JoAnn Bassett - Islands of Aloha 07 - Moloka'i Lullaby Page 12

  It probably wasn’t the best choice of words under the circumstances, but still, we all smiled. We watched the little guy’s chest heave up and down, as if he was psyching himself up for a grudge match. You gotta love a kid who doesn’t give up. Definitely my kind of kid.

  “Have you named them yet?” I said.

  “No. We talked about names, and Farrah definitely has strong feelings about it, but we agreed to wait until we have a chance to get to know them a little before making a final decision.”

  “Can we see Farrah now?” I said.

  Ono checked his watch. “Yeah, it’s visiting hours, so you can go in. I’d rather you didn’t say anything about all this,” he said, gesturing to the mass of equipment in the neonatal ICU. “She thinks they’re in the regular nursery.”

  “She’ll find out soon enough,” said Hatch. “I mean, won’t she wonder why they haven’t brought the babies in to her?”

  “She doesn’t know the drill,” said Ono. “And until she’s stronger, I don’t want to worry her.”

  Huh. So, maybe keeping secrets was some kind of “man thing.” Personally, I think if my kid was fighting for his life, I’d want to know. Farrah was Ono’s wife now, so it was technically none of my business. But she was still my best friend.

  We went down the hall to Farrah’s room. It was a private room, done up ultra-feminine, with pink floral wallpaper and a cozy ivory-colored loveseat with ruffled pink throw pillows tossed artfully across the back of the seat. I had to suck back a grin. Farrah, no doubt, hated it.

  Farrah was awake. She looked wiped out. They’d combed her cloud of espresso brown hair into a messy ponytail on top of her head, making her appear somewhat volcanic. From the waist down she was covered by a blanket, but it was hard to miss the dark spots blooming through the thin hospital gown. Her milk had come in, but her babies had not. I wondered how long Ono would be able to keep up the ruse that everything was normal.

  “Aloha,” she said in a thin voice. “Mahalo for coming. I guess our babies decided to make an early appearance.”

  For a second, I didn’t know what to say. Did she know she was in Honolulu? Did she remember having the seizure? Or getting rushed to the hospital on Maui, and then later being loaded on a helicopter and flown to Queen’s in the middle of the night to have a Caesarean section?

  “Aloha, yourself, Momma,” I said. “You look great. How do you like this girly-girl room?” I gestured toward the frilly curtains in the window like Vanna White beaming at a completed puzzle on Wheel of Fortune.

  She smiled. “It’s cool. I guess having babies is about as ‘girly-girl’ as it gets.”

  I wanted to pounce on that statement and remind her that even though her so-called “male” dog had had a litter of pups she still stubbornly refused to refer to it as female, but this wasn’t the time. I stashed it away for future reference, though.

  “How’re you doing, ku’uipo?” said Ono, leaning in to give her a kiss. “I’m so proud of you.”

  “I’m proud of me, too,” said Farrah. “I think we should name these kids Heli and Copter. That was pretty far out for me to fly over here, don’t ya think?”

  Ah, so she did remember.

  “You can name them anything you want,” Ono said. “I love you so much. After what you’ve been through, letting you name them is the least I can offer.”

  So far, Hatch hadn’t said anything. I looked at him, and he appeared uncomfortable, averting his gaze and clenching his fists.

  I turned back to Farrah. “Can I get you anything?” I said. “A drink of water or something?”

  “No, mahalo, I’m cool. But if I could have a few minutes alone with my husband…”

  “Oh,” I said. “No worries. We’ll wait right outside.”

  I grabbed Hatch’s hand and pulled him toward the door. He’d been staring at the machines over Farrah’s bed with a tiki-god scowl on his face.

  “What’s going on with you?” I said.

  “Did you see those monitors?” he said in a low voice.

  “What? No. What’s the problem?”

  “Her BP’s still high, and her temp’s up a bit, too,” he said.

  “Maybe that’s normal in situations like this,” I said.

  “I don’t think so,” he said. “Delivering the babies should’ve fixed the BP. And the elevated temp means she could be getting an infection. I need to talk to the doctor.”

  “Maybe you should tell Ono, and have him to talk to the doctor,” I said. I would’ve thought Hatch, who’d been both a cop and a firefighter, would understand the need for observing proper hierarchy and protocol, not to mention boundaries.

  “Ono won’t have a clue what the doc is saying,” said Hatch. I thought he sounded arrogant, but after two sleepless nights, I figured his social skills were probably running a bit thin.

  “True, but don’t you think Farrah’s husband should be the first to know if anything’s wrong?”

  He seemed to consider it. “How about I take him with me to talk to the doc?”

  “Sounds like a plan, but—”

  My phone chimed, and Hatch shot me a look. “You’re not supposed to have that thing on in here,” he said.

  There were signs throughout the hallways demanding that visitors turn off their cellphones. I had no idea what the big deal was, except maybe with all the beeping and pinging from the machines, the medical staff felt they shouldn’t have to put up with any more electronic chatter than necessary.

  I didn’t recognize the number, but it was an “808” number: the area code for Hawaii.

  “Hello, Pali?”

  “Yes. And you are…?”

  “I’m sorry; it’s Malama. I didn’t want to bother you, but I don’t know what to do.”

  “What is it? Has Amanda gone missing again?”

  “Amanda went missing?” she said. “When?”

  “Yesterday we were supposed to go down to Kalaupapa on the mules, but Amanda turned back and then didn’t answer her phone for the rest of the day. I heard from her last night, but I’d already left Moloka’i.”

  “You’re not here?”

  “No. I’m in Honolulu. Is Amanda okay?” I said.

  “She’s fine. In fact, she’s the problem. Last night there was an accident, and she’s trying to blame my son.”

  “What? What kind of accident?”

  “It’s Mr. Atkinson. He fell, and they took him to the hospital.”

  “Is he all right?”

  “I don’t know. No one’s saying much. But Amanda’s making it sound like it was Leonard’s fault. And it wasn’t; it was hers. ”

  I waited for her to fill in more details, but instead she said, “Could you come back over today? I don’t know what to do.”

  “I’m at Queen’s Hospital,” I said. “I can—”

  Malama gasped. “You’re in the hospital? Oh my, I’m so sorry to bother you. Are you okay?”

  “No, it’s not me; it’s my best friend. She just had twins.”

  “Congratulations! That’s wonderful to hear.” Her voice didn’t match her words, however. Her tone sounded as if I’d just told her she shouldn’t expect any help from me now, or anytime soon.

  “The babies are premature,” I said. “They’ll probably be here for a while. I’ll see what I can do about catching a flight to Moloka’i this afternoon. Since Amanda’s my client as well as yours, I want to help get to the bottom of this.”

  “Mahalo, Pali. Call me when you get here. I’ll see if Leonard can pick you up at the airport. That is, if they haven’t already thrown him in jail.”

  “I won’t need a ride,” I said. “I have a loaner car. Tell me where you live and I’ll come over there as soon as I get in.”

  She gave me directions to her house in Maunaloa and we hung up.

  “What was that about?” said Hatch.

  “My Moloka’i wedding. It seems there’s been an accident and the groom’s been taken to the hospital.”

  “The old guy?
”

  “Yeah. And the bride’s blaming it on the caretaker at the house where they’re staying.”

  “Okay. So, where do you fit in?”

  “The caretaker’s mother is the local woman who’s helping me with the wedding.”

  “Ah, so she’s dragging you into it.”

  “I have to go, Hatch. I’m the one who dragged her into this mess in the first place. I can’t just abandon her.”

  He pulled me to him, enveloping me in a tight hug. “You know, you’re too nice.”

  “I’ll remind you of that when we finally get a chance to talk about you quitting your job.”

  “I’ve got it under control, babe. Really.”

  This wasn’t the time, or the place, to discuss it.

  He dropped his arms and checked his watch. “When are you going?”

  “As soon as I can get a flight. Hopefully, by the time I get back, we’ll know more about what’s going on with Farrah.”

  “That reminds me,” he said. “I’ve got to go find that doctor.”

  My phone rang again.

  “You need to shut that thing off,” he said.

  “It’s probably Malama again,” I said.

  “Hurry back,” he said. He leaned down and kissed me lightly on the lips. Then he headed down the hall.

  I picked up the call just as it was about to go to voicemail.

  “Pali?” said the caller. “It’s me.”

  It didn’t sound like Malama. “Amanda?”

  “Yeah. I already told you it was me.”

  As I waited for her to tell me what was going on, I walked down the hallway toward the elevator and pressed the call button.

  “I heard there was a mishap over there,” I said. “How’s Richard doing?”

  “This is all your fault,” she said. “You and that, uh, …that peon who works for George.”

  The elevator pinged and the doors slid open. I was ten floors up. If I stepped in, I’d probably have to call Amanda back, since reception can be nonexistent in an elevator. But I was eager to get to Moloka’i and straighten things out.

  “Amanda, I’m just about to get into an elevator. Can I call you right back?”

  “Oh, sure. I’m in the middle of a freakin’ crisis here, and you’re blowing me off. That’s just great.”

  “I’m not blowing you off,” I said. The elevator doors closed. Fortunately, I was the only person in there. “It’s just that cell phones sometimes don’t work too well in elevators.”

  Amanda said nothing.

  “Amanda? Are you there?”

  The only sound I heard was the whoosh of hydraulics as the elevator began its ponderous journey a hundred feet down the shaft.

  CHAPTER 18

  The elevator gave a cheery ping as it reached the lobby level. The doors opened and I clipped across the lobby to the main entrance. Once outside, the cacophony and humidity of downtown Honolulu hit me like a slap in the face. I’ve never been much of a city dweller. During the four years I was on O’ahu for college I always knew exactly how many days I had before my next trip home to Maui.

  I called Amanda back.

  “It’s about time,” she said. “I was wondering if you’d totally thrown me under the bus.”

  “I’m on my way over there,” I said. “I’m at Queen’s Medical Center in Honolulu. My best friend had a seizure and was airlifted here last night.” I hated sounding as if I was going for the pity vote, but I felt I owed her an explanation. Or maybe I was just trying to get her to back off a little.

  “So?” she said. “What’s that got to do with me?”

  “Probably nothing. Please tell me what’s happened.”

  “Richard got in late last night and him and George got in a big fight. And then, that stupid gardener guy pushed him in the pool.”

  “Lono pushed Richard in the pool?” I said. “Why?”

  “Who knows? Probably George put him up to it.”

  “Are you sure Lono pushed Richard in the pool? Maybe he fell in; you know, accidentally.”

  “Uh-uh, nothing accidental about it,” she said. “I saw the whole thing.”

  “I’m on my way over there,” I said. “We can talk then.”

  ***

  I grabbed a cab outside the hospital entrance and made it to the inter-island terminal in less than half an hour. I paid the driver, but in my haste to get out, I grabbed my beach bag purse by the wrong end and dumped the entire contents on the floor of the back seat.

  “Sorry,” I said. I scrabbled around the sandy floorboard scooping up my phone, my wedding planner emergency supplies pouch, a ratty hairbrush, and a wad of receipts from various fast food places.

  “Take all the time you need, lady,” said the driver. “It’s not like time is money for me, or nothin’.”

  When I’d retrieved everything I could find, I brushed off my hands and zipped up the bag.

  “I think I got it all,” I said. I hopped out and shut the door.

  “Have a nice day,” said the cabbie through the open front window. Then he screeched away from the curb.

  I sprinted to the counter and said I was booked on the next flight to Moloka’i. The young woman behind the counter looked like the Malibu Barbie doll I’d had as a kid: shiny long blond hair, perfectly even tan, and slanted blue eyes rimmed with thick black liner. Her name tag read, “Candee.”

  “Do you have any bags to check?” she said. She peered around the suitcase scale as if hoping to see me dragging a bag in my wake so she could charge me the additional fifteen bucks.

  “No, I’m just going for a short visit. Is that the plane out there?” I pointed to a tiny single-prop plane sitting at the gate. It had “Mokulele Airlines” written on the tail.

  “Yes, it’s leaving in a few minutes. You going round-trip?”

  “No, I’ll buy the return ticket later.”

  Candee mashed her lips into a tight line.

  “And how will you be paying?” she said.

  “Cash,” I said. I rummaged through my bag looking for my wallet. I couldn’t find it. I pulled out my phone and kept digging, but there was no wallet in sight.

  Candee drummed a hot-pink fingernail against her computer keyboard.

  “Uh, on second thought, do you accept payment by phone or Paypal?” I said. “I’ve set up direct pay from my checking account to both of those.”

  “I’ll need to see some photo ID,” she said.

  “Of course.” I continued to dig through the bag. “It seems I can’t find my wallet right this second,” I said. “How about a business card? I have a business card with my name on it.”

  “Look, we don’t do TSA checks for inter-island,” she said. “But you still won’t be able to get on the plane without photo ID.”

  “I think I left my wallet in the cab coming out here,” I said. “But here’s the deal: I’m a local. I live on Maui and my friend had to be airlifted over here because she had pregnancy complications. Anyway, as you can see from my business card, I’m a wedding planner and I’m doing a wedding on Moloka’i, so I need to get to Moloka’i right away. Stuff fell out of my purse on the ride out here, and my ID was in my wallet. This will just be a quick trip, and—”

  “Stop,” she said. “You’re gonna need to tell it to my boss.”

  She raised her hand and waved it around like a student waiting to be called on in class, and a pinch-faced deeply tanned woman with a wiry build and severely short salt and pepper hair zipped over to the counter. She had the beady-eyed countenance of a mynah bird.

  “My supervisor will handle your reservation,” said Candee, as she stepped back to make way for bird-woman.

  “Aloha,” I said, squinting to make out the supervisor’s name on her badge. “Madge, is it?”

  “Aloha. How can I help you today?” said Madge.

  I reiterated my flight plans and my inability to photographically prove my identity. Madge nodded sympathetically, then smiled. It wasn’t an “I understand” smile; it was a
“gotcha” look. As if she was finally going to have the opportunity to put all that boring Homeland Security training into action. She could just see it now: her name on the front page of the Honolulu Advertiser for thwarting a devious plot to take down a nine-seater island hopper on its way to Moloka’i.

  “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to step over here,” she said. She led me to the end of the counter, and pulled out a bulky hand-held radio.

  The prop on the plane outside began turning.

  Two minutes later, a fleshy guy in a blue TSA uniform lumbered over. He chatted quietly with Madge before turning to me.

  “Where you headed today?” he said.

  I told him my story. Then, I followed it up with, “I’m a former air marshal with Homeland Security. My name is Pali Moon. Although I’m no longer on the job, you can check it out with your boss. I used to fly through HNL on flights to Taipei.”

  He grunted. “What was your badge number?”

  I told him.

  “Who was your supervisor?”

  I told him.

  “How long does it take to get from here to Taipai if you got no delays?”

  “A little over ten and a half hours at five hundred miles an hour,” I said. “But a commercial flight usually takes longer because of airspace congestion at Songshan airport. So, it’s usually about thirteen hours, wheels up to wheels down.”

  “Mind if I take your picture?” He held up his cellphone.

  “Why?”

  “I gotta check some things out.”

  I didn’t smile for the photo.

  Candee announced the plane was ready for departure, and I figured I’d missed it. I plopped down in an orange plastic chair and pulled out my phone to text Hatch and ask him to call the cab company. Then a shadow fell over me. The rotund TSA officer was looming above, blocking the light from the floor-to-ceiling windows.

  “Okay,” he said. “You checked out. Better get out there. They’re ready for take off.”

  He waddled away in a gait unique to guys who’ve eaten more than their share of plate lunch washed down with too much beer. I wondered how a guy like that passed his yearly physical, but as is the case with most of my musings, it was none of my business.