Wings in the Dark (19 page)

I knocked on the front door of Kalua's house and waited.

With Billy's eyes darting everywhere, I whispered, “Don't look like we're about to burglarize the place.”

Laura and I hadn't discussed how to proceed, but I counted on my wife's improvisation skills, so I confidently knocked on the door again.

A white-haired lady in a black dress opened the door.

Laura's face filled with compassion. This was no act. She always felt that way around grieving family members. “We came to pay our respects to Ihe and the family for their loss.”

The old woman gave a disapproving look at our casual clothes. “You're friends with my nephew Ihe?”

“Grandma.” A young girl with long black hair and green eyes, about Billy's age, touched her shoulder. “Who's…” Her eyes widened as she recognized Laura. “You're the actress…”

“Laura—”

“No, don't tell me.” The girl snapped her fingers. “Laura Wilson…oh, yes,
Midnight Wedding
. Loved that movie, and your next, the Western…”

Laura held the girl's hand. “That's so kind of you.
Sisters from Cheyenne
.”

“I'm Gabby. Hank Kalua's daughter.” The girl dismissed her grandmother, who retreated into another room. Gabby let us in and glanced at Billy and me as she closed the door. “Are you actors also?”

I shook my head. “Billy's a stunt man. I'm nobody.”

Gabby touched Billy's arm. “Falling off buildings and crashing cars. You must be very brave.”

Billy cleared his throat.

I clapped him on the shoulder. “He's brave on a movie set and in real life.”

“Jake Donovan's a writer and my husband.” Laura slipped her arm in mine. “And this is our friend Billy Thornton.”

Gabby led us through the foyer and stopped beside an easel holding a framed picture of Hank Kalua.

Laura closed her eyes.

Gabby whispered to me, “How do you know my uncle Ihe?”

“We met yesterday, but I had to leave rather suddenly without expressing proper condolences.”

“You're very kind, Mr. Donovan. Ihe's out back. Let me show you.”

She led us to the back door, chatting with Laura and Billy like they were long-lost friends. Outside, beneath thickening clouds, a dozen men and women were dressed mostly in black. She pointed to a tree where Ihe, wearing casual clothes, like me, pushed a toddler on a tire swing that hung from a thick branch of a thirty-foot almond tree.

“We won't be long.”

The girl took Billy's arm. “Would you like me to show you around?”

He looked helpless as Gabby led him to a table with a roasted pig and bowls of poi on it, where she introduced him, as a stunt man, to an elderly gentleman.

“Run along now, Billy.” Laura and I crossed the lawn toward Ihe.

Ihe stopped pushing the kid when he noticed me. I wasn't sure how he was going to react.

When the swing came to a stop, he helped the boy down. The kid took off after a red ball at the edge of the lawn. He snatched it up and kicked it toward the deck where Gabby was introducing our stunt man friend to more members of her family.

A smirk crossed Ihe's face. “You have balls. That much I'll give you, Donovan.” He bowed toward Laura. “Excuse the expression, ma'am.”

I introduced Laura then got right to the point. “I'm still trying to solve your brother's murder.”

“Why do you think the cops have it wrong? They arrested my brother's…lady friend. Apparently she wanted him to finance her flight across the Pacific.”

“Don't believe everything printed in the newspaper.”

He gestured toward a wooden bench in the shade. “Have a seat.”

While Laura sat, Ihe remained standing, so I did the same. I gazed around the estate. He hardly looked like a devoted fanatic intent on restoring the monarchy. Still, I couldn't dismiss the possibility Fanny was right and Ihe had been behind the murder. “No General Mahelona?”

“Not all Royalists think violence is the solution. She represents a small faction.”

I was glad to hear that. “I suppose the wealth of your brother's various enterprises is sizable.”

“I don't want my brother's businesses, just the plantation. I'm a farmer.”

The toddler came running back and wrapped his arms around Ihe's leg. In that moment, I knew he wouldn't have been involved in a plot to kill his brother. The little boy shook our hands, like well-mannered kids should, then took off on another adventure.

“Looks like you're the patriarch, whether you want to be or not.” I glanced toward the house and spotted Billy and Gabby on a deck swing.

Ihe lit a cigarette and blew a plume of smoke into the air. “You want to tell me why you're really here?”

Laura rose. “Because I wanted to hear you say it, see you say it.”

Ihe knew what she was talking about. “I didn't kill my brother.”

Seeing the shimmer in his eyes, I knew Laura believed him. “At the bar, you mentioned Kitsune. What do you know about him?”

“Very little, actually.”

That wasn't what I wanted to hear. “I think Kitsune might've killed your brother.”

“Donovan!”

I glanced toward a struggle on the deck. Carl, the big man I tussled with at the Kana Bar, shook off the grip of two family members and advanced toward me with a sneer I recognized from our previous encounter.

Ihe held up one hand, but Carl kept coming.

Then he stopped, ignoring Laura and Ihe, and glared at me, red-faced. “You have a lot of damn nerve.”

This might not be the time or place, but guys like Carl needed to be taught a lesson. “You want to finish what we started?”

Ihe stood between us. “I invited Mr. Donovan and his wife. Show them some respect or leave.”

The big man's face reddened even more. “Are you joking?”

Ihe answered with a glare.

Blinking, Carl stared at the ground. “Well, if you invited them, I guess it's okay. Sorry, Mr. Kalua.”

Carl treated Ihe with more respect than he had at the bar. Maybe this was his new role with family and friends.

“Don't go, Carl. Mr. Donovan asked me about Kitsune. Carl's the one who first told me about this Japanese spy.”

The big man cocked his head. “And you're going to share this with an American.”

“I am, but I was hoping you would.”

Carl stared at Laura for a moment. When she smiled, the big man lost much of his menacing glare. “Word gets around. People come into the bar. A few months ago a couple of guys were yapping about some Japanese spy who'd slipped into Honolulu. Supposed to be a real bad son of a bitch. Sorry, ma'am.”

Laura smiled. “I'm from Queens. Talk doesn't bother me.”

This might be the first solid lead we had on Kitsune. “You learn anything about where he lived or worked? Do you remember hearing someone describe his appearance?”

Carl's forehead wrinkled. “You some kind of cop?”

“I'm a writer.”

“Nah, nothing like that. I heard the name mentioned a couple of times, that's all. No one ever mentioned they'd seen him.”

“Carl!” A woman shouted from the deck. She couldn't have weighed more than a hundred pounds. She marched across the yard toward us.

“I gotta go.” He nodded and hurried to the woman, who grabbed his ear and tugged him toward the deck.

I chuckled. I wasn't sure what he'd done. It was hard to picture a woman that small who could control…Maybe Kitsune was truly hiding in plain sight.

“Jake, are you all right?”

Ihe rubbed his forehead. “There is something you should know.” Ihe removed his hat and ran a hand through his gray hair. “My brother thought he was being followed, a week or so before the murder.”

“And you didn't think that was important enough to share.”

“I didn't know if I could trust you, and I'm not sure I trust the kid.” Then he nodded toward Laura. “But I trust her.”

Laura smiled. “Thank you.”

“Did you tell the police?” I asked.

“Sure, but they suggested he might've been followed by a private dick hired by an irate husband.”

“Maybe he was.”

“But you think it was this Kitsune fellow.” He took out a pack of Camels and offered us each one. When we declined, he lit one and took a long puff. “Hank had a meeting with Lyle Benedict at the Polynesian Hotel restaurant.”

Our hotel.

“After the meeting, Hank walked down to the beach and checked in with his son. He runs a surf shop on the beach.”

“Tony!” The surf bum? Why wasn't he here?

Ihe scratched his head. “You know him?”

Small world. “We know him.”

I couldn't believe Tony the surfer, the bum who offered Laura free surf lessons whenever we rode our bikes by, was Hank Kalua's son. I should've given him a sock in the nose—that usually discouraged his kind of boorish behavior—but I was glad I hadn't. We had to talk to him.

“My brother told me he and his son chatted, probably argued, as usual. Then Hank left and walked along the beach back to the hotel. He mentioned he climbed into a car and sensed someone watching. The next day he thought he saw a pickup tailing him.”

A pickup? Hank would've passed Mikayla's bicycle shop. “Was it gray?”

“He didn't say.”

Laura grabbed my wrist. “Are you thinking what I'm thinking?”

No doubt, but I needed more than a hunch about the identity of Kitsune. “We need to talk to your nephew. Is he here?”

“Tony's been an outsider with the family for years, since he left college and came back to Hawaii.” Ihe cocked his head. “You think he knows something about this Kitsune?”

“I intend to find out.” I shook his hand. “I'm sorry for your loss. You have a wonderful family and they're going to need you more than ever.”

“Thank you, Mr. Donovan, Miss Wilson. Good luck with finding my brother's killer.”

Laura and I crossed the lawn and said good-bye to Gabby, who handed Billy a slip of paper.

He stuffed it—a phone number, no doubt—in his pocket.

She led us through the house and we went outside. “Wonderful to meet you all. Be careful, Billy. Call me.”

He nodded.

As we walked away, he whispered, “Why did you tell her I was a stunt man?”

“If you're going to be a detective, you'll need to assume different identities.”

Billy chuckled. “A detective?”

“And it's an icebreaker. Worked, didn't it?” I took Laura's hand.

We climbed onto our bikes and rode away from the Kalua house. I had to find out if Tony the surf bum had any information on Kitsune, whether he realized it or not.

At the hill overlooking the ocean, Billy gazed down the path and swallowed hard. “It looks steeper going down.”

“You'll do fine.” I rode behind him, in case he fell.

Billy managed to stay upright. When we reached the beach, he climbed off his bike and bent over, wheezing.

I hopped off my bike and smacked him in the middle of the back.

“Ow. That doesn't help…gum.”

Laura handed him a stick.

When Billy's breathing improved, we walked the bikes toward Tony's shack.

Laura nodded at Mikayla's bike shop, where the gray pickup sat beside the Olds we rented. “You think Mikayla followed Kalua?”

“I'd like more than a hunch.” We parked our bikes next to the run-down building, alongside two bamboo poles with streamer tops whipping in the breeze. It would be a challenge to be nice.

Tony stood in the front of the shack waxing a yellow surfboard, wearing a blue swimsuit and an unbuttoned flowered shirt. He left the wax on the board and wiped his hands on a blue rag. “You come for a surf lesson, Miss Wilson?”

I extended my hand. “We haven't been properly introduced. I'm Jake Donovan and this is my wife, Laura.”

“The movie actress.” He shook her hand then mine. “I'm a huge fan.”

I nudged Billy forward. “And this is Billy Thornton. He's a big-time surfer on the East Coast.”

“Is that a fact?” Tony gave Billy the once-over. “What's your favorite beach? Montauk? Ruggles?”

Billy shrugged. “Cape Cod.”

A young couple emerged from the waves, carried their boards over to a blanket and stuck them in the sand.

I stepped toward the front door. “Let's talk inside, and button your shirt.”

“Of course. Of course.”

Inside the shack, I fought the urge to get right to it as I glanced at the bicycle shop through the window. I didn't expect Tony to like me, but I wanted to gain his trust. He seemed like the type who would clam up when being questioned about a murder.

He finished buttoning his shirt, then removed yellowed magazines from a frayed couch. I remained standing, along with Laura and Billy, who gazed at the frames that lined the walls. Billy nodded toward one in particular.

Tony bit his bottom lip when I studied the framed document. He cleared his throat. “Something on your mind? How may I help?”

I smiled. “You can start by cutting the act.”

“Act?”

Laura pointed to the document. “If you didn't want people to know you graduated from UCLA, why hang your diploma on the wall?”

Tony dropped into a soft leather chair without his usual swagger. From behind the chair, he pulled out a half-full pint of bourbon and took a swallow. “The diploma's not for tourists. It's a reminder to me what I can accomplish if I set my mind to it.”

“Your uncle implied you dropped out of school.”

He gestured with the bottle. “As you can see, he's wrong. After I received a degree in architecture, my family wanted me to get my master's, or a job in one of those fancy firms in L.A.”

“So why”—I looked around the shack—“this?”

“I got tired of years in school and the only end in sight was a cramped office with a bunch of other guys my age in suits and ties. No, thanks.” He took a long gulp. “When I returned, I bought this place and fixed it up.”

Fixed it up? “I wouldn't have wanted to see it before an architect's improvement.”

Tony chuckled. “I teach tourists, in this quiet cove, but when the real waves come, I close the place, pack up, and head for Waimea, or Pe'ahi on Maui.”

“You should go see your uncle Ihe, and your sister, Gabby. They're at your father's estate.”

“Gabby's there?” Tony stared at the bottle. “I wouldn't be welcome.”

“Yes, you would.”

“You really think so?” Tony leaned back. “You didn't come here to talk surfing or family ties.”

I swept a stack of newspapers from a wooden chair and set my foot on the seat. “We're here because of your father's murder.”

Tony snapped forward in the chair. “You're not a cop or I would have heard.”

“Jake's a stunt man on Laura's pictures,” Billy said with a smile.

Touché.

Laura grinned. “My husband's a former detective with the Pinkertons and had his own agency in Queens. Now he's a talented mystery writer.”

Tony offered me a drink, and I shook my head. “You thinking of writing a murder mystery based on my old man's murder? Who do you think did it? Some dame?”

Some dame? “Don't you read the papers?”

“Newspapers? Naah. I used to read whodunits from time to time when I was in college. How come I never heard of you?” He nodded toward a bookshelf made of rocks and wood planks, where a couple of Dashiell Hammett books sat. “There's always a good-looking dame who's involved in a mystery.”

“The cops arrested a good-looking dame in your father's murder.”

“No kidding. My old man was seeing someone? Wow!” He took another sip.

I glanced out the window toward the bicycle shop. “How well do you know your neighbor?”

“Neighbor? I don't have any neighbors.”

“Mikayla Sato. She owns the bicycle shop.”

Tony scratched his head. “The mousy Japanese lady?”

Laura kept her composure like the excellent actress she was. “Why do you think she's Japanese?”

“She has a Shinto symbol on her wall. I just assumed.”

I bent down and, in the dust on the floor, drew the image I'd caught a brief glimpse of in Mikayla's back room. “Like this?”

Tony nodded. “That's right, Shinto. The principal religion of Japan. Don't look so shocked, I graduated from UCLA, you know. So you think my old man was involved with her?”

“No, not with her. He was involved with one of Amelia Earhart's mechanics.”

Tony's bottle clattered to the floor. “My old man was sleeping with a guy? Holy crap!”

Laura chuckled. “The mechanic was a woman, Fanny Chandler.”

“Oh.” Tony rubbed a hand over his jaw. “How do I know you're on the level?”

“I think the cops got it wrong.”

Laura sat on the couch. “It's important we know as much about Mikayla Sato as possible.”

“She keeps to herself. The few times we've talked she's asked about the Islands. She sometimes closes up shop for no reason, sometimes at the peak of tourist season. I guess she travels.”

“How long has she owned the shop?”

Tony shrugged. “Who pays attention to stuff like that?”

“It's important.”

“A couple years or so.”

Two years!

I walked outside and gazed toward the bicycle shop. I waved to Tony. “Step outside, will you?”

Tony joined me, Laura and Billy behind him. “You going to take a poke at me? I've got ten years on you, you know.”

“If I wanted to, it wouldn't be just a poke.”

Tony glanced at clouds gathering on the northern horizon. “It's going to storm. Some giant waves tomorrow. I'll probably close up and do some real surfing.”

The bicycle shop was half a football field away. I squinted into the afternoon sun toward a dozen tourists blocking the view of the gray pickup. “You ever notice any funny business going on at the shop?”

“You mean like sinister types?”

Before I answered, half the crowd headed toward the hotel. The pickup was gone.

“Son of a bitch!”

Laura grabbed my arm. “Jake, you don't think she's gone to Wheeler Field, do you?”

Had Mikayla taken the rifle
and
the pickup? I had to find out. “Stay here!”

I took off sprinting toward the bicycle shop.