The House at Sandalwood (16 page)

“I know what you mean. People like that often are. It’s the arrogance of ability.”

“The what of what?”

Her brief picture of Michiko Nagata’s uncle had brought back memories of former acquaintances. “I knew a woman once who’d been the driver for a gang of criminals. Among other things. And the thing we noticed was her unbelievable arrogance. She used to treat us like inferior beings because her crimes were greater than those of her companions.”

“But—she was just a driver!” Deirdre murmured, confused, yet interested.

I wished I hadn’t mentioned the memory. The woman was actually the brains of her criminal gang and having been paroled, she immediately rejoined her gang and was responsible for the murder of three innocent bystanders in a Riverside bank. I did not tell Deirdre, however.

“I guess she liked to boast.”

Deirdre scoffed. “What an idiot!” She sat there watching me, making me feel extraordinarily uncomfortable, even self-conscious. I was wearing one of the nylon chiffon nightgowns and matching peignoirs I had splurged on in Los Angeles before leaving for the airport. Deirdre said finally, “Would I look like that in an outfit like yours?”

I laughed. “Much better. A dozen years better, dear. Why don’t we get you some in Honolulu?”

She wrinkled her nose. “I’d get cold at night.”

“That is one of the great advantages of having a husband who loves you,” I reminded her.

She was still thinking this over when I went to shower and dress. By the time I returned to take a dress from the closet, Deirdre was there before me.

“Here’s a perfect dress for you, wise old auntie. It’s going to be just right with the green I’m wearing.”

It went with her green as dull earth goes with a spring-bright leaf, but I was ashamed of my first reaction and agreed. The plain beige sheath was one I had owned for ten years, but it looked surprisingly undated with its new hemline.

Ito Nagata was ready shortly after but Stephen had gone out to examine the grove and to see what had to be done to assure the safety of the next work crew. He explained this briefly to us when we met him at the boat landing. I am fairly sure Ito and I were both of the opinion he ought to give up the entire Sandalwood
heiau
project, but I did wonder at Deirdre’s reason for opposing it. During the boat ride while I was shaking off the channel spray, Deirdre brought up the subject of the ancient goddess Pele again, and I felt greatly relieved when Stephen kept his temper. He asked calmly, “Have you yourself seen her, darling?”

I was certain she would make a flat assertion, as children often do, either yes or no. To my surprise, she tilted her head and ignored the channel breeze whipping the long strands of hair across the lower half of her face.

“I think I have seen her. Honestly, darling. I really ... think I have.”

With his free hand Stephen reached for her fingers which curled up in his. I wrenched my attention away only to find Ito watching me. I wonder if I changed color or revealed any of my inner conflicts. Ito had always understood me too well. He and my brother Wayne grew up together, while I tagged along, the little sister whose red hair existed only to be pulled. But I knew I had them to protect me and sometimes even to understand me. Perhaps now Ito understood me too well.

I had to raise my voice to make myself heard, for we were now in mid-channel and a warmish, blustery wind lashed hard to support us as we moved with the current in a southeasterly direction.

“Has anyone thought the troubles in the grove could be sabotage?”

Stephen smiled a trifle grimly. “I’m afraid that was our first idea. But it’s no use. It would have been easy if we could lay the business on someone connected with the dock negotiations, someone from the mainland who wanted to give us trouble. It would have been less easy if our own people on Ili-Ahi were responsible. But we’ve even investigated that. No dice. It’s just coincidence.”

Ito and I looked at each other. I think we shared some sort of notion that there was a “curse” on the area, just as some ground is tainted and there are some places where nothing will grow. Deirdre examined her fingernails with an insouciant, cocksure manner which told us plainer than speech that she could explain the whole thing if she set her mind to it. I wondered.

We barely reached Kaiana Airport in time to catch the interisland plane. Michiko Nagata was waiting for us, but being her usual wise and prompt self, she had already gone on board and was motioning to us from the open doorway. She was stunning and immaculate as ever, with her black hair piled high in a pompadour but the ends curled on the nape of her neck, a style that gave all the wide planes of her face a perfect frame. She was not beautiful, but her friends and the admirers of her professional work regarded her looks as far more interesting than those of any beauty. She knew how to make the very best of every feature—something most of us spend a lifetime trying to achieve and never succeed in doing. She was very modern, which often surprised strangers, and there was none of the old-fashioned, prewar “shyness” that often seemed to be part and parcel of the attractive young Japanese woman.

Ito hurried ahead and was the first to board. Ito was a very clever person in his own field and outside his home, but within the marriage itself, I had always suspected Michiko was the wise one. I was even more glad to see her than I had expected to be and rushed after Ito. Michiko and I hugged each other as the Gileses followed us inside. I wondered if Michiko remembered, as I did, our last meeting in that desert institution not far from Bakersfield, California.

We took off almost immediately after Michiko and I were in our seats.

I said, “You are incredible, Michiko. You never change or get older, not so much as a hair, or a wrinkle. Or one pound.”

Michiko laughed. “Three pounds, at least, since we last saw you. But you are marvelous. Let me look at you when we aren’t strapped into our little barber chairs. You really look better all the time. Even in that place you had a kind of calm I never inherited from my so-called distinguished ancestors.” Michiko never evaded anything, and she was frank. I felt I always knew how I stood with her.

Feeling much better, I said, “We can’t both be liars, so let’s assume it’s true of both of us. But I do wish I knew how you keep so young.”

“Ancestors again. You must choose them carefully. Wrinkles are inherited or they aren’t. We are trapped by the rash marriages of our ancestors.”

How true that was!

When we stopped talking I sat there thinking over past good times with the Nagatas and from that reverted to our more recent meetings when I was still a prisoner. I shivered. Remembrances seemed to linger behind me, just a breath away from my neck. I started nervously when someone tapped on my shoulder. For a brief time after I got over my fright, I believed it was Stephen behind me, and that furiously annoyed me. I had no business thinking of him at all in any way. And worse, I was disappointed when I looked around and saw William Pelhitt.

He was looking happy for the first time since I had known him, and these good spirits did surprising things for his appearance.

“Got away from my keeper, the lord and master,” he confided.

Michiko looked around and smiled. I wondered if she too had met the all-powerful Victor Berringer. I asked if Mr. Pelhitt was going to have his fling in Honolulu.

“Sort of. After I check out a couple of leads. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to go with me, Miss Cameron.”

I had the feeling that I might discover more than William Pelhitt would about Ingrid Berringer’s life in Honolulu, and I hesitated, with a glance at Stephen. He had overheard Pelhitt’s tentative offer and frowned. We were both startled when Deirdre cut in with bright, uncomplicated laughter, “Judy! Why don’t you go along with nice Mr. Pullet? Michiko and I can do our shopping. Don’t worry. And then, we can all meet at the Kaiulani Terrace and go on to the apartment together. Isn’t that a clever idea, Stephen? Then we’ll be paired up right. Not two pairs and an extra.”

Stephen said hurriedly, “Very clever, darling, but I think Michiko and Judith had been counting on lunching together, anyway.”

“They can always do that. And I think we shouldn’t take up all poor Judy’s time while she’s here. We’re lucky to have her at all.”

“Lucky, indeed!” Stephen agreed and looked at me, questioning. “But you do—”

William Pelhitt added eagerly, “I wish you would consider it, Miss Cameron.”

“Maybe it would be better,” Michiko murmured. “We can get together later.” But I knew she was curious. Nor could I blame her.

By the time we reached the Honolulu airport it had been worked out among the group that Bill Pelhitt and I would follow up two of the addresses where Ingrid Berringer had stayed in Honolulu and which, as far as Pelhitt knew, Berringer had not investigated. We would lunch somewhere in our wanderings and then meet the other four at the Kaiulani out in Waikiki and go to Stephen’s company apartment for dinner.

As we were about to take separate cabs, Stephen found a moment to exchange a word or two with me.

“I know you are doing this to take the pressure off my wife. But I don’t like it. Can you trust him? We know nothing about him whatever.”

I smiled. “He knows nothing about
me.
And I’m afraid my record is worse than his.”

“Don’t!”

I realized suddenly that my flippant remark had hurt him in some way. It was strange that we should react so strongly to each other when we had been acquainted less than a week. Strange and potentially troublesome.

“I’m sorry. That was just a touch of humor thrown in to—to liven the conversation.”

“Well, don’t! You must not. Not with me.”

“Here come the girls,” I said. “Good luck with your dock strike or whatever.”

Michiko and Deirdre came back from the restroom just as Ito and William Pelhitt joined us. The girls and I embraced and they got into a waiting taxi. Before leaving with Stephen, Ito advised me in his usual discreetly low voice. “Don’t play James Bond, Judy.”

I was almost relieved to be rid of Ito and Stephen. They made me keenly aware of the fact that a young woman had disappeared, that this was not an ordinary afternoon’s date, and that William Pelhitt might still be a mere stooge for the ruthless Victor Berringer.

Pelhitt had hired a car and explained as we drove off toward downtown Honolulu, “The first place is near the museum here.”

“The Bishop Museum?”

“Whatever it is. I was told the street is in that quarter. It seems Ingrid lived there for a while. Of course, it was a long time ago, considering. Judith—may I call you Judith?”

I had been calling him Bill for several minutes, and I said, “Certainly,” trying not to sound impatient. “But as you say, if that was almost a year ago, why is it important now?”

We were driving through an area of Honolulu that I had never associated with the high-rise apartments and hotels of Waikiki or Fort and King and other downtown streets. The area was crowded with bungalows of the style sprawling over southern California in the 1920s and still there. The big difference was in the palm trees which punctuated these bungalows. Los Angeles and its desert environs had been thick and dusty with huge, shedding date palms. On these streets populated with predominantly Oriental faces, the trees were coco palms, which had their own lean, willowy grace.

Bill Pelhitt said suddenly, “You must think I’m pretty much of a cypher, letting my girl go off around the world when I loved her—I really do, you know!—enough so that I’ve never looked at anyone. Not since Ingrid was sixteen.”

I softened a little. I didn’t want to pity him. Pity wouldn’t help him in the least. But somehow, William Pelhitt always inspired that emotion. It was unfortunate, because he was unquestionably sincere and decent about his feelings, a man caught in a vise by his affection for a girl who didn’t love him and by her father, a man of great force and magnetism.

“I do understand. But I think you must face the fact that Miss Berringer is not in love with you. It seems likely that she has found someone she cares for and they have simply not bothered to let her father know about it.”

“Until they need money,” he remarked with an old, weary cynicism that surprised me. “You won’t believe it, Judith, but I was—I am—the only man she could live with. The others will come and go ... if she’s still alive. But you see, I know Ingrid for what she is. And I—care for her that way. Does that sound crazy?”

“Not at all. I think Ingrid Berringer was a lucky girl, if she had only known it. Now, she may be very sorry.” I turned to him, realizing I might be more encouraging. “That’s probably your greatest card to play. That she will be tired of this life, tired of—whatever makes her roam around like this, with no roots.”

He sighed. “I wish you were—I hope you are right. You’ve been wonderful for me. From the first minute when Vic thought you were Giles’s wife, I thought—lucky Giles.”

I didn’t know what to say. I felt uncomfortable and would like to have changed the subject, but that seemed unkind.

I tried again to bolster him up. “I just wonder if Miss Berringer might come to appreciate you pretty soon. Don’t forget, the action you’ve taken now is very romantic. The dashing man of the world crossing half the earth to see her. Quite different from some casual love—I beg your pardon—casual relationship here in the Islands. Or wherever she has gone. If you will just be patient, I have a feeling that by the time you find her, she will fall into your arms in relief.”

He thought this over. I suspect it was an effort to smile, but he did so. As we drove along the quiet residential street, I was pleasantly surprised again to see the profusion of tropical and semitropical blooms everywhere. I still couldn’t get over seeing those lovely little flowers called “Vanda orchids” in the shops, growing almost wild on gracefully bending stalks. My companion ventured hesitantly, spoiling my romantic, flowery dream.

“Do I strike
you
as a dashing man of the world?” Fortunately, he grinned and made a joke of it before I could reply. He looked around for a parking place. I was still not used to so many of the compact little foreign cars. They were everywhere, but Bill Pelhitt managed to squeeze between a Mazda and a Toyota and as I started to get out by myself, I found my companion rushing around to open the door for me. His gallantry touched me. He looked much younger, alive and eager, and I tried to convince myself that a girl like Ingrid Berringer would prefer this nice, red-cheeked, blue-eyed fellow to the sophisticated characters with whom she was probably involved.

She was involved
...