Read Online 5 Murder at Volcano House by Chip Hughes - Free Book Online
Authors: Chip Hughes
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fate defeated his reign as the geothermal king?
He shakes his head. He bows. He moves closer to that milky pond, almost stumbles, and his wife dashes from the limo to right him. She turns him around, guiding him back to the car. They both climb in. I hide among the ‘
ōhi‘a
trees when the limo passes, raising a dust cloud. A Touch of Grey brieflydisappears among the trees, then jumps into his car and raises a dust cloud of his own. I fire up the Boxster and follow both dust clouds back to the Volcano House.
Tuesday evening the Ransoms leave me alone. Donnie calls once to say they are dining in their room. I’m relieved and re-pack my bag. Their flight to Kāua‘i via Honolulu departs at noon. Except for following the Ransoms back to Hilo tomorrow morning, I’m done. Well, I’ll continue to keep an eye out for A Touch of Grey—
whoever he is
.
I phone Ashley in Denver again. And leave another message. I want to ask her about the Hawaiian bracelet with her name on it I found at the scene of the Pali crash, and about the party she attended celebrating the Lindquist twins’ twenty-first birthday. Frustrating as it is not to hear from Ashley, I’m glad to have a case waiting for me when I return to Maunakea Street. And also glad to put this glorified chaperone gig behind me.
I eat alone that night. On my way back from the hotel restaurant I walk by the Ransoms’ room. I hear tapping and stop. The tapping seems to be coming from the room next door. Is it the toe tap of a hotel guest listening to music? Or maybe some kind of secret code?
Or just my overactive imagination?
twelve
Wednesday morning, I’m awakened by a call. I was wrong. Donnie does need my services. She says her husband insists on walking the Crater Rim Trail again before breakfast. For his health, she tells me. And he’s going alone. She doesn’t say why. No worries, I reply. I’ll be waiting for him by the trail.
Same drill as before. I hide behind the corner of the hotel when Ransom appears. The old man hobbles out the side door, makes his way awkwardly across the lawn with his cane, and sets out even more slowly than before—with no one now to support his feeble progress. I let him get ahead of me, far enough so he won’t think he’s being followed, but not so far that I lose sight of him.
The air is chilly and thick with mist. The sky is ghostly white. Visibility is even worse than yesterday. We’re walking in a cloud. Double exposures, odd outlines, and shrouded images distort even the most familiar objects. I stick close to Ransom. He shouldn’t be left alone in this murk.
I look behind me. No Touch of Grey in the parade. To track Ransom today he’d have to be close. He’s not. Why go to so much trouble to follow a man and then just quit?
Not me. I’m still on the case. I follow Ransom, just the two of us, alone on the trail. Not even any other tourists at this hour. We leave the Volcano House behind and head into the tree ferns. The old man is under those green umbrellas when he puts his cell phone to his ear. He talks briefly, and then hangs up.
He hobbles on. Finally he reaches The Steaming Bluff, the goal of his solo hike. He stops at the first gaping vent and leans against the top guardrail. The steam, billowing thick with sulfur, still appears to be the most visible threat to his wellbeing.
A young woman approaches him from the opposite direction. Even through the steam I can tell she’s oddly dressed for the trail: flowing crimson gown, shimmering black hair, flame-red lipstick, and eyes vivid with dark shadow and liner. She’s attired more for a prom than a hike. Ransom sees her and they appear to lock eyes briefly.
Who is this woman? She looks hauntingly like a well-known
kinolau
of Pele. Donnie mentioned this guise of the goddess in my office—the seductive young woman in red. My client didn’t describe her in detail. She didn’t need to. Like most people who grow up in the islands, I know. That
kinolau
and
He shakes his head. He bows. He moves closer to that milky pond, almost stumbles, and his wife dashes from the limo to right him. She turns him around, guiding him back to the car. They both climb in. I hide among the ‘
ōhi‘a
trees when the limo passes, raising a dust cloud. A Touch of Grey brieflydisappears among the trees, then jumps into his car and raises a dust cloud of his own. I fire up the Boxster and follow both dust clouds back to the Volcano House.
Tuesday evening the Ransoms leave me alone. Donnie calls once to say they are dining in their room. I’m relieved and re-pack my bag. Their flight to Kāua‘i via Honolulu departs at noon. Except for following the Ransoms back to Hilo tomorrow morning, I’m done. Well, I’ll continue to keep an eye out for A Touch of Grey—
whoever he is
.
I phone Ashley in Denver again. And leave another message. I want to ask her about the Hawaiian bracelet with her name on it I found at the scene of the Pali crash, and about the party she attended celebrating the Lindquist twins’ twenty-first birthday. Frustrating as it is not to hear from Ashley, I’m glad to have a case waiting for me when I return to Maunakea Street. And also glad to put this glorified chaperone gig behind me.
I eat alone that night. On my way back from the hotel restaurant I walk by the Ransoms’ room. I hear tapping and stop. The tapping seems to be coming from the room next door. Is it the toe tap of a hotel guest listening to music? Or maybe some kind of secret code?
Or just my overactive imagination?
twelve
Wednesday morning, I’m awakened by a call. I was wrong. Donnie does need my services. She says her husband insists on walking the Crater Rim Trail again before breakfast. For his health, she tells me. And he’s going alone. She doesn’t say why. No worries, I reply. I’ll be waiting for him by the trail.
Same drill as before. I hide behind the corner of the hotel when Ransom appears. The old man hobbles out the side door, makes his way awkwardly across the lawn with his cane, and sets out even more slowly than before—with no one now to support his feeble progress. I let him get ahead of me, far enough so he won’t think he’s being followed, but not so far that I lose sight of him.
The air is chilly and thick with mist. The sky is ghostly white. Visibility is even worse than yesterday. We’re walking in a cloud. Double exposures, odd outlines, and shrouded images distort even the most familiar objects. I stick close to Ransom. He shouldn’t be left alone in this murk.
I look behind me. No Touch of Grey in the parade. To track Ransom today he’d have to be close. He’s not. Why go to so much trouble to follow a man and then just quit?
Not me. I’m still on the case. I follow Ransom, just the two of us, alone on the trail. Not even any other tourists at this hour. We leave the Volcano House behind and head into the tree ferns. The old man is under those green umbrellas when he puts his cell phone to his ear. He talks briefly, and then hangs up.
He hobbles on. Finally he reaches The Steaming Bluff, the goal of his solo hike. He stops at the first gaping vent and leans against the top guardrail. The steam, billowing thick with sulfur, still appears to be the most visible threat to his wellbeing.
A young woman approaches him from the opposite direction. Even through the steam I can tell she’s oddly dressed for the trail: flowing crimson gown, shimmering black hair, flame-red lipstick, and eyes vivid with dark shadow and liner. She’s attired more for a prom than a hike. Ransom sees her and they appear to lock eyes briefly.
Who is this woman? She looks hauntingly like a well-known
kinolau
of Pele. Donnie mentioned this guise of the goddess in my office—the seductive young woman in red. My client didn’t describe her in detail. She didn’t need to. Like most people who grow up in the islands, I know. That
kinolau
and
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