The Green Room (14 page)

“There's some talk going around,” Dede added. “There's a rumor he got into the contest by doing favors for that guy O'Reilly.”

“But Goober fell on his own,” Sunny stated.

“Still, how did he get into the contest?” Dede asked.

“I don't know,” Sunny said, but she sounded worried.

Chapter Twenty-five

Just as the women pulled into Sunny's and Dede's yard, Storm's cell phone rang. It took her a few minutes to dig it out of her bag under the seat, and when she got to it, the caller had hung up. Storm looked at her missed calls. She had two, and the most recent was from Stephanie. The other was from Pua. Storm wanted to talk to both women.

“I'd better go,” she said. “Thanks for a great afternoon. It was just what I needed.”

“Me, too,” Sunny said, and Dede echoed her. “We'll see you tomorrow for the second round.”

“I wouldn't miss it.”

Storm grabbed her packages, tossed them into the passenger seat of the VW, and called Stephanie.

Stephanie must have been sitting next to her phone. “I need to talk to you,” she said, her voice low and hoarse.

It was five-thirty, which still gave Storm plenty of time to get ready before Hamlin arrived. “I can be at Starbucks in ten minutes.”

Stephanie was sitting in a back booth when Storm got to the coffee shop. Storm stopped at the counter long enough to order an oat cake and a cup of the day's brew.

Though Stephanie looked relieved to see Storm, Storm thought she looked even more haggard than she had at breakfast that morning. Her hair stuck out in brittle tufts and her skin was blotchy and rough. Her hands were wrapped around a frothy hot drink that looked to Storm like a latte, in the biggest size. The cuticles of her formerly manicured nails were chewed raw.

Even her eyes were bloodshot, and Stephanie wiped at one of them before she spoke. “I didn't tell you some things.”

“I figured out the one about Nahoa.”

Stephanie drew a ragged breath. “That's one of them. I'm kind of relieved, you know.”

“I don't judge you. But it's probably a bit hard on Ben.”

Storm had always thought it unfair that men could date or take second wives younger than their daughters. Let a woman try that and she's excoriated. Stephanie and Nahoa had not only tried to be discreet, they'd convinced the hotel personnel that they had a real love affair going. Even Susan, the clerk who had relished passing on the gossip, believed in their affection.

“I'm very sorry for your loss,” Storm said.

Stephanie's eyes streamed and she blotted them with a paper napkin. She opened her mouth to speak and closed it again. Storm watched her throat muscles convulse in a swallow.

“We broke up several months ago. I still cared, though.”

“Sure, that's normal.”

“He had a new girlfriend. I was trying to stay away and let him get on with his life.” Stephanie looked at Storm and blew her nose into the napkin. “I…I guess I loved him. I didn't want to mess up what he cared about.”

“You called him after you broke up?”

Stephanie nodded. “I just wanted to see how he was doing.”

“Is that how Ben found out?”

Stephanie's eyes narrowed. “Marty told him.”

“When? You have any idea?”

“I'm not sure. A few days ago, I think.”

“And Ben told you about this?”

“He didn't have to.” Stephanie's eyes filled again.

“But he knows how Marty treated you, doesn't he? He seemed sympathetic to the divorce.”

“He told me he doesn't know what to believe anymore.”

Stephanie was tearing the napkin into shreds, and tiny pieces fell into her latte and all over the table. As Miles Hamasaki had taught her when she first started working with him in the law office, Storm waited for Stephanie to fill the uncomfortable silence. It didn't take long.

“You saw Marty this morning,” Stephanie said. “He's a strong, convincing man.”

“Yes. Did you know he came to my table and gave me a business card? He wants to meet with me.”

Stephanie's eyes popped wide. “Don't go.”

“I can't hide for very long. He came up to me on the beach this afternoon, too.”

Stephanie made a choking sound.

“What's he going to tell me?” Storm asked softly.

Stephanie covered her face with her hands, but Storm could hear her words. “I took money from him. He told me if I made a fuss about Ben being in the surf meet, he'd tell his lawyers and go to the police.”

“Did you?”

“It was mine, too. I worked hard and he kept all the money. I got two hundred dollars a month for all the household expenses.” Her voice broke with anger and emotion. “Two hundred lousy bucks. Groceries, clothes, school books for Ben. Marty kept a checkbook and paid the bills so I wouldn't know how much money we had or where the accounts were.”

“How much did you take?”

“About eighty.” Her voice was muffled. She still hadn't looked up from her hands.

“Eighty dollars?” Couldn't be, Storm thought.

“Eighty thousand.”

“Oh.” Storm sat back in her seat. A few seconds later, she asked, “How'd you do it?”

“I worked in the office, answering phones and stuff. Remember?”

Storm nodded.

“Marty had a safe, a big one with a combination that only he knew. He kept a lot of cash in there, because some of the people he worked with couldn't be paid on the books.” Stephanie took a deep breath. “He was starting to drink more. He met people he wouldn't talk about, and callers hung up when I answered the phone. I couldn't get hold of his cell phone bill, and I got more and more concerned. I started watching him carefully, you know, when he opened the safe. It took me a while, but I figured out the combination.”

“And you took eighty grand in cash?”

“Yeah, and we came here.” She dropped her hands to the table top and her puffy-lidded eyes met Storm's. “You know everything now.”

Storm believed her. The woman looked wrung out. Storm reached out and touched Stephanie's hand. “I might have done the same thing.”

Which was true. Before Storm was forced to move to O‛ahu from the Big Island, she'd sold zip-lock bags of
pakalolo
from a patch she'd cultivated in the cane fields. Hawaiian pot was a hot item in those days, and Storm had been ready to make a down-payment on an old Harley when Aunt Maile and Uncle Keone had intervened. They'd probably saved her life, but it took years of being a pissed-off, bitter teenager to realize it.

“Can he prove it?” Storm asked.

“He says the contractor who paid him will back up his accusations and talk to the authorities.”

“Do you think that's true?”

“I don't know what the money was for.” Stephanie paused. “But I doubt if it was legal, all in cash like that.”

“I doubt it, too.”

“But that's not the problem.” Stephanie's voice was sad again.

“Ben?” Storm said.

The miserable expression in Stephanie's eyes said yes.

“You can't control Marty,” Storm said. “He can use this emotional blackmail against you forever. He may have already told Ben.”

The look on Stephanie's face was excruciating, so Storm wanted to say something positive and encouraging. “You have to stand up to a bully at some point.”

Stephanie twisted her hands together, and slowly nodded. “You'd better go talk to him. It's better if we know what he's up to,” she said.

“I think so, too.”

Chapter Twenty-six

Storm watched Stephanie drive out of the Haleiwa shopping center parking lot before she picked up her mobile phone.

“Pua, sorry I took a while to get back to you. I've been tied up.”

“At the surf meet?”

“I needed to meet a client, too.”

“Sure, I understand. Storm, I'm sorry I didn't get in touch. Like a long time ago, before…before Nahoa,” her voice quaked, but she went on, “died.”

Storm wasn't sure how to respond. The ball had been in Pua's court about fourteen years ago. “We have a lot of catching up to do.”

“Yes. Do you have any time?”

“Right now?” Storm looked at the old, dial-type clock on the dashboard, which amazingly still kept accurate time. Though daylight was fading fast, it was only a few minutes after six. Hamlin had probably just left Honolulu, if he was on time. It would take at least an hour and a half in Friday afternoon rush-hour traffic to get to the Laniakea cottage.

“I've got a little more than an hour before a friend gets here. I've got dinner plans.”

“Would you meet me? I'll come to you,” Pua said.

“Where are you?”

“I'm at Damien's. I needed a drink.”

Damien's was the restaurant Stephanie managed. That was the problem with a small town; it was nearly impossible to rendezvous unnoticed—as Stephanie had found out.

“Can you drive?” Storm asked.

“Sure, I just had one.”

“Here's where I'm staying.” Storm gave directions to the cottage. “Come on over, we'll talk there. I can jump in the shower, too.”

“Thanks so much. I'll give you a head start.” Storm could hear the person she once knew in Pua's grateful answer.

Storm took the time to dash into a market for a couple bottles of wine, sodas, some pistachios, and kaki mochi. She hovered over a sushi platter, but decided she didn't want Pua to stay that long, and she didn't want to spoil her own appetite for dinner with Hamlin. Not that she had to worry much. Lack of appetite was not one of her most pressing problems.

Since there was no car sitting next to the cottage, Storm knew Pua hadn't arrived, so local style, she left all but the screen door opened, taped a note on the aluminum frame for Pua to come in, set out a bowl of nuts and a couple of wine glasses, and hopped in the shower.

When she got out of the shower, she heard a faint thump and figured Pua had seen the note. The sound of a creaking floorboard carried through the bathroom door, which Storm had left slightly ajar. “Pua? Pour yourself some wine. I'll be out in a minute.”

No answer. In fact, the silence was conspicuous. For the first time, Storm had the bad feeling she shouldn't have left the front door open. She hurried to pull on her underwear and the night shirt she'd left hanging on a hook that morning, then quietly pulled the bathroom door closed and locked it, then leaned her ear against it. She knew from the local papers that drugs, particularly ice, were a big problem and accounted for the majority of home break-ins. Some of those people could be pretty desperate, so the last thing she wanted was a confrontation.

She eyed the narrow, louvered window above the bathtub/shower, and knew she'd have to be nearly airborne with terror to scale those wet, shiny tiles and squeeze her size ten hips through that small space, only to be face to face with the ground six feet below.

The intruder knew where she was. She'd already invited him to pour a glass of wine, so stealth wasn't an option.

What was that noise? Jesus, it was the chiming sound Windows made as it booted up. The asshole was using her laptop. Why he didn't just steal it was a question she couldn't answer—she wasn't a thief, after all. Although she insured her laptop against theft (she had learned the hard way), she had data in client files that she hadn't yet backed up.

A commotion might be her best defense. She began pounding the door with her fists. “I'm calling the cops,” she screamed. The door rattled in its frame with a gratifying racket.

She listened for a moment and thought she heard a rustle. She hammered again. “Beat it, you dickless scum-sucker.” More banging. “I've got a phone in here, you squid-sucking fuckweasel.”

No noise in response. Could the guy be trying to gauge whether she could get a radio signal in the bathroom? If only, she thought, and quietly turned the lock. But when she tried to open the door, it wouldn't budge.

The sonofabitch had somehow jammed the door. Now she was really pissed.

She rattled the door with renewed effort and added a kick or two. Maybe she could draw the attention of neighbors, who weren't too far away. “Get out of my house! Now!”

She paused for breath and lay her ear against the door again. Not a sound. No computer noises, nothing. What was he doing now? Going through her lingerie? It wouldn't hurt to hurl more abuse, just in case the gangrenous specimen was still within hearing range.

Storm drew in a lungful. “Get a life, you smoke-swilling, syphilitic swamp—”

“Storm?” The voice was timid.

“Pua?” Storm seized the doorknob with both hands and renewed effort. It flew open with a slam that blew the towel off her wet hair.

Pua stood there with her hand still extended in a knock. The other hand, which held her cell phone, dropped to her side and she peered at Storm's face, then around her into the small, steamy bathroom to see if she was alone. She looked back at Storm, her mouth open in surprise.

“Pua, there's someone in the house.” Storm reached out to pull her old friend into the bathroom.

Pua looked around. “I didn't see anyone. I went in the living room and kitchen before I figured out you were in here.”

Storm stared at her. “What about the bedroom?”

Pua looked to her left. The room was three feet down the hall, and the door stood open. “I don't think so.”

Storm peered around the corner and took a step out of the bathroom. She could see her computer, alone and running, on the floor. She put her hands on her hips and glared at Pua.

Pua's perfect lips twitched.

Storm reached up and realized by the tangled halo of frizz that her towel had fallen off some time ago. Her hair felt as if it stood on end, a mishmash of homeless Rasta and mental hospital decrepitude.

Pua made a snorting noise, one that her mother would have disapproved of. Then she threw back her head and laughed out loud.

Storm grinned at her. At least she hadn't run away. But had the intruder?

“You scared me to death,” Pua gasped.

“I can tell. You're absolutely terrified.”

“Really.” Pua leaned against the door frame and wiped at her eyes. “You sounded so serious. Are you auditioning for something? You got a part in a play?”

Storm grabbed her arm. “Didn't you unlock the door?”

“No, it was open.”

“This door?” Storm pointed toward the bathroom. She felt like she was doing “Who's on First?” by herself.

“No, the front one.” Pua pointed down the hallway, and broke out in a new set of giggles.

“Did you see my note?”

Pua's laughter hiccupped to a stop. “Sure, I saw your note. And I called your name about three times, but you were shouting so loud you—”

“I know, I know.” Storm pushed by her and walked down the short hallway to the bedroom where she'd left her laptop and handbag.

Both women stood in the doorway and looked at the strewn clothes, upended purse, and computer disks scattered all over the floor.

“Oh boy. I scared him off, didn't I?” Pua whispered.

“I think so.”

The laptop was on the floor, plugged into an outlet in the corner by the unmade bed. Her handbag had been emptied on the rumpled sheets, and the clothes Storm had discarded before her shower were on the floor, but not in the heap where she'd originally dropped them. They'd been scattered, as if someone had kicked through the pile. The contents of her briefcase were also dumped on the floor.

“Maybe you scared him with your shouting. You were pretty colorful.” Pua's voice was hopeful.

“I don't think so. He trapped me in the bathroom. Did you see anyone?”

Pua shook her head and watched Storm open her wallet to see if her money was missing. “I can loan you some money.”

Storm frowned. “It's all here.”

The women glanced simultaneously at the laptop. The screen showed the desktop image, all the icons lined up on both sides of a pretty mountain scene.

“I gather you didn't start your computer,” Pua said.

“Right.”

Both women stared at the computer as if it might tell them who had been there.

“Maybe you can figure out if he opened your files. I think there's a way,” Pua said softly.

“I'll have to ask someone about that.” Storm walked into the room. It didn't feel like anyone was lurking. The closet door, which slid on a track, was already open, and there were few places to hide. Unless the prowler was under the bed, he'd left. Storm knelt down and peeked. Nothing but dust.

She turned and walked into the living room with Pua close behind. The sliding glass door that led onto the front lanai stood open about a foot.

“Looks like he left this way,” Pua said. “But you should call the police and report it.”

“He went down to the beach, where no one will notice a stranger. Smart.” Storm watched a couple of chickens cross the sandy expanse in front of the cottage. Between them, the thick tropical grasses, and the brisk breeze, footprints would be nearly indistinguishable.

Pua held out her cell phone. “Call the cops right now.”

Storm did, and handed the mobile back to Pua. “Thanks for letting me out of the bathroom. I'm glad you came when you did.”

“Yeah.” Pua sounded as if she wondered if it had been a good idea to come over at all.

“Maybe he'd already gone. He just left me in the bathroom to give himself time to get away.”

“Probably.”

Storm looked at the bowl of nuts and wine glasses, which looked undisturbed. “Want a glass of wine?”

“I could use one.”

“Me, too.” Storm poured two glasses, then looked down at her attire. She still wore only underpants and a T-shirt. “I'll be back in a minute. I don't want the cops to catch me like this.”

Pua grinned. “They've probably seen worse.”

Storm found the shopping bag with her new dress undisturbed in a corner of the bedroom. She slipped the dress on, a spaghetti-strapped number in a subtle midnight blue floral pattern. It had its own little shawl, which Storm threw around her shoulders for comfort, as well as warmth. She caught sight of herself in the mirror over the dresser and almost laughed out loud at her hair. The natural waves, as if excited by the break-in, stood out in an electrified Afro. She spent a few extra minutes twisting the mess into an almost civilized French braid.

Meanwhile, an old Gabby Pahinui tape was playing from the living room. Pua was still messing with the stereo boom box when Storm went out. “‘Moonlight Lady' is one of my all-time favorite songs.”

“Me, too,” Pua said. “Hope you don't mind my looking for music.”

“No way, it's what we needed.”

Storm sat down on the sofa and picked up the untouched glass of wine. Pua sat at the other end of the couch and picked up a half-empty one. “I'm sorry I never wrote you.”

“What happened?”

“Mom seemed so unbalanced after Dad died that I was afraid to.” Pua twisted her wine glass. “Actually, I did. I bet I wrote you ten letters. I just never mailed them.”

“Why not?”

“At first, I was afraid she'd find out. As time went on, I figured we lived separate lives. By the time you moved to O‛ahu, I wanted to leave the past behind so badly, I didn't reach out to anyone.”

“She blamed me for Uncle Bert's death?”

“Look, Storm. It's all in the past. Nahoa and I always knew she was irrational.”

“She blamed me.” Storm blinked a few times. She'd always suspected this, but hearing the words hurt more than she'd thought they would. She got up, went to the kitchen for the bottle of wine, and came back to refill both glasses. She set the wine bottle down on the coffee table. At this rate, she wanted it nearby.

“She was a nut case, remember? Take it from me, I know better than most people.”

It was Storm's turn to look into her own wine glass. “Did she blame my mom's death on me?”

“No, of course not.” Pua answered too quickly. “Look, my mom never accepted responsibility for anything. She always blamed other people. She couldn't even accept that she might just have bad luck.”

“You're talking about her in past tense.”

“She died ten years ago. Pancreatic cancer. Of course, she smoked and drank like a fifties film star.” Pua tried to smile at Storm, but her eyes were filled with tears.

“I'm sorry,” Storm said.

“Yeah, me too.”

Storm looked at her old friend and found that she wasn't mad at Pua, not even for letting their friendship go. They'd been young and burdened with loss. She had mixed feelings for Rochelle Pi‛ilani, who'd never seemed as mature as either of her children. Storm was old enough now to know that her memories of Rochelle were those of a sensitive, insecure twelve-year-old.

Tonight, some of her lingering questions had been answered, and she felt a kinship with Pua. They'd both had crazy mothers, but Storm's at least had been a kind, loving mother when she was able. With a lot of help from loved ones, she'd left most of the feelings of responsibility over her mother's death in the past. Every now and then, though, she still wondered if she could have been a better daughter, a less self-involved or more agreeable twelve-year-old. Would it have made a difference?

Don't even go there, she told herself, and went back to Pua's story. “Did you get your chance to fly the coop?”