Molokai Reef (16 page)

Finished
with his second beer, strangely feeling no pain, Gybe motored the
dinghy back towards
Ferrity
just as the first of the afternoon
six-man canoes paddled away from the beach. Six young Hawaiian
wahines stroked the paddles in a choreographed motion. Three paddled
on one side, two on the other, and the steersman alternately stroked
or used her paddle as a rudder to guide the canoe.

After
perhaps a dozen strokes, she would signal the paddlers to switch
sides. In sync, each girl lifted her paddle to her other side and
stroked on the new side. Their backs, above and below the bikini
tops, glistened with sweat as they paddled first one side, then on
command, shifted in unison, and paddled on the opposite side. No
doubt Mongoose, true to his namesake, was on the hunt. A snake in
mongoose clothing.

Kara
sat reading a paperback, a Stephanie Plum novel, in the cockpit of
Ferrity
when Gybe maneuvered
Aweigh
alongside. He
wrapped the painter around the starboard midship cleat and climbed
aboard. “How did you get aboard? Do you always go into
someone’s house without an invitation?” Gybe plopped
down across from Kara.

“
Kiss,
kiss.” Kara puckered up and handed Gybe a new beer.

“
How
did you get here?” Gybe took the beer, but wondered if maybe
he should slack off a bit on the alcohol. Unable to focus, he shut
down the senseless waste of neural capacity.

“
Swam.
It isn’t that far from the pier. I put some dry clothes in a
bag and swam out. Unlike some men of late.” She glared at
Gybe. “Others appreciated my form when I dove off the pier.
By the way, what does ’hana my’ mean?”

Recognizing
that hana ma‘i meant sexual intercourse, Gybe smiled and
ignored her question. “Did you bring dinner?”

Gybe
lit the barbecue grill that hung from the stern rail and showed Kara
how to adjust the temperature. He went below and began preparing a
salad from the veggies that they had purchased at the Maui Safeway.
He looked forward to the next farmer’s market. When the salad
was ready, Kara removed the two mahimahi steaks that had been
marinating on the counter and placed them on the grill.

When
Kara had arrived on the pier, a fisherman had been dressing his
fresh-caught fish. Like practitioners of the oldest profession, Kara
flirted with the angler until he sliced off two nice steaks from the
still bleeding fish, placed them in a resealable plastic bag, and
presented them to Kara.

Gybe
retrieved a fresh bottle of an Australian Sauvignon Blanc from the
reefer and pulled the cork before joining Kara in the cockpit with
the bottle, two glasses, and the salads.

The
sun hovered two outstretched fists above the western horizon.
Mongoose and
Makani
were anchored a third of the way between
Ferrity
and the shore. Already, one of the six-man outrigger
canoes was sitting alongside
Makani
– the women laughing
and enjoying the ’goose. Most of the noise came from a
non-ending procession of cars and pickups, full of young people,
driving out the causeway, around the pier parking area, and then back
up the causeway to town. Island fever.

Gybe
and Kara ate and watched the falling sun.

After
dinner, Gybe should have taken Kara ashore. He should assert his
authority. He should maintain his independence.

27

Gybe
had succumbed to the call of nature last night. Oats had been sown
in an uncivilized fashion yet he prayed that none would sprout. He
hadn’t taken Kara back to the pier after dinner.

Kara
made coffee and prepared the cereal breakfast while Gybe swam to the
harbor buoy and back.

Over
breakfast, they discussed plans for the day and decided to visit the
widow of Ray Wilson, the other murder victim. She lived in the
middle of the island, not far from the high school.

Before
getting into the car, Kara slid over to a pay telephone mounted
outside the ferry terminal and called the widow. Mrs. Wilson agreed
to meet with them as soon as they could drive out to her place.

In
the driver’s seat, Kara twisted the screwdriver clockwise. The
starter motor stirred the pistons, the carburetor atomized the
gasoline, the spark plugs lit fires, and the rear-mounted engine
stumbled to life.

Fifteen
minutes after they left the harbor, Kara drove along a street in
Kualapu‘u. A boy, maybe eight or so, rode his bike along the
sidewalk as Kara cornered the ’vair into the driveway. Three
small girls were playing in the carport attached to the modest home.
At the front door, Mrs. Wilson invited Gybe and Kara into the home.

“
Thank
you for meeting with us, Mrs. Wilson. We are sorry for the loss of
your husband.” Kara sympathized.

“
Sharon,
please call me Sharon. I get enough of the Mrs. Wilson at school. I
teach ninth grade literature, you know.”

Gybe
looked around the room. They sat at a small table in a breakfast
nook. Sharon offered coffee and they accepted. The house was
furnished with new, but functional, furniture, a necessity with two
youngsters in the house. On the way in, Gybe had noticed a den or
study to one side of the entrance hall. Floor to ceiling bookcases
spanned the walls. Even here in the nook, bookshelves filled the
spaces beneath the bay windows. Most of the titles were of popular
literature. Not, Gybe noticed, professional books of a genetic
engineer.

“
Sharon,”
Kara began, “we are trying to find out who murdered your
husband. The prosecutor believes that my friend Susan is guilty. I
don’t agree.”

Fighting
tears, “I was surprised at Susan’s arrest as well. I
knew her from some of the protests at Ray’s company, SynCorn,
but I also knew her from her work at the school.” Sharon said.

Sharon
explained that Susan volunteered one afternoon per week during which
she taught a non-credit environmental awareness workshop to students
in ninth through twelfth grades. Although the workshop was an
elective, many of the students participated, perhaps due to Susan’s
obvious passion for the subject. Sharon liked Susan.

“
That’s
very kind, I wasn’t aware of all of Susan’s activities.
Who do you think could have murdered your husband?”

“
I
don’t know. Ray’s life was his work and his family –
our two children and I. When he wasn’t at work, he was doing
something with us. The kids are…” she stumbled “
were very important to Ray.”

“
Like
most scientists, I think, he worked a lot. Most Saturdays.”

“
Do
you know anything about his research?”

“
Ray
and I were opposites when it came to work. I love literature,
poetry, the arts. Ray was a scientist. I didn’t understand
his work and he didn’t understand mine. We seldom talked about
work.”

“
Who
were his friends?”

“
Mostly
coworkers. Ray got along with most people but he never cultivated
lasting friendships.”

“
Ray’s
boss, Les Spooner, told us that he worked with Ray on the mainland.
Then when Spooner founded SynCorn, he hired Ray and moved your family
over here.”

“
No,
you must have misunderstood. When we moved to Moloka‘i, Ray
worked for another company. That company went out of business six or
seven months after we moved here. Les hired Ray the day after the
company foundered.”

“
How
well did you know Les? Did you know him before Ray began working at
SynCorn?”

Like
mold on a strawberry, disgust crept across Sharon’s face.
“Well enough.”

Gybe
tried to ask the question again. “How well did Ray get along
with his boss?”

“
All
right, I guess. Les was short on funding, and even though once, he
was a scientist, he pushed the researchers to hurry the development.
Ray used to comment that you can’t make a corn plant grow
faster. I think Ray sometimes told this to Les.”

“
Was
Ray satisfied with his work? Was he looking for a new job?”

“
No,
he wasn’t looking. But,” Sharon hesitated, “I
guess it is all right to tell you now that he is gone. He told me
that he was working on something that was going to make us very
wealthy. Something that would allow us to live our future without
monetary worries.”

“
Did
he say what it was that he was developing?”

“
No,
he said it was a secret. Something that he had to keep quiet.”

“
I’m
sorry I have to ask, but was Ray using drugs?”

“
No,
of course not.” Sharon paused. “Well, not anything
serious anyway. We smoke a little pot now and then, who doesn’t?”

“
How
about finances, any problems there?”

“
Not
really. The first company, the one that failed, covered all of our
expenses for the move here including the loss that we took on the
sale of our former house. My salary as a teacher in Hawai‘i is
nothing, but Ray made good money at SynCorn. Plus, he was optioned
with a lot of stock. When the company goes public we will be very
well off.”

“
Who
gets the stock options now?” Gybe kicked in.

“
Uh,
I’m not sure. I haven’t thought about it since …”

Sharon
hadn’t thought about the stock options. She knew about them,
knew they might be valuable, yet she hadn’t thought about them.
Odd, Gybe thought. He decided to shift the conversation to another
topic.

“
How
were you and Ray doing? Any marital problems?”

“
We
were fine.” Sharon stood and looked at her watch. “If
you’ll excuse me, I must get the children ready for their swim
lesson.”

28

Back
in the ’vair, Gybe suggested sightseeing might clear their
thoughts. He was a believer in lateral thinking and found that
sometimes if he let a problem percolate in the background, a solution
would bubble to the surface.

“
Let’s
start with a drive to the north shore.” Using a map of the
island, he guided Kara to a lookout overlooking the Kalaupapa
Peninsula. On the west side of the peninsula, lay the old city of
Kalaupapa, home to Father Damien, the Jesuit priest who tended the
leper colony through some terrible times. Gybe and Kara decided not
to hike the three-mile switchback trail down the 1700 foot sea cliff
to the Kalaupapa National Historic Park. Kara snapped several
pictures with a small digital camera.

Next,
Kara drove back to the center of the island where Gybe suggested she
turn right onto Maunaloa Highway and drive towards the west end of
Moloka‘i. A mile marker indicated a distance of twelve miles
to the beach resort ashore of the Papohaku Roadstead. The ’vair
climbed from the central lowland saddle of the island up to a
moderate ridge and then gradually down to a turnoff onto Kaluako‘i
Road which descended to the beach.

At
the end of the road, they got out and walked across the white sand
beach to the water. A northwest swell dumped heavy surf at the tide
line. The Papohaku Resort had reopened after an extensive remodeling
effort. Dozens of tourists frolicked in the pool. Others lounged
under beach umbrellas while young men in aloha shirts and young women
in sarongs shuttled drink trays to the beach lizards.

After
exploring the beach, they returned to the parking lot where they
waded through several surfers admiring the ’vair. Leaving
behind a cacophony of catcalls and car comments, Kara drove back up
Kaluako‘i Road and at the intersection with Maunaloa Road
turned right towards the town of Maunaloa.

“
Isn’t
Maunaloa on the Big Island?” Kara asked.

“
That
it is.” Gybe switched his voice to narrator mode. “Mauna
Loa, the volcano, rises more than 13,000 feet above the south central
part of Hawai‘i, the Big Island. On its southeastern flank,
Kilauea has been erupting since 1982.”

Sensing
her confusion, Gybe proffered. “As I understand the Hawaiian
language, meaning very little, mauna means mountain and loa means
long or high. When I first sailed into the islands, I was more
confused than normal.”

Gybe’s
rare admission of non-perfection elicited a smirk from Kara.

“
The
same place names exist on different islands. There is a town named
Kailua on O‘ahu and one on the Kona coast of the Big Island.
Sometimes, a town will share the same name as a region, area, bay, or
coast. To identify the town, people will refer to the town followed
by the word town. The town of Puna may be called Puna town to
distinguish it from the Puna coast.”

In
Gybe’s opinion, Kara appeared eager to learn but perhaps too
proud to learn from him. She seemed glad to see that the road was
about to end along with Gybe’s narration, at the town of
Maunaloa. Kara turned into a parking lot of
The Lodge
, a
luxury resort overlooking the western downslope of Moloka‘i.

“
Let’s
get some lunch, follow me.” Gybe struck out for the front
door.

They
had missed the main lunch crowd, so the hostess led them to a window
table overlooking the west end of the island. At an elevation of
1200 feet,
The Lodge
offered an unobstructed downslope view to
the ocean, less than five miles away. Gybe pointed to the outline of
O‘ahu, twenty-five miles across Ka‘iwi Channel. “The
tall peak is Makapu‘u Point. Just to the left, the smaller
peak is Diamond Head.” With the clear skies and lack of fog or
smog, the view was consuming.