Wings in the Dark (7 page)

Amelia nodded. “We're at the Moana Hotel.”

Laura smiled. “It's not far from where we're staying.”

With that settled, I turned and drove to the hotel in silence. We pulled up, and a doorman opened the door. Amelia removed her hat and set it on Billy's head. “You look like a Giants fan.”

She got out and nodded to a hotel security officer, then walked around to my side. “Where are you planning to start?”

I pulled out the slip of paper with Kalua's address. “We have to find out where he was earlier—and if we're lucky, who saw him last. We might find the answers at Kalua's office building. A man keeps secrets in his office.”

Laura cocked her head. “Oh, really?”

“I misspoke. I meant to say
some
men keep secrets in their office.”

Amelia gave me directions to Kalua's building. “It isn't in the best part of town. But it's where he got his start and, after business dropped off, offices closed. When things picked up again, he wanted to develop the area.”

“Thanks.”

Amelia was clearly reluctant to let us go. She pointed to the sky. “Up there, I'm in charge. It's hard to…to depend on others.”

“We'll do our best.”

Billy grabbed the door handle. “I guess you probably want to drop me off as well.”

The kid was getting scared again. “I'd like nothing better, but I promised your boss.”

He remained in the backseat and, after Laura said good-bye to Amelia, we drove off. Relief untwisted the pain in my gut. I'd talked Amelia into returning to her hotel. I didn't like the idea of having Billy along either, but Putnam left me no choice.

The kid leaned forward and set one hand on the front seat. “You really believe the cops suspect Miss Earhart?”

“I do. Look, kid, Laura and I can use all the help we can get, but you'll have to follow my lead. I don't want you getting hurt.”

“Hurt? I thought you only said those things for Miss Earhart's benefit.”

I glanced at Billy in the rearview mirror, hoping Putnam hadn't been blowing smoke when he raved about the kid's smarts. “What's the skinny on Hank Kalua?”

“Skinny?”

For a moment I forgot I didn't attend Yale.

Laura chuckled. “Information, Billy.”

“Sorry. I'm not familiar with detective vernacular.”

“Is he being a wiseass?” I turned to Laura.

“I don't think so, darling. Are you?”

The kid looked perplexed. “Oh, gosh, no. Mr. Kalua comes from—”

I corrected him. “Came from.”

“Oh, right. He came from a wealthy island family. For generations they grew sugarcane and pineapples. After his father died, Hank inherited the estate, while his younger brother, Ihe, received squat. Hank made a lot of enemies when he expanded his plantation. Other growers thought he'd drive the price down, but he also used his inheritance to purchase a ship so he could export pineapples to America at cost. Prices went up instead of down because of increased demand. He and the other growers made plenty of money. Kalua became rich and powerful and politically active.”

George Putnam hadn't exaggerated about the kid one bit. He was a walking encyclopedia. “Why didn't his brother inherit anything?”

“I'm not sure.”

The kid didn't know everything.

Following the directions Amelia had provided, we began to enter an older, more run-down part of Honolulu.

Laura gazed out the window at the neglected buildings. “Maybe the murder has nothing to do with Amelia. A man like Kalua might have plenty of enemies.”

Laura was right. My old man told me a businessman wasn't doing his job if he wasn't making enemies. “Anything else you know about Kalua, Billy?”

The kid seemed to be searching his memory. “He was born Haku Kalua. It wasn't until college he decided to go by Hank. I'm not sure if this is important, but as a young man, he was involved in efforts to overthrow the monarchy.”

I had no idea Hawaii had been ruled by a monarchy so recently. That could definitely be important. “Monarchy? How do you know all this?”

“I read a lot. On the trip over, when I wasn't getting seasick, I read several books about the Islands, and also the Hawaiian newspapers. The last monarch was Queen Liliuokalani. Forty years ago, American and Hawaiian businessmen engineered the coup. Supporters are still around. Ten years ago Kalua's house was burned down by people loyal to the queen.”

I was beginning to appreciate the kid—assuming he was right. Could people still embrace the idea of a Hawaiian monarchy? Could they have shot Kalua? Why do so in Amelia Earhart's hangar?

Laura was giving me the look I remembered well. “You're doing it again, darling.”

“What?”

“Various scenarios are swirling through your brain, like a paddle through butter. Care to let us all inside?”

“I'd rather you both keep an open mind, unencumbered by my speculation.”

We turned down another street of abandoned warehouses and office buildings. It was a nice neighborhood, unless you preferred windows with glass and gutters without garbage.

The area had seen better days, like the rest of the world, and was struggling to recover from the Depression. A third of the warehouses and office buildings were boarded up. In an alley across the street, a stray dog dug through the contents of an overturned trash can.

These were tough streets, mean streets, the kind where thugs smashed a liquor bottle over your head just for the fun of it.

I pulled up alongside Kalua's office building and let the engine run. I didn't want to park in front of the place, in case Tanaka and his men decided to pay a visit. I just wanted to get inside and out again with something that might point me in the right direction.

I drove into the alley and shut off the engine. The car sputtered and died. This was hardly the kind of place I would've expected Kalua, a man who'd helped finance Amelia's transpacific flight, to have his headquarters.

“Come on, Billy.” I glanced into the backseat.

“You sure? Because maybe I could stay here and keep a lookout.”

“A lookout for what?”

“I don't know.”

Someone rapped on my window.

Three thugs in their teens stood beside the car.

I glanced at Laura. “You and Billy stay inside and lock the doors.”

“We're not going anywhere,” Billy said.

I climbed out and faced the three. The one in the middle was nearly my height, a tad over six foot. He wore a leather jacket, and a sheathed knife hung on his belt. “You want us to guard your car while you go inside? Rates are reasonable.”

“So, you're the neighborhood valet.”

The kid to his right, a short stocky teen with a pale complexion, sort of laughed. “Valet.”

The leader slapped him upside the head. “Shut up, Whitey.”

He held out both arms. “See, this is unofficially our alley, but there are a lot of undesirables who might break in and see what they could take, or just mess things up, if we didn't stop them.”

I glared at the kid, but he held my gaze.

“Judging by how much your tuxedo must've cost, a Jackson ought to do it. Fifteen for watching the car”—he glanced toward the office building—“and five for forgetting that all the offices are closed this time of night.”

I wasn't going to hand over twenty bucks for them to promise not to damage the car. “A sawbuck.”

The third teen, a slender kid in a white T-shirt, removed a black hat and long hair tumbled to his shoulders. A dame. “Take the dough, Stan.”

Stan, the leader, held out his hand.

I pulled a ten from my wallet, careful not to reveal how much I was carrying, and paid the man. “Take real good care of it.”

Stan raised one hand. “Scout's honor, Tuxedo Man.”

Whitey and the girl laughed until they snorted.

Laura climbed from the Oldsmobile and ignored the three punks like I hoped she would.

Whitey made eyes at Laura and let out a low whistle. “You should've asked for more dough, Stan.”

The teenagers laughed when Billy stepped out of the car. None of us was appropriately outfitted for the neighborhood, but he looked ridiculous in a three-piece suit and Giants cap.

I took Billy's arm and led him and Laura away from the Hawaiian teens. I shot the leader a warning glare as we made our way to the front of the building.

The girl with the long hair fluttered her fingers at Billy. “Aloha, shark bait.”

At the entrance to the alley, Laura stepped around a stream of brown sludge that stank of something dead. Billy leaped over the muck, stumbled, and almost fell. An athlete he wasn't. Intending to show him how it was done, I jumped and splashed some of the gunk on my trouser leg.

Laura chuckled. “Not as agile as you once were, huh, darling?”

“Marriage is taking a toll on me.” I took a final glance at the three teenagers, who were walking away from the car. The sawbuck was worth it to get rid of them.

I led the way to the front door of the building. Billy had mentioned Kalua's office took up most of the third floor. We climbed the stairs and made our way down a narrow corridor that reeked of cigarettes and better days gone by.

The last door on the right had an etched glass sign:
K
ALUA
E
NTERPRISES
. I tried the door but, as I expected, it was locked.

“I guess that's that.” Billy took a step back down the corridor.

Laura felt along the top of the doorframe for a key. “Sorry, darling, you'll have to do your thing.”

Billy clamped his eyes shut. “What thing?”

Laura smiled proudly. “Jake has many talents.”

I wasn't sure I still possessed the tools I needed. I searched through my wallet. The narrow file I kept from the old days was someplace back in Los Angeles.

“Pardon me.” I plucked a hatpin from Laura's silver beret.

“You're going to break in?” Billy let out a deep breath. “This…this isn't legal.”

“No, it's not.” Guided by just a dim corridor light behind me, I slipped the pin into the lock and tried to trip the tumbler. I felt like a sap when the pin snapped in two.

“Mr. Donovan.” Billy tapped me on the shoulder. “You need something stronger. That lock's a cast-iron rim latch.”

“I know what kind of lock it is.” The kid's wealth of knowledge was starting to get on my nerves.

When I shot him a look, Billy swallowed hard and grabbed his neck. “I swallowed my gum.”

“You'll live.”

He fished around in his trouser pocket and pulled out a small manicure kit. He handed me what I needed, a thin nail file.

I noticed his manicured nails for the first time.

“What?” Billy's face took on a blank expression.

I ignored the question and slipped the file into the lock. The tumbler gave a satisfying click. I opened the door and bowed toward Laura, then dropped the file in my trouser pocket in case I encountered any more locks.

“Isn't he wonderful?” Laura asked Billy. “He's also an accomplished pickpocket.”

Billy smiled for the first time since we left the hangar. “You must be very proud.”

I poked my head inside, then entered and let the others into the small outer office of Kalua Enterprises. “Don't turn on the lights.”

The corridor light illuminated a wooden desk with a brass spittoon I hoped the receptionist used as a trash can. A brass coatrack stood beside the door. A shiny brass lamp sat in the center of a table littered with magazines. The man had a lot of brass.

Billy took off his cap and wiped his damp brow. “You have any more gum?”

I pulled the pack of Wrigley's from my pocket and tossed it to him.

“Thanks. Chewing gum keeps my asthma from taking over when I'm nervous.”

“Don't be so jumpy.” I searched through the top drawer of the reception desk.

“If there's nothing to be worried about, why are we prowling around in the dark?”

Billy stuffed two sticks into his mouth and chewed, then stuffed the gum wrappers into his trouser pocket. “What are you looking for?”

“A flashlight.” I slid the drawer closed and tried the next one.

Billy snickered. “You really think a receptionist keeps a flashlight in her desk?”

I pulled one from the desk and aimed it at Billy's face, then swept the beam toward an open door at the end of the lobby. We followed the light and entered a room crammed with more than a dozen desks, each with a covered typewriter and notepad, but no personal items. The place was spotless and about as warm and inviting as a museum of crystal plates.

I shined the beam around the room, searching for Kalua's office—a corner one, no doubt.

As we crossed the room, Laura shook her head. “What's so special about this place that Kalua would invite Amelia and George here?”

I still held special memories of the office in Queens where I grew my detective agency and earned a reputation with authorities and tough guys. Maybe Kalua felt the same about the place where he built his empire.

Billy shrugged. “He called Mr. Putnam a week ago and invited them to lunch at a swanky beachfront restaurant. I heard that later, he had a couple drinks too many, started talking about the good old days, and explained he wanted to show them where he got his start and expanded his business empire.”

Laura nodded toward a closed door in the corner. “That must be Kalua's office. Have you ever seen anything like that door?”

Not in an office. The window was stained glass, something that belonged in a church. Two knights with crosses on their armor, one riding a black stallion, the other a white horse. The two men were on a quest of some kind. Kalua had been religious or he enjoyed quests.

A secretary's desk sat outside the door. While the desks of the typists and bookkeepers were sparse, the secretary kept a few personal items on display, including a picture of a young boy and presumably herself, a pretty Hawaiian dish with long dark hair.

Laura slipped behind the desk and eased into the chair. “If you want to know about a person, find his wife's secrets, or his secretary's.”

“Billy's a secretary. Why don't you stay here with Laura?”

The kid snorted. “I'm not that kind of secretary.”

“Then follow me.” I tried the door to Kalua's office. Locked, of course.

Billy held the flashlight while I slipped the file from my pocket and inserted it in the lock. Seconds later, the tumbler turned. I blew on the ends of my fingertips. “It's all in the touch.”

Laura took the flashlight, and Billy and I entered Kalua's office.

I closed the door and flipped on the light, knowing it wouldn't be visible from the corridor. The man held different standards for himself than for his employees. The walls, a file cabinet, and a desk were covered with personal items, including pictures of Kalua's family and of him posing with various dignitaries.

I pulled open the top drawer. A bottle of scotch. From what Billy said earlier and this booze, it was clear Kalua was a drinker. I showed the bottle to Billy. “A shot of this might take care of your asthma better than gum.”

“No, thanks.” He peered through the closed blinds of the office window into the alley. “The car's still there. No sign of that girl…I mean those three punks.”

I chuckled to myself. Billy had a crush.

He browsed the office walls and pointed to a framed picture of Kalua and a gentle-looking man, perhaps ten years his junior. “That's his brother, Ihe Kalua.”

I sorted through a stack of papers on Kalua's desk. I wasn't sure what I was looking for. I found nothing of interest until the last sheet, a week-old letter from his brother.

In it, Ihe criticized his brother's role in bringing Amelia Earhart to Hawaii. He went on to complain about the evils of American influence on Hawaiian heritage and recounted the determination and rising number of “Royalists.” He spent the last two paragraphs reminiscing about growing up when Hawaii was ruled by a monarchy.

“Hmmm.”

“What?”

I handed Billy the letter while I finished searching through the desk drawers. The bottom drawer revealed a snub-nosed pistol. A closer look showed it was loaded, as I'd expected.

Billy let out a whistle. “Why would he keep a loaded pistol in his desk?”

“The neighborhood. Maybe he worked late sometimes and this made him feel safer. Maybe he was a cautious fellow, or perhaps he expected trouble.”

The pistol reminded me of my responsibility to keep Laura and Billy alive. For a moment, I considered taking the gun, but I didn't want to leave any evidence we'd been here. His secretary probably knew he kept a pistol in his desk.

Billy dropped the letter back on the desk. “The two brothers were estranged from each other over their political beliefs. Almost like our civil war, which often pitted brother against brother.”

He set his cap on the desk and stuffed another stick of gum in his mouth, while I spent the next few minutes searching through the file cabinet in the corner. The cabinet was stuffed with letters, papers, and financial statements that confirmed Kalua's connection with American business interests.

Billy's fears seemed to have dissipated. As he chewed, he gazed around the office. “Kalua's a prominent political figure and active in the Islands' push for statehood. His brother wants to return the monarchy to power. That could be a motive.”

Billy was right about a possible motive, but I couldn't image brother shooting brother. Still, I'd seen stranger things during my gumshoe days.

I studied the pictures on the wall, of Kalua as a young man standing before rows and rows of pineapples with a white house in the background. I looked closer and realized the plantation was the same one Laura and I had ridden the rented bicycles past earlier today.

At the end of the wall was a photo of a family posed in front of the large white house on the plantation. Judging from Kalua's youthful appearance, the picture was taken ten or so years ago. He was next to a heavyset woman his age—his wife, no doubt. He had one arm around his brother, Ihe, who stood beside a frail white-haired man who must've been their father—happier days before Hank inherited the family estate.

The picture beside it was a framed newspaper article with a photo of Kalua and two other men. The caption mentioned Kalua and two businessmen, Taylor and Benedict, who'd helped put up the ten thousand to entice Amelia to cross the Pacific. “What do you know about the other members of the group?”

“They were all business rivals. Marcus Taylor is a grower and Lyle Benedict runs a shipping line, but they set aside their differences for the good of Hawaii's future. Though if you think either might've been involved in Mr. Kalua's murder, Taylor left for Los Angeles two weeks ago and isn't expected back for another month. The paper said Benedict is on a fishing trip to Molokai. They'll be back in time for Miss Earhart's flight, but neither could've pulled the trigger.”

Perhaps they financed a hit against their business rival—but with a financial stake in Amelia's flight, neither would've wanted Kalua shot in her hangar.

Laura came into the room, wearing a smirk, and closed the door behind her. She set the flashlight on the desk and handed me a black book. “You were right, darling. Men do keep secrets in their offices. At least this one did.”

As Billy glanced over my shoulder, I flipped through the pages of Hank Kalua's appointment calendar. The kid was standing too close and a whiff of spearmint hit me.

“Do you mind?”

Billy stepped back. “Just trying to help.”

The book contained names, dates, phone numbers, the works. I glanced up from the pages to Laura. “Why don't you save me some time and tell me what caused your grin?”

Laura flipped to another page and pointed to a man's handwriting, presumably Kalua's. “Three weeks ago Kalua entered a brief note. ‘Dinner with Fanny,' next to a phone number.”

Could the dinner date really be Amelia's grease-monkey mechanic?

Billy glanced at the book. “That's Fanny Chandler's phone number.”

How did Billy know?

It was as if Billy read my mind. “Mr. Putnam often has me place a call for him.”

That made sense.

Billy acted more shocked than Laura and me. “Why would Fanny Chandler be in Hank Kalua's appointment calendar?”

Was the kid really that green? “Maybe he called to offer her a deal on pineapples.”

Understanding swept over Billy's face. He dropped into the chair like he'd been knocked over by the news. “You think they were…were fooling around?”

Laura burst out laughing. “Yes, Billy. It seems Mr. Kalua, the family man, had been seeing Amelia Earhart's friend, fellow flyer, and mechanic.”

“Fanny.” Billy shook his head.

The pages after that entry showed the same phone number and a couple of places where Kalua had initialed
FC
. “This is damn explosive.”

“I'm thinking we should be going.” Billy checked his watch. “What happens if someone shows up at the front door?”

I shrugged. “We jump out the window, I guess.”

“It's three stories!” He peered out the window. “There is a fire escape.”

I never entered somewhere I was uninvited without an escape plan. I'd noticed the fire escape from the alley. “Well, there you go.”

I flipped through the book. Laura might have solved the case. Had Hank Kalua come to the hangar to see his lover, Fanny?

Laura leaned closer to me and gazed at the open book. Her perfume smelled a hell of a lot better than Billy's spearmint. “Darling, if Kalua arranged to meet Fanny at the hangar, do you think he was breaking things off? Or perhaps she was. Something didn't go well, she shot him and ran to her car. When George showed up, she couldn't drive off, so she came in as if she'd just arrived.”