Bet Your Bones (5 page)

“It means rigged.” His tone turned bitter, as if she’d accused him of a crime. “And there’s nothing joose or unfair about Uwahi. I’ve spent nearly two years and a staggering sum of money acquiring the land and conducting every environmental and archaeological and anthropological study under the sun. Everything to do with Uwahi is completely legitimate and proper.”

“I’m sure it is.” Dinah offered a mollifying smile. “Oo-wa-hee.” She sounded out the syllables slowly. “Uwahi is a melodic name for a housing development.”

“It is, isn’t it?” His manner became easy and affable again. “It comes from a mele my late wife used to chant. It translates roughly to milk of fire. The land is part of an old volcanic flow.”

Chapter Five

A slender girl in her mid-twenties with Polynesian features, pouty lips, and hip-length black hair sashayed through the restaurant and stopped beside their table. “Sorry I’m late.” She didn’t say it like she meant it.

Xander stood and kissed her on the cheek. “Dinah Pelerin, meet my daughter, Lyssa Reid. Dinah is Claude Ann’s maid of honor, Lyssa.”

“The same one she had last time, right?” Lyssa smirked and scooted in next to Dinah. She had an arresting notch in her right nostril, which gave her a peculiarly haughty look, and the chip on her shoulder stuck out like a pikestaff.

Xander winced slightly and sat down. “You’ll have to forgive Lyssa’s flippancy. She’s been spending too much time with…”

“My husband?” She tossed her hair.

Dinah affected a smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lyssa. Claude Ann tells me that you’ll be one of her bridesmaids.”

“That’s right.”

“What do you do back in Virginia?” asked Dinah.

“I’m a finder. I find unusual things for people, antiques and rare objects for collectors, props for TV shows and movies. Anything, really.”

“That sounds fascinating,” said Dinah. “How did you get started as a finder?”

“I’ve always been a natural sleuth, haven’t I, Daddy?”

Claude Ann said, “It’s a cryin’ shame Lyssa and Raif can’t stay all summer, but Raif’s a race car driver and he has to get back to the mainland for a big NASCAR race.”

“That sounds like an interesting life,” said Dinah. “Do you travel with him to the races, Lyssa?”

“Not often.” She slued her eyes at her father.

“Raif doesn’t think she’d enjoy the society,” said Xander. “Not all of the boys behave as they should when they’re away from home.”

Lyssa unfurled her napkin with a snap. “Has everyone ordered?”

“We were waiting for you and Raif,” said Xander. “Where is he?”

“Playing poker in the game room. He’ll be along when he finishes the hand.”

“I wish he wouldn’t flout the law so blatantly. Gambling in a hotel or a public place is illegal in Hawaii. If he’s caught…”

“Nobody’s going to catch Raif, Daddy.”

Xander beckoned the waiter. “Then let’s hope the cards are running better for him tonight.”

Their server returned to the table and passed out menus. Lyssa ordered Cachi Water.

“It’s from Costa Rica,” she said to Dinah. “When I do travel, I order a case delivered to each of the places I expect to stay. I’m addicted.”

Xander ordered a bottle of white wine for the table and another champagne cocktail for Claude Ann. When the waiter had gone, he smiled at his daughter. “Is it possible to be addicted to a chichi designer water?”

Lyssa cut her eyes at him. “You should be glad that water’s my only addiction.”

“If only,” he muttered, not quite under his breath.

Claude Ann rushed into the breach. “Does anybody know if Jon’s gonna show up for the party tomorrow night?”

Xander brightened. “Jonathan is my son, Dinah. He had to finish analyzing some lava samples and write a report, but he called this afternoon and said he’d be flying over from the Big Island tomorrow afternoon. It took a bit of arm-twisting. He’s not exactly a party animal.”

“Is he a volcanologist, too?”

“One of the best and brightest in the U.S.G.S. He’s going to be a leading light in the field one of these days.”

“Who’s alight?” A blond dude with blowtorch blue eyes and an arrogant air slid into the seat next to Lyssa.

Xander’s mouth tightened. “Hello, Raif.”

“Hello, all.” He kissed his forefinger and touched it to Lyssa’s nose, then introduced himself to Dinah. “I’m Raif Reid. And you must be Claude Ann’s friend from Georgia.”

Dinah owned as much. “Nice to meet you.”

“Ditto. I love Georgia. That Atlanta Motor Speedway’s great, especially the night races. The fans tailgate all day. By dark, they’re cranked and the drivers are hot to get tearing around the track. The sparks really fly.”

Lyssa said, “Raif’s won his last six races. He’s one of the hottest stars on the circuit.”

“On the Southeast regional circuit,” amended Xander, his voice edged with contempt. “Raif doesn’t drive in the Sprint Cup Series.”

“Not yet,” said Raif, fingering a gold chain with a Lucky 7 pendant. He draped an arm around Lyssa’s shouders. “Hey, babe, the cards were running hot tonight. I’m up a grand. What do you say? Shall we spend it on a magnum of Cristal?”

“Let’s,” said Lyssa. “I feel extravagant. Daddy only has two more nights as a free man. We should get him roaring drunk and see what happens.”

A muscle in Xander’s jaw rippled. “Order what you like. Ask the waiter to put it on a separate check.”

Again, Claude Ann tried to defuse the tension. “We were talking about Jonathan, Raif. He’s decided to come to our party tomorrow night.”

“Cool,” said Raif. “How’d you lure him out of his bunker?”

“It takes a special occasion to bring Jon out,” Claude Ann explained to Dinah. “He’s kind of a shrinkin’ violet.”

Xander’s eyes betrayed a flash of annoyance. “Jon’s not a recluse. He has a lot of work to do is why he isn’t with us tonight.”

Raif shrugged. “All work and no play. Amounts to the same thing, doesn’t it?”

“It amounts,” said Xander, “to the fact that he’s dedicated to his profession. He knows more about Hawaiian rock and its mineral and geochemical composition than anyone.”

The waiter brought the white wine, the champagne cocktail, and the Cachi Water. He poured the wine and asked if they were ready to order. They weren’t and Raif seemed to have forgotten all about the Cristal. He ordered a double Jack Daniels on the rocks and the waiter repaired to the kitchen.

Raif rolled his shoulders and lazed against the upholstered seat back. “Rah for all that dedication, but it can’t be much fun cuddling up to a report on rocks at the end of the day.”

Xander’s eyes narrowed and Dinah forged into the conversational crosscurrents. “Where did you and Lyssa meet, Raif?”

“Right here in the Big Pineapple. My family has been coming to Hawaii every year since I was a kid. After I got kicked out of Georgetown Prep in D.C., my parents talked me into Honolulu’s most exclusive educational institution, Punahou Prep. That didn’t work out too well either, but I met some of the islands’ elite and up-and-coming. They like having a scion of old Virginia aristocracy on their Rolodex, especially one with his feet in two worlds. My Nascar adventures entertain the hell out of them.”

Lyssa beamed him an adoring smile. “Raif doesn’t fit anyone’s mold. He’s one of a kind.”

Raif appeared to accept her adulation as no less than his due. “I’m a spark plug. I touch off the combustion and keep the party lively.”

“Opakapaka.” Claude Ann pored over the menu, or pretended to. “I’ve had that before. It’s the same as pink snapper. What’s this a’u, Xan?”

“A’u is Pacific marlin, a‘uku is swordfish, hihi-wai is a kind of shellfish, and opah is a moonfish. It’s very rich and creamy. Hawaiians call it the good luck fish. And mahi mahi is dolphin fish.”

“Not like the dolphins in the lagoon,” Claude Ann assured Dinah. “It’s a fish, not a mammal.”

The waiter returned with Raif’s drink and took their dinner order. Dinah, Raif, and Lyssa went in together and ordered a lau-lau—individual packets of pork shoulder, chicken, vegetables, and butterfish wrapped in taro leaves, then tied together in ti-leaves and steamed. Claude Ann ordered the mahi mahi and Xander ordered the good luck fish. After they’d sipped their drinks for a few minutes, the atmosphere grew friendlier.

Xander said, “Jon doesn’t have a date for the party, Dinah. Would you allow him the honor of being your escort? I think you’ll enjoy his company and I know he’ll enjoy yours.”

“I’ll look forward to meeting him,” she said, trapped, “and to learning more about what volcanologists do. Can you predict when a volcano is going to erupt?”

“We have some very sophisticated instruments for measuring any bulge in the mountain or increase in magma, but we still can’t predict the exact time or precise impacts of an eruption.”

“Like with people,” said Raif with a provocative semi-sneer.

Claude Ann plopped a sugar cube into her champagne cocktail, which fizzed angrily. “I’m glad you’re retiring, Xan. I’d worry myself sick sittin’ home thinking about you tramping around all that hot lava.”

Xander gave her hand a squeeze. “Gratifying as it is to be worried about, the majority of volcanologists die like accountants and dentists, in their bed.”

“When you write your vows,” said Claude Ann, “I want that one in there for sure. And you better promise to be at least a hundred when you croak.”

Xander laughed. “How can I possibly object to writing that one?”

“Volcanology.” Raif slouched in his seat and stared pensively into his glass. “It’s a profession that takes more cojones than I’ve got. Two hundred miles an hour screaming around a tight track is my idea of a blast, but hiking around the red-hot cauldron of an active volcano? That scares the bejesus out of me.”

Lyssa gave her father a black look. “It’s hardly a mystery why that should be, is it?”

Xander grimaced, as if he’d been stabbed, and Claude Ann shot him an anxious look.

Raif lifted his glass. “Here’s to the happy couple. May you both live to a hundred.”

Dinah smiled and seconded the sentiment, but an awkward silence settled over the table. Dinnertime conversation was strained and edgy and the evening ended early.

Chapter Six

Dinah lay sunning on her balcony lanai, drinking her morning cup of Kona coffee and reading the story of Lo-Lale, son of a legendary King of Oahu. Lo-Lale was a bachelor so attractive and so amiable that no woman could be found on the island who was worthy of him. One had to be imported from abroad. The king dispatched canoes to other islands with orders to find Lo-Lale a suitable wife. The questers came up empty on Molokai and Lanai. But eventually, on Maui, they spotted a beauty named Kelea, kidnapped her, and brought her to Oahu. Lo-Lale fell in love at first sight and proposed straightaway. Kelea didn’t kill herself, which Lo-Lale took for a yes, and the wedding revelries lasted for a month.

A month! It sounded like hell to Dinah. She dreaded the fittings, dreaded another evening of verbal jabs and innuendo, most especially dreaded her date with the rock expert. When the best a man’s own father can say about him is that he isn’t a recluse, you know it’s going to be a long, grim night. And she’d probably be stuck with him again the following night, as well. On the bright side, a boring disquisition on the geochemical composition of rocks would be restful compared to last night’s crossfire.

For such an attractive and amiable fellow, Xander seemed to arouse more than his fair share of hostility. Eleanor had emitted an almost palpable loathing for “dat buggah.” His comments about her carried more frustration than heat, but there’d been a twitchy look in his eyes when he asked Claude Ann to keep her head down. The word “hunted” sprang to mind.

And what was up between Xander and Raif? Raif’s illicit gambling clearly rankled Xander and Xander made no secret of his view that Raif was not a model husband. That dig about some race car drivers not behaving well when away from home had struck a nerve with Lyssa. There was no doubt that she and her father had argued about Raif before. Maybe Raif mooched off Lyssa and gambled away what he mooched. It was no surprise that Lyssa would go to bat for her husband. Even so, her insinuating malice toward Xander jarred. What had she meant about it not being a mystery why Raif was scared of volcanoes? Had she been thinking of some previous discussion about the unidentified man who’d been cooked alive in a steam vent?

Lyssa seemed to enjoy twitting her father. Claude Ann said that she had brought up the sore subject of her mother’s suicide. Maybe she had some sort of emotional hang-up about her death and she was angry at Xander for remarrying. Lyssa couldn’t have been much past the toddler stage when her mother died and Xander had probably spoiled her rotten. Dinah wondered if there had been some mental disorder or precipitating event that drove her mother to commit suicide.

Suicide among all indigenous peoples ran high and Hawaii was probably no different. Depression, substance abuse, and poverty topped the list of causes, but there was another theory, something anthropologists called “historical trauma.” Historical trauma included conquest and colonialism, forced assimilation, degradation of the environment and, ultimately, the dilemma of being torn between two cultures. Dinah didn’t deny that these were depressing things to have to cope with. Her Seminole grandfather and one of her uncles had committed suicide more than a hundred and fifty years after their ancestral lands were stolen and their forebears driven into the Everglades. Be that as it may, it was a reach to think that the overthrow of the Hawaiian queen drove a healthy young woman with two small children over a cliff.

Dinah closed her book and contemplated the pretty whitecaps sweeping onto the beach. She could practically feel them sloshing and sudsing around her feet. It was just nine o’clock. She had hours to kill before she was slated to meet Claude Ann and Lyssa at the bridal shop and she decided to take her crummy mood downstairs and pamper herself with a leisurely breakfast on the terrace. Afterwards, she would go for a long walk on the beach, or even huff and puff her way up Diamond Head. The hotel offered a shuttle to the base of the crater. That’s what she’d do. Sweating up a hundred and seventy-some steps and down again, followed by a refreshing dip in the ocean would readjust her attitude. She felt better already. She dressed, grabbed her book, and rode the elevator down to the lobby.

A young couple, gazing into each others’ eyes like honeymooners, were checking in at the reception desk. Dinah went to the front door and looked out to see if the Pele demonstrators had returned, but there was no one on the lawn or under the banyan trees and the only car parked under the portico was a Royal Hawaiian taxi.

Feeling strangely let down, she donned her Wayfarers and went out onto the terrace. The hostess seated her at a table adjacent to the beach, which was already bustling with walkers, joggers, sun worshippers, shell hunters, kite fliers, sand castle builders, and kids splashing through the waves. A catamaran bobbed in the distance and the air smelled of Coppertone and coconuts. She scanned the menu and, in furtherance of anthropological investigation, decided on something called loco moco. After a few minutes, a friendly woman in a blue sarong took her order, poured her coffee, and traipsed off to the kitchen.

Dinah tried to read more about Lo-Lale, but her thoughts kept circling back to another attractive bachelor named Wesley Spencer and Claude Ann’s zinger about Dinah making a fool of her. Before Xander, Wesley had been the love of Claude Ann’s life and what happened vis-à-vis Wesley and Dinah had become the fly in the ointment of Dinah’s friendship with Claude Ann. Dinah had tried to shield Claude Ann from a truth she thought would be devastating. Like so many good intentions, Dinah’s backfired. She knew now that meddling in another person’s love life, however noble one’s intentions, was a recipe for regret. But if Claude Ann harbored the notion that, were it not for Dinah’s meddling, she would’ve married her heart’s desire instead of Hank, she was deluding herself. Wesley Spencer. That was one bachelor myth that had to be debunked or Claude Ann and she would never get their wires uncrossed. The question was how and when to broach the subject. Two days ahead of the wedding, the words “Remember the handsome guy who ditched you before” probably wouldn’t go over too well.

The tropical breeze was like a warm caress. She turned her face up to the sun and was half-dozing when her loco moco came. Meticulous as an archaeologist unearthing a precious shard, she excavated it with her fork. Fried egg on top, a puddle of brown gravy beneath that, then a hamburger patty resting on a bed of rice. So much for the exotic name. Oh, well. She scooped up a forkful of egg, filled her mouth, and nearly choked at the sight of Eleanor, Pele’s outsized ambassador, barging barefoot down the beach in a red-flowered muumuu.

This morning Eleanor was alone and carried no sign, but her enormous girth and imperious carriage caused heads to turn. Dinah stared transfixed. Slowly, it dawned on her that this amazing character was looking straight at her. Following Xander’s directive, she lowered her eyes, hid her face behind her hand, and waited for the woman to pass.

Useless. In a minute, Dinah heard the unmistakable voice rumbling over her head. “I saw you las’ night wid dat woman Garst gonna marry.”

Shit. Well, there was nothing Dinah could do now. She swallowed her egg and looked up with a submissive smile. In the light of day, Eleanor appeared even more sinister than she had by torch light. Her bushy eyebrows lowered above her small black eyes and her mouth was as unforgiving as a boning knife.

“Boddah you if I sit?” Her tone implied that it had better not.

Dinah glanced around to see if any objection was forthcoming from the management.

“No worry, sistah. All de beaches in Hawai’i, dey public. What’s yo name?”

“Dinah Pelerin.”

“I’m Eleanor Kalolo.” She pulled up a chair. “You a friend of Garst?”

“I’m a friend of his fiancée. A very good friend.”

“Den you bettah tell her dat buggah’s no good for her.”

“Why? Because he’s building houses in a place you don’t want him to?”

“Dat’s one reason.” She tipped her head back and squinched her eyes, as if gauging Dinah’s niche in the food chain. “You no look like you’re all haole.”

“What’s haole?”

“White. Caucasian. Wat da kine you?”

“My father was white. My mother’s Native American, Seminole.”

Eleanor’s bosom swelled. “I’m full-blooded Hawaiian. Pele is ‘aumakua, my ancestor and family god.”

That TV reporter had started to say something about someone Eleanor was related to. Could she have been referring to the fire goddess? Dinah said, “I’ve never met anyone who claimed to be related to a god.” Eleanor glowered and she quickly added, “I meant no disrespect.”

She gave Dinah that slitty-eyed, speculative look again. “I tink you no like Garst. I tink you plenny akamai.”

“What’s akamai.”

“On da ball. Smart. Like you know wot’s wot.”

Provoked as she was, Dinah couldn’t help but be impressed by the gall of the woman. “Why are you telling me this, Eleanor? I don’t hold sway over my friend’s choice of a husband, and I certainly don’t have any influence over Xander Garst’s land deals.”

Her glower softened. “We Native Hawaiians have received the same benefits from the haoles as the Native Americans—death from the measles and smallpox, subversion of our customs and our religion, and the appropriation and occupation of our land.”

Whoa! So Eleanor could shift registers at will. Dinah’s curiosity intensified. Did she use the pidgin dialect to maintain street cred with the locals, or as a guise to make people like Xander think she was ignorant and controllable? “Is your quarrel with Xander Garst about a single housing development or Native Rights in general?”

“It’s about making sure Garst gets what he deserves.”

“But you can’t hold one man accountable for the injustices of history.”

“Not all of them.” She tilted her head back and fixed her small, shrewd eyes on Dinah. “Have you ever heard of the Great Mehele?”

“No.”

“In eighteen-hundred-and-forty-five, King Kamehameha proclaimed that foreigners would be allowed to purchase land that had been set aside for the Hawaiian monarchy. Fifty years later, foreigners owned ninety percent of our islands.”

“I can empathize, Eleanor. Aboriginal peoples seem always to come out on the losing side of history. But you can’t dwell on the past. Xander Garst isn’t a foreigner. He’s an American and so are you.”

She snorted. “And we simple savages should be grateful that a hundred years after America ousts our queen and steals our land, Bill Clinton signed an Apology Resolution?”

Dinah bristled. “As you say, it was a hundred years ago and one more housing development in this day and age doesn’t warrant the extra effort you’re putting into your anti-Garst campaign. This is personal. What did the man ever do to you?”

“You don’t need to know.”

“Claude Ann said you believe there are bones buried on the property. The bones of an old king. Is that what this is about? Was this king one of your ancestors?”

“You just tell Garst that Uwahi is wahi pana. You tell him this time he’s going to pay.”

Ordinarily, Dinah tended to side with the natives and the less powerful. But in this case, Eleanor was the one who came off sounding intimidating and prejudiced and Xander who seemed the underdog. It occurred to her that Eleanor might be trying to shake him down for money. “If you expect me to pass along your warning, you’d better tell me what wahi pana is and how much money you want from him.”

“Now I tink you not so akamai. You jus’ remembah one word. Pash. He’ll know. He’ll know what he gotta answer for Bumbye.”

The growling rancor in her voice sent a chill down Dinah’s spine. She tried to imagine what would engender such hatred. Xander said that Uwahi was part of a volcanic flow. Had there been some recent breakthrough of lava? Had someone fallen into a steam vent? “Did this Pash you mention, or Bumbye, get injured on the property? Did someone die?”

She answered with a snort of majestic disdain. “You care ‘bout yo friend, you tell her dat kane Garst bring her trouble. Akahele.” Her mouth quirked up in a nasty half-smile. “That means she’d better beware what she’s getting into, Dinah Pelerin. And so had you.” Whereupon, she rose up from the chair like an evil jinn and lumbered off down the beach, her awesome hips undulating hula-like beneath the muumuu.