Big Island Blues Page 5

  CHAPTER SIX

  Standing here on the crowded sidewalk waiting for Alexander to finish his call, I had a massive case of feeling overwhelmed going on. I waited patiently, but we were already on the tail end of the coffee rush hour. When one of Warren’s wannabe customers jostled me, I felt like an impediment to the flow of pedestrian traffic.

  I turned to apologize for being in the way, but my apology never happened. The person who’d bumped me never even slowed down. I only got a quick look. Male. Black sweatshirt. Design faded and flaked until it was unrecognizable. I shook my head. My self-pity turned to anger. “People can be so rude.”

  “Maybe you just not big enough. Almost anyone can bounce a little guy like you around,” Alexander said.

  The pedestrian disappeared into a sea of T-shirts, shorts, and shopping bags. “He wasn’t very big himself.” Let it go, I thought. Just another asshole in paradise. “You’ve got an address?”

  “Benni says it’s not too far from here, maybe a mile. It’s supposed to be a dump.”

  “Great. We get a trip to the slums of Kona.”

  Kona felt small compared to Honolulu, where we have about a half million residents and more than our share of bad areas. Those were the areas tourists seldom discovered unless they became hopelessly lost.

  The scent of coconut oil and sunblock filled the air with a sickening sweetness. A young couple strolled by, their skin glistening from an overly generous application. “They must be auditioning for a suntan lotion commercial,” I muttered.

  “You in a good mood today.” Alexander watched my face for a reaction. When he got none, he continued. “You think Donny is Blueslover?”

  “You too?”

  He shook his head. “He too young, brah. Why Andi gonna mess with him? He might be a groupie.”

  I thought about his assessment for a moment, then said, “I don’t see her doing anything to get rid of him.” I had to admit it was possible Alexander was right, but if this kid wasn’t Blueslover, he might be able to point us in the right direction.“Never underestimate the power of groupies. When I’m looking for someone, I never leave any stone unturned. And right now, he’s got my full attention.”

  “You the guy with the track record. Just remember, Andi’s family. Don’t be taking too long turning them stones over.”

  That was my biggest concern of all. Andi had been gone for three days now and I was beginning to wonder whether she or her mother had the bigger cache of secrets. “There’s another possibility, you know. This Blueslover might be a boyfriend. History could be repeating itself and Benni could be unwilling to admit her daughter’s doing the same thing she did.”

  “I don’t think so, McKenna. We don’t know nothing about this Blueslover guy. I do know Andi’s real focused on her music. And she got an independent streak at least as big as Benni’s.”

  Oh great, I thought. This was the perfect storm of parenthood— maturing kid, an overprotective parent, and opportunity knocking. What more could I ask for?

  We drove to Crazy Warren’s with island breezes blowing into the car through the opened windows. With today’s temperatures predicted to be in the high 80s, everyone was thankful the trade winds were resuming their normal pattern of blowing out of the north. The trades would bring back our natural air conditioning, one of the things that made the islands so pleasant.

  Unlike Ali’i Drive, where a long line of cars inched through town, the streets near Warren’s home were almost deserted. It was the complete opposite in other ways, too. The Roasted Bean was located in an upscale area where money flowed out of wallets faster than water rushing downstream. Here, however, low-income locals struggled to survive. Houses on stilts, overgrown yards, peeling paint. All of it spoke to the classic dilemma of where to put your money when living in paradise. Home repairs? Food? Or transportation? All necessities, all expensive. And not one easy choice.

  The houses in this neighborhood, much like other island homes, were small, probably less than a thousand square feet. But here, they were all run down. None of these homes had seen a maintenance man in years. Which raised the question, was The Roasted Bean even profitable?

  In island tradition, most of the houses were built on stilts to keep out moisture and critters. Home maintenance for these old places would be a relentless battle against heat, humidity, and salt. In this case, the battle appeared to have been lost years ago. If Benni was right and Warren really did live here, was he renting or did he own his home? If he was an owner, his money certainly wasn’t going into maintenance.

  “Reminds me of prison housing,” I said.

  Alexander shot a sideways glance at me.

  “Don’t worry, I’ve never seen prison housing. I’m just sure this is what it would look like—if I ever did, you know, see it. These people must be barely scraping by.”

  “Times are tough for a lotta folks.” Alexander took a long look around as he locked the car door. “Glad I got me a business that attracts tourists with money.”

  There was a beat-to-crap car up on blocks directly in front of Crazy Warren’s address. Obviously, someone’s transportation budget had dried up. “You know what’s weird?” I asked. “Warren has a thriving business. Why’s he live here? Why is this car here? Look at this thing. Oxidized paint. No wheels. Up on blocks. It doesn’t even look like anyone’s working on it.”

  “People sometimes got good intentions they can’t keep up with,” said Alexander.

  “This neighborhood’s got a lot of that can’t-keep-up syndrome going on. Without me, the Sunsetter Apartments would look like this.”

  Alexander snorted. “Don’t be so cocky, McKenna. Your bosses could find someone else pretty easy. They might not be diligent as you, but they gonna get the job done.”

  “Thanks for your support,” I grumbled. The curtains in the window of Crazy Warren’s house flicked to one side. I pointed at the movement. “We got him. I saw someone. There.”

  We climbed the stairs, knocked on the screen door, which rattled like a loose rain gutter in the wind, then waited. A little girl came to peer at us though the rusty screen. Her hair was braided with pink ribbons that matched the color in her T-shirt and shorts. She pushed the door open a crack, but didn’t say a word. Behind her, I heard a woman’s voice, “Luana! I told you don’t answer the door for strangers.”

  Moments later, the girl’s mother rushed over and pulled her daughter back. Mom also wore shorts and a T-shirt, but she’d tied the shirt up high enough to show off the silver ring dangling from her navel. The belly ring seemed highly impractical for a mother with a small child. I mean, what if the kid grabbed it? “Cute kid,” I said. “Warren told us to stop by.”

  When Belly Ring gave me stink eye without saying a word I assumed it was just my day to piss people off. We were all seemingly engaged in the pregnant pause game, but Belly Ring had met her match. She shook her head. “You got the wrong place, mister. Ain’t no Warren here.”

  “You don’t know him?”

  There was a slight hesitation as she glanced down at Luana. “I gotta get her down for a nap.”

  “Wait! You know Warren, right? He owns The Roasted Bean.”

  Through the rusted screen, I saw her lips purse. “Do I look like I could afford fancy coffee like that place sells? Who are you? Where are you from?” She held up a hand with her fingers splayed wide. “Never mind. I don’t care. I don’t have time for this. C’mon, baby girl.”

  My pulse quickened. Most people don’t realize how they gradually assimilate the speech patterns of those around them. Belly Ring had asked almost exactly the same questions as Warren. The only difference was, she hadn’t gone off the deep end. I’d bet money she and Warren knew each other and were hiding something.

  I glanced at Alexander, who shrugged. Apparently, this face-off was all on me. He didn’t seem to get the connection. If I could just get her talking . . . I said, “I’m sorry, but this is the address we were given for Warren. What about Donny? Do you know him?�
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  Alexander shifted from one foot to the other. He must be seeing this entire visit as a waste. A couple of minutes, I thought. Just give me a little more time.

  Belly Ring pulled Luana in close. “Get off my porch before I call the cops.”

  The little girl looked up at her mother and tugged on the hem of her shorts. “Is Donny in trouble, Mama?”

  Kneeling down, I was now eye-level with the little girl. “You know Donny, Luana?”

  Mom snatched up her daughter and cocked her hip so she could support the girl’s weight on the side opposite me. “Don’t be talking to my kid! I ain’t got no idea who you are. You don’t get off my porch in ten seconds, I’m calling 9-1-1. Now beat it.” The screen door slammed, its rattle spewing a red cloud of rust in my face.

  The two of us stood there for a couple of seconds, then hightailed it to the street. Alexander said, “Looks like we found us a dead end, McKenna.”

  “Not at all,” I said. “Didn’t you hear that kid? She knew Donny. And the mom was parroting Warren’s questions. Those two know each other. The question is, why would she be lying for him?”

  “We got no idea how close these people might be.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m worried about. She could be calling him right now. Unless she’s protecting herself, not Crazy Warren.”

  Alexander cleared his throat. “Look, much as I don’t like Warren, you gotta stop calling him that. You gonna slip up one day. Kinda like you did with Harris when you kept calling her Legs.”

  I felt myself flush. Indeed, it had been a slip of the tongue. “She didn’t mind.”

  He snickered.

  “And she did have great legs,” I said.

  Alexander raised one eyebrow. He didn’t use the move often, but when he did, it meant I was in trouble. “So you think Warren gonna not mind when you call him crazy to his face?”

  “Fine. Whatever. There are only two options here. She knows him or she doesn’t. If she doesn’t, maybe Luana knows Donny because he’s going to wax this beautiful piece of automobile so they can have tea parties in the front seats.”

  “I don’t think that mom gonna let her baby girl get anywhere near this thing.” He cast a sideways glance at the beater on blocks.

  “Exactly,” I said. “Which means Warren is spending time with Belly Ring in there. Maybe she’s getting child support and she’ll get cut off if her ex finds out she’s cozy with Warren. If she thinks we’re going to be watching, maybe she’ll crack. I’ll leave her a card.” I reached for my wallet, but couldn’t feel it. “Where is it?” I always kept it in my right pocket. With my left hand, I patted the other side. “Crap. Where’d it go?”

  “Maybe you left it at Warren’s store.” Alexander inclined his head in the direction of town. “Let’s drive back before you buy coffee for everyone in Kona.”

  Halfway back to the car, I was still patting my pockets. This was ridiculous. Change went in the front pocket, wallet in back. On the way to The Roasted Bean, I replayed what had happened when I’d paid for the coffee. Each time, I came to the same conclusion. I’d done what I always did, put the wallet in my back pocket before walking away from the counter.

  Alexander parked in the free lot behind the Coconut Grove Marketplace and we walked to the store. We were almost to the entrance when I stopped and stared at the spot where we’d been standing when the coconut-oiled couple had sauntered by. It was the same place the stranger had jostled me. I stared, open-mouthed, at the spot, feeling the chill of my stupidity. “I don’t believe it,” I said.

  “What?” Alexander watched my face with that damned calm he always maintains.

  “Whoever bumped into me on the street picked my pocket.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “You some kinda magnet fo’ lowlifes, McKenna? It barely been six months since that Kong guy stole your checks.”

  “Seven, but who’s counting? Yeah, now they got my wallet and credit card and—”

  Alexander cut me off. “I know what’s in a wallet. Was it that guy on the street?”

  I felt like an idiot. I’d been hit by a pickpocket. “I need to file a police report.” I shuddered at the thought of going through the whole process again. Reporting the theft was bad enough. Dealing with creditors would make it an almost endless to-do list. I wanted to blame this debacle on Donny, but he’d had nothing to do with it. The crook who got me had worn a sweatshirt, not a T-shirt, and he wore a hat, which Donny hadn’t been wearing.

  “More lost time. I’m puttin’ a chastity belt on your wallet.”

  I wish that had sounded funny to me, but it hadn’t. What was going to happen now? Thanks to Kong’s identity-theft ring, I was still fighting with attorneys and creditors. With luck, the entire incident would become nothing more than a bad dream in another few months, and now the clock was starting over? Alexander had nailed it. I needed protection.

  We didn’t bother with The Roasted Bean, but trudged back to the car. On the way, Alexander called Benni. “Hey, Sis, we need the police station.”

  The sun felt unbearably hot despite the cool trade winds. Maybe I hadn’t been drinking enough water? Or was it warmer than predicted? Or was I just feeling overwhelmed with embarrassment and dread? I watched Alexander as he held the phone away from his ear—I could just imagine Benni’s reaction.

  A few seconds later, he said, “No, not that at all. McKenna lost his wallet.”

  “I didn’t lose it! That son-of-a-bitch stole it.” My eyes began to sting. How could I have let this happen?

  “Yah, yah, some guy picked his pocket on the street.” A few seconds later, he said, “Mahalo, Sis.” When he looked at me, I saw concern etched on his face. “Look,” he said, “Benni don’t want us telling the cops about Andi. Not yet.”

  “Why not? It’s the perfect time. We’re already going there.” Damn, I sounded cranky. And I hated sounding cranky. This was paradise. It was supposed to be a fun trip. I swore under my breath, then said, “Maybe I can get a twofer.”

  “What?” Alexander snarled.

  “You know. Police reports. One for Andi, one for me.”

  “You don’t need one for Andi.”

  “Yeah, yeah. She’s not a missing person. Just a mother-daughter difference of opinion. Yada, yada. Has Benni said anything new?”

  “Never mind. She beginning to piss me off. Don’t you join in.”

  Right. Big mystery. Don’t tell McKenna. Were there other rules coming my way? I’d back off for now, but something had to break soon. “Got it,” I said. “The kid’s gone missing voluntarily and I’m supposed to find her without letting her know her mother is worried. Maybe I could learn to read minds while I’m at it.”

  “All I can say is Benni must have her reasons for acting like this. And she ain’t even telling them to me.”

  Oh, goodie. Reasons. I’d love to hear those. I was beginning to feel like one of those burgers on Benni’s grill—the flames on my ass were making me sweat and every time I did, I got scorched with another black mark.

  An hour and a half later, we were done with the police report. Having gone through this process seven months ago, I wanted to plant my hands over my ears and scream “La la la...” while they told me what I should do next. On the other hand, that would have made me look more stupid than I already felt.

  An officer at the front desk called across the room to our report taker. “Ochoa! Got a lady on the phone says she found a wallet for a Wilson McKenna in her shopping bag.”

  Ochoa shrugged, then said, “Maybe it’s your lucky day, Mr. McKenna.”

  “My credit card’s probably already cancelled by my bank. You call that lucky?”

  “It’s being returned—maybe intact.” Ochoa gazed at me with impassive, brown eyes and an expression that conveyed a hint of impatience.

  “Awesome,” I grunted. A second later, I felt terrible for sounding like an ingrate. “Sorry, it’s not your fault someone did this.” It was time to suck it up and get back on track.
“It was in a shopping bag? Where?”

  The other officer said, “Lady’s a guest at the Royal Waikoloan. You gonna pick up, Ochoa?”

  Our guy acknowledged the question with a head bob as he answered the phone and introduced himself. A moment later, he said, “Ma’am, where exactly did you find Mr. McKenna’s wallet?”

  I stared at Alexander, who looked back at me, his head shaking. How weird was this?

  “Yes, ma’am, I understand your concern. Can you have the hotel lock up the wallet until Mr. McKenna can get there?”

  I heard Alexander swear under his breath. I looked at him. “Where’s the hotel?”

  “Up north. Kohala Coast.”

  Oh crap, we’d be on the road for at least an hour.

  The trip to and from the hotel was uneventful. And quiet. We got my wallet, which appeared to be completely intact with nothing missing. On the way back to Benni’s, I called my bank again. As I suspected, they’d cancelled the card immediately when I had called in the first time. Until I returned home, all I had was cash—and not much of that. Neither Alexander nor I could come up with a reason why someone would steal my wallet, then drop it in some lady’s shopping bag without making even a single charge or taking the ID. So far, this trip had been nothing but trouble. And confusing as hell. Quite frankly, I was fed up.

  The night air was cooling by the time we arrived at Benni’s. We dragged ourselves up the steps, neither wanting to be the one to tell her how much time we’d lost thanks to my little wallet drama. She met us at the door, took one look at our faces, and shook her head. “Let me guess, more bad news.”

  “Tough day, Sis?”

  Benni rolled her eyes. “I’ve been ferrying Cam around the island for photo ops again. I’m turning into an alcoholic’s chauffeur and babysitter. I’m ready to tell him to stuff this job.”

  “Don’t do that, Sis, you need the money.”