Primitive Secrets Read online

  “Just your ass?”

  “Robbie!” Leila barked at her son. “Go watch TV.” She turned her attention back to Storm. “We need to call the cops back.”

  “This has been a really shitty day.” Storm stomped toward the kitchen phone and tried to ignore the buzz that was beginning in her ears.

  She called the police and reported the missing file, then came back into the living room and dropped into a chair. “They’re going to call me back.” She rubbed her temples. “Wanna know how bad my day has been? I walked into Rick’s apartment this evening and he had another woman there.”

  “No!” Leila’s eyes grew round. Both she and Robbie gaped at Storm, then Leila turned up the TV, grabbed Storm’s arm, and dragged her into the kitchen.

  “That sonofabitch,” Leila hissed. “When did this happen?”

  “Right before I got home.”

  “I guess he didn’t know you were coming. Rick, that is.”

  “No, but he was.” Storm tried to laugh, but her voice wavered. “Bad joke. My night for surprising people, huh?” She turned away, opened the refrigerator and rummaged inside, clinking bottles together. Leila stared at her.

  Storm mumbled inside of the refrigerator. “Want a glass of wine? I could use some. Matter of fact, I could use some food. You won’t believe what I did—”

  The phone interrupted her. Storm reached for the receiver at the same time that someone knocked on the door. Leila went to the door and got there with Robbie.

  “Hi. I met you at the hospital last night.” Hamlin offered his hand to Leila, then Robbie. “Is Storm all right? I was jogging and saw police cars outside.”

  “She’s okay. Have a seat, I’ll let her tell you about it. She’s on the phone.” Leila led him to the living room.

  Two minutes later, Storm walked in. “Hi, Hamlin. Want a drink?” Storm set the bottle down. Three stemmed glasses rattled in her hands. Hamlin took them from her, sat down on the sofa next to Leila as if he’d been there a dozen times, and pulled the cork.

  Storm dropped into a chair and looked at Hamlin and Leila. The buzzing in her ears was louder and her head was starting to ache since talking to the cop, who had rattled papers over the phone, grunted a few syllables, and said goodbye.

  Storm’s eyes traveled back to Hamlin. He was in running shorts and was answering a question Leila had apparently asked him. Leila’s face was tight and pale. Her gaze went back and forth between Storm and Hamlin like a spectator at a tennis match, oblivious to the fact that Robbie was glued to The Simpsons, which she didn’t allow him to watch.

  Storm wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. This could not be her life; she was boring. She was the type who didn’t even know when her boyfriend was cheating on her. Funny that Hamlin had shown up when he did. Those legs were something. They could go a long way to cheer a woman up.

  Leila’s hand, offering a glass of wine, distracted Storm from the legs. Storm reached out and smiled in what she hoped was a pleasant expression of coping. If she got the giggles now, Leila would have her back at the hospital, but in the psychiatric ward. She took a deep breath and kept her eyes above Hamlin’s shoulders. “Did Leila tell you that some papers were stolen?” She thought she sounded as if she were speaking down a long pipe, but Leila and Hamlin didn’t seem to notice.

  “Yes.” Hamlin poured a glass for himself.

  Storm repeated that the only thing she could find missing was sixty dollars and the file. “The cops think it’s a bunch of kids. They think I frightened them away before they were finished.”

  “Maybe,” Hamlin said.

  “Why would kids want a bunch of papers?” Leila asked.

  Hamlin shrugged. “The police are probably asking themselves the same question. Problem is, unless there’s something to tie this burglary to others, or unless the investigator has some solid clues as to who broke in, he can’t justify an allotment of manpower to look into what looks like a random B & E. They’ve got murders, arson, and accidents to check out, too.”

  “So I’m on my own.” Storm’s face hardened.

  “Not entirely. They’ll run prints and see what turns up. They’re just spread a little thin.” Hamlin grinned at her. “You have Leila and me.”

  This is when she might have at least chuckled, but Storm’s sense of humor had departed like Fang fleeing the neighbor’s rottweiler. She took a healthy belt of her wine and didn’t even remember to enjoy his legs. This whole week was looking like hell. Her headache and ear buzz fused into a piercing throb.

  “What were those papers anyway?” Hamlin asked.

  “Nothing I saw looked important.” She looked at Hamlin. He knew that Hamasaki handled sensitive issues. “Some beef about Hamasaki’s neighbor’s seawall and some notes on the prices of old folks’ homes.” Storm sighed. There had been two hand-scribbled, barely legible pages breaking down the cost of private home care for the elderly versus one of the swanky local nursing homes and a note with Sidney O’Toole’s name and some phone numbers. Storm hadn’t looked twice at that one. O’Toole was his golf partner, after all.

  “And you’ve had them since he died?”

  “Yeah.” Storm did not feel like sharing the fact that Hamasaki had given them to her last Friday. She was supposed to have discussed them with him Monday morning. However, she’d spent the night at Rick’s after a dinner with a bit of wine and hadn’t finished reading them. As a consequence, she’d been a little late to the office Monday. When she arrived, she’d found Hamasaki cold in his chair. Even though the medical examiner stated that Hamasaki died Sunday night, Storm felt guilty. And she still hadn’t gone through all of the papers as carefully as she’d have liked.

  Leila set her wineglass down on the coffee table with a click. “You should move in with us for a while.”

  “Good idea,” Hamlin said. “Stay with Leila for a few nights. You’ll feel better.”

  Robbie walked over to them with Fang in his arms. The Simpsons must be over.

  Leila looked at her watch. “It’s nine o’clock. Storm, I’ll help you pack some things. We’ll load your car and you can follow us home.”

  Hamlin stood and gathered the glasses. “I’ll rinse these for you.” He gave Storm’s shoulder a squeeze with his free hand. “Call me if you need help, okay?” He looked over at Leila. “You, too.”

  “I’ll go throw a few things in a bag,” Storm said.

  When Storm came out of the bedroom, Robbie was asleep on the couch. Lying on his tummy was Fang, her head in the curve of Robbie’s neck. Storm could hear the cat’s purr from across the room. “You mind if we bring the cat, too?” She twisted her mouth into a smile.

  “Wouldn’t think of leaving her,” Leila said. “After the initial shock, Pua will enjoy the company.” Leila referred to her aging English bulldog.

  Storm followed Leila and her drowsy passenger to Leila’s house, several miles away on one of O’ahu’s mountain ridges. Once they tucked Robbie in, Leila insisted that Storm have a sandwich. The women sat together, Storm hunched over a plate, her gaze out the window on the twinkling lights of the city below.

  “I have to tell you something. Rick might call here when he can’t find me at my place.”

  “Huh?” Leila snorted. “After what that asshole’s done—”

  Storm’s words were muffled by bread and she kept her eyes on her plate.

  “Chili?” Leila’s eyes widened. “I love it!”

  Storm peered up at her friend and let a smile twitch the corners of her lips. “Yeah.”

  Leila chuckled. “Why didn’t I ever think of that?”

  “Their underwear was in the hall. Like they couldn’t wait.” Storm giggled. “I dropped a big blob on her sexy g-string. That was an accident, but it gave me the idea.”

  Leila grinned. “You did the bed?”

  Storm’s face was bright red. “Just in case they were planning to retu
rn.”

  Leila threw her head back and guffawed.

  Storm sputtered on breadcrumbs. “I was so mad I acted like Pua playing tug-of-war. You know, when her eyes roll back in her head?”

  Leila wiped her eyes. “Don’t ever get mad at me, okay?”

  “What do you think she’ll do?”

  “The new girlfriend? If she’s got any brains, she’ll call a cab and never look back.”

  “He’ll tell her he’s being stalked.”

  “So what?” Leila took Storm’s empty plate to the sink.

  Storm followed with the glass and noticed that the buzzing in her ears and the headache were nearly gone. “Says a lot for my intelligence.”

  Leila laughed again. “I’ve been there, too.” She gave Storm a push. “We’ve got to get to bed, or we’ll be zombies tomorrow. Especially after the day you’ve had.”

  Storm nodded her head in agreement. As she brushed her teeth, she wondered who would risk breaking and entering for a lousy sixty bucks and a bunch of trivial papers. On top of Uncle Miles’s death, the burglary of her house and his papers weighed on Storm. She swallowed a hard knot in her throat and remembered how Uncle Miles had looked at his desk, as if he were asleep. Had death crept upon him without any warning whatsoever?

  Chapter 9

  Storm slept like she’d been drugged and woke to the smell of rich coffee. Six-thirty and she could hear water running. Plenty of time for a shower and a cup of coffee with Leila before she headed out. Maybe she would have two. She was going to have to face Wang and tell him that not only had Hamasaki’s briefcase not turned up, the file he’d requested for the last two days had been stolen.

  When Storm walked into the office, the receptionist gave her a big grin. “There’s a packet on your desk,” she said.

  Storm nearly dropped her laptop. “Good news or bad? I can hardly stand any more surprises.”

  The woman’s expression was reassuring. “We think it’s good,” she answered.

  We? Storm hurried into her office and dumped her computer case and files on a chair. A flat manila envelope with the Hawai’i State Bar Association return address was positioned so that when she sat down, she couldn’t miss it. Storm didn’t bother to sit down. She ripped it open and looked at her bar certification with tears pooling in her eyes. She was a real lawyer, now. If only Uncle Miles could have seen it. Well, who knows, maybe he could. Her lips curved into a smile that quivered a little bit.

  A soft knock on the doorframe caused her to look up. Hamlin was standing just outside the office with two coffee mugs in his hands. “I would have brought champagne, but I’d fall asleep during this morning’s deposition.

  Then I had the idea you might let me treat you after work.

  So I brought coffee.”

  “How’d you know it was good news?”

  “It’s like college. When you don’t get in, you get one of those skinny white envelopes.” He cocked an eyebrow at her. “So what do you say?” He handed her a mug.

  “Yeah, that sounds good.” Storm sat down on top of a stack of papers on her chair. She stood up. “What time?”

  “Come get me when you’re done.” Hamlin raised his mug to her and left.

  Storm pulled a sheaf of papers from her in-box that one of the partners had left for her to research. When someone knocked on the door, she came up for air, wondering if she’d forgotten an appointment.

  Wang walked into her office. “I wanted to extend my congratulations. We’re all proud of you.”

  “Thanks.” Storm set her mug down on her desk and squared her shoulders. “Mr. Wang, my house was broken into last night and Hamasaki’s files were stolen. I—I’m sorry.”

  A look of what might have been fright on Wang’s face turned to concern. “Were you home? Was anything else stolen?”

  “Some money.”

  “Any idea who did it?” he asked.

  “The police think it was addicts.”

  Wang nodded. “Probably. You should get your locks changed. Get dead bolts, too.” He turned to go, then stopped. “The Hamasaki family is meeting in forty-five minutes for the reading of the will.”

  Storm gave him a few seconds to get down the hall, then sagged in her chair with relief. She’d given him the bad news without even setting his tic off.

  The phone dislodged her thoughts and a voice with a businesslike tone identified himself as Roy Tam. The name sounded familiar. Oh yeah, Tam was the head of a local labor union. Storm sat up straighter.

  “Ms. Kayama, I wanted to let you know how sorry we are about Miles Hamasaki’s death. We’re sending a donation in his memory to a foundation Bitsy…er, Mrs. Hamasaki named.”

  “Thanks for your concern, Mr. Tam. It’s been quite a shock.”

  “Of course,” Tam said. Storm could hear him rattling papers. “Hamasaki was working with us on a bid for a highway renovation out by the airport. I’d like you to take over the job, if you feel up to it.”

  Storm set her coffee cup down, sloshing some onto her desk. She knew the case; Hamasaki had shown her some of the proposals. “Are you sure you don’t want a lawyer with more experience?”

  “This is straightforward. You’ve got to start somewhere.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Tam. Sure, yes. I’ll give it my full attention.”

  Storm hung up the phone very carefully, got up, closed her door, and did a dance around the desk. Then she did the Hallelujah Chorus under her breath. Either Uncle Miles or Aunt Bitsy had pointed some heavies in her direction. A second later, Storm stopped and gazed across the small room.

  Tam must know that she passed the bar. The coconut wireless was operating at full tilt and the speed of it was making her dizzy. Uncle Miles had taught her that information was power. Even Hamlin had known about the theft of the file minutes after she’d discovered it. She needed to pay more attention to what the people around her were doing.

  She had a half-hour before the reading of the will. With a pencil, she first doodled a comical picture of Fang, then wrote down the subjects of the papers in Hamasaki’s file: seawall, nursing homes, Dr. O’Toole’s phone numbers. None of these notes seemed significant. What had she missed in that file folder?

  Storm sketched leafy vines between the three topics. Whom could she trust to keep her confidence, yet share information? Storm squinted into the distance; a gray head passed by her partially open door. Lorraine looked a little better than she had at Wednesday’s memorial service, though she had aged a decade in the last five days. But Lorraine would help, if not for Storm’s sake alone, then out of loyalty to Hamasaki.

  Someone tapped on the frame of Storm’s door. Meredith Wo peeked around the corner. “I need to ask you some questions,” she said.

  “Sure.”

  Wo perched on the edge of the seat facing Storm’s desk and held out a little tin of imported candies. “Mint?”

  “Sure, thanks.” Storm popped the hard sphere into her mouth and regarded Meredith. The woman seemed fidgety. Her hair was limp and she had a pimple on her shiny nose. She looked like she was working too hard. Not that Storm felt cocky; Meredith earned a few hundred grand a year and didn’t have two black eyes.

  Wo crunched one of the candies between her teeth. “You’re going to the reading of the will, aren’t you?”

  Storm glanced at her watch and nodded.

  “Have you seen it? When he was alive?”

  “Not recently, but I don’t expect many surprises. Uncle Miles was straightforward about money. He wanted all his kids to be economically self-sufficient.”

  “That sounds like him.” Wo also looked at her watch. “Did Hamasaki ever tell you about a cancer patient? I can’t remember the person’s name and was hoping you might know.”

  “A malpractice case?”

  “I don’t know. Hamasaki told me he wanted me to look over some medical charts on a guy. I got the impression he didn’t
know if the patient had a case or not.” She sighed. “I never heard any more about it.”

  “I haven’t seen a reference to a patient in any of his papers.” Storm thought of the paper with Dr. O’Toole’s name and phone numbers, but didn’t mention it. Not only had Hamasaki and O’Toole been old friends who golfed together twice a week, but Hamasaki had helped O’Toole with a rancorous divorce a few years ago. The notes could refer to anything.

  Wo got up to go. “I guess it was one of Hamasaki’s passing thoughts.”

  “Wish I knew something.” Storm got up and walked down the hall with her. Wo’s office was across the corridor from the conference room.

  Wo looked sideways at Storm. “How’s Cunningham treating you?” she asked.

  “He hardly ever talks to me. Wang can be a little tough, though,” Storm said.

  “He’s a detail man.” Wo nodded toward the room. “Looks like everyone’s there. I’ll see you later.” She headed into her own office and closed the door.

  Storm entered the conference room, gave Aunt Bitsy a hug and shared embraces with Michelle. She had to explain her black eyes to the women. David stood up and nodded while Martin pulled the chair out next to his.

  Lorraine fussed in the corner with a coffee and teacart, and when Cunningham entered, she headed toward the door. Cunningham smoothed one side of his carefully arranged silver hair and motioned Lorraine to an empty chair. “Please join us,” he said. “You’re mentioned in the will, also.” He stood at the end of the long table and smiled down on the small group. “Let’s get started. It’s not a complicated will and most of you probably know what’s in it.”

  For Storm, the will held a few surprises, mostly good ones. The first was that Hamasaki’s estate was bigger than she had expected. With the oceanfront home, which had appreciated astronomically over the last twenty years, he left his wife a combination of assets worth over twenty million dollars. His pension fund, mostly in blue-chip stocks, was worth about four million and he also had quite a bit tied up in commercial real estate properties.

  Storm sat back in her chair, a little smile on her face. He’d mentioned interest in a few shopping centers and office buildings, but she hadn’t been paying full attention to his low-level flow of information. He had also left Lorraine ten thousand a year in a mutual fund for the three decades of what he called their “partnership.” It was worth well over a million dollars, now.