the empty black asphalt leading away in either direction. The Honda glided to a stop, thoroughly smoked. It seemed like she was always too little, too late.
Chapter 11
Lei was curled up on the couch later, eating her Hot Pocket, when her cell rang. She thumbed it open.
“Hello?”
“Lei? It’s Michael.”
“Hey Stevens,” she said.
“Quit calling me that. I just wanted to check in with you, give you an update. Nice work on the folder.”
“Thanks.”
“We’ve been running down some calls on Reynolds’s cell, re-canvassing the girls’ neighborhoods, and setting up the interview with the witness. Doing it tomorrow—still want to come?”
“Of course. When and where?”
“I thought we’d try to be less intimidating, so it’s at Hilo High School library at 10 a.m. Wear civvies.”
“Okay. Hey, a little something I think you should know,” she said, and told him about the car chase.
“Could be related, but it’s a stretch. You probably freaked some poor guy out.”
“In my old granny car? C’mon, he was laughing as he dusted me. I really need some decent wheels.”
“Why don’t you get some?”
“Right,” she said, playing with Keiki’s ear. “Ha, ha.”
“No, really, I’ve got a friend who works at the dealership downtown . . . he’ll find a good deal for you. Let’s go tomorrow after the interview.”
Lei felt that bubble again, something reckless and wild, something like joy.
“What the hell. Let him know we’re coming,” she said, and said goodbye. She turned to Keiki. “We’re going car shopping, baby.”
She had always been careful with money, going to community college in California, being thrifty, and making do. When she arrived in Hilo two years ago, it was with savings she had built up. She’d bought the 1989 Civic for $1500.00 cash and, other than her dog, had no major expenses.
I really can afford to get a new car, she thought, and grinned.
Suddenly Keiki barked in the living room, the full-throated baying that signaled a stranger.
“Keiki! Come!”
The big Rottweiler continued to bark, her ruff distended, the boom of the dog’s voice almost shaking the walls. Lei grabbed her Glock out of the holster on the headboard, bolted up from her bed, and ran into the room, her gun out.
“Hello?” she called, but there was no answer except Keiki’s snarling as the dog faced the front door. She signaled Keiki back and put her eye to the peephole.
There was no one on the little porch. She opened the door and saw the gleam of paper, and bent down to retrieve the note that had been slipped partially under the mat, carefully holding it by a corner.
“Patrol,” she told Keiki, giving her a hand signal. The dog went silent and trotted around the house, sniffing at the windows, and finally whisked through the dog door to do her circuit outside. Lei knew she would bark if there was anything there. She retrieved a pair of gloves and snapped them on. She sat down at the table and slit the envelope with a steak knife. It was the same computer paper, folded twice around a single sentence:
I’M THINKING ABOUT YOU. IT BRINGS BACK MEMORIES.
What the hell did that mean? She battled the urge to crumple the paper and throw it as far away as she could. Instead she slipped it and the envelope into a Ziploc bag. Adrenaline buzzed through her. She hadn’t become a cop so she could sit around waiting to be a victim again and she was sick of being too little, too late. Damn if I’m going to sit here and let him scare me. He must still be nearby.
She slipped on her running shoes, clipped her cell phone onto her waistband, shrugged into the shoulder holster and whistled for Keiki. The dog streaked back in, still silent. She slipped the choke chain over Keiki’s head. All playfulness was gone as Keiki waited, her triangle ears pricked.
“Work,” Lei said, giving her the hand signal. She turned off the lights, letting her eyes adjust. She armed the house, pulled the Glock,
Chapter 11
Lei was curled up on the couch later, eating her Hot Pocket, when her cell rang. She thumbed it open.
“Hello?”
“Lei? It’s Michael.”
“Hey Stevens,” she said.
“Quit calling me that. I just wanted to check in with you, give you an update. Nice work on the folder.”
“Thanks.”
“We’ve been running down some calls on Reynolds’s cell, re-canvassing the girls’ neighborhoods, and setting up the interview with the witness. Doing it tomorrow—still want to come?”
“Of course. When and where?”
“I thought we’d try to be less intimidating, so it’s at Hilo High School library at 10 a.m. Wear civvies.”
“Okay. Hey, a little something I think you should know,” she said, and told him about the car chase.
“Could be related, but it’s a stretch. You probably freaked some poor guy out.”
“In my old granny car? C’mon, he was laughing as he dusted me. I really need some decent wheels.”
“Why don’t you get some?”
“Right,” she said, playing with Keiki’s ear. “Ha, ha.”
“No, really, I’ve got a friend who works at the dealership downtown . . . he’ll find a good deal for you. Let’s go tomorrow after the interview.”
Lei felt that bubble again, something reckless and wild, something like joy.
“What the hell. Let him know we’re coming,” she said, and said goodbye. She turned to Keiki. “We’re going car shopping, baby.”
She had always been careful with money, going to community college in California, being thrifty, and making do. When she arrived in Hilo two years ago, it was with savings she had built up. She’d bought the 1989 Civic for $1500.00 cash and, other than her dog, had no major expenses.
I really can afford to get a new car, she thought, and grinned.
Suddenly Keiki barked in the living room, the full-throated baying that signaled a stranger.
“Keiki! Come!”
The big Rottweiler continued to bark, her ruff distended, the boom of the dog’s voice almost shaking the walls. Lei grabbed her Glock out of the holster on the headboard, bolted up from her bed, and ran into the room, her gun out.
“Hello?” she called, but there was no answer except Keiki’s snarling as the dog faced the front door. She signaled Keiki back and put her eye to the peephole.
There was no one on the little porch. She opened the door and saw the gleam of paper, and bent down to retrieve the note that had been slipped partially under the mat, carefully holding it by a corner.
“Patrol,” she told Keiki, giving her a hand signal. The dog went silent and trotted around the house, sniffing at the windows, and finally whisked through the dog door to do her circuit outside. Lei knew she would bark if there was anything there. She retrieved a pair of gloves and snapped them on. She sat down at the table and slit the envelope with a steak knife. It was the same computer paper, folded twice around a single sentence:
I’M THINKING ABOUT YOU. IT BRINGS BACK MEMORIES.
What the hell did that mean? She battled the urge to crumple the paper and throw it as far away as she could. Instead she slipped it and the envelope into a Ziploc bag. Adrenaline buzzed through her. She hadn’t become a cop so she could sit around waiting to be a victim again and she was sick of being too little, too late. Damn if I’m going to sit here and let him scare me. He must still be nearby.
She slipped on her running shoes, clipped her cell phone onto her waistband, shrugged into the shoulder holster and whistled for Keiki. The dog streaked back in, still silent. She slipped the choke chain over Keiki’s head. All playfulness was gone as Keiki waited, her triangle ears pricked.
“Work,” Lei said, giving her the hand signal. She turned off the lights, letting her eyes adjust. She armed the house, pulled the Glock,
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