Shimura Trouble (15 page)

I bit my lip, thinking how I’d misjudged the man, and the situation. Things were deteriorating as fast as I was shredding my bread roll. I put my hands on my lap, to control them.

“Mr. Pierce, I’m very sorry we disturbed you,” Michael said to fill the awkward silence.

“You think I’m just like the Big Five, don’t you? Big, bad landowners, abusers of the masses?”

“I don’t think it’s as simple as that,” I said.

“Drive farther along the coast, and you’ll come to Maile Beach and see hundreds of tents on the grass. It’s an impromptu housing development for the homeless, who come from all over the island because they can’t afford a roof over their head. Hawaii wasn’t like that in sugar plantation days.”

“I have to agree,” Michael said. “When I was here in school, and there were still a few sugar plantations going, there weren’t any homeless, unless you count drunks in Chinatown.”

“We had flophouses then,” JP said, seeming to relax slightly. “Now they’re fancy boutiques and restaurants.”

“I think we’re getting away from the topic,” I said. “Look, I know my relatives in Hawaii will not get that acre and a half they’re dreaming of. All I really hope for is a better idea of why your father might have visited Harue Shimura in her house one evening, when Yoshitsune was a boy.”

Josiah Pierce looked at me for a long moment, and then said, “Do you know what year that was?”

“Uncle Yoshitsune was in his mid-teens. He’d finished high school and had started at the post office.”

“There was a fire on the plantation in 1938, a regular burn that we’d scheduled for a field that needed rest. Unfortunately, the wind changed. A spark jumped to the mill, and it was ablaze before anyone noticed. Not everyone escaped.”

Michael and I sat in silence, waiting for more.

“Some people said it was the luna’s mistake for going ahead with a scheduled burn on a day with wind. Others said it was my father’s fault for wanting to have every field perfect when the demand for Hawaiian sugar was dropping. Who knows? It was a bad fire, an unlucky wind, and nine men died.” He looked from the distance back at us. “All of the men who died had wives and children. These are the women my father visited personally to give condolences, and offered help with housing outside the village, if they chose to leave.”

“Kind of like death compensation?” Michael said.

“We didn’t have fancy union terminology in those days. We just called it doing the right thing.”

“That couldn’t have been the reason Harue was given a house,” I said. “You see, her husband, Ken Shimura, wasn’t working at the mill in 1938. He’d left for the Big Island by 1926. He worked on another Pierce plantation there, and I guess passed away there, because Yoshitsune never saw him again.”

“You don’t say.” JP’s words came slowly, and he seemed to be studying me as sternly as when I’d casually said the words about Mitsuo Kikuchi that had sent him into a fury.

“What can you tell me about the Liangs, the family to whom the house is still leased?”

Michael cleared his throat. “Honey, this has all gotten a bit awkward, especially after Mr. Pierce—JP—has been so generous as to give us lunch.”

“I have no problem telling you what I know, but it’s not much. Winston Liang was the son of a good Chinese worker who’d already retired and moved into Waipahu, running a laundry. Winston asked my father if he could lease the cottage and land around it. It was as simple as that, and you know, all things considered, it was a good move; from the fishing business he started there, he made enough money to buy a house in town, and then another—and lo and behold, today he’s gone, had a heart attack over-eating at Zippy’s, but his surviving heir is one of the biggest Chinese property owners on Oahu.”

“Do you think it’s possible that Winston Liang assumed control of the property with all Harue Shimura’s possessions still inside?”

“Sure. You have to understand, she died in her garden—dropped from a stroke, the doctor told us. No relatives or friends came to clean up anything. In situations like this, the new tenant’s wife keeps what she wants and throws out the rest.”

I was about to say that it certainly would have been in the Liang family’s interest to throw out any deeds of ownership they found, but the maid returned, a cordless telephone in hand. In her soft voice she said, “Your brother wants to speak to you. Shall I tell him later?”

“No, I’d better take it.” He looked at us. “Sorry for cutting things short. Lindsay’s going to want to know the extent of the fire damage.”

“Oh, we understand, and we didn’t mention it before, but we’re very sorry about the fire,” Michael said, getting to his feet. “Thank you so much for your time, and your patience with our questions.”

“Nothing to thank me for. I don’t think I particularly helped anything,” Josiah Pierce answered.

But as Michael and I said goodbye, I thought that he had helped, and perhaps it was better that he didn’t know it.

I
TOOK THE
wheel on the way down Tantalus Road, because driving is easier than being a passenger when it comes to carsickness. Part of it was avoiding a replay of my earlier nausea, but I was also feeling frustrated and tired of sitting on my hands. Driving at least gave me power.

“The deed of sale, if it ever existed, is gone,” I said glumly. “The Liangs probably just got rid of it, either accidentally or intentionally.”

“That’s what he wants you to think,” Michael said. “He was quite warm and seemingly open, but that could be disingenuous. I’d meant to catch him off-guard with the mention of Will, but his reaction made me wonder.”

“I want to find Winston Liang’s son. I wish I’d asked his name.”

The Sebring’s top was down, and a gust of wind flared a bit of my dress upward. Michael put his hand on my thigh, and I felt the hard wedding band against my skin. Now I felt desire mixed with sadness that it had all been a ridiculous game.

“Don’t forget to take off the ring,” I said, lifting his hand and fixing the dress. It was a rather complicated maneuver, with the hairpin Tantalus turns.

“Can’t wait to be divorced from me, huh?” Michael sighed heavily, slipped off his gold band, and dropped it into one of the car’s two empty cup-holders.

I looked straight ahead, not wanting to meet his gaze. “It’s just that I don’t want you to embarrass yourself by forgetting to take the ring off. Earlier today you mentioned that we should stop in at the yacht club, and I’d hate for you to walk in and have your friends think you’d just, boom, had a quick marriage.”

“I don’t care what anyone thinks—you should know that by now. But there is something I’m starting to get mad about.”

“What?” I asked cautiously.

“You haven’t kissed me yet today. It’s like what happened between us yesterday has been absolutely buried and forgotten! Hello, there. We’re officially dating.”

“It’s a two-way street,” I said, unable to suppress a smile. And when we reached the stop sign at the bottom of the hill, and I was trying to remember which way to turn for Ala Moana, he took advantage of the lull, and he kissed me with something that told me he might have been feeling the same way.

WE LEFT THE
car at the shopping center again—I was starting to feel vaguely guilty, like I should step in and buy something there, sooner or later. It felt nice to stroll hand-in-hand to the yacht club, and nicer still to see Michael warmly welcomed by fellow racers, who had grown in number since the previous day. Three more sailboats had arrived, and we were both coaxed into sitting down. A quick hello, Michael said, before he dropped me back at the resort.

“Mike!” Kurt called out, his fingers forming a mock-gun the way little boys liked to do.

“Rei, I’m sorry we didn’t know about you! I would have ordered you a T-shirt too.” A fair-skinned redhead wearing shorts and a white T-shirt with a photo of
Four Guys on the Edge
greeted me. She was sitting next to a pretty black woman about ten years my senior, with stylishly upswept black hair, who was also wearing the T-shirt, but with floral-patterned capris.

“That’s OK. I run, so I have too many T-shirts already.”

“What you don’t have is a drink. You look like a mai tai girl.” Kurt appraised me as if it were the first time he was seeing me.

“I don’t know about that—”

“We don’t have time for a drink at all,” Michael said. “We really just stopped in to say hello.”

“Why are you always leaving? You missed out on a chance to be interviewed by both papers yesterday,” Parker said.

“I’d rather not be in the papers. So what’s your plan for the rest of the day? Beach and then a good dinner?” Michael stood up, and from his posture, I could see he was about to bolt.

“Just wait a minute! You’ve been so rude, Michael, not properly introducing Rei to Jody and me. My name is Karen Drummond; I’m Parker’s wife.” The woman in Pucci extended a hand with long, scarlet nails toward me, making me regret my own manicure’s lack of color. “You’re joining us for dinner tonight at Alan Wong, aren’t you? We booked a table for seven at seven. Easy to remember that way.”

I was about to say I’d like to, but I should check with my family first, but Michael was already shaking his head. “I hate to miss catching up with you, Karen—and Jody, too—but Rei and I have another plan tonight. We’ll all eat together at the Transpac banquet, though.”

“Weren’t you being a little rude, Michael?” I asked as we waited to cross Ala Moana Boulevard a minute later. “Or is there a reason you don’t want me to know your friends?”

“I’m…I’m a little bit nervous, yes,” Michael said. “The guys at least were spinning crazy fantasies about why I didn’t get home until two in the morning. They’re too happy about your existence, Rei. It makes me nervous.”

As I started to tell him to relax, my mobile phone buzzed against my hip.

“Not again,” Michael said.

I fished the phone out of my dress pocket and looked at the number in the window. “Oh-oh, a Tokyo exchange. That means my cousin Tom, most likely.” I clicked the phone on and greeted Tom coolly; it was the first time we’d spoken since our argument the previous evening.

“Where are you, Rei-chan? We tried to reach you earlier, and your phone just rang.”

“Sorry, I turned it off during a meeting,” I said. “Is my father all right?”

“Yes, but you must return immediately. Edwin has requested our help.”

“Of course he needs our help,” I interrupted. “He’s been saying that for days.”

“No, no, Rei-chan, this time it’s different. The police have arrested Braden.”

“What on earth…?”

“He’s at the police station in Kapolei. This is very bad for your father! I told him not to go, despite his wish to help. My father, I worry, won’t make a good impression because of the language barrier. I could go alone, but I’d rather we did it together—”

“Actually, Tom, I think it’s best if you stay with our fathers. I have Michael and his car, so we can go directly to the station. But tell me one thing—why was he arrested?”

“Edwin didn’t say. He just needs a family member to sign a paper and pick Braden up as soon as possible.”

THE KAPOLEI POLICE
station didn’t look like a place for bad guys. It was far too pretty, built of new, golden brick, in the same neo-colonial style as the rest of the planned community. Inside there was a soaring atrium with tall windows. It looked like a place to hold a choral recital, not arrest and detain people.

Behind the desk was an attractive local man in his twenties, slimmer than Kainoa, and more Southeast Asian in appearance. He wore a green and yellow print cotton aloha shirt and khaki shorts. I would never have guessed he was a cop if I hadn’t seen the tag around his neck identifying him as James Than, Community Liaison Officer.

“You guys lost, yah? Just hang a right out on Farrington Highway, and that’ll take you back to H-1, and make sure you go east. You don’t want to visit the western beaches, trust me.” Officer Than smiled briefly, then went back to the comic he was reading.

He’d mistaken us for tourists, but I was too stressed out to be offended. I said, “Actually, I’m here to pick up a family member, my nephew Braden Shimura.” I’d decided, a split-second before coming in, that aunt sounded a lot more mature than cousin.

“Oh, Braden Shimura.” He paused, looking me over with new interest. “That’s right, his old man said another relative would be picking him up. Too busy to come in and face the sad truth!”

“What is the truth? Why was he arrested?” I asked.

“Before we get into it, I’ll need to see your government-issued photo ID.”

Feeling flustered, I slapped my driver’s license down on the counter. He read it, then inclined his head toward Michael. “And who’s he?”

“I have a government ID as well.” Michael placed his CIA identification card on the desk.

Than’s eyes widened, and he lowered his voice. “The kid wanted for terrorism, too?”

“No,” Michael answered shortly. “I’m a friend of the Shimura family’s who’ll be driving Rei and Braden home. But I’d like to get back to Braden’s situation in—what’s the charge?”

After a moment of indecision, Officer Than slid a small packet of papers across the desk toward us. In my state, it was unintelligible. I handed it to Michael, then looked back at Than and asked for a translation.

“Right now, your nephew’s being charged with one count of arson. And there might be some other charges, too—a body was found, and right now, the coroner’s trying to determine if it was an accident or foul play.”

“But he was with his family during the fire, including me…” But as I said it, I was thinking. The fire had started the day before, and Braden was out of school and unsupervised.

“This morning, he was caught on Pierce lands out toward Nanakuli with a wheelbarrow full of rocks. He dropped the barrow and ran when we told him to stop. Still had his lighter in his pocket.”

I was about to say that lots of innocent people ran on the Pierce lands—myself included—but thought better of it. I asked instead, ‘What can you tell me about the body?”

“Like the way you phrase that. I can’t tell you anything. Watch the news. You’ll hear, sooner or later.”

“OK, that I understand. But if you didn’t catch him setting the fire, how can you charge him with arson?” Michael asked.

“He may have set the fire just to get the rocks—that was the arson investigator’s original thought,” Than said. “But you never know who’s gonna be caught in the midst of things when a fire gets raging.”

“With such serious charges, I’m surprised you’re letting him out,” I said.

“He’s a juvenile. Kids stay with their parents until the trial—although with his prior arrests, I gotta wonder why’s he’s getting another chance.”

“Prior arrests?” I asked.

“You don’t know your nephew got caught before on petty theft, vandalism, and loitering?” Than shook his head. “So, where is he going stay—with you, or his parents? Don’t want him skipping to California.”

“He’ll be going to his home on Laaloa Street. I came to get him because, as you know, his mother and father are working right now,” I answered.

“Well, let me warn you, don’t drop the boy at his house without his parents there. He might bolt.” He pointed a finger at me ‘You are legally responsible for his whereabouts. You hang on to him until you hand him over to the parents, yah?”