Fun Fact: First person over the North Cascades Highway on opening day? Ted Bundy, future infamous serial killer, who was the limo driver for then-Governor Dan Evans.
“Ted Bundy worked for Governor Evans?” Kawika asked the clerk.
“That’s right. Ted had the Guv up at Washington Pass. Dan survived, though!”
Kawika meant to buy a copy of The Virginian, but the famous serial killer’s odd connection to the governor and the Methow Valley distracted him. He took the map and found his way to the deck of Sun Mountain Lodge, perched on a high hill looking down over the glacier-carved valley and up at the glacier-sharpened peaks. In the warm air, he could smell a fragrant mix of evergreen forests, sage and bitterbrush, haying, and some faint combination of wildlife and cattle, all rising from the valley floor and surrounding hillsides. He ordered a local beer and gazed out across the valley, surveying the smooth and undulating terrain below the mountains. It reminded him of the smooth and undulating curves of the woman he could not decide whether to let himself love.
He saw two horses and riders far below. Cowboys or tourists? Impossible to say. Side by side, far from the ranches on Kohala Mountain’s flanks, they left two wakes in the tall grass.
57Winthrop
When Kawika had confided his romantic dilemma, his mother’s frank response surprised him. Now, drinking beer at Sun Mountain Lodge, he recognized she’d given him a lot to think about.
“I didn’t stop loving your father,” she’d said. “I just couldn’t stay in Hawaii. The first two years were heaven. By the last two years, I felt I was swimming in molasses, barely able to move; if I didn’t get out, I’d drown. Your dad was the opposite. If he’d left Hawaii he would have wasted away. But in the beginning, I was young, your father was gorgeous, and yes, to be the haole lover of a handsome Hawaiian—that was completely acceptable, yet still exciting, a real turn-on.”
“Mom, I—”
“Don’t worry, I won’t embarrass you. And no, I didn’t love him just for that. He’s kind and gentle too. Thoughtful, wise, filled with good humor—as you know. Easy to love. But I couldn’t sit still in Hawaii. Which is why I’d worry about you and Patience. Could you two be happy in the same place? She sounds like a wonderful young woman—don’t get me wrong. I was pretty wonderful too, if I do say so myself. I just wasn’t right for Jarvis. Not forever. Too restless for Hawaii, too twitchy.”
“But you’re not saying, ‘Stick to your own kind?’”
“No, of course not. It’s more complicated. The divorce didn’t involve race; it was personality type. But in the beginning, what was exotic and novel did contribute to desire, and desire led to you. We just couldn’t live in the same place. In the end, nothing could disguise that, not even a child.”
Kawika’s stepfather, Pat, also had advice after Lily had selectively summarized the conversation for him. The next morning, he’d lingered in Seattle to share his own views.
“I don’t think race has much to do with this, Sport,” he’d said. “Make your choice—flip a coin if you have to—but get out of this two-timing situation. Don’t agonize about what would have happened if you’d chosen the other one. You can never know that. If you’d chosen the other one, you might’ve been hit by a truck on the first day. And for all you know, one or both of these admirable young women is deciding to go her own way right now. Meanwhile, you’ve got matters of life and death to think about. Focus on those, Sport.”
Kawika made up his mind to focus on matters of life and death. “Any cell phone reception here?” he asked the waiter.
“Yes, sir. Here and a few other places in the Valley. Not many, though.”
Kawika flipped open his phone. Reception seemed perfect. He dialed Tanaka first. He planned to explain that he’d chosen the Methow Valley to recuperate and then found he couldn’t resist a little sleuthing once he’d arrived. He’d worried how Tanaka might react, but he needn’t have.
“Glad you called,” Tanaka said. “We dug out a bullet—the first shot, from what you described. Went right through that wall and into the dirt. Left a big old trail. Just kept getting bigger and bigger.”
“Terry, that’s not exactly comforting.”
“Sorry. The point is, we got a ballistics report on it. It’s a .375 H&H Magnum bullet. Nearly 300 grains, apparently.”
“What’s that? Never heard of it.”
“It’s a big slug, Kawika. Used in Africa mostly. Sometimes in Alaska for bears. Not common here. Too big for animals we’ve got.”
“Too big for wild pigs?”
“At 300 grains? Yeah, if you want to eat the pig.”
“Do we know the make of the rifle? The model?”
“Nope,” said Tanaka. “Presumably a rifle that can handle .375 H&H Magnum ammo.”
“Did we find the casings?”
“No. The shooter must have picked them up. But the slug tells us a lot. It’s nonstandard, oversized. Maybe handloaded. If we find the gun, we can match it. The ballistics are distinctive.”
“Why was the shooter so stupid?” asked Kawika, thinking back to Pat’s words on getting away with murder. “He should’ve used something common, something the locals hunt with, something that uses .30-30 ammo maybe, or .30-06. There must be a lot of those on the island. Or something newer but still common?”
“Maybe he’s not stupid,” replied Tanaka. “Maybe he wants us to trace the ammo. Maybe it belongs to someone else.”
“It’s possible, I guess.”
“Yeah. Someone tried to frame Peter Pukui for killing Fortunato. Why not frame someone for killing you?”
“Have I mentioned Occam’s Razor?” Kawika asked.
“You mentioned it. You didn’t explain it.”
“Well, let’s just say this: the guy’s a bad shot; maybe he’s also stupid. When I apply Occam’s Razor—and even when I don’t—I like that explanation best.”
“Me too,” Tanaka
