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“I WAS THINKING THE Brewster House might be too big for us,” I shouted over the thrumming of the wind. “All those rooms to keep clean. And I noticed the house seemed noisy. I don’t think I’d like living with all of those strange sounds.”
Leilani laughed. “Oh yes, the lava tubes.”
“The lava tubes?”
“When wind blows, it goes into lava tubes underneath house. Lava tubes are like pipes of organ. Makes terrible noise.”
“That was the loud sobbing noise? It was wind blowing through the lava tubes?”
“Yes, as I said so. Is very loud and miserable sound.”
Of course it was the wind. What else could it have been? And now I thought of it, maybe the Brewster House could work for us after all. We could close some rooms off and use only the ones we needed. And then all I had to do was have Davison come by on a windy day. He’d think twice about visiting again.
On the other hand, I wondered whether I’d really enjoy staying in the Brewster House for the long term. I imagined Donnie and me trying to sleep in the upstairs bedroom on a rainy night, the rain lashing the windows, the wind in the lava tubes shaking the foundations and filling the rooms with unearthly moaning...
“Are we going to look at anything with a cottage in the back?” I asked. “Donnie’s adult son might come to stay with us from time to time, and I’m sure he’d want his own separate living quarters.”
“No, not this time. Is called `ohana. I remember for later. So you invite me to wedding?”
“Well, it’s kind of soon to talk about a wedding. I mean, I guess things are back on track, but we haven’t exactly set a date. That reminds me. I need to make a phone call. I forgot to tell my parents they can come back and meet Donnie now.”
“Do what you like. Make phone call, take nap, read book. I drive, you relax.”
Sure, it’s easy to relax when your stomach is growling, and the wind is snatching pieces of your hair and beating you about the face with them.
“I never had a chance to get lunch,” I said. “I just realized, I’m hungry. Can we stop somewhere?”
“Stop where?” The narrow highway ahead wound through abandoned cane fields. Once in a while we’d crest a hill and get a glimpse of the blue Pacific. This wasn’t the Los Angeles megalopolis. There weren’t any restaurants or gas stations or convenience stores to mar the view. No billboards. Not even a hand painted sign leaning on the side of a parked truck, announcing dried fish for sale.
“Maybe when we get to the house next to the mall,” I sighed, resigning myself to a good hour of hunger pangs.
“I have food,” Leilani indicated the chin-high jumble in the back seat. “You help yourself. You are welcome.”
I reached into the back seat and gently tugged a bag of peanut clusters from the pile of clutter. I noted with relief the candies inside were individually wrapped.
“Thanks.” I unwrapped one and popped it into my mouth. “Mm. These are delicious. I haven’t seen this brand before. Where did you get them?”
“From Galimba’s Bargain Boyz, I buy big pack. I always keep in car for something to eat on busy days. Sometimes on hot day they melt into flat shape. But always taste good.”
“I can feel my blood sugar rebounding already.” I helped myself to another and called my father’s cell phone number. It went to voice mail.
“Hi, Dad, Mom. It’s me. So, Donnie and I are back on, I think. I mean, we’ve worked things out. So no rush, but when you get a chance you guys should probably come back to Mahina and meet him.”
Leilani was driving us up the hill now, away from the ocean toward the new subdivision. The dense jungle gave way to broad green fields where wild sugarcane grew on abandoned plantation land, and then we were driving through the jungle again, towering mango trees in full bloom on either side.
I was grateful I didn’t have pollen allergies. Stephen Park, my ex, used to claim to suffer terribly from allergies. I suggested his breathing might improve if he quit smoking. He disagreed, of course, and insisted his two packs a day of Gudang Garams had nothing to do with it.
What if Melanie had been snooping inside the Brewster House, and had decided to take in the view from the upstairs balcony? Maybe pollen blew up from the vegetation around the river, triggering a violent allergic response just as Melanie was standing close to the railing. Melanie’s death could have been an accident.
But what a convenient accident it would have been. An affair between Melanie Polewski and Scott Nixon seemed more likely the more I thought of it. It would have been classic Melanie to start something with her married department chair. And Scott Nixon was hardly a model husband. The only question was how could Nicole have killed Melanie? I couldn’t even work out how I was supposed to have killed Melanie.
“You are very quiet,” Leilani said. “You are dreaming of beautiful new house?”
“You know me too well, Leilani.”