplar her uncle had raved about, and if someone had killed her, what was the reason? Was it politics, jealousy, greed, revenge for some perceived slight? The numbers of motives were legion. But if her death was not an accident, there had to be an answer to the question
why
.

I looked at my watch and decided it was too late to bicycle to the south shore in the hope of being able to speak with Koko. Mike Kane was due to pick me up at one. Maybe he would agree to drive there.

My room phone was ringing when I walked in.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Jessica. It’s Bob Lowell here.”

It took a moment for me to recognize the name.

“Yes, hello, Bob. How are you? How is Elaine?”

“Me and my sweetie are just fine,” he said in a booming voice. “Here’s why I’m calling, Jessica. Elaine and I are going to take that sunrise bike trip tomorrow up to the volcano, Hali-something-or-other. Thought you might like to join us.”

“How nice of you to think of me,” I said. “In fact, I was just talking with someone else about that trip, but I haven’t decided yet whether or not I’ll have the time to fit it in.”

He laughed heartily. “Now, don’t be scared. I’ll be there to protect you and Elaine. But you’ve gotta take this trip. Everyone says it’s a must-see. You know the old saying, ‘When in Rome, do like those Romans do.’ It’s supposed to be the best deal on the island. I like a bargain as much as the next man.” Another laugh. “You could write it up in your next murder mystery, have somebody fall into that volcano or something. The missus and I already made our reservations. Not sure I’m keen on having to get up at three in the morning, but I’m an early riser anyway. This’ll just be a few hours earlier. I’ll probably end up carrying Elaine halfway down. She’s not much of a bike rider.”

I heard, “Oh, Bob,” in the background.

“I’ll keep it in mind, Bob,” I said, “but I’m not ready to commit to going. Thanks for reminding me. My best to your wife.”

Biking down Haleakala with Bob and Elaine Lowell was not high on my list of things I wanted to do. But Bob was right. It was certainly a popular excursion. Ironically, Mala herself had suggested it to me. Since the volcano, and Mala’s work to preserve its sacred status for the people of Maui, could be at the root of how and why she died, it did make sense to see what she felt so keenly about. I debated the pros and cons of scheduling something that required me to forgo a good night’s sleep but finally talked myself into it.

I went to the front desk in the lobby, where the cultural exhibits were still drawing crowds, and noticed the heavyset man still holding up a newspaper.
He must be a very slow reader,
I thought,
or else a man waiting very patiently while his wife shops.
I asked Eileen to cancel the bike I’d rented for the day and queried her about the Haleakala excursion.

“I’m considering taking the sunrise bike trip up the volcano,” I told her. “What do you think?”

“Oh, you’ll just love it,” she said. “When would you like to go?”

“What do you suggest?”

“It’s supposed to be a good weather day tomorrow. The forecast for later in the week is iffy. You really want to be up there when it’s clear or you’ll get fogged in and see nothing.”

“Then tomorrow it will be.” I realized I’d forgotten to ask Bob Lowell which tour company he’d booked with. It wasn’t worth calling him back, however. I figured if they were going tomorrow, we’d meet up at the top anyway.

Eileen booked my reservation, gave me some verbal instructions, handed me some written material, and wished me a pleasant ride. I took a chair in the lobby and was perusing the handouts when Mike Kane strolled in. His Hawaiian shirt this time was white with silver palm trees on it.