03 - Three Odd Balls (23 page)

“And you’re not exactly petite,” Chris added. “But Makaila the cook could have helped her. Emi says the two of them are best friends. And Bethany loves hiking.”

I recollected that Bethany had been president of her high school hiking club.

“She knows her way around Kekipi Crater,” Chris was saying. “She showed me all kinds of cool places yesterday.”

“But not Pele’s Prison.”

“Nope. We went out to Loraleii Rapids instead.” He caught my eye. “You don’t think she purposely kept me away from the cave, do you? You know, because she was hiding Bee Bee?”

I said it was a possibility. “But only a slim one. Russell found absolutely nothing untoward about Bethany, Makaila, or Em—”

Oops.

Chris narrowed his eyes. “Emi? Don’t tell me Dad put Lieutenant Densmore on Googling detail?”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“Maybe. But what’s he doing checking out Emi?” he asked indignantly. “What’s Dad have against my new girlfriend?”

While Chris huffed and puffed, I assured him Wilson had nothing against Emi. “She came out clean as a whistle, even under Russell Densmore’s thorough scrutiny. She’s not a suspect, okay?”

Chris let out one last huff. “Sometimes I hate being the son of a cop.”

I patted his knee and told him I felt his pain. “How about the Hoochie Coochie Brothers?”

“They’re painful, alright.”

“No. I meant, I wonder if we should rule them out.”

I told Chris about my rather enlightening morning, Leslie Coochie the maid, and the Coochie-Okolo-Iwatanii Town connection. But if I expected the kid to be impressed with my sleuthing skills, I was sorely disappointed. He informed me I was imparting old news—he had known who the maid was since the morning after Davy died.

“What? For Lord’s sake, Chris. Why didn’t you say something?”

He insisted it was no big deal. “I talked to her while you geezers slept in that day. I don’t think the ukulele players had anything to do with any of this.”

“They know this mountain from all those bird watching excursions,” I argued. “And they’re strong enough to get us up here. And this morning? They mysteriously disappeared from the Song of the Sea just moments before I was knocked out.” I nodded meaningfully, but Chris was not convinced.

“So they had the strength to kidnap us,” he said. “But why? This is all about the murder, right? Why would they kill Davy Atwell?”

I had no idea, but was not about to give up. “The light was on in their bungalow that night. It was after two a.m., mind you.”

“So what? If staying up late makes you look guilty, we should add your mother to the list of suspects.”

I folded my arms and pretended to glare. “Well then, what’s your theory? Surely the offspring of Wilson Rye has an idea or two?”

Apparently Bee Bee was also interested in Rye Junior’s theory. He hopped over from the berry bush and blinked at us. “Good as new!” he announced with a gleeful ruffle of feathers.

***

“Your theory,” I reminded Chris as we started moving again.

“Emi and I think it was Buster,” he said nonchalantly and disappeared around a huge tree. “That’s an ohia tree,” he changed the subject. “Aren’t they great?”

With nary a glance upward, I hastened around the ohia tree and tried to catch up. “Buster!?” I called out. “No way. If it was one of the Okolo brothers, it was Ki. Or Ki working in cahoots with Carmen Dupree.”

“Buster,” Chris insisted over his bare shoulder.

“Ki.” I extracted my right flip flop from a tangle of unidentified groundcover and frowned at its rather forlorn and bedraggled fake daisy. “Davy was the father of a couple of Carmen’s children, and he was very wealthy. Carmen and Ki were looking for an inheritance.” I slipped my flip flop back on and stumbled along. “Money is a powerful motive, no?”

Chris stopped and turned. “What about him?” He indicated Bee Bee. “What’s Ki’s motive for kidnapping this kooky bird?” As if on cue, Bee Bee pooped a big blob of purple stuff onto his running shoe.

“Good as new!” the bird informed us, and I bit my lip to keep from laughing.

“Next time it could be you,” Chris warned ominously and pointed to my bare toes.

I cleared my throat and pretended to glare at Bee Bee. “He must have heard something that night—something Ki didn’t want him to. What did you hear, Bee Bee?”

Bee Bee blinked slowly and repeated his name.

I turned back to Chris. “Russell told me Ki and Captain Vega are good friends. I think Vega’s going out of his way to protect Ki.”

“KiKiKiKiKiKi—”

“But using that logic,” Chris spoke over Bee Bee, “couldn’t Vega also be protecting Ki’s brother?” He bent his arm so the bird faced him. “What about Buster?” he asked, and Bee Bee switched from Ki’s name, to repeating Buster’s name a few thousand times.

I sighed dramatically. “Okay, so Bee Bee’s holding out on us. But I’m still sure he heard something useful.”

“Why kidnap him? Why not just kill him?”

Bee Bee squawked at that notion, and Chris hastened to apologize. “Just saying, buddy.”

I mentioned Wilson’s theory that the killer had gone off the deep end. “He’s stopped making any sort of rational sense.”

“Well then, it’s got to be Buster,” Chris said and started moving again. “Think about it. He’s so flakey and inept. And all this stuff that’s been happening is pretty flakey and inept.”

“Therefore, he wouldn’t ever kill Davy,” I argued. “Davy was good at his job. Buster needed him.”

“How about those love triangles Geez Louise is so excited about?” Chris was getting farther and farther ahead of me. “How about a Buster, Davy, and Rachel Tate triangle?”

“Her real name is Samantha Dimmery.”

“Say what?”

I explained Lieutenant Densmore’s research into the Samantha-Rachel person, and then Chris explained the love triangle he was picturing.

“Buster had a crush on Rachel, or Samantha, or whoever she was, but she had a crush on Davy.”

“So Buster was jealous of Davy?” I asked.

What a shocker, Chris was picking up the pace. I was tired of groaning, moaning, whimpering, and sighing, so I simply walked faster and pondered Buster Okolo’s supposed motives. No offense to Chris and Emi, but the inheritance motive between Carmen and Ki still seemed far more compelling.

But yet, either of the Okolo brothers probably possessed the strength to transport Chris and me up to Pele’s Prison.

“Why would Buster kidnap us?” I called out.

“To get away with murder,” Chris said. “Buster needs to pin this on someone from our group. And our disappearance makes Dad look guilty, right?”

“Your father? But Captain Vega is after you, Chris.”

“He’s been harassing me, but the guy he really hates is Dad.”

Oh, my Lord. I stopped short while a new brand of panic seized me.

Could Vega actually be blaming Wilson for our disappearance? At that very moment? Surely our disappearance must have been discovered by then. I glanced past the tree tops toward the sun and ascertained it was getting on for late afternoon. Was Wilson out searching for us? Or was he already under arrest?

Chris must have noticed I had stopped following him. He turned around and came back.

“I’m sorry,” he told me. “But Vega will blame Dad when they realize we’re missing. He’ll say we found out Dad’s the murderer, so he had to get rid of us. Vega always blames a tourist, right?”

I closed my eyes and prayed for strength, and conceded that Chris was indeed right. I mean, what other tourist could Vega possibly be blaming at that point? My mother?

Chris must have read my mind. “Miss Tessie thinks it was Buster. She told me last night she has a funny feeling about Buster.”

I opened my eyes and blinked at Bee Bee. One ignores Tessie Hewitt’s funny feelings at their own peril.

“Okay,” I said. “We think it was Buster.”

***

“Oh, my God.” Something behind my left shoulder had caught Chris’s eye.

I turned and saw the road. “The road!” I shouted. “The road! The road!”

“The road!” Bee Bee shouted. “The road! The road!”

“The road,” Chris mumbled with far less enthusiasm and pointed to the stream that separated us from said road. What had been a babbling brook uphill a ways had morphed into a surging stream. It was a rather wide stream. A river, in fact.

“I bet it’s been over there all along,” Chris was saying. “We’ve been on the wrong side.”

“Should we try to get over there?” I asked.

“Let’s see.” He handed Bee Bee to me and slipped off his sneakers, and Bee Bee and I watched as he plunged on in. It was deep, and at one point he had to swim a few yards to get to where he could stand up again. He waded some more and finally found solid ground on the other bank.

“Your turn, Jessie.” He waved. “Toss me the shoes.”

I pointed to Bee Bee. “What about him?”

“He flies.”

“Here goes,” I told the flying creature. I threw the cleaner sneaker across to Chris and then grimaced at its mate. Not that I was the epitome of cleanliness and hygiene at the moment, but I could still be grossed out. I wrinkled my nose and picked up the Bee Bee-soiled shoe, doing my dainty best to keep my hand away from the bird droppings.

I am happy to report that somehow that sneaker also made it clear across the river, although I wish I could say the same for my flip flops. One made it over. Its partner, however, was not so cooperative. The wind grabbed hold of it and it landed a few yards from Chris. In the water. Bless his heart, he did his best to try to save it, but apparently my flip flop was desperate to escape. The three of us watched in disbelief as it merrily bobbed its way downstream. The fake daisy disappeared from sight, I grumbled accordingly, and tiptoed into the water.

Chris waded in from his side and coaxed gently while I endeavored to shoo Bee Bee from my wrist. But Bee Bee had once again decided to be disoriented and confused. Chris and I proceeded to explain, as logically as possible, that he was going to have to fly the few yards while I swam it. The bird listened attentively but refused to let go of my wrist.

“Can you swim one-handed?” Chris asked me.

I didn’t think so. But I could dog-paddle.

I frowned at Bee Bee. “Here goes, you stupid bird.” I introduced him to the top of my head and for this treat he happily abandoned my wrist. Have I mentioned Bee Bee’s claws?

Wasting no time I plunged on in and dog-paddled at record speed. My eyes were shut tight since Bee Bee was not too well-balanced up there. But Chris was laughing so hard I had a sense of the right direction at all times. And then Bee Bee pooped.

The good news? I couldn’t see it. The bad news? I could definitely feel it. Have I mentioned all those berries he had eaten?

Despite the total gross-out factor I soldiered, or at least dog-paddled, on and made it across. I do believe it was Jessica Hewitt’s most heroic moment.

I handed the stupid, stupid bird to Chris and plunged back into the water to rinse my hair. Then I staggered back to dry land, only to decide if I wanted to walk barefooted the rest of the way or with one flip flop.

Chris held up his shoes, but I declined the offer. “Very chivalrous of you, Mr. Rye, but I’d never be able to keep them on my feet.”

“Well then, use the one flip flop, Jessie. A little protection on one foot is better than none at all.”

I muttered various obscenities and donned my lone flip flop as Bee Bee tried to convince me I was “Good as new.”

Chris also encouraged me to look on the bright side. He pointed at the road we were now standing on, and I frowned at what was in reality nothing more than a deeply rutted dirt path.

He glanced at my feet and then up at the top of my head. “At least you’ve stopped worrying about the heebie jeebies,” he tried.

“Because now I’m worrying about your father.” We started hobbling our way downhill. “Do you really think he’s been arrested?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time.”

Chapter 25

We stopped short and stared each other.

“Oops,” Chris squeaked.

You’d better believe, oops. I folded my arms and glared until Chris found his voice and actually told me I needed to ask Wilson for the details.

“Yeah, right,” I said. “I do not need to ask Wilson for the details, because I am asking you for the details!” I stamped my lone flip flop. “I demand to know your father’s deep dark secrets, and I demand to know them now, now, now!”

Silence from Chris, and a “Now, now, now!” from Bee Bee. I always did like that bird.

“Now!” I repeated and continued to stamp my foot, wave my arms, and shout vague threats. Throwing a temper tantrum might have been beneath my dignity, but a bird had just pooped on my head. Let’s face it—I was running a little low on the dignity thing. In addition I was, right then, in imminent danger of dying from a lethal combination of dehydration and the heebie jeebies. I had suffered a very, very rough day, and I refused to die in a state of ignorance.

When I reminded my companions of all these compelling and relevant facts, they simply kept walking.

Walking!

I ran, or something akin to it, grabbed Chris’s free elbow and yanked him to a full stop.

“Okay, I’m begging,” I said. “Have pity on me?”

His eyes moved to the top of my head. “You are pitiful.”

We negotiated, and with much ado and haggling, finally came to an agreement. Chris would tell me all about Wilson’s deep dark past as long I kept walking. Deal, baby!

“How much do you know about Dianne Calloway?” he asked as we staggered downhill.

“Nothing except for her name. But why is this Dianne person Wilson’s deep dark secret? Why did they break up? Why was he arrested? What was her connection? And when was all this?”

“If you shut up, I might tell you.”

I shut up.

“Here goes.” He took a deep breath. “They met in Raleigh. You know Dad used to live there?”

I did. Wilson had moved to Clarence only in the past few years. Raleigh was his hometown, where he grew up, and where he had raised his son.

“Dianne and Dad were together for about two years—my junior and senior years of high school,” Chris continued. “Everyone expected they would get married after I started college.”