Where There's a Will

doors had been jammed or rusted shut, and since they didn’t have underwater flashlights or breathing equipment, and everything was a jumble inside, they hadn’t been able to see much else.

“Jesus,” Hedwig breathed. “As if we needed this.”

The snorkelers, Inge went on, had gotten the plane’s registration number from the fuselage and reported it to the ship’s captain, and eventually the number was traced back to the plane’s Hoaloha Ranch ownership. The Waimea police department was notified, and they were the ones who had called Inge with the news.

“N7943U,” Axel said from memory.

Inge checked her notes. “That’s it.”

“What do they want us to do?” Dagmar asked.

“The police?” said Inge. “They don’t want us to do anything. They just called to tell us. But the Kiribati—pardon me, Axel, Kiribass—officials want to know if we want the remains back. Personally, I think the best thing to do would be to just leave them where they are. The less attention we stir up, the better. And it’s not as if it’s him out there, it’s just a few bones that don’t really mean anything any more.”

“I agree,” Axel promptly put in.

“Amen,” said Hedwig. “Don’t meddle with Fortune’s wheel. The plane went down there for a reason, whether we understand it or not. Let it be.”

“Fortune’s wheel!” Dagmar was shocked. “And what do you mean, ‘a few bones that don’t mean anything any more’? Sometimes I don’t know what’s the matter with you people. To leave him out there like that, on that little... no, no, I want him back here on his own land.” She stared imperiously around her, challenging them to disagree, and muttering: “ ‘A few bones that don’t mean anything.’ ”

Inge hesitated. “What do you think?” she asked Felix, who was silently swirling the ice in his glass.

Felix took a moment before answering. “In my opinion, we should have him brought home,” he bellowed— his normal speaking voice ranged anywhere from bellow to roar. “Not only because of what Dagmar says, but because it would look strange—suspicious, even—if we don’t.”

“But who’s going to know either way?” Axel asked.

“The police, bird-brain,” Inge said fondly. “I’m supposed to call them back, remember? Felix is right.”

“Oh, yeah,” Axel said, then nodded. “Okay, I’m with Felix, then. We better bring him back and bury him here, what’s left of him. A quiet, private, family burial.”

Dagmar nodded regally to signify approval, although she’d glowered at the “what’s left of him.”

“So how do we go about getting the remains back?” Hedwig asked. “Does anybody know?”

“I wouldn’t think there’s much to it,” Felix said. “We’ll probably have to get some kind of formal approval from the Kiribati government, wherever it is—”

“The capital is Tarawa,” said Axel.

“—but any reputable ocean salvage firm will know the ropes. When I get back to Honolulu I’ll check around for one. We can split the cost between us.”

“I’ll pay,” Dagmar said. When the others opened their mouths to protest, they were silenced with a fierce tilt of her chin.

“She who must be obeyed,” said Felix, salaaming in her direction.

“Idiot.”

“Okay, that’s the way it’ll be, then,” Inge said. She glanced at the antique Swedish clock over the mantel. “Now. John and Gideon will be here at six. That gives us almost an hour to make sure we’re all reading from the same script, in case the papers get hold of this, or if the police have more questions.”

“Speaking of John and his friend,” Hedwig said, “I don’t see any reason for them to know anything about this.”

“Too late,” Axel said. “I already told John and he told Gideon.”

Hedwig looked disbelievingly at him. “That was dumb.”

“Well, I figured it was bound to come out anyway, and if I didn’t mention it, it would look as if we were hiding something.”

“We are hiding something.”

“Yes, but we don’t want to look as if we are,” Axel pointed out.

“Point taken,” Hedwig said, submitting gracefully to this superior logic. “Okay, let it all hang out.”

“Not all,” amended Felix.

FIVE

THE wood-branch lettering above the entrance in the split-rail fence said “Kohala Trails Adventure Ranch,” and just inside, where a couple of dirt roads intersected, there was a post with two handpainted signs: a “Stop” sign— or rather, a “Whoa” sign—and one below it that said “Howdy, Podnuh. Horseback Riding Adventure, Thisaway. Ranch House, Thataway.”

They turned Thataway, toward a white frame house that looked like a bigger, better-kept version of Axel’s and Malani’s. “John,” Gideon said, “when we were driving up from the airport, you said that ‘naturally’ nobody wanted to have the dinners at Hedwig’s. Why is that? Why ‘naturally’?”

“Well, for one thing, the Wellness Center menu is strictly vegetarian, and just a little weird besides. But mainly because it wouldn’t be the same if Auntie Dagmar wasn’t there, and Auntie Dagmar won’t go to Hedwig’s.”

“Uh...Auntie Dagmar?” He had been drifting a little during the short drive from Axel’s place, lulled by the gentle