Birds in Paradise

By Gregory A. Morris

What begins as just another case for Jake Stewart, a rather cynical Houston based on private detective, turns out to be an introduction to the mysteriously cultural world of the Hawaiian Islands. When everyone seems to have a different story surrounding the ten-year-old disappearance of a local man, Jake and his brother, Marshall, wonder if they'll ever be able to report the truth to the man's long distraught daughter. When Jake and Marshall stumble onto the truth, the action heats up as they race against time and the Hawaiian underworld to make things right for all concerned. The islands of Hawaii provide the backdrop for this intriguing mystery filled with the magical atmosphere found only in the deep, southern tropics where sunsets are a major daily event and surprises await around every turn.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Aug 11, 2000
• ISBN: 9781469714899

Gregory A. Morris

Gregory A. Morris lives and writes in The Woodlands, Texas.

Book preview

Chapter One

Honolulu, Hawaii

Ten Years Ago

At precisely twelve o’clock, as the sun hung directly over the central Pacific, the annual Christmas party began at the capital investment firm of Cooke & Thompson Ltd. An assistant stood by and dutifully jangled a leather strap studded with sleigh bells. Ishmael Thompson III, the senior partner, and grandson to one of the founding partners, officially transferred the phones over to the answering service. Cooke & Thompson Ltd. shut down for the holidays. Every year, as far back as anyone could remember, the office closed during the last two weeks in December. It was a ritual Ishmael Thompson took great pleasure in preserving.

Tradition was important to Ishmael Thompson. His was a family history steeped in many old and revered traditions. He began learning them at an early age from his grandfather, the original Ishmael.

Around the turn of the century, the elder Thompson set sail from New England aboard a whaling schooner. Young and adventurous, he searched the high seas for life’s destiny. He immediately fell in love with the tropical wilderness and exotic culture of the Hawaiian Islands. When his ship left for the states, he stayed behind, deciding to seek his opportunity and fortune there in the middle of the vast Pacific Ocean.

Ishmael went into partnership with an Anglo landowner, Stephen Cooke. The two men negotiated trade agreements between the island people and the increasing ship traffic coming from America and the Orient. Early on, Ishmael took the daughter of a local native as his wife.

Tragically, the girl died giving birth to their only son. The boy eventually gave Ishmael his grandson.

Over the years, the business evolved and prospered with the changes in commerce between the United States and the burgeoning Pacific Rim nations. By the time Ishmael Thompson stepped down and retired during the boom years following World War II, the emphasis of the business had switched from commerce to capital. Investing became more profitable as the allure and attraction of the newest United State drew the wealthy and famous from around the world.

At only forty-nine years old, Ishmael the third felt like a father to the people of his family’s firm. He took care of them well—another tradition started by his grandfather. The benefits enjoyed by the people of Cooke & Thompson caused a level of loyalty not found in many other investment houses.

Everyone received ample vacation time and bonuses throughout the year, and the annual two weeks off during the Christmas holiday was the envy of all who knew of it. The people at the office often came to Ishmael for advice about personal matters. Everyone admired and respected him. Ishmael had never married, and had no family of his own. His employees were his family.

Following his Yuletide speech, in which he praised the accomplishments of the past year while mildly hinting at increased goals for the next, Ishmael Thompson III smiled like a fit and deeply tanned Santa Claus. He wore standard Hawaiian business attire: simple khaki slacks and a brightly colored Aloha shirt. For the occasion, he wore a beautiful Haku lei around his neck made from shiny, dark green maile leaves interlaced with tiny, orange ilima flowers. The flowers made a thin, closely knit rope wrapping through the leaves.

The lei contrasted sharply with his peppered gray beard and hair. His features were both hard and gentle at the same time. Had he been standing on the bow of a nineteenth century sailing ship slowly easing into view of some small tropical atoll, his would have been the spitting image of his seafaring ancestor. He threw open the koa wood doors to the conference room revealing mass quantities of iced champagne, a fully stocked bar, and a lavish array of pupus, island style hors d’oeuvres and snacks. It was time for the party to begin.

Peter Kodama was an investment advisor with the firm. He stood next to a large window in the conference room overlooking the Aloha Tower and the Port of Honolulu. He took a deep pull on a half empty bottle of Primo beer. Seth Matsuki, one of the company’s bond traders, stood next to Peter sipping a Rum and Coke while his eyes scanned the room. A small crowd gathered around the food table enveloped in a low roar of conversation. The other employees and guests mingled together in the outer offices and hallways.

Dis be da best one so far, yeah? said Seth.

Peter shrugged. Seth was young, and hadn’t been with the firm very long.

We’ve had a good year, said Peter. Ishmael should be very pleased.

Fo real, brah, said Seth. He should be. But I meant da party. Ishmael really went all out dis year. All dis and a cruise off Waikiki? Da man, he must be cookin’.

Peter nodded and finished off the beer.

You ready for a refill? he asked.

Let’s go, said Seth.

The two men went to the bar where Peter mixed Seth a drink, and then pried the top from another bottle of beer.

Hey, brah, said Seth discreetly. You check out Shawna today in dat tight skirt? Chee, I’m tired of all dese women in dose muumuus. Dat short dress look good, yeah?

I think Shawna looks good in a muumuu, replied Peter with a quiet chuckle.

Seth nodded.

Yeah, man. But, I bet she look good out of one, too.

Anyone ever tell you you’re a pig, Seth? said Peter jokingly. You should be roasting in the bottom of an imu. Why don’t you just ask the girl out? She might even say yes.

Seth nodded some more and sipped his drink. He thought over the possibility. Most men considered Shawna Collins a bombshell. She was blonde and tanned with a near perfect figure, as far as anyone could tell. Before coming to work at Thompson & Cooke, she attended the University of Hawaii where she received a Bachelor’s degree in business. She won a few local beauty pageants, and also did a little modeling work for a swim wear maker up on the North Shore. But despite her looks, and the impression they gave most people about her, she was a very smart woman, and took her work as a sales assistant seriously.

Peter finished off the beer and got himself another. He wasn’t a heavy drinker, but he planned on drinking a lot that day. It was Christmas time in the islands, and a good time was to be had by all. Seth sipped at his drink, shuddering each time because it was so strong.

What’s the matter, Seth? Are you cold?

Shawna Collins appeared from around a group of people standing at the conference table. Seth almost dropped his drink, and Peter snickered quietly to himself.

Oh, howzit, Shawna? said Seth. Chee, we need a new bartender. Dis guy don’t know how to make anything but a bottle of beer.

So, said Shawna. You tending bar, Peter?

Peter bowed slightly.

Despite what our uncouth colleague believes, he said. I’m not too bad at the bar. Beer just happens to be my specialty.

Then, one beer, please, she said.

A wise choice, he replied.

Peter opened a bottle and poured the beer into a clear plastic cup.

Heh, Shawna, said Seth. Good party, yeah?

Shawna nodded as she took a small sip of the beer. Her attention turned to the crowd. Peter quickly finished his beer and got another. He looked at Seth and smiled.

You going out on da cruise, Shawna? asked Seth.

Without looking at him, she said, Of course. Listen, I’ll talk to you guys later. Thanks for the beer.

She skated off to a group of clients who had just appeared at the food table.

I think she likes you, said Peter.

Dat one cold wahine, yeah brah? said Seth. When we go to da marina? Dis party no mo’ fun.

An hour later, Peter Kodama drove his tuxedo black 1964 Corvette Stingray up Ala Moana Boulevard toward Waikiki. The sun was a deep orange and glowing ball hanging above the ocean far off to his right. Peter drove alone. Traffic on the boulevard moved slowly but steady, the official pace in the islands. Only the tourists, driving rented mopeds and compact cars, sped along. They hadn’t yet changed over to Hawaii Time.

Peter’s head was spinning from the beer. Without looking down he lifted the bottle from between his legs and drank another big swallow. The exotic and highly commercialized scenery of Honolulu passed by him in a blur of color and light and differing textures. A warm and humid breeze blew through the open windows of the car rustling his thin, black hair. Only the sun seemed to remain still, even as it slowly dropped out of the sky.

Along the pristine, leeward beaches, palm trees swayed in the heavy, tropical breeze. The sky began its nightly change of colors. Modest, frothy waves, pulled from the ocean by the moon still hovering slightly over the horizon, kept a natural beat. In the early evening sky, pastel clouds formed claiming a front row seat to the most popular magic show in town. Anticipation hung like a mystical blanket in the dimming light over Oahu.

It was a short drive from downtown to the big Ala Moana Shopping Center. By mainland standards, every drive in Hawaii is a short drive. The small black Stingray slipped over the Ala Wai Canal Bridge then turned into the yacht marina. Peter Kodama parked and stood next to the car. The rhythm of the ocean was hypnotizing. He rubbed his face and gazed around him in a half drunken stupor.

At the far end of the curving, crescent shoreline, past the main cluster of beachfront hotels, the distinctive shape of Diamond Head crater loomed majestically. It stood watch over Waikiki like a castle on top of some medieval European principality. On its summit several aircraft position lights twinkled like the jewels of a crown in the dimming twilight. The high-rise hotels and condominiums of Waikiki sparkled while the day began to die. The nightly ritual as old as the first hotel on the beach was about to start.

Peter Kodama breathed deeply, taking in the invigorating and fragrant sea air. His head cleared slightly, but his arms and legs felt distant to him.

Soon, the others began arriving in the parking lot. Their laughter and camaraderie were heard over the competing sounds of the sea. Peter climbed back in his car. He sat for a moment in the smooth worn red leather seat and finished his beer. His hand slipped over the steering wheel and gearshift knob, and he smiled. He got out of the car and locked it, then walked over and met a group from the party as they headed toward the yacht slips.

The Prince Kuhio was an old and graceful seventy-five foot motor yacht. Her bright white hull was trimmed in emerald green, and she was adorned with plenty of polished brass and exotic wood. She had a low main salon with a burgundy teak roof and round portholes around the perimeter. The back of the salon opened with sliding glass doors onto a large party deck. A teak walkway and railing surrounded the ship.

She was a classically designed yacht, and would have looked right at home anywhere in the world. Her bow might have cut through the muddy northern flowing waters of the Nile, or she may have been based on the French Riviera making frequent jaunts to the Greek islands. Her current service, however, was as a charter yacht, available for local and inter island cruises among the islands of Hawaii.

Ishmael Thompson the third stood on board and greeted his guests. Standing beside him was Captain Marcus Heldring, a Dutchman who had commanded the Prince Kuhio for five and a half years. The two men stood on the party deck at the top of a wooden gangway leading up from the dock. As each person came on board, a pretty young Hawaiian wahine placed a lei made of orchids and rosebuds around their neck.

Mele Kalikimaka, Peter, said Ishmael.

He took Peter’s hand in the two of his, and gripped it tightly.

I’m so glad you could join us for our celebration, he continued. You’ve been a large part of our success this year. Your efforts and loyalty are very much appreciated.

Peter Kodama gazed through glassy eyes and nodded.

I present to you Captain Heldring, said Ishmael. Captain Heldring is in charge of this magnificent vessel.

Captain Heldring bowed slightly, but didn’t speak.

Please, Peter, continued Ishmael. Take care of yourself and our other guests. Enjoy the sunset and the cruise.

Thank you, Ishmael. Merry Christmas.

Peter joined the others on the party deck and opened another beer.

The yacht pushed gently through the warm waters off Waikiki Beach, tacking back and forth on a perpendicular course to the shoreline. From his vantage point, leaning on the railing around the ship, Peter Kodama stared ashore. As the sun set lower and lower, the light shining over the green cloud shrouded hillsides weakened.

The colors changed; became darker and more subdued. Peter held a dark brown bottle by its elongated neck and stood with one foot up on the lower railing. A stiff breeze blew against his face, again rustling his fine, Oriental hair. The perfume from the flowers around his neck wafted around him and mixed with a salty sea mist. He thought about the sun.

The sun was Hawaii’s most valuable commodity. Those raised in the islands were especially aware of its importance. It was the reason thousands of tourists from all over the world flocked to the island shores: to bask in its warmth, to tan by its rays.

The sun provided heat and light for hundreds of acres of pineapple, sugar cane and tarot fields throughout the island chain. Through the process of evaporation, it pulled moisture from the sea and provided the abundant rainfall that nurtured the lush tropical paradise. The sun is Hawaii’s benefactor. It is revered and praised like the pagan gods worshipped by the island’s early inhabitants.

Each day, after completing its twelve-hour arc through the heavens, Mother Ocean swallowed up the sun in a blaze of color and spectacle. Sunset was a time of celebration because, as sure as it was to set, the sun would rise the next day. Many around the tropical latitudes experienced the celebration of the setting sun. Everywhere water stretched to the western horizon, people gathered to say goodnight as our nearest star slipped beneath the sea for its deserved rest.

Waikiki Beach was no different. The hotels expected and planned for the crowds that swelled each evening to eat and drink and gaze across the water counting down the moments. Peter Kodama leaned on the railing and stared as Pacific trade winds blew through palm fronds and flaming torches along the coarse sandy beach. He picked up strains of Polynesian music drifting out to sea along with the sweet smell of plumeria and ginger blooms.

Hey, brah, exclaimed Seth Matsuki.

He staggered up to Peter as the yacht pitched slightly in the ocean chop.

You okay? You look drunk, man.

Peter took a pull from the bottle, and then smiled.

Very drunk, he said. And getting drunker. Can’t somebody make this damn boat stay still?

Matsuki laughed and took Peter by his arm.

Okay, brah. You better come with me. Everyone on other side. Da sun ‘bout to hit. You come.

Peter and Seth joined the rest of the party gathered on the port side of the yacht, facing out into the endless ocean. The dull orange sphere hovered just inches above the water’s surface. Everyone held their breaths as if they could stall the