Aloha Betrayed (9 page)

“I think Detective Kane and his family are getting ready to leave. You’ll have to excuse me. It was nice to see you again,” I said, not sure that it was.

“Same here, Jessica. Thanks for signing the book.” He thumped his fist on my novel underneath his jacket.

I intercepted Mike and we walked back to where people were hastily packing up supplies.

“Sorry to interrupt you,” he said, “but once the rain comes this stream will be overflowing within minutes. Can be dangerous. I saw that you were talking to Charlie Reed.”

“Yes. He had me sign one of my books. I met him last night on his catamaran.”

“The sunset cruise.”

“Yes, it was a lovely experience.”

“He talk about the telescope and Mala Kapule?”

“Just now, yes. He was no fan of her efforts to stop its completion.”

Mike gave a snort. “That’s putting it mildly. He’s one of the biggest financial supporters of a so-called committee that’s been fighting her group every step of the way.”

“Sounds as though there are some very powerful people on that committee. I’m sure they have a lot more money than Mala and her supporters do.”

“True, but from what I’ve heard, she was some tenacious lady.”

I helped Mike’s family and friends pack picnic supplies in the cars and had delivered my final load when the rains came, a torrent, sheets of water being tossed about by the increasing wind.

“Just in time,” Mike said as we ducked into his SUV. His wife was in the car that had brought her to the cookout, and she waved at us as we joined a procession of vehicles leaving the valley.

“I’m sorry that you have to drive me back to the hotel,” I said as he leaned forward to better see through the windshield.

“Not a problem,” he said. “You have plans for later?”

I hesitated before I admitted, “Nothing specific. I was thinking I might stop by Mala’s home.”

“Why?”

“Oh, I don’t know, just to pay my respects, maybe gain a sense of how she lived, feel close to her.”

“That’s as good an excuse as any,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re convinced that she didn’t fall off that cliff by accident, aren’t you?”

I gave him an ironic smile. “You’re reading my mind.”

“Maybe you’re reading
my
mind. Know where she lived?”

“No.”

“I can find out easily enough.”

“Oh, Mike, I’ve taken you from your family too much already.”

“Lani will understand. I’ll call her.”

I was pleased that he offered to go with me, and didn’t protest any further. He called on his cell phone and left a message on his home answering machine: “Driving Mrs. Fletcher to see where Mala Kapule lived. Don’t hold dinner for me in case we run late. Love you, baby.”

Obviously the Kanes had a solid, trusting marital relationship, much the same as my husband Frank and I enjoyed when he was alive. I love being around couples who exhibit that sort of easy acceptance of each other and their individual needs and aspirations. It was a bittersweet moment. I sighed at the remembrance, sat back, and enjoyed the sound of rain pelting the roof of the SUV. I was content; I was not the only one who suspected intrigue behind Mala’s untimely death.

E Komo Mai
—Welcome, Come In

M
ike checked the telephone directory and got Mala’s address, which he told me was close to the airport and the college and not far from where I was staying in Kahului.

I had assumed that he would have asked the police for the information, and said so.

“Yeah, I could have called in for it, but sometimes if you do it yourself, it’s faster,” he said. “Also, this way we don’t raise any eyebrows. Not that anyone would have objected, but they don’t have to know my business all the time.”

Twenty minutes later we pulled into the driveway of an unassuming two-story house with a fancy red sports car in the carport.

Mike whistled. “That’s some set of wheels.”

The rain had stopped, and a young man and woman who’d been sitting on the small porch in front stood at our arrival and came down the three steps to greet us.

“
Aloha
. I’m Mike Kane. This is Jessica Fletcher.”

“Aloha,”
the woman said. The man shook Mike’s hand.

“This was where Mala Kapule lived?” Mike asked.

“Yes,” replied the woman. “You’re friends?”

“Not exactly,” Mike said.

“I knew her,” I said, “but not well. We met at the college where she taught.”

“You’re aware that—?”

“That she died?” I said. “Yes. Are you related to her?”

“Cousins,” said the man. “I’m Joshua. This is Lily.”

The sound of voices from inside the house reached us. Lily said, “Other cousins.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” I said.

“I’ve heard your name,” Joshua said to Mike. “Is this an official visit?”

“I’m former Maui PD, retired, so this is more like an unofficial visit. Mrs. Fletcher wanted to see where Mala lived and—”

I completed Mike’s statement. “I wanted to extend my condolences to the family, and I have a letter from a friend back home for Mala’s aunt, Mrs. Barrett Kapule, but I don’t know where she lives. Perhaps one of you could give me directions to her home.”

“You can give it to Auntie Edie right now. She’s inside,” Lily said.

“Oh, thank you.” I reached into a pocket in my shoulder bag and withdrew the letter from Seth that I had promised to deliver. His words of condolence were about his friend Barrett, but now the Kapule family had a second bereavement to contend with.

“Would you mind telling us what you’ve been told about Mala’s death?” I asked.

The two looked at each other before Lily turned back to me. “There doesn’t seem to be any question about that. Cousin Mala tripped and fell off a cliff while going after some type of plant. That’s what the police told Auntie Edie.”

“You’re right,” Mike said. “That’s the way it’s on the books.”

“I hear a big ‘but’ in that,” Joshua said.

Mike shrugged. “It’s only been a short time since she died,” he said, “and it’s always been my experience that a case shouldn’t be closed until every angle has been looked at, every possible cause of death ruled out.”

Another glance passed between the couple before Lily asked, “Are you suggesting that Mala might have killed herself?”

Mike shook his head. “I didn’t say that, did I?”

“Then do you think someone else killed her?”

“I’m not suggesting anything,” he said.

There was an awkward moment of silence finally broken by Lily. “Did you wish to come inside?”

“I wouldn’t want to intrude if this is a bad time,” I said, not adding that I was hoping that we’d be asked. “If it is, we can come another day.”

“It wouldn’t be an intrusion,” she said, “but let me tell them that you’re here.”

They both went inside, leaving us in front of the house with the sky threatening again. While we waited to be admitted, I took note of the garden in the small yard. It was artfully arranged with a mix of flowers and plants with interesting foliage. I stopped to admire a small tree with red brushlike flowers. “This is beautiful,” I said to Mike.

“It’s an
ohi‘a
tree,” he said, “native to Hawaii. Most of our plants and flowers were brought here from someplace else over the centuries, but this tree is Hawaiian-born. There’s a legend about the
ohi‘a
tree. Would you like to hear it?”

“Of course,” I said smiling.

“The goddess Pele turned a young man named Ohi‘a into a tree when he declined to become her lover. You see, he already loved another woman named Lehua. Lehua begged the gods to reunite her with Ohi‘a. But instead of returning Ohi‘a to human form, they made Lehua into the beautiful blossoms that bloom on the tree. That’s why we say never to pick the flowers. If you do, it will rain—the tears of the separated lovers.”

“That’s charming.”

“I thought you’d like that one.” Mike pointed out another plant with delicate white flowers with pink centers and edged in the same hue.

“The plumeria,” he said. “We use those in our leis.”

“I’m impressed with your knowledge of plants,” I said.

“Being a cop doesn’t mean not being interested in other, less nasty things.”

Lily came out on the porch and beckoned to us. We climbed the steps and went through the door into the living room, where three other of Mala’s relatives, an elderly woman and two young girls, were seated at a table piled high with flowers.

“They’re making leis for Mala’s celebration,” Lily said.

One of the girls was leafing through what looked like a photograph album. “I like these,” she said.

“This is Auntie Edie,” Lily said of the elderly woman, who had left the table to greet us. “You wanted to deliver a message to her.”

“I’m sorry to meet you at such a sad time,” I said, introducing myself and Mike.

Barrett’s widow was a small woman with a heavily lined face and dark circles under her eyes. Her voice was deep and raspy, a smoker’s voice. After we had expressed our sympathies, I offered her the envelope. “This is a letter from a dear friend of mine, Seth Hazlitt. He asked me to deliver it to you personally.”

“Ooh, Seth,” she said, taking the letter and tapping it against her palm. “Barrett spoke so fondly of him. They corresponded on the computer, you know. At the end, Barrett’s eyes were not so good. He liked that he could make the type very large on the screen. It let him write lots of letters. You and your friend are welcome here, Mrs. Fletcher. Come, sit down. Can I get you something to drink? Pineapple iced tea perhaps?”

“Sounds refreshing,” I said, speaking for both of us.

Mike took a seat on the couch next to Joshua. While Mrs. Kapule went to the kitchen, I ambled over to the table to see the pictures the girls were looking at in the album. It was a series of photographs of Mala at various ages.

“She was very beautiful,” I commented.

“Yes,” replied the older girl. “See, here she is at her graduation. I made that lei for her. She taught me how.”

“It’s lovely. You’re very talented.”

“And this is her with an old boyfriend.”

I bent over to peer at the picture.

“Yes, she was beautiful,” Mala’s aunt said, coming into the room with two glasses. “She was beautiful and headstrong. I understand you were her friend, Mrs. Fletcher.”

I took one of the glasses. “Did Mala tell you about me, Mrs. Kapule?”

“No. Elijah mentioned you,” she said, handing the other glass to Mike. “And call me Auntie Edie. Everyone does.”

“I will if you’ll call me Jessica.”

“How did you know my niece, Jessica?”

I explained my brief relationship with Mala and my subsequent introduction to her nephew the cab driver.

“Elijah is a good boy,” Auntie Edie said.

“He was very kind to me.”

“And Mala was . . . well, you couldn’t hold that girl down,” she said, taking her seat again at the table. “Barrett was very proud of her. I’m glad he’s not here to see what happened.” She shook her head sadly. “She didn’t always recognize when people were taking advantage of her. I sometimes thought . . .” She trailed off, picking up a blossom and stringing it with other flowers.

“What did you sometimes think?” I prompted.

“Look, Auntie Edie. Look at this picture. We could use this one,” the younger girl said.

The old woman leaned over the album and peered at the photograph that the child had pointed out. She ran a finger under one eye, wiping away the moisture. Reluctantly, I wandered back to where Mike was talking with Joshua and Lily.

“I assume the police have been here,” Mike said.

“Only briefly” was the reply. “They wanted to make sure that there would be someone here so that no one took advantage of Mala’s absence, you know, break in and steal things.”

“You’re staying here?” I asked.

“Some of us cousins are taking turns,” he said.

“I rode with one of your cousins the other night, a taxi driver named Elijah.”

“That’s my brother. Me and Elijah and my other brother, Matthew. That’s our business. Transportation.”

“Do you think it would be possible for Mrs. Fletcher and me to see Ms. Kapule’s working space?” Mike asked.

“I don’t see why not,” he replied. “It’s upstairs. You say you’re a retired police officer?”

“Right. A detective.”

“And you think that Mala’s death might not have been accidental.”

“As I said, I’m just covering all the bases.”

“Follow me.”

We left our pineapple iced teas in the kitchen and followed Joshua up narrow stairs to a landing on the second floor. An open door to the left revealed Mala’s bedroom. I stepped inside while Mike talked with her cousin. There wasn’t much room for more than a bed, nightstand, and small dresser. A curtain covered the opening to a closet. It was pulled to one side. Most of the closet’s contents were what I’d expect Mala to wear to teach her classes. Mixed in were what her cousin Elijah had called “aloha clothing,” colorfully patterned shirts and dresses with the characteristic large flowers and leaves. In a clear plastic garment bag there were a diaphanous blue silk dress and a lightweight cashmere scarf draped over a hanger. Both items still bore their price tags. I was startled to see how expensive they were, more than I would have expected her to be able to afford to spend on a college professor’s salary. The floor of the closet held a few pairs of flats and flip-flops and two shoeboxes with designer names on them. I knelt and lifted the cover off one. Inside was a pair of platform high heels of a type I’d seen only in pictures taken on a red carpet.

The fancy car in her driveway and costly clothes in her closet were a surprise. They made me realize how little I actually knew about Mala Kapule. How could I have presumed to understand someone I’d met only once? True, Seth had been sharing her uncle Barrett’s e-mail messages for some time, but Dr. Kapule had painted an idealized picture of his niece and her accomplishments. After all, why should he share anything about her that wasn’t approving?

I had taken Mala at face value, a dedicated scientist and academician, one with the zeal to do what she thought was right. Her seeming tilting at windmills by supporting a position on the Haleakala telescope that defended the rights of the indigenous peoples of Hawaii only raised her image in my eyes. I’ve always admired idealists, even if their causes were ultimately unsuccessful.

I pondered Mala’s closet. Perhaps she was borrowing the clothes for a special event. Or maybe she had saved for a long time to be able to treat herself to such luxuries. Of course, it was possible she had received one or more of these things as gifts. It wouldn’t be unusual for a woman as beautiful as she had been to attract a wealthy admirer. The discovery added to my picture of Mala, but rather than bringing her into focus, it made the image fuzzier.

I crossed the hall to a much larger room that she had used as an office. Mike and Joshua had preceded me into what was a laboratory of sorts. Although the space was relatively large, it could barely contain her huge collection of books, which filled the floor-to-ceiling bookcases. Additional volumes were stacked neatly on the tile floor. One of the drawers of a four-drawer tan file cabinet was open. A picture window dominated one wall. In front of it was a workbench on which two microscopes, vials of liquids, and an assortment of plants under Plexiglas covers were arrayed. An open laptop computer and a printer sat in front of the chair. I nudged the mouse, and the computer’s screensaver came to life, a moving collage of brightly colored flowers that swirled about the screen, merging into one, then separating.

“Is this where she did her research?” I asked.

Joshua nodded. “She spent half her life in this room. She really loved what she did, but she was usually a little neater than this.” He retrieved a balled-up piece of paper on the floor and dropped it in the wastebasket.

I spotted a sheet that was still in the printer tray. It was a meeting notice for the group Mala spearheaded in opposition to the telescope. It was to be held at a restaurant in Wailuku.

“Mind if I take this?” I asked.

“Sure,” he said. “Go ahead. Look around. I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”

He left Mike and me alone in the room. In his absence, I sifted through other papers on Mala’s desk, finding several bills and an unopened envelope from an engineering company in Oregon. I bent over the wastebasket to pluck what Joshua had tossed out. I open the crumpled paper, smoothing it out on the desk. “Look at this, Mike.”

“What did you find?”

I stepped back so he could read the message Mala had crushed.

I know what you’re up to. You’re asking for trouble. Keep it up and you’ll end up buried at Haleakala.

“Somebody didn’t like her much,” he muttered.

“One of many people who resented her opposition to the telescope,” I commented. “She mentioned to me that she’d received nasty e-mails. Do you want to give this to Detective Tahaki?”

“Yeah, Henry should see this.” Mike stuffed the paper in his pocket. “I don’t know that he’ll do anything about it, but I’ll show it to him anyway. Let me know if you find anything else.”

There was a soft noise at the door, and Auntie Edie stepped softly into the room, looking around, her eyes moving from the shelves to the glass terrariums to the microscope.