“You need an assistant?” Kawika asked, jokingly. “Or maybe a business partner?”
“You applyin’ for the job?”
“No, but I know a woman who’d love to work with you.”
“The woman you’re with?”
“Your wife mentioned her?”
“Yeah. Madeline liked her, I guess.”
“She liked Madeline too.”
“Cats, probably.”
“Probably.”
“So, that woman or another one?”
“Another one, actually. A Native Hawaiian. She wants to reforest an entire island.”
Jimmy turned to Kawika and laughed. “Hell,” he said. “That’s probably more than fifteen hundred acres. Have her give me a call. We could compare notes.” He handed Kawika a simple business card:
Jimmy Jack’s
Methow Valley Land Repair
&
Wildlife Restoration
P.O. Box 5454
Winthrop, Washington 98862
(509) 555-5454
Kawika took the card and read it. “I see you matched your box number and your phone number,” he said. “That’s helpful. Is it easy to arrange?”
“Joe Crane, a guy at the phone company back then, he was helping the Feds with their investigation—he did it for me,” Jimmy Jack replied. “Had a friend at the post office too. It’s Madeline’s birthday: May 4, 1954. That’s why I picked them numbers. Easy to remember.”
Kawika thought about it: 5454. 5/4/54. May 4, 1954.
“You have cell phone reception here?” he asked suddenly.
“Not down here, but back on the ridge.”
“Excuse me,” Kawika said. “I’ll be right back.” He hiked quickly up to the ridgetop and called Patience at the Freestone.
“P,” he said, “Remind me, what date was Steve Kellogg murdered?”
“Let me see,” she replied. “Here it is: August 9, 1998.”
Kawika stood silently, thinking hard. August 9, 1998. 8/9/98. 8998. Frank Kimaio’s number: 8998.
“Kawika?” she inquired, breaking his concentration. “I have a question for you. Do you know about Bill Harding?”
“Who’s Bill Harding?”
“He was Melissa Harding’s brother. Melissa Jane Harding—Fortunato’s wife. So Bill Harding was Fortunato’s brother-in-law. The guy who sold Rattlesnake Ranch to Fortunato. You won’t believe this: Bill Harding drowned, Kawika. He went fishing alone, and he fell out of his boat. Does that sound familiar?”
“He drowned?”
“He drowned in that lake right over there,” said Jimmy, suddenly pointing over Kawika’s shoulder. Startled, Kawika jumped and spun around, dropping his cell phone. Jimmy bent, retrieved the phone, handed it back. He’d walked up right behind Kawika, unseen and unheard.
“Jesus, Jimmy, you scared the shit out of me.”
“You said you walk good, Hawaii. But you don’t. You walk noisy.”
65On the Road
Kawika guessed Jimmy Jack would call Marshal Hanson and that Hanson would run Kawika right out of town. Which is exactly what Hanson did. By the time Kawika got to the Freestone, the marshal and Patience were sitting in the lobby.
“Your bags are packed, Detective,” the marshal said. “Time you hit the road. I warned you, if you poke around about Ralph Fortunato, we really can’t have you here. Not right now. Someday we’ll welcome you and Ms. Quinn back to the Methow. But that day’s not here yet.”
Kawika considered what he might say. He decided to say little.
“Okay. Can’t blame a lawman for trying, Marshal. But I guess that’s it for now. C’mon, P. Let’s head down to Wenatchee, get you on a plane.”
Hanson smiled tightly and nodded to each of them.
“Oh, one thing,” Kawika said, turning at the door. “Okay with you, Marshal, if we take the East Side Road instead of the highway? I’d like Ms. Quinn to see that side of the river.”
Hanson smiled. “Take any road you like. Just take it out of town.” He tipped his Stetson hat.
Kawika said, “Follow me in your car, P. I’ll see you in Wenatchee.” He kissed her, then gave her a hug and whispered, “Stick close.”
As Kawika expected, Hanson followed them no further than the main intersection in Winthrop, where he watched them turn south. Kawika continued south but passed the turnoff for the East Side Road and stayed on the highway. A mile later he turned onto a dirt road and parked under a big ponderosa, nearly hidden by the lower branches. Patience, confused, stopped her car. He jumped in. “Drive,” he said.
She drove, but not without questions.
“I’ve got to come back,” he explained. “The marshal will expect that. He may figure I stashed my car and rode with you, and that I’d come back here by plane. If he does, I’m hoping he’ll look for my car along the East Side Road, near the airstrip, not where I just left it.”
“Why do you have to come back?”
“I’ve got to talk with Melissa Harding now that we know about her brother getting killed.”
“I can’t get over it, Kawika. Fortunato must’ve murdered his own brother-in-law!”
“Yup, and not just his brother-in-law. Probably Thomas Gray back on the Big Island too, right? Did the newspapers suggest Harding’s death might be a homicide? That there was anything suspicious about it?”
“Nope. Not a hint. But the Hawaii papers didn’t hint that Thomas Gray’s death might be a homicide either. Yet it was, wasn’t it?”
“Must have been,” Kawika agreed. “Here’s where we apply Occam’s Razor, right?”
“Right,” she said. “It’s all so spooky, not just gruesome. I mean, if you didn’t know about both deaths, you might never guess either one was a murder.”
“Yeah, and if you did you’d never prove it,” he said. “For the Hawaii one, Fortunato must’ve had an accomplice, though—someone who brought him back to shore. They found Gray’s boat halfway to Maui. And the accomplice might still be alive; maybe we can find him. But at the lake, Fortunato could have handled it himself. Drown Harding, take the boat to shore, give it a good push back out into the lake.”
“Could you prove they were murders now, knowing about both?”
“Maybe,” he said. “Especially if we found the accomplice in Hawaii. Two men sell Fortunato land at inflated prices, both end up dead, and both die the same way. If we could prove Fortunato split the overpayment with—”
Kawika’s cell phone rang. It was Tanaka. “Got some news,” he said. “Kids playing near the Lili‘uokalani Gardens found two shell casings for .375 H&H Magnum cartridges.”
“What? I thought our forensics guys already searched the whole area?”
“It’s embarrassing,” Tanaka admitted. “Our guys must’ve missed ’em. No
