Death in the Orchid Garden (15 page)

A
t the rental car lot, those who preferred exploring the Thurston Tube and the periphery of the Kilauea caldera got in one van with Sergeant Binder. They were the gimpy Dr. Bouting, Anne Lansing, Christopher Bailey, Henry Hilaeo, and, to Louise's surprise, John Batchelder. Louise had guessed that her cohost disliked the prospect of hiking down four hundred almost-vertical feet into the Kilauea Iki caldera. Sitting happily between Bouting and the toothsome Anne in the backseat, John gaily waved good-bye to her.

Now on her own with a clutch of scientists and Sergeant William Yee, Louise approached the droopy-shouldered Wyant. He was like a tall young tree suffering from drought.

“
Aloha
, George,” she said.

“Hey,
”
he said. She could sense that through his dark glasses he was trying to read her face.

“So you're hiking with us today. That's great.”

“I had to do something besides sitting in that hotel.” Apparently convinced her friendliness was genuine, he fell in step with her. She glanced at the others, Tom Schoonover, Ralph Pinsky, Charles Reuter, and Nate Bernstein, and could hardly restrain a smile. She would be hiking in one of the world's magical places with five outstanding botanists. She only hoped they'd accept Wyant into the group.

As she turned to Tom Schoonover, she said, “I see that you've wisely sent Henry Hilaeo with the others.”

The scientist dropped his gaze, as if he didn't want to reveal his true feelings. “I'm not quite sure what you're getting at, Louise.” He held out his hand. “Here, let me help you into the van.”

It was a brief trip to the trail head in Volcanoes National Park. After that, the next three hours unfolded like a dream. From the moment they began their magical descent through a tropical thicket into the caldera, her scientist companions took on a different persona. They accepted her and the Kauai policeman, Sergeant Yee, as eager pupils. If anyone bore animosity against George Wyant, it seemed to be forgotten. What brought them together was their passion for nature. They chattered happily about each passing wonder like children at a theme park, with even George chiming in.

Once they'd descended from the lush forest to the stark lava floor, they saw a small green growth in the cracks in the barren ground. Ralph Pinsky, no longer unapproachable, caught her eye. “Mrs. Eldridge and Sergeant Yee, you newcomers to the field of botany must check out this fine new little
Ohia lehua,
” he said, pulling out his hand lens and bending over the tiny tree for a better look. “It's somewhat imperiled and is making its way under difficult conditions.” Politely, he handed the lens to Louise and said, “It's one of the first plants to take root after a lava flow. The honeycreepers, the iiwi, and apapane find sanctuary in this active volcanic world. They feed on these lehua blossoms.” She gave it a close inspection, then passed the lens on to Sergeant Yee.

The sergeant looked, turned to her with a grin, and said, “I feel like I'm in an advanced placement science class. What about you?” She agreed, then returned the lens to the scientist.

Forgotten, seemingly, by all of them was the fact that Matthew Flynn was dead and his death a mystery yet to be solved. For here they were, in a unique place where new land was being formed by molten rock before their eyes, where volcanoes had given rise to a tumultous, otherworldly landscape of craters, forests, lava tubes, hills, and nature systems such as the lush rain forest in which they now walked. Ascending again into the rain forest, the scientists greeted each new variety of fern and plant such as a rare lobelia, as if it were an old friend, identifying and sometimes arguing about its provenance. Tom Schoonover, the taxonomist, was bowed to as the final authority. In the wonder of it all, time seemed to stand still.

But all too soon the hike was over. They finished their climb to the crater's rim and saw that the six from the other van were lounging in the shade, waiting for them. John gave her only a distant wave as he continued to converse with Anne Lansing and Christopher Bailey. In two vans they drove the short distance to the historic Volcano House, where they were to have dinner.

It took only the walk into this rustic relic of a building for her to see that John had fallen under Anne Lansing's spell. It was obvious in the way that he ignored her and made a beeline to Anne's side and took a seat next to her at the table. Louise quickly sat in the seat on the other side of him, but then was faintly annoyed when Bruce Bouting sat on the other side of her.

Before Dr. Bouting could launch into his monologues, she turned to her cohost. “John, you were going to tell me something.”

He pulled in a noisy breath between his teeth, then looked self-consciously around in case anyone had noticed. No one had. “Not now, Louise,” he said, in an impatient voice and immediately turned back to Anne Lansing.

She dipped her head to get a better look at Anne. Louise saw that the woman's clothes clung to her curves in a tempting way. Her unusual yellow-green eyes, red-painted lips, and glossy bob were only accented by the bland colors that she wore.

Louise sighed. She'd have thought a newly engaged man like John would have more self-control. For some reason, she'd had a protective feeling toward John, but realized this was silly; her colleague ought to be mature enough to handle dealings with strange, beautiful women. She studied her menu, ordered the restaurant's famous duck l'orange, then turned to Dr. Bouting, resigned to the fact that she was trapped in his conversational lair. Looking into his lively face, she searched it to find the good there, the good that her wise father said resided in every man.

“My dear,” he said, a gleam in his eye as he reached over a big paw and placed it on hers. She had the clear feeling he'd temporarily forgotten her name. “We dropped into the snack bar here earlier for a soft drink and saw the most incredible films of old eruptions. Those volcanists, what plucky people they are, walking right up to the flows! How I wish I were twenty years younger.”

Smiling philosophically, she withdrew her hand. “Indeed, Dr. Bouting, you seem to be doing just fine at the age you are. You are quite an unstoppable man.”

 

I
n a herd of other cars, the two vans moved slowly down toward the sea, where the action took place. Within ten miles of the new vents, they could see eruptions of lava into the sky. While their excitement grew, their pace slowed. The cars had to maneuver into a crowded parking lot. National park rangers in their muted green uniforms ringed the area, waving flashlights to direct the drivers into snug parking slots.

“My God, that's wonderful,” exclaimed George Wyant.

“It truly is,” echoed Charles Reuter. “I've visited this place before, but I never thought I'd be able to get as close as this.”

Nor did I
, thought Louise.

Along with a crowd of other wide-eyed visitors, they stepped out of the van for the hike to the edge of the flow. The first thing that struck Louise was the noise, not only of the excited crowd, but the explosive sounds from the lava vent, then the crackling sounds as the thick, viscous pahoehoe thinned out and turned into a'a. Finally, there were the huge hissing reverberations from the boiling sea as two thousand-degree molten rock hit its cool depths.

Before anyone dispersed, Tom Schoonover managed to round up the group. “This is going to be one of the exceptional experiences of your life,” he told them. “I urge you to stay together, with a partner or partners. It's perfectly safe, but be wary of a change in the wind, which might blow noxious fumes your way. Watch out underfoot. If you fall, you can get cut badly by the jagged lava. Don't forget to drink water to avoid dehydration. You must, of course, stay within the boundaries set by the park rangers.”

“Something we already understand full well,” snapped Bruce Bouting, who seemed to soar loftily above all instructions.

Tom Schoonover continued unfazed. He looked up through a sky still rosy-colored from the sunset at a white quarter of a moon. As they watched, a cloud passed over it. “Consider the sky and the clouds and the moon, folks, and then look there.” He pointed to a molten trench some thousand yards up the hill, where the earth was boiling. Orange lava spewed far up into the air, then fell into hundreds of rivulets that came streaming down toward the sea. “It's eating up more ground as we speak—and also creating more benches of land near the ocean.”

Louise caught her breath, for in the dimming light Tom's face looked almost saintly. “Again,” he said, “that pattern of destruction and creation which we are privileged to see. Now, go enjoy this wonderful moment on this wonderful planet. And remember to go with a buddy or two for safety.”

The others hurried off, Charles Reuter and Nate Bernstein in the company of George Wyant, who'd lost his desolate manner and seemed almost a happy man. Ralph Pinsky had pulled a professional-quality face mask out of his fanny pack and adjusted it over his nose, then went off with Henry Hilaeo.

Bruce Bouting walked away with his loyal employee Christopher Bailey, but Louise noticed that when Christopher reached out and took the older man's elbow, Bouting shrugged him off and stalked forward with the help of his cane. So much for the buddy system, she thought.

To Louise's disappointment, John grabbed Anne Lansing by the hand and whisked her away as if they were young lovers. She frowned, for she had wanted to share this experience with her colleague, not some person she'd met only days ago.

Though the two Kauai police came to oversee things, Louise noted they'd already drifted off, seemingly spell-bound by the shooting fountains of lava. This was a once-in-a-lifetime experience, for Hawaiian residents as well as visitors.

She looked around and through the dimness saw Tom Schoonover standing nearby. “I guess it's you and me,” she said, smiling.

“My pleasure, Louise. Let's be off.” They went to a line de-marked by yellow electric flares placed a few feet apart in the ground. The crowd was wandering this line, but Louise could see none of the people in their party, for darkness was closing in fast.

Inside the flairs the treacherous pahoehoe slowly descended at a southeast angle and eventually would cross the Chain of Craters Road. This beleaguered road was moved once before because of lava flows. As well as houses and beaches, it was gradually being obliterated by Kilauea's eruptions.

To Louise, the lava looked like a thick, slow-moving, hydra-headed orange monster, each head with an ugly snub nose. It curved itself into sinewy patterns as it moved slowly down the slope. She gasped, to be so close to the earth in an act of creation. Then suddenly she gagged and choked, as a strong whiff of sulfur came her way. Hurriedly, she covered her nose with her bandanna.

Tom was doing the same thing. “The wind is shifting,” he said, “and that's not good. Let's step back a little; I think we'll be more comfortable.” She followed him and they stationed themselves farther away from the flow, halfway between the vent and the ocean. The biggest crowds were uphill and downhill from them, either watching the lava as it burst out of the vent, or as it rolled into the sea, creating hissing steam clouds five stories high. A huge spurt of liquid orange, twice as high as the fifteen- or twenty-foot spouts that had been coming out of the new vent, blew its way into the dark sky.

Louise could hear the crowd of hundreds oohing and aahing. A few even applauded, as if nature were a stage impresario trying to please his audience. But she noticed park rangers hurriedly moving uphill to warn the crowd. The surface flow appeared dangerous.

“Wow,” said Tom, “Kilauea's certainly putting on a show. With fountains that high, I'd think those rangers would establish a wider perimeter. I hope those people who've climbed close to the vent are safe.”

Louise worried about her colleague, John. Was he safe, from both the lava and the woman he was with?

They watched in respectful silence for a few minutes before they were interrupted. “Excuse me, Dr. Schoonover,” said a man's voice out of the darkness. It was Sergeant Yee. “I need to talk to you.” He took him aside, which immediately alarmed Louise. She edged closer to the two and heard enough to scare her.

“. . . and I'm afraid people are scattered all over; we can't find half of them. These fumes are a big concern.”

Tom turned back to her. He gripped her arm for a moment. “Louise, you know the way to the car, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then either remain here, or if the wind changes again and the fumes are getting to you, wait at the vans. Would you do that?”

“What's wrong? Can I help?”

“I have to leave,” he said impatiently. “Just don't get lost, okay?”

“I won't.”

The two men hurried up the hill toward the volcano vent. Louise had a sick notion in her gut. Where was John? Then she realized her protective instincts were kicking in again and that John Batchelder was perfectly capable of taking care of himself.

She patiently waited for five minutes, though it seemed like an hour. Out of the darkness a figure appeared, coughing and hacking. It was Anne Lansing. She moaned, “I have to get out of this. It's too much for my lungs.”

“Anne, did you see John?” cried Louise from behind the handkerchief she held on her face. The fumes were coming their way again.

Anne pointed vaguely uphill. “He was so darned timid that I left him with some old women. Everyone's moving—it's gotten less safe, the rangers say. People in our crowd are going every which way; I just saw Henry Hilaeo wandering around alone. Ralph Pinsky is way up top, about as close as you can get to the vent.” She put a hand on her chest and coughed almost convulsively. “But not me. I'm sorry—I have to get out of here. I should have stayed with John on safer ground. I'll be at the car.” As she hurried off, she called back, “If I were you, I'd stand back farther from that line. Or else come back to the vans with me.”

Louise hesitated, even as she suppressed a cough and realized Anne was the smart one here—Anne and Ralph Pinsky, the one with the business face mask.

Where was John? Tom Schoonover and the policeman were already looking higher up for people. On a hunch, she decided to search downhill. Coughing from the effects of another whiff of sulfur, she pulled her bandanna securely over her lower face. Then she walked along the line of electric flares, encountering few others. Warily, she eyed the tendrils of orange-red lava meandering ever closer to the flairs. Then she heard a faint cry of pain. “Aww w ww!”

“John!” she yelled, “is that you?”

“Louise . . .” It was a muffled lament, followed by spasms of coughing. “Louise, help us, I beg you . . .”