Sinister Paradise (8 page)

Alice Faulkner leaned forward expectantly. “Nancy! Have you found her?”

Nancy felt miserable. Breaking this news was a hard thing to do. “I'm sorry, Mrs. Faulkner. Somebody tipped Lisa off that we were coming. It's just a temporary setback, though.”

Alice's proud shoulders drooped, but she managed to conceal the extent of her disappointment. “Please come in. I do hope you'll stay for dinner. I could use some pleasant company for a change.” With a weary smile, she led them to the dining room. “Ross and his associates are here. Trying to comfort me, or so they say. Personally, I'd rather have them out looking for Lisa.”

Nancy stepped into the dining room, where vast sliding-glass doors offered a panoramic view of the palm-studded garden. Ross Rafferty stared into the night, shoulders tense. Mitsuo Kaimonsaki stood by the liquor cabinet. He was pouring brandy for a woman who was standing next to Rafferty.

The woman was nearly as tall as Mitsuo in her stiletto heels. An aquamarine cocktail dress molded her superb figure. Her beautiful face was framed by a tumble of stylishly coiffed blond hair.

Alice went right over to her. “Amy, I don't believe you've met Nancy Drew. This is Amy Sorenson, the bank's vice-president.”

Flashing a warm smile, Amy nodded. “How do you do, Nancy.”

“My friends—” Nancy gestured at her companions. “Ned Nickerson—Bess Marvin—George Fayne.”

Amy's green eyes blinked in disbelief. Nancy sensed Amy's sudden coolness.

“
You're
George?” The woman's tone dripped disapproval.

“I have been all my life.” George lifted her chin. “Do you have a problem with that?”

Looking a little embarrassed, Amy smoothed the skirt of her dress. “Er—no, it's just a bit unusual, that's all.”

Holding a chair for Alice, Mitsuo remarked, “Why don't we start dinner? The food smells delicious.”

Nancy and her friends enjoyed the old-fashioned Polynesian dinner: roast suckling pig with baked taro, cooked spinach, and
poe
, a starchy pudding made of papaya, mangoes, and bananas.

Midway through dessert, Nancy asked, “Mrs. Faulkner, what do you know about the Malihini Corporation?”

Clink!
Ross dropped his fork, his eyes round with shock. Amy cleared her throat and lowered her eyes. Mitsuo stared quizzically at Nancy.

Alice looked troubled. “Nancy, where did you hear that name?”

Snorting in disgust, Ross threw his napkin on
the table. “Go ahead, Alice. Tell her! Then we can take out an ad in the
Star-Bulletin
and tell the whole world!”

“Mind your manners and hush!” Alice said sharply. “This is my home, and Nancy is my guest. I want to know where she heard about the Malihini Corporation.” Alice looked at Nancy purposefully. “Well?”

So Nancy told her. When she had finished, Alice leaned back in her chair. “It fits. It fits so well.” She closed her eyes in misery. “It's what I feared all along. They're using Lisa to strike at me.”

“Who are “they'?” Nancy asked.

“The Malihini Corporation first appeared in Honolulu a year ago,” Alice explained. “They bought real estate all over the Islands. In time, they became Hawaii's biggest developer. But nobody seems to know who they are.”

“Why are they after you, Mrs. Faulkner?”

Alice made a steeple of her fingers. “Our bank has been putting money into the Konalani project. It's a planned community on Oahu's north shore. We have a lot of money riding on the outcome of that project.”

Ross thumped the table with his fist. “And they're trying to sandbag us! You see, Nancy, our bank has been having a serious problem with cash in recent years. The Konalani project will save us. But if our investors ever learn that the
project is in danger of collapse, they'll sell their shares of Windward Bancorp stock!”

“You lost me,” Bess murmured.

Amy smiled indulgently. “It's simple economics, dear. Windward Bancorp is the company that owns the bank. They have stockholders, just like any other company. If the stockholders dump their shares, someone else can buy them all up and take control of Windward Bancorp.”

So that was why Ross Rafferty didn't want to go to the police, Nancy thought. The merest hint of Faulkner family trouble might trigger a panic among Windward stockholders. But how could he be so callous? There was no way the bank's well-being measured up against the life and safety of a human being!

Nancy's brow furrowed. “And you have no idea who's on the board of this corporation?”

“None whatsoever.” Amy shook her head. “Believe me, we've tried to find out. No luck! Not even Lester could learn anything.”

“Who's Lester?” asked Ned.

“Lester Jarman, my late husband's business partner,” Alice explained. “He and Charlie founded Windward Fidelity Bank thirty years ago. Lester's retired now. He's still sharp as a tack, though. Next to me, he's the biggest stockholder in Windward Bancorp.”

Nancy tapped her lower lip thoughtfully. So the Malihini Corporation was trying to steal the
bank away from the Faulkner family. That made sense. But how was helping Lisa run away from home supposed to accomplish that?

Nancy shivered. To save Lisa Trumbull, Nancy would have to trail a pack of killers through the strange and treacherous world of high finance!

T
HE NEXT MORNING
Nancy and Ned visited the main station of the Honolulu Police Department. A grizzled desk sergeant directed them down the hall to the office of the Criminal Investigation Division.

“Hi, Nancy!” Tim DiPrizio called out. He was in shirtsleeves, his feet propped on the desk. Martin Giles sat across the aisle, painstakingly typing with two fingers. “What brings you kids downtown?”

“We need some information, Tim.” Nancy quickly explained how the Malihini Corporation had foiled them. When she had finished, Tim
remarked, “Malihini Corporation, eh? Never heard of them.”

“I'm not surprised,” Nancy added. “They keep a really low profile. I was hoping you guys could dig up some tax information on them.”

“Be happy to.” Tim glanced at his partner. “You're the team intellectual, Marty. Where do you go for corporate tax records?”

“The state Department of Accounting and General Services,” Martin answered, pulling on his suit jacket. “My friend Darlene works over there. Let me go talk to her. You folks sit tight. I'll be back.”

Martin was as good as his word. He returned to the detectives' office an hour later and handed Nancy a slim manila folder. He wasn't smiling.

“That's a copy of the state tax file,” Martin told her. “There isn't a whole lot on this Malihini Corporation. This just says they're an overseas investments firm. They don't even have an office here, just that post office box. According to Darlene, the Malihini Corporation was chartered in the Cayman Islands. They're very careful not to break any laws. They always pay their city, state, and county tax assessments. They always pay by mail, too, using checks drawn on the Bank of Nova Scotia.”

Tim sat on the edge of his desk. “What's the bottom line, partner?”

Martin sighed. “These Malihini dudes are under a cloak of total secrecy. There's no way to
get a handle on them. Compared to the Malihini Corporation, the mob is a bunch of blabber-mouths.”

Disappointed, Nancy handed back the file. “Thanks, guys.”

Martin stroked his goatee thoughtfully. “Know what's bothering me?”

“What?” asked Tim, standing up.

The black officer's gaze shifted curiously to Nancy. “You tried to find these Malihini guys. No luck! I tried the state tax people. Nothing! So how did Lisa Trumbull find them?”

“Maybe they came to her,” Ned offered.

“I think you're right, Ned.” Nancy's voice turned somber. “No one tries to kill people in a rigged car accident unless they've got something to hide.”

“You think the girl's in trouble?” asked Tim.

“I think she got in over her head,” Nancy answered honestly.

As Nancy and Ned walked out the door, Martin said, “You kids be careful, all right? If you need any help, give us a call. I don't like the sound of all this.”

• • •

Nancy slogged unhappily through the thick sand of Waikiki Beach. Two hours had passed since their visit to the police station. Since then, Nancy and her friends had split up, pursuing a number of different leads. Nancy and Bess were at the beach, interviewing lifeguards and surfers.

So far, it hadn't been a productive effort. Nancy had shown Lisa's photo up and down Waikiki, but no one remembered the girl. She looked too much like all the other teenagers wandering around.

Suddenly Nancy heard Bess's excited voice. “Nancy! Come quick! I found someone!”

Nancy trudged back up the sandy slope. Bess waited anxiously beside a tall surfer who was diligently waxing his board. “I figured you ought to talk to him, Nan. His name's Lance, and he's seen Lisa!”

Lance straightened up. With his well-muscled physique and skin the color of old hickory, he reminded Nancy of an ad for suntan lotion.

Lifting the photo, she asked, “Do you recognize this girl?”

“Yeah, I've seen her.” Lance studied the photo carefully. “This morning. Just after sunrise. I was riding my board about a mile out. Pretty good surf here when it's high tide. Not as good as Kuilei or the Banzai Pipeline, but it's a wild ride coming in.”

Nancy took back the photo. “Lisa was surfing?”

“Awww, no. She was with a big guy. They were walking on the beach. Like they were looking for something, you know? Then the big guy started yelling. The girl got scared and tried to run, but he grabbed her wrist. Then this car pulled up. A brown-haired woman got out and held the girl.
Meanwhile, that big guy went crazy! He was dumping out litter baskets—kicking the trash around. I figured the girl needed help, so I started in on my board.”

“Then what?” asked Nancy, listening intently.

“The brown-haired woman got him calmed down. All three of them got in the car and took off.” Lance's face showed regret. “They were gone by the time I got to shore.”

After thanking Lance for his help, Nancy and Bess headed back to Kalakaua Avenue again. Nancy's thoughts were racing. What if the people with Lisa had been part of the Malihini Corporation? If so, they must have counted Lisa's money the previous night and come up fifty thousand short. They would have made Lisa retrace her steps, hoping to find the missing bearer bond—the one Nancy had found at the Ka Lae apartment house.

She explained all this to Bess, who asked, “Why would the big guy get so upset, Nan? It's Diana Faulkner's money.”

“Bearer bonds can be cashed by anybody,” Nancy replied. “The Malihini Corporation was planning to double-cross Lisa all along. I'll bet they promised Lisa they'd help her get to San Francisco to live with Michele.” Nancy's stomach felt hollow. “Only I don't think Lisa realizes just how vicious the Malihini Corporation really is. She doesn't know how they've tried to hurt her grandmother. She probably thinks they're on
her side, never realizing that they could turn on her at any time.”

“At least Lisa's still alive,” Bess added.

“As of this morning.” Nancy flashed a worried look at her friend. “But you heard what Lance said. They're no longer treating Lisa like a guest. Sounds as if she's their prisoner now.”

As they passed a dress shop, Nancy turned her gaze toward the window. She ignored the fashions on display, concentrating instead on the mirrored reflection of the street. It was an old detective trick, a way to check to see if she was being followed.

Ice water seemed to fill Nancy's veins. A familiar face had appeared in the crowd behind her. A moon-shaped face topped by slick black hair!

The International Market Place was just ahead. Nancy steered Bess toward the entrance. “We're being followed,” she whispered, shepherding Bess into the mall. “I want you to go to a gift shop and pretend to be shopping. Make yourself noticeable. I want his eye on you.”

“What will you be doing, Nancy?”

“I hope to set him up.”

Nancy left Bess's side the minute she entered the gift shop. Nancy took cover behind a concrete pillar. Bess put on a nice show, playing the part of an airhead tourist. The man's face appeared in the window. Nancy flattened herself
behind the pillar. His gaze on Bess, he moved farther along.

As soon as he was out of her line of sight, Nancy crossed the lobby and entered a phone booth. The phone at the other end rang sharply. George's voice answered. “Hello?”

“George, it's me.” Nancy exhaled in relief. “Listen, our friend is back—the one with the moon face.” Not pausing for an instant, she told George the plan. “I'm going to lead him back to the boat. You hide out on the pier while Bess and I go aboard. When the man leaves, I want you to follow him.”