Shimura Trouble (17 page)

“Whether the fire was accidental or arson, it would be helpful if your boss would come forward to explain that you were just out gathering rocks because he’d told you to do that,” I suggested.

“He’s not gonna come forward.” Braden pressed his lips together. “No way.”

“Then we’ve got to make him come forward,” I persisted. “I mean, not us literally, but your lawyer could subpoena this person.”

“I can’t tell the name to you or any lawyer either.”

“Why?”

“Because the boss said to me once that if I ever say who’s behind this, I won’t live to see eighteen.”

S
OMEONE MUST HAVE
been watching out for us, because the door to Edwin’s house swung open without our having to knock. Feeling uncertain, I surveyed the stranger who stood guard—a solidly built, middle-aged Asian-Hawaiian man in a red aloha shirt. I introduced myself and Michael, while Braden squeezed past, kicked off his sandals and went upstairs.

“I’m Wally Nishimura, a neighbor they asked to come over and help. Thanks for bringing Braden home. Does the family know him?” Wally spoke about Michael as if he wasn’t even there.

“Yes, they do. And if Michael hadn’t been with me, we wouldn’t have been able to pick up Braden.” I felt I needed Michael with me at this time. I had already caught a glimpse through the arch into the living room and had seen Edwin sitting there, staring blankly into space. A glass with golden liquid rested on a bamboo-legged table in front of him. Edwin wasn’t a drinker, so things had to be pretty bad. And he’d come home from his internet auction early.

“Thought you’d be back a while ago. I was getting worried,” he said, after he’d noticed our presence.

“We wanted to talk to him about what happened, and the best place to do it was a few miles away,” I explained. “The case against him seems rather weak, but it’s a lawyer who’ll really be able to come up with a strategy.”

“I was just telling him about my cousin, Lisa Ping,” Wally said. “She’s a partner in a big firm in Honolulu, and she’s willing to come out to meet Braden.”

“Is that P-I-N-G?” Michael had already taken a BlackBerry out of his pocket, and I imagined he was going to try to search the name.

“Yes, that’s it,” Wally said. “She’s a partner with Martin and Funabashi on Queen Street.”

“Wally, I don’t know if a girl lawyer can save my boy,” Edwin interrupted. “I left a voice mail on Bobby Yamaguchi’s number.”

Margaret came into the room with a telephone in her hand. “Bobby said he’s sorry, but he can’t take it. He’d be happy to refer you to someone.”

“Never mind.” Edwin waved Margaret away and then grumbled, as if to nobody in particular, ‘Too bad somebody who had a good lawyer in her pocket traded him for a sailor.”

“That’s enough,” I snapped at Edwin before glancing apologetically toward Michael. He was busy with his BlackBerry, as if he hadn’t even heard the comment, but I knew better.

“Don’t worry another moment; Lisa’s on her way in. Meet her, and see what you think.” Wally’s voice was reassuring.

“What’s her rate, Wally?” Edwin asked. “Do you think she could take it on pro bono?”

“I thought you’d ask that. Lisa told me she’s normally two-fifty, but she’ll give you credit,” Wally said. “As long as there’s a guarantor, somebody to promise to pay for you if you can’t.”

“I’ll guarantee the defense,” Michael said, looking up from the BlackBerry. “From just a quick search, it looks as if Lisa Ping is a past president of the Honolulu Bar Association, and she’s qualified to argue before the Supreme Court. Criminal law is one of her specialties.”

“My cousin!” Wally said, smiling.

I wondered if Michael was reacting to Edwin’s sailor comment, because his offer was simply too rash. I’d told Michael all about Edwin’s past bankruptcy; in fact, we were standing in Edwin’s father’s home because Edwin hadn’t recovered enough to buy or rent his own house.

“Hey, it’s Braden’s turn now on the TV!” said Courtney, who’d been silently sitting on a cushion in the corner since we’d entered. “Someone get Mom!”

I poked my head into the kitchen and saw Margaret slumped at the kitchen table, head in hands, seemingly unaware that one of her elbows was resting on an empty Styrofoam takeout tray.

“I don’t want to see my kid on the news,” she said in a monotone. “You see it, but don’t tell me what happens.”

I left her and returned to the living room, where my two-word encounter with the press outside the police station was replayed, followed by a clip of our getaway car. A newscaster intoned gravely about the burned body of a woman near the coffee shop; her identification had been released. Charisse De La Cruz was eighteen and had worked part-time at the coffee shop.

“Charisse!” I said, remembering the pigtailed barista at the coffee shop. Kainoa had complained about her inefficiency, but I had liked her guileless curiosity about new people and warmth. She was hardly a woman, having just turned legal age, and now she was gone.

“Did you know her?” Michael was watching me closely.

“Not very well. She made me coffee once.”

“That fire been blazing for days,” Edwin said. “Who’s lolo enough to hang around a coffee shop in a fire zone?”

“She worked there. Obviously, she must have been there to work, and not evacuated in time.” My thoughts were flying wildly as I remembered Kainoa’s emotional collapse. Maybe he hadn’t just been crying about his coffee shop; maybe he’d found Charisse’s corpse.

I came back to the present, seeing Michael’s mouth moving.

“Sorry, what was that?” I asked.

“It’s your aunt. She wants you to go to her.” He gestured toward the kitchen. Still feeling disconnected, I returned to the kitchen, where for the first time I noticed my ancestor Harue Shimura’s framed face looking down from a small alter crammed over the door. A saucer with the offering of a tangerine sat on the shelf in front of the picture with a line of ants crawling up the wall toward it. I looked away from the picture and toward Margaret, who was hugging herself as if the room was not in the high seventies, but freezing.

“I should have picked up Braden from the station,” Margaret said. “Thanks for what you and Michael did.”

I looked at her tired face. “You couldn’t get away early, I know.”

“I didn’t even try to see if I could leave. I’ve had to leave work early so many times because of Braden. This time I wanted just a few more hours’ peace before I saw him.” She looked down, then into my eyes. “I could hear some of the talk out there, and we don’t need Michael’s money. I got money of my own, in a 401K. I can take it out early, and it should be enough—if the trial’s short.” She blinked her eyes, and I saw that she was starting to cry.

“Aunt Margaret, I know Braden’s had trouble in the past, but this time around, the basis for the charge is so weak. And it turns out he has an alibi for being in the mountains; he gathers rocks for somebody. It’s illegal, I know, but a misdemeanor’s a lot easier to face than a felony.”

“It’s my fault,” Margaret moaned softly. “If I stayed home, Braden couldn’t be going around with those people who keep getting him into trouble. I never heard of him working for anybody. He’s not supposed to have a job!”

“Braden mentioned that someone phoned this morning and asked him to work. Can we check the phone to figure out the caller?”

“Our phones don’t do that,” Margaret said. “Edwin said that it’s better to invest in the computer. Can’t you just ask Braden?”

She wanted me to do it. Clearly, Margaret had little authority over her son. “Unfortunately, Braden wouldn’t tell us. He said the boss threatened his life, if he said who was behind the operation.”

“That doesn’t sound like the kind from around here.” Margaret’s face was sorrowful. “But you know, things in Hawaii have changed.”

“Why don’t you and Edwin allow Braden to get a regular part-time job?”

Margaret sighed. “It may sound strange, but he wants the kids to break the mold of people here, to go farther than we did. To Edwin, that means stay away from hamburger shops and hotel jobs and all the places that keep the local people down. Courtney’s a good girl, she uses her time at home to study or read, but Braden’s always out. All this time, I thought he was at the beach. It figures he was making money, because he sure couldn’t afford all the surfing gear just on his allowance. So…I guess I want you to tell me…what did they say about him on TV?”

“Not much—certainly not his name. But they released the identity of the woman who died. It was Charisse De La Cruz.”

“Charisse De La Cruz? Oh my God, I’ve known her mother since my own small-kid time.”

“I met Charisse once at the coffee shop. I liked her.”

“You did, huh? Very pretty girl, but not very akamai.”

“Akamai?” The word sounded Japanese, but I didn’t know what it meant.

“Means smart in Hawaiian. Charisse, she loved to chatter, ever since she was a tiny girl. She goes with any person who smiles at her—some people say she’s easy, but I just thought she’s not too smart.”

“Her body was found near the coffee shop where she works. It’s not as if she ran off with someone.”

“What could Kainoa have been thinking, letting Charisse stay at the coffee shop during a fire?” Margaret shook his head.

“I don’t know that he did. He mentioned that he was there that afternoon, trying to build a firebreak. He didn’t mention that anyone was helping him.”

“Excuse me.” I turned at the sound of Michael’s voice. “I didn’t mean to interrupt, but the lawyer’s here Mrs. Shimura, would you like to meet her?”

“Margaret, please. Yes, I’ll see her. And I want to tell you something first: don’t worry about guaranteeing our payment to the lawyer. I have the money.”

“That’s good to hear,” Michael said, a trifle uncertainly. “But the offer stands. The other thing I was wondering, Margaret, was whether you know Kainoa Stevens?”

“Of course. He and his family used to live close to Honokai Hale, but I think they’re in the homesteads now, more toward Makaha. He’s a good boy, used to take Braden surfing when he was just learning. Why?”

“He owns the coffee shop that burned.”

“Sure, I know that, but Kainoa wouldn’t have anything to do with setting a fire,” Margaret said. “Why would he destroy his own business?”

“The insurance…” Michael began.

“He’s not insured,” I said.

“How do you know that?” Margaret asked.

“I went running this morning over the Pierce fields to see what happened to the shop. I found Kainoa there, pretty upset.”

“Girl, that was stupid!” Margaret sucked in her breath. “Embers live a long time. A fire could have flashed up and trapped you.”

“I was perfectly OK. The only problem I encountered was when the land manager saw us.”

“Albert Rivera’s a bastard. You ask me, he’s the likeliest one set a fire.”

“Really? What’s wrong with him?” I asked my aunt, but Wally Nishimura came in and basically ordered Margaret out to meet the lawyer. We followed but, to my regret, Lisa Ping, an efficient-looking woman about a decade older than I, banned us from the conversation. It was just going to be Edwin, Margaret, and Braden. A privileged conversation, or whatever it was called.

As Michael and I were driving out of the neighborhood on Waialua Street, I looked at the digital clock on the dashboard. It was almost seven.

“Hungry?” Michael asked.

“I’m too depressed to eat anything. I’ll sit with you if you want to eat something, though.”

We cruised Farrington Highway into the heart of Kapolei, and Michael selected a seedy-looking fast food shop called L&L. Confidently, he ordered a starter of Spam musube, which turned out to be a sushi-like concoction of sticky rice and a thick slab of spam bound together by a narrow band of seaweed. Only in Hawaii, I thought to myself, as he followed that with a five-scoop plate: rice, chilli, macaroni salad, shrimp tempura and a deep-fried pork cutlet.

“Something’s missing there,” I said, sipping my water as I watched him sip enthusiastically from a Yoo-Hoo chocolate drink. “I know—fruits and veggies.”

“There are beans in the chilli, and doesn’t the seaweed count?”

“I meant fresh fruits and vegetables,” I chided.

“How about coconut cake? I remember the best version was at Zippy’s. We could walk over there now—could I tempt you to share a piece?”

“No thanks.”

When we left L&L, the evening air had cooled to a perfect temperature that I guessed was seventy-nine. The trade wind was blowing, making me think of how nice it would be to lie in bed with all the windows open.

“I’ll skip Zippy’s if I can have something else,” Michael said as we settled into the car.

“What?” I asked absently, and then he moved close to kiss me. Thinking about all that I could never really have, I pulled back.

“Is it the chilli?”