Wings in the Dark (14 page)

“I think you should go.”

I lowered my voice so only he could hear. “Five minutes. That's all I ask.”

“Carl gave you two.”

“I'll talk fast.”

Ihe took a seat. “I read the paper this morning, Mr. Donovan. I know you're not doing research for a book and you never met my brother. You want to tell me why you're really here?”

I decided to be straight with the guy. I glanced toward the bar, where the bartender and the big man were watching us. “I'm investigating your brother's murder.”

“The cops already arrested some dame, or don't you read the papers? The article said she was my brother's girlfriend. You know how much pain that's going to cause my ma when she reads it?”

“The newspaper got that part of the story right. Your brother was carrying on with Fanny Chandler.”

He clamped his eyes shut for a moment as if visiting his past. “You sure?”

“I'm sure. Sorry.”

Ihe drummed his fingers on the table. “You friends with this dame? 'Cause I can see in your eyes you don't think she did it.”

The man was perceptive. “I think someone was trying to stop Amelia Earhart's flight so they killed your brother and tried to make it appear as if Earhart did it.”

Carl, chatting with the bartender, had nearly finished his drink.

“Recently, you wrote a letter to your brother trying to get him to stop the flight.”

Ihe let out a laugh. “You think I did it?”

I couldn't picture him involved in killing his brother, but I'd been fooled before. “No, but someone else could have.” I thumbed toward the bar. “You trust these guys?”

“Sure.”

“Desperate people sometimes resort to desperate actions.”

At the table near the door, the man in the straw hat snorted with his eyes closed.

Ihe lowered his voice. “You're suggesting someone here murdered my brother and I knew nothing about it. Royalists aren't the only ones who'd like to stop Amelia's flight.”

The room grew as quiet as a church on Monday morning. A woman in an olive-green uniform with shimmering black hair came out of the pool room smoking a thick cigar. With gold-fringed brass epaulets and black polished boots, the uniform looked like something a person might wear to a costume party.

But the hard look in her eyes told me she was serious. When she approached our table Ihe Kalua rose, so I did the same.

She ignored me and glared at Ihe. “What do you think you're doing letting this…this American in here?”

“He's Jake Donovan, ma'am. He's investigating my brother's murder. Jake, this is General Alani Mahelona.”

“General?” Of what?

She puffed on the cigar. “General of the Royalist Militia.”

“A pleasure to meet you.”

“I doubt that.” She looked at me like I was gum under her boot. Still, her face held a glint of curiosity. “Sit down, Donovan.”

At the bar, Chester, Carl, and the bartender watched as Ihe Kalua, the general, and I sat around the table.

The cigar smelled like the backyard of our neighbor in Queens who burned wet leaves every fall. General Mahelona set her cigar in the center of the table. “I thought the cops arrested someone.”

I shrugged. “I think they got it wrong.”

She sneered. “Figures. Typical government officials. They're American sympathizers, not professionals. If you barged into our headquarters, you must think one of us is responsible. What's the angle?”

“I think the killer is someone who wanted to stop Amelia Earhart's flight across the Pacific.”

“And that can only be a Royalist?” She shook her head. “You Americans will do anything to stop our movement to regain our sovereignty.”

“I thought Hawaiians were Americans too.”

She picked up the cigar like she wanted to crush it out on my forehead. “Then you thought wrong.”

I needed to know how far the Royalists would go to stop Amelia's flight. “I'd like to understand your movement. Why the uniform, the need for a militia?”

She took a deep puff and blew a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling. “We tried speeches and parades each year on January seventeenth, the anniversary of when you Americans overthrew our queen. That was forty-two years ago. The time for speeches is over.”

I knew the next statement would likely get me thrown out of the bar. “You're taking action instead of winning the argument through words. Action like killing Hank Kalua and framing Amelia Earhart.”

The general jumped to her feet, sliding the chair backward. She shot Ihe a sympathetic look then marched to the bar. “Carl, get rid of this bum.”

“Yes, sir!” Carl jumped off his stool. “Yes, ma'am.”

The general gave me one last sneer, then entered the pool room as Carl approached my table.

Ihe leaned across the table and lowered his voice. “The Royalists aren't the only ones who wanted to stop Amelia's flight.”

“What? Who else?”

Carl pointed a stubby finger at me. “Your two minutes were up five minutes ago, chump.”

I had to find out who Ihe thought killed his brother. “Who?”

“Kitsune.”

What? Had I heard him right?

Before I could ask who or what kitsune was, Carl grabbed my arm, pulled me away from the table, and slammed me against the wall.

Before I could grab Laura's gun, he pinned my arms and head-butted me.

Dizzy, I felt him yank me toward the bar. He shoved me against a barstool and held my neck with his burly paw. He glanced at the bartender. “What should I do with him?”

The bartender grabbed a bat from beneath the bar. “Let's teach the bastard a lesson.”

Carl pulled his arm back to hit me.

Chester lunged and dug his teeth into the man's hand like it was a tough steak.

Carl howled and shoved Chester away.

I shook off the cobwebs enough to duck most of a blow that glanced off my forehead. Using my boxing background, I snapped a jab to the center of the big lug's face. I followed it up with a right cross, but it was like punching concrete.

Carl smiled and spit out a tooth. Roaring, he charged and knocked me off balance. We crashed into the table, splintering it into bits and pieces.

I rolled away from him and scrambled to my feet. My solid kick clipped his jaw.

He toppled backward, his eyes glazing over. I kicked again and air bust from his lungs. He dropped to the floor.

Chester lunged for Carl's ankle and bit him again. Carl howled, struggled to his feet, and tried to shake the little man from his leg.

As the bartender ran from behind the bar with his baseball bat, the old man in the straw hat grabbed a beer bottle from an empty table and smashed it against the bartender's head. With the agility and grace of a much younger man, he snatched the bat and slammed it into the bartender's gut. The bartender wheezed and leaned against the bar, sucking in air.

Spitting Carl's leg hair from his mouth, Chester again got on his hands and knees behind the big man.

I pulled Laura's gun from my jacket pocket and Carl backed up and tumbled over Chester. His head hit the floor with a loud crack.

Chester scrambled to his feet. “If I make it to Hollywood, I'll look you up.” He disappeared out the front door.

The man in the straw hat flashed a familiar smile, but I still couldn't place him. He winked and pulled me to the door.

As Carl struggled to his feet, I aimed the gun at him and the bartender. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Ihe Kalua shaking his head.

Outside, the white-haired man tossed aside his straw hat and pointed to a black convertible. The car skidded to a stop beside us. I jumped into the passenger seat as the bartender and Carl burst through Kana's front door.

My white-haired friend climbed into the backseat. The driver took off, the car squealing with smoking tires, as a bat clattered against the rear bumper.

The car fishtailed down the street.

I ignored the driver with the handlebar mustache I recognized from the bus depot and glanced at the man in the backseat. “Who are you?”

He pulled off a white wig and his features relaxed. He wiped his face with a handkerchief, removing what appeared to be makeup. He dropped the handkerchief, revealing a man I'd never expected to see again.

Federal agent Landon Stoddard smiled. “Nice to see you, Jake.”

Last I heard, Landon Stoddard had left New York for Washington, D.C. What was the tough, resourceful government agent doing in Hawaii? I wasn't certain why he and the driver had been following me or for how long. I had so many questions, for a man who liked to keep secrets.

The driver was the fellow in the bus terminal, but I had no idea who he was. He appeared to be Stoddard's partner, not just a hired driver, though he handled the convertible with as much skill as if it were a race car. In less than a minute we were several blocks from the Royalist bar, and I managed a sigh of relief.

He glanced down at the gun in my lap, my finger still resting on the trigger. He spoke with a clipped British accent. “You Americans and your affinity for handguns. Would you mind putting that thing away? I'd hate to hit a pothole and have the gun discharge, especially since it's aimed in the general direction of my family jewels.”

I took my finger off the trigger and stuffed the pistol into my jacket.

He pulled a white handkerchief from his jacket pocket. “One more request. Would you mind cleaning up a bit, Mr. Donovan? I don't want any blood on the seats that I'd have trouble explaining. Be a good chap.”

I wiped my brow, revealing a smear of blood on the back of my hand. I took the cloth and blotted my forehead until the bleeding stopped, then wiped my hands and handed the handkerchief back.

He grinned. “Keep it.”

I glanced in the backseat. I hadn't seen Stoddard for more than a year, since he involved Laura and me in an investigation that thwarted a Nazi plot against Roosevelt and ended well for us and the country, but his presence in Hawaii while I investigated the shooting in Amelia's hangar couldn't be a coincidence.

Whatever his interest, his involvement meant that a complicated case with plenty of suspects wasn't going to get any easier. “Why have you been following me?”

“After the shooting in the hangar, we arrived to make sure Amelia was safe. When you showed up, I knew you'd get involved.”

“That's the last thing I wanted to do. I was on my honeymoon.”

The driver twisted one end of his handlebar mustache. “I have a pretty good idea what the first thing you wanted to do was.”

How did Stoddard and his friend get involved in all this? “You know who shot Kalua?”

Stoddard shook his head. “We've been hoping you'd find out. Since we trailed you to the Kana Bar, I'm guessing you don't think Fanny Chandler shot her lover.”

“I have my doubts.” I nodded to the driver. “Who's this?”

“Jake Donovan, this is Reginald Gary. Reggie's British.”

As if I hadn't guessed.

Reggie shook my hand. “I was hoping to get the chance to meet you. I'm a big Blackie Doyle fan. I met Agatha Christie at a party in Cambridge. She's a teetotaler, like Amelia. Don't celebrated women drink?”

I didn't want to chat about my writing, Agatha Christie, or the drinking habits of famous women.

When the light turned green, Reggie veered left into a line of oncoming traffic. Stoddard shouted from the backseat. I jerked the steering wheel. The car swerved into the right lane, barely missing a taxi, which blasted its horn.

I let out a deep breath.

“Sorry.” With an embarrassed look, Reggie cleared his throat. “I can manage a steering wheel on the left, but I don't know how you Americans drive on the right side of the road.”

Stoddard chuckled. “It probably wasn't a good idea to ask a Brit to drive the getaway car.”

Reggie smiled. “I secured the job because Landon is more skilled at assuming different identities.”

I glanced in the backseat. “So you followed me to the Kana Bar. Why the disguise?”

“I knew the bar's reputation and thought you might encounter some trouble. I'm glad you got a chance to talk to the brother. What's your impression?”

“I find it hard to imagine him being involved in his brother's murder.”

“Where are you with the investigation?”

So far I'd been answering all the questions, and Stoddard had given up little. “You two started following me at the hangar last night?”

Stoddard grinned. “If it's any consolation, we lost you when you ran that red light. I suspected you were headed for Kalua's office, but we didn't pick you up until Reggie spotted you, Laura, and Putnam's secretary climbing down the fire escape. When those hooligans showed up, I thought I'd have to intervene.”

“I could've handled those kids.”

“Kids?” Reggie snorted. “Hooligans, those three, though I dare say the young Hawaiian girl was rather attractive.”

Stoddard leaned forward and placed his hands on the top of the front seat. “Judging by where you went next, you must've found a link to Fanny Chandler.”

“An appointment book confirmed they were having a romance.”

“Fanny Chandler, my, my.” Reggie shook his head. “Who'd have thought behind those grease-stained overalls beat the warm-blooded heart of a femme fatale.”

The longer Stoddard and his British pal kept me in the dark, the more frustrated I was becoming. “Why are you in Honolulu?”

Stoddard looked surprised by the question. “You're a detective. You tell me.”

As we drove through town, I rubbed my forehead, trying to get a handle on why the government would be interested in Amelia Earhart's flight across the Pacific. In New York, Stoddard had reported to Joe Kennedy, who had the president's ear. I didn't know whether he was still working for Kennedy or not, but his presence probably meant he was on an assignment involving Amelia, and apparently so was Reggie.

“Washington and London must want Amelia Earhart's flight across the Pacific to be a success.”

Something unspoken passed between Stoddard and Reggie. “Let me tell you why we're in Hawaii. We need to go someplace and talk.”

“Let's go back to my hotel.”

The Brit smiled. “Only if you have sherry.”

“I'll order some.”

At the cabana, Laura was nowhere to be seen. A bottle of champagne sat in a bucket of ice on the deck table.

Reggie's eyes widened. “How did you manage that?”

I read the card. George Putnam had sent the champagne. Guess we were even.

The dozen white orchids with the apology note sat on the deck table alongside the typing paper, which hadn't been disturbed. I checked my watch. I'd been gone over three hours. Where was she?

Reggie sniffed the flowers. “Ah, true love's bliss.” He read the champagne label. “Mind if I open the bottle of bubbly?”

“Be my guest.” I glanced down the beach in the direction of Tony's Surf Shack, with a pang of jealous concern. I felt like a real sap, but I hoped she wasn't still with Tony.

Stoddard took a seat at the table. “It's important we know whether the cops got it wrong when they arrested Fanny Chandler. We're anxious to hear what you've learned.”

I was through taking orders. Stoddard wasn't going to call the shots, like he did in New York. “First, tell me how you two are mixed up in the murder investigation.”

Stoddard nodded toward Reggie. “Why don't you take a walk?”

“If you insist.” He popped the cork and filled a glass with champagne. “I'll head to the beach and take a look at the latest swimwear fashions.” He climbed down the steps, then looked back and raised his glass to me. “Cheers.”

Stoddard leaned back. “How'd you and Laura get involved in this?”

I explained about her friendship with Amelia and Putnam's desire for my help, and his phone call to pressure my publisher.

“He's a powerful man. By the way, I haven't congratulated you on the two of you getting married. I couldn't be happier for you both. Sorry for your interrupted honeymoon.”

“Are you still working for Joe Kennedy?”

“I'm somewhat of a freelance employee of the executive branch. I go where I'm needed.”

“You trust Reggie?”

“The British are efficient, professional, and loyal to the crown. However, to my surprise, many still resent the rebellion of the colonies for starting the downward spiral of the British Empire. But I'd trust Reggie with my life.”

The agent was a straight shooter. If he trusted Reggie, that was good enough for me.

Stoddard picked at a splatter of blood on his shirt. “Mind if I freshen up before we talk?”

“Go ahead. I'm not going anywhere.”

While waiting for Stoddard, I replayed my conversation with Ihe Kalua. He thought someone else might've wanted to stop Amelia's flight across the Pacific, then the commotion cut him off, but not before he mentioned the word
kitsune
.

“Jake!” Laura bounded up the steps, in her swimsuit and flowered robe. She had a slight sunburn. She slumped down in the chair across from me. “What a day!”

She noticed the orchids. “What are these for?” She snatched the note and read. “Champagne too? A simple apology would've worked.”

“The champagne's from Putnam. The flowers are from me.”

“They're lovely.” She pulled one of the flowers from the vase. She kissed my lips then touched the cut on my face. “How'd you cut yourself?”

“It's a funny story.”

She sat back and crossed both arms. “I'm not going to laugh, am I?”

“It happened in a barroom brawl.” Stoddard stepped on the deck, buttoning up one of the blue shirts I'd bought for the honeymoon and hadn't unpacked.

Laura's mouth dropped open. “Landon. How…when…where…”

He laughed and hugged Laura.

Stoddard wasn't prone to laughter and wasn't a huggable guy, but Laura brought out the best in men, even men devoted to their jobs, like Stoddard.

He sat at the table. “Let me get Jake off the hook by explaining why we've been following you two.”

Landon Stoddard was the straightest of all my straitlaced friends, but I wasn't crazy about Laura showing so much leg and cleavage in her swimsuit, barely covered by the robe. I wanted to hear Stoddard's story, but I also wanted to hear how she'd spent the past few hours. “Tell me about your three-hour surfing lesson with Tony.”

Unlike me, Laura remained calm. “Certainly. Right after you come clean about your barroom brawl.”

Stoddard raised an eyebrow. “Are you two bickering? I thought you were on your honeymoon.”

We both dug in our heels, waiting for the other to explain first.

Laura drummed her fingers on the table. “Jake Donovan, either you trust me or you don't.”

I trusted Laura. “I don't trust that surf bum, Tony.”

Stoddard scooted his chair back. “If you'll excuse me, I…”

Laura grabbed his wrist. “Stay where you are. This won't take long. I didn't take a surfing lesson. I never saw Tony.”

“But you're sunburned.”

“I ran into that pompous couple we met on our ship, the Van Allens, in the hotel lobby.”

She wore that revealing swimsuit into the lobby? I hope she also wore her robe.

“While you, Jake Donovan, were drinking at a bar, I was enduring lunch by the pool with a boorish couple who tried to one-up each other with tales about their wealth.”

No wonder she was sore. “I was at the Kana Bar.”

Laura's eyes widened. “You…you invented this elaborate plot where you acted like a complete jerk, knowing I'd get mad and leave you alone so you could see whether the Kana Bar is a Royalist hangout. That's something Blackie Doyle would do to one of his blond bimbos.”

Blackie and I were both in trouble. I handed her the note of apology I'd left. Unfortunately she hadn't returned to read it.

When she finished reading, Laura crumpled the paper and dropped it at her feet. She kicked the ball of paper down the deck steps, crossed both arms, and faced me with a steely glare.

This wasn't going well. “The bar was dangerous, and the place hadn't seen someone as beautiful as you probably in forever.”

Stoddard nodded. “Jake did you a favor, not taking you along.”

I filled a glass half full of champagne and set it in front of her. “I'm sorry, sweetheart. I'd rather you be safe and angry at me than walk into that joint.”

She stared at the drink then unfolded her arms. “You could've just explained what you wanted to do.”

“I could have, but would you have let me go alone?”

“Probably not.”

“Then I'd do it again.”

“Jake, I don't like being treated that way.”

“Of course you don't. I'm sorry.” I nodded toward the flowers. “My behavior was despicable.”

Her smile broke out. Laura tugged one of the flowers closer and inhaled. “That was considerate.”

I still felt like a complete cad. I told them both about running into the reporter in the lobby and shared the story of how his parents were murdered when he was just a kid.

Laura sputtered. “And you believed him?”

Was she right? Had the reporter played me for a sucker? I told her about taking a cab to the Kana Bar, encountering Chester and Carl, and managing to meet Ihe. I told her about the fight where I received the cut on my brow, but I left out the part about Ginger.

“Darling.” Laura patted my hand. “You could've been hurt. You were hurt.”

“It would've been worse if Stoddard hadn't been following us since we left Amelia's hangar.”

Laura turned to Stoddard. “Why are you here?”

“I tried to explain that, but your domestic strife got in the way.”

I had plenty of my own questions for Stoddard starting with the word Ihe Kalua mentioned in the bar before Carl ended the conversation. “Okay, who or what is kitsune?”

Stoddard glanced at the bubbly. “I'll answer both questions by starting from the beginning. A month ago I was minding my own business, vacationing in Florida. I received a phone call about a report a Colonel Patton had written. The report mentioned a Japanese spy the colonel suspected had set up camp somewhere on the Islands. After I read it, I discussed it with my boss.”