The House at Sandalwood (22 page)

“What the devil is going on there? Answer me, somebody!”

I answered. “Stephen, it’s a long story. Young Kekua Moku slipped and fell into the Ili-Ahi gulch last night.”

“Oh, God, no! That child?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“But how could she slip? The approach is masked in every direction by heavy foliage. That poor kid! I’ll have to get back right away. I’ve got to see Moku—see what we can do to help.”

“No. I’m afraid not.” I explained about the
kapu.
I think I had a hope that Stephen would find this ridiculous and assure me the superstitions of the villagers meant nothing.

Stephen started to say something angrily, stopped, and revealed the frustration that gripped him in this new problem.

“But I’ve always been their friend. The family has gone overboard to support their independence in every way. They must know how many times we have used every ounce of influence with the territorial legislature, and later the state, to keep outsiders from meddling with their way of life.”

I knew that the Giles family even paid Ito Nagata’s fees when he was called over on important cases among the Hawaiians. But I also knew nothing would breed resentment more than the paternalistic efforts of the Giles family. I interrupted him.

“Please, how is Deirdre?”

The question reminded him of my anxiety over her and all the truculence was gone. The warmth and concern that were the other side to his quick-tempered nature made me once more aware of my feelings toward him, those feelings that I would have to hide very carefully. .

“Judith, I’m terribly sorry. Actually, I called to tell you she is doing well. Every time I’ve stepped into her room, she’s perked up so much. You would hardly know her. The doctors seem to think she has been under a good deal of stress lately. The responsibility of a new household, and—a life she wasn’t used to. But she will be fine. Absolutely fine, given a little time.”

I was so thankful I managed to forget our other problems for a few minutes. “Maybe if Deirdre could spend some time with you in your Waikiki apartment before returning here, it might help to ease the problem.”

“But that suite is an office. Nobody could actually live there. That’s no good, Judith. I hate the Waikiki thing. Not a home at all. My home is at Ili-Ahi. It always has been there.”

“
Your
home, Stephen.”

In a chastened voice he agreed, adding hopefully, “But she liked it when she first saw it. Ito said—by the way, what happened about Ito Nagata?”

“He presided at the birth of Kamehameha Kalanimoku. Ito thinks mother and future .king will be fine.”

He laughed. “He will have a lot to live up to with that title, poor kid. Was Michiko there?”

“Michiko? No. You called her in the night, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but there was no answer until seven this morning. I thought she and Ito were somewhere together. Then, when she answered the phone this morning she told me where Ito had gone, and I supposed she had returned alone. Not that it matters.”

I said, “Just a misunderstanding on my part. Please give my love to Deirdre. Tell her I’ll mind the store until she gets back. Then she can take over, because I do have a lot of things to do, a lot of places to see.” How very odd about Michiko! However, as Stephen said, it was not our concern.

Stephen was angry again. “You agreed. And I need—we need you! Please, don’t talk about leaving.”

“I’ve got to hang up now. Someone is calling me. I’m terribly sorry about Kekua. Perhaps if someone talked to the Hawaiian families at the funeral, they would understand how sorry we are. Meanwhile, Nelia and Mrs. Mitsushima and I can handle things here. And Mr. Yee is an excellent organizer.”

“I’ll bet he is! I’ll get home as soon as possible. We can’t leave you with everything in your hands.”

“No, no! It isn’t necessary. We were getting on perfectly well, until Kekua’s accident.” I said a hasty good-bye and left him on the line. I was not precisely lying when I said I was needed in the house. I heard loud voices in the kitchen. Obviously, Mr. Yee and Nelia Perez were not going to work as a team without a middleman. I intervened as calmly as I could.

“Mr. Yee, I have just received a call from Mr. Stephen, and I believe he may not be here until late tonight or tomorrow; so we had better clear up the work now and not make too many plans about tomorrow until we find out just what Mr. Stephen has in mind.”

“But, Miss,” Nelia Perez began, “even if he isn’t coming, we’d better see about some more help.”

Mr. Yee and I looked at her. “Why, for heaven’s sake?” I asked. “None of the family is in Sandalwood. There are no guests.”

“Sorry, but Mrs. Mitsushima has taken off. Says she is not going to hang around where they’ve put a curse on the place. And as for guests, I’m afraid there are guests. Two of them. Mr. Berringer and Mr.—the other one.”

What were they doing prowling around here? They knew they were not welcome. From the very first, Berringer had made it clear he suspected Deirdre of doing away with his daughter. And William Pelhitt felt much the same about Stephen.

Feeling like a complete hypocrite, I went out on the veranda and welcomed both men with smiles. William Pelhitt seemed glad to see me but Berringer was obviously here on his own business. I hadn’t eaten lunch and it was too late now, so I suggested we have cocktails. I arranged in the kitchen to have some crackers and cheese and macadamia nuts brought
out to us.

“Where is Mrs. Mitsushima going?” I asked Nelia as we put together the plate of hors d’oeuvre.

Mr. Yee heard us. He said disdainfully, “The female will be taken across the bay by someone from the Hawaiian group. I believe she leaves us upon the advice of Ilima Moku.”

Nelia and I glanced at each other uneasily. “Has Mrs. Moku been by Sandalwood since her daughter was taken away?” As I spoke I remembered painfully how much Ilima Moku cared about her daughter, how she influenced and dominated her that first night when I arrived here.

Mr. Yee said, “She would not come here again, miss. The
kapu
is in effect. I believe the message came from a farmer named Ling in the papaya grove.”

When the two guests and I were seated on the veranda over our drinks, Berringer came to the point as bluntly as usual: “I won’t mince words. Miss Cameron—Judith—” Bill Pelhitt frowned at his use of my first name but rubbed his head immediately afterward, and I wondered if he was afraid his companion would disapprove of even this small sign of private opinion.

“I imagine you came here with some definite matter in mind,” I interrupted. “Or did you come because of the grief in the village? You would not want to intrude, I imagine.” I must have said this ironically, though I hadn’t intended to do so when I started, but he gave me a complacent little smile.

“Quite true on both counts. You are a rare woman, Judith.”

I did not ask what he meant by “rare.” I wondered why he was buttering me up. It sounded like something he had pulled out of his collection of soothing sayings for effect. Bill Pelhitt explained hurriedly, “We’ve been discussing the visit you and I made to the Asami house. Vic would like to know your version of her story about the fellow who visited Ingrid.”

I laughed, though I wasn’t feeling amused. “How like you, Mr. Berringer! You are just like a bulldog. Is it the description you want? I’m sure I remember it word for word.”

“I have every confidence that you do.” His icy voice was clipped and distinct. “What was your impression of the words my daughter spoke to her visitor?”

“You remember,” Bill prompted me. “She called him an idiot. A moron.”

“Idiot and moron. Yes, I think that was what Mrs. Asami said,” I agreed.

Victor Berringer put his glass on the table.

“Really rather odd the way my mind works. You might even call it devious.” He took a sip of his drink while I waited with a quickened heartbeat. “What I keep asking myself is why my daughter would call this fellow an idiot, or insane.”

Bill opened his mouth. I think he was genuinely astonished. “Look here, Vic, I told you. I mean—Ingrid talks that way.”

“What are you getting at, Mr. Berringer?” I asked, trying to sound calm.

“There is one person in Hawaii with whom my daughter was closely involved and whom she referred to in letters—rudely, but that is Ingrid!—as an idiot and a moron. I am speaking of your niece, Mrs. Stephen Giles.”

“Are you picturing Deirdre disguised as a six-foot male leaving your daughter’s bungalow as she was called ‘idiot’ and ‘moron’?” I asked, smiling sweetly.

“This was a man, Vic!” Bill spelled it out. “A man. Mrs. Asami described him. Some kind of half-Hawaiian or half Oriental. She called
him
the idiot.”

“Did she say that ... precisely?” Berringer asked me, the silver pupils of his eyes focused on mine as if he were trying to read my mind, my suspicions, my thoughts and fears. “Or did she speak of an idiot? Did she say ‘you are an idiot’? Or was she speaking to this fellow about someone with whom he was closely acquainted. Someone for whom he cared a great deal. And did she really say ‘
that
idiot’? Which so angered him that he threatened her and warned her never to approach his wife again?”

Fifteen

From the beginning of his little inquisition, I had been dreading his arrival at this point. If Berringer proceeded to investigate the Asamis
’
story on his own, he would know that Mrs. Asami had seen a Caucasian, and one remarkably like Stephen, who had left Ingrid while in a fury. If Ingrid Berringer actually was dead, Stephen had his own motive, disposition, and opportunity to kill this woman, especially after that threat to her overheard by Mrs. Asami.

But William Pelhitt—bless him—interrupted the dangerous silence which followed Berringer’s accusation by pointing out a trifle drunkenly, “That doesn’t quite fit, Vic, because Mrs. Asami said it was a fellow with Hawaiian blood. Half a ... What was it, Judith? Half a-what?”

“
Hapa-haole
,” I lied, ashamed of the lie, yet still anxious to keep Berringer from pursuing this idea. I didn’t believe Stephen murdered Ingrid Berringer. I was almost certain ... ninety-nine percent certain, at any rate, that he hadn’t done such a thing. But the suspicion would bring him more grief and I wanted him to be happy. No! I wanted him and Deirdre to be happy.

Mr. Berringer seemed to understand the meaning of the pidgin-English expression, like so many others used daily by Hawaii’s citizens, irrespective of their many races and nationalities. But I thought I had better add, “half Caucasian, I think it means.”

While Bill Pelhitt downed his next martini rapidly and took a third from Nelia, Berringer took another cracker. I wondered at Bill’s condition so soon after two drinks, but decided he must have been drinking before he came here. I wondered why he felt it necessary to remain in Berringer’s difficult company so long when he would be much better off back in his home, thousands of miles from this formidable future father-in-law.

“So I am given to understand,” Berringer said. “Meanwhile —” He swung around in his chair. “I seem to be the only human being left on this planet who cares what has become of my daughter.”

“We care,” I assured him, “only if harm has come to her.”

“Vic, of course we care! I loved Ingrid,” William tried to cover my chilly answer. But I felt that I had carried hypocrisy as far as my pride would let it go. The more I heard about Ingrid Berringer, the less I liked her. And at the moment my only feeling toward her was a resentment that she had caused so much pain and trouble to Deirdre and Stephen.

I stirred, started to get up, hoping they would take the hint and leave. When Berringer simply crossed his legs and took another long swallow of his Scotch, I challenged him directly.

“I meant to ask you, but somehow I forgot. Mr. Berringer, are you a man who loves the sea?”

That surprised him. “Tolerably. I don’t think I understand.”

There was a certain bitterness in my voice I couldn’t quite subdue.

“I was thinking about your journeys across Kaiana Bay last night.”

I know he suspected I was leading up to something unpleasant, but he couldn’t quite decide what it was.

“Quite true. No one should know better than you and William here. I nearly ran you down. That damned motor! And the lights—totally inadequate. Practically no power whatever. I hope you’ve let your niece know how much I regret the affair. How is she doing now? Well, I hope.” I nodded. “But you are getting at something
else, aren’t you?”

“That was not your only trip last night, was it, Mr. Berringer?”

“Certainly not, I returned with you. Escorted you to this door behind me here, as a matter of fact.”

“I am talking about the third trip you made across the bay last night. Quite late.” I thought he was going to deny that trip. I waited, holding my breath. Bill Pelhitt, drinking nervously, was as anxious as I. especially under the cold eye of Berringer, who shrugged and agreed calmly.

“That’s true. I won’t ask you where you found out—it’s obvious. William, you will do us all a favor, one of these days, if you hustle yourself home. Home to New York, that is.”

Bill Pelhitt reddened and started to say something but changed his mind. To our surprise he set his glass down sharply, got up and stalked off the veranda. Once he left the veranda he stumbled but
kept on his feet. It was obvious that the drinks had hit him badly. I called to him, but he did not look back. I got up to try and make him understand I hadn’t intended to get him in trouble, but Berringer stopped me by a remark that completely confused me.

“I can’t imagine why it is important to you, Judith, but I am not hiding the fact that I went back to Kaiana last night. I went to meet someone. An employee. And in doing so, by the way, I saw an acquaintance of yours looking very furtive. She certainly didn’t want me to see her.”

“She?” I could think only of the servants at Sandalwood. It must have been one of them.

“Yes. The doctor’s wife. What’s-his-name—the Japanese fellow. It was his wife I saw at Kaiana City.” He got up, finished his drink and stretched rather elaborately. “You will admit it is hard to miss anyone in a town with a population of about one hundred. A very pleasant drink. You make an excellent hostess.”

I merely stared at him. I was trying to sort out this preposterous story he had told me. I finally thanked him with such indifference he obviously got the hint that I wanted him to leave. Unlike Bill Pelhitt and the entire population of the Hawaiian village, Mr. Berringer cut straight through the forbidden grove and met Bill far down the village path. They appeared to be arguing. Berringer seemed to be trying to get Bill to take the easterly cliff road. Perhaps he had a jeep parked there. But Bill was holding back with anger or drunken stubbornness. I didn’t go in until the long, gaunt shadows of late afternoon melted around the two men.