THE MISSION
Civilians were allowed to drive on the roads again during daylight hours, but with fuel rations, you had to pick and choose your outings. Lei’s husband, George, a businessman with Thomas & Sons, seemed to know a way around everything, and gasoline was no exception. As they careened down the Pali Highway toward Kailua, Daisy didn’t even want to blink, the views were so spectacular. Green curtains of cliff to either side, all the way to Chinaman’s Hat and Rabbit Island, and blue sky reflected even bluer seas, with white ropes of sand outlining the meandering shore. Fluff held her camera. “I love this old thing. I know it’s a beast, but it takes fabulous pictures, and I want to record our day,” she said.
This was the girls’ first real outing together, and they were all thrilled to get off base and have some breathing room. To forget about life for a while.
First stop was the Kailua Track, even though all races had come to a halt in December. The track had been closed for years, then recently reopened, and now closed again. Fluff’s Uncle T worked there, managing the grounds and tending to the watermelon patch in the center of the racetrack, and he was to meet them at the stables.
“If someone has Moon, he’s not going to be dumb enough to keep him at the racetrack,” Daisy had said.
“This reminds me of the story “The Adventure of Silver Blaze,” about a famous racehorse who disappears. Too bad we don’t have a ‘curious incident of the dog in the nighttime’ to help us. Though in your case, it was more of a curious incident of a dogfight in midair,” Fluff said, turning sideways and leaning against the front door so she could see everyone in the car.
“What are you talking about?”
“Have you not read Sherlock Holmes, my dear Daisy?”
“Never. I hardly read.”
Reading was not her strong suit.
“We really need to get you up to speed. Operation Equine is going to require us to be keen investigators, and there is no one better to emulate than Sherlock Holmes. His crime-solving methods were genius.”
Fluff continued. “We need to approach it with a blank mind and think logically. Preconceived notions and making assumptions will only lead us astray. So let’s get clear on the scenario. Tell us what happened from the beginning, and be as detailed as possible.”
Betty lifted an eyebrow. “I had no idea we were sharing a house with Nancy Drew.” Daisy laughed, but played along. There wasn’t much to tell. Moon got spooked, Moon ran away. End of story.
“So as I see it, there are three possibilities. One, Moon is still roaming wild, but for whatever reason hasn’t been located. Two, someone has Moon, either by design or by accident. Three, Moon is dead.”
“If he was dead, someone would have found his body,” Daisy said, not allowing for that possibility to exist in her mind. She could still feel the cadence of his hoofbeats on the hard-packed sand.
Fluff pulled out a leather-bound notebook and began scribbling. “Give me the names of those who know the horse.”
“Me, Mr. Silva, who trained him, Walker, Mr. Montgomery and all the guys that work at the stables.”
“You said he’s a Thoroughbred. Where did Mr. Montgomery get him? And when?”
“About six months ago. He brought him in from the Mainland from a man named Gunner. The horse quickly became Walker’s and now that I think about it, I remember thinking that maybe Moon was a bribe to get Walker back in his good graces. They’d had a falling-out years back.”
Fluff’s head bobbed against the window. “How did you know they had a falling-out?”
“Everyone knew. Then Walker disappeared for a while. I knew he joined the military, but then Mr. Silva said he was back on the island, but he never came around. And then once Moon showed up, he did.”
“Hmm. Interesting. What was the falling-out over?”
“I’m guessing it has something to do with Walker joining the navy and not wanting to run the business,” Daisy said.
By now, they were passing Olomana, and a marshy smell floated through the windows. The line of questioning seemed to be veering off course.
“No offense, but what does any of this have to do with Moon?” Daisy asked.
“We need to consider everything, as Sherlock Holmes would have. Sometimes by sifting through all the facts, you come upon a vital piece of information you might overlook.”
Betty twisted her thick blond hair into a bun. “Might you be taking this detective thing a little too far?”
Lei, who had been quietly driving and listening, said, “Let her continue,” and then to Fluff, “You could have a future as a private investigator if we actually find this horse. I might even hire you myself.”
For what? Daisy wondered.
“Oh, we’ll find this horse all right and we’ll clear Daisy’s name in the process. Now, in your searching, did you find anyone who said they’d seen Moon?” Fluff asked.
“Not one person.”
“That seems odd, given what a small town it is out there. A black Thoroughbred would stand out, wouldn’t he?” Betty said.
Fluff said, “Did you go door-to-door and ask?”
“No, I didn’t go door-to-door. We had just been attacked by the Japanese, remember?”
Betty was getting drawn in, “Could he have gone into the mountains and is up there enjoying his freedom?”
“Unlikely. Beyond the sugarcane, it gets pretty cliffy and then jungly. Horses prefer open plains and pastures,” Daisy said.
“Then it stands to reason that someone has him. How much do you think he’s worth?” Fluff asked.
“His sire is a famous racehorse from Maryland and all I know was that Mr. Montgomery paid upward of five thousand bucks for him.”
“That changes everything. Now we have motive!”
Daisy sighed, missing Moon and his soft muzzle. “And Mr. Montgomery stood to make a lot more than that on betting. Moon was the fastest horse I’ve seen on the island. Walker wanted him for polo, but his father wanted to race him.”
“Had he raced him yet?”
“Not that I know of.”
Fluff squinted down at her notes for a while, lost in thought. Her hair spilled out across her shoulder in copper waves. She seemed so intent on finding Moon, it was touching. Here they were, spending a whole day helping Daisy, when they could be visiting their own families or relaxing. “I think that’s a wrap for the time being. Now we gather more evidence,” Fluff said.
Lei veered left, and the road went from paved to gravel to sand. Under a cloudless sky, they passed marshlands with cute little Hawaiian moorhens and long-legged stilts, an endless grove of coconut trees and a cluster of tin shacks with scrappy dogs and roosters roaming free.
“Are you sure we’re in the right place?” Betty said.
Fluff motioned forward. “Keep going. Uncle T said it was just past the coconut trees.”
Sure enough, they came upon a farm fence with two giant wooden poles. The sign hanging across the entrance read Kailua Track Horse Races. The place looked deserted but for a couple of horses and a dilapidated donkey grazing in a field. There was no gate, so they drove on in. As they putted through a grove of kiawe trees, the scent of nutty pods wafting in, a memory arose in Daisy’s head.
Sitting on her father’s lap, munching on buttered popcorn. The cheering and hollering around them was louder than anything her toddler ears had heard before. Dust and hoof thunder filled the stands. A voice on the loudspeaker announced a new horse, pulling ahead. Each time her father jumped up to scream, his excitement traveled to her through some invisible means. She wanted to remember more, but memories were such shifty things. Try to grasp one, and it slipped away. Nothing else came to her but a feeling of deep contentment.
Lei pulled over under a giant monkey pod tree near the stables. A gangly Hawaiian man who was shoveling manure stopped what he was doing and eyed them.
“Is that your uncle?” Daisy said.
“Nope. Uncle said he may or may not be here, since he had another job to take care of.”
“He looks angry,” Betty said.
Fluff hopped out and waved, “Hey, I’m Thomas Kanahele’s niece. Do you know if he’s around?”
“Do you see him here?” the man said with a hand shielding his eyes from the sun.
“I guess not. My friends and I just came all the way from Honolulu. Do you mind if we stretch our legs out and walk around a bit?”
“Walk all you want,” he said, then resumed shoveling and humming a tune.
Most of the stalls had horses in them. They visited a stunning bay, a towering chestnut with a heart-shaped star and a gray mare who wanted snacks. Daisy had come armed with carrots, and quietly slipped her one.
“These are some fancy Thoroughbreds. I wonder who they belong to,” Daisy said.
When the racetrack closed down fifteen years ago, Mr. Montgomery had shifted his focus to polo. Thus, she had no reason—or means—to ever come here. Now she was wishing she had.
“No idea. I was hoping there would be more people around to question,” Fluff said.
“Not all investigation requires questioning does it? We can still poke around,” Daisy assured her. “And if nothing else, it sure is nice to hang out with some horses. I’ve been missing them like mad.”
When they came back around, one of the horses in the pasture had moseyed on up to the fence and was watching them with a keen eye. Tall and dark, with a strong chest and nice lines, he was almost as handsome as Moon. Almost.
“Pretend you’re not interested,” Daisy said to the girls, stepping to the fence a little ways past him and pointing at a gray horse across the pasture.
“A bit like men, are they?” Fluff said.
Daisy could speak for horses, but not for men. “It depends on the horse. Some are open and affectionate, others spirited and aloof.”
“Depends on the man, too,” Betty said. “I never had to play any games with Chuck. We were 100 percent from day one and we still are, seven years later.” She leaned her forearms against the fence and gazed up at mist gathering at the top of the Ko‘olau Mountains.
“Don’t look now, but here he comes,” Fluff whispered.
A moment later, Daisy felt hot breath against her neck and a sniffing tickle. Good thing her hair was short, or he was likely to start nibbling. Dominant horses do the nibbling, and by the looks of him, he was used to running the show. Daisy turned slightly and held out a piece of carrot in her palm. He wasted no time eating it. While he chewed, she scratched the crook beneath his ear.
“You like that, huh?”
If there was one thing Daisy knew, it was how to make friends with a horse. Even a standoffish one, which she could tell he was.
“Hey! Who said you could fraternize with the hosses?” came from across the way.
The shoveler walked toward them. He was so thin, his pants were on the brink of sliding right off him, and he yanked them up on one side.
“Sorry about that. We couldn’t resist,” Daisy said.
“Hosses bite and dis bruddah will haul off and kick you, too. When you least expect it. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
The way he said hoss reminded her of Mr. Silva, who spoke a fried-rice scramble of pidgin and proper English.
“Duly noted. But he seems like such a love beneath the tough exterior.”
The man leaned his shovel on the fence and gave her a curious look. “I gotta say, I nevah seen him take to someone so fast. With most folks, he bolts.”
“What’s his name?”
“Eclipse.”
She sensed an opening. “That’s funny, since he reminds me of a horse named Moon. A big black Thoroughbred faster than the wind. Do you know of him?”
Creases formed on his forehead. “What did you say your name was?”
“Daisy Wilder, sir.”
The sirs flowed out of her mouth on their own accord now, even when they weren’t called for.
“Don’t call me sir. Archie’s my name. And I know of the horse. Montgomery Ranch, yeah?”
All this time, Eclipse remained behind Daisy.
“Right. But he disappeared on December 7 and there has been no sign of him anywhere.”
“That rich haole has some good help and even better horses. My cousin Tommy works there, so I heard the story. What’s your business with Montgomery?”
Daisy knew Tommy. A scrappy cowboy good with ropes. “I worked with your cousin until last month, helping with the horses. I did whatever they needed me to. Clean, groom, feed, exercise, even some training.”
A lot of training, actually, but no one wanted to hear that from a woman.
Archie stepped closer and inspected her face. His breath smelled like sardines. “You’re Billy Wilder’s kid. Tommy’s mentioned you. Your old man was a magician with the animals. A real shame about what happened to him.”
She felt woozy at the mention. “You knew my father?”
With his burnt-leather skin, Archie could have been anywhere between sixty-five and ninety. “Tommy brought your father to help me now and again with the tough hosses, like Eclipse here.” His here came out like hea.
Recognition dawned. “You’re Archibald?”
“Das right.”
Archibald was a legend in the horse world, and Mr. Silva mentioned him often. A paniolo from Waimea, he was known as the best roper in the Pacific, and could ride anything anywhere anyhow.
“You haven’t heard any mumblings about Moon, have you? It seems odd that he would vanish into thin air like he has,” Daisy asked.
Archie rubbed his prickly chin. “Why do you care so much about Montgomery’s horse? There a reward up for him?”
Daisy explained that she was the one who lost him. “I love that horse and I will never forgive myself unless we can find him.”
“Let me give you some advice, young lady—never say never. It’ll ruin you.”
Fluff, who was still standing next to her, started nodding in agreement. “Forgiveness is a virtue, especially when it pertains to ourselves.”
Where did she come up with this kind of stuff?
Lei added, “Maybe we should offer a reward for any info on Moon. I’m surprised Montgomery hasn’t yet.”
“Walker suggested it, but his father said he had his people working on it and didn’t want to be led on wild-goose chases all over the island,” Daisy said.
“Tell you what. I hear anything, I’ll tell T, but gimme your number in case,” Archie said.
Betty rattled it off, and they said their goodbyes. For the first time since Moon ran away, Daisy felt like she’d gotten a break. A small one, but still. Archie might seem like an aging paniolo now out to pasture, but she could tell the man paid attention. All good cowboys did.
Around noon, they were coming upon the north end of the island between dizzying cliffs and white-capped ocean. Beaches along the way had been lined in barbed wire, and periodically they passed soldiers sitting atop jeeps or tanks with rifles and cigarettes in hand. The scenes felt staged, as if there should be a movie crew nearby, ready to film. In Kahalu‘u and L¯a‘ie they pulled in at two other small stables, but left without any new information.
“I still say we at least try to visit Opana,” Fluff said, holding up her badge. “We can tell them we are scouting stations so we can be more accurate plotters. I want to see it up close and personal.”
She had been bugging them all morning to swing into one of the radar sites along the way.
“You don’t think they’ll wonder why Nixon or Major Oscar wouldn’t have warned them? And we aren’t in uniform,” Betty said.
“They won’t care. They’ll just be thrilled to meet us.”
“How will we even find it?” Daisy said, though to be honest, she had a pretty good idea where it was.
“There’s got to be a road,” Lei said.
Betty sighed. “Just to get you to shut up, let’s go.”
After several wrong attempts, they turned up a dirt road cut diagonally into the side of a low cliff. Once they reached the top, and headed inland through dense foliage, they could see the tip of the antenna of the SCR-270 mobile unit above the trees.
“Would you look at that?” Fluff said affectionately.
It would be nice to see the station in real life. In speaking with the Oscars all day, you couldn’t help but be curious about their location. More often than not, they’d be cursing the rain or the heat, but once in a while, one would mention the huge surf or a breaching whale, spotted out front. Ironwood trees lined a gulch on one side of the road, and around a corner, a gate came into view. Two armed guards stood in the road with rifles pointed at the car.
“Uh-oh,” Fluff said.
Betty said, “Get your badges ready, and let me do the talking.”
They rolled to a stop six feet from the men, with Lei waving her white scarf. “I’m not in the mood to get shot today.”
“Oh please, they aren’t going to shoot us,” Fluff said.
The men approached both sides of the car. The one on Daisy’s side looked about fourteen, with a thin layer of peach fuzz on his chin. “This is a US military installation. What’s your business here?” he said.
Betty held up her badge. “We’re from Shafter, part of the Air Raid Defense at Little Robert. We work under General Danielson and Colonel Nixon.”
He motioned toward Lei. “What’s with the Jap in the car?”
“She works with us. And she happens to be Chinese, not Japanese,” Daisy said, annoyed at his ignorance.
“You sure about that?”
“Very,” Lei said.
The two men exchanged glances. “This some kind of practical joke?”
“We’re all officers with the Signal Aircraft Warning Regiment. Go on, have a look at my badge,” Betty said, handing it over.
He studied the badge as though it were written in Japanese, then tossed it over the car to his buddy. “Looks real to me. What do you think?” he said.
The rest of them handed their badges over. The fourteen-year-old looked at the badges, then ducked down so he could see each woman in the car, then stared at the badges again. He seemed to be trying to come to terms with the fact that the car full of women might in fact be a car full of officers. Red creeped up his neck.
Betty offered a suggestion. “When you let us in, the Oscars will vouch for us. They know us.”
That was a stretch. They might know their voices, though. Some spoke in smooth drawls, others clipped radio lingo, while a few New England boys omitted their Rs altogether. Niner came out ninah. With those, you always had to ask them to say again to be on the safe side.
Still unconvinced, fourteen said, “You all look like you’re on a Sunday outing. Why are you here, really? One of your husbands must have put you up to this.”
Daisy read his name tag. “Private Hicks, do you know the army’s penalty for disregarding a direct order from a superior officer?” she asked.
He frowned. “Court-martial.”
“Do you want to be court-martialed?”
“No, ma’am.” His voice had risen an octave.
“Then please let us through,” Betty said.
He looked at his friend, who shrugged, then without another word, opened the gate.
Once they passed, Fluff burst into laughter. “You gals were brilliant! Those poor fellas stood no chance against you.”
Daisy said, “Now what? We just waltz up and ask them for a tour? Don’t forget there’s a war going on.” In her mind, this whole detour was not the smartest idea, and she had a feeling Nixon would not approve.
“I for one am not going to stop living just because there is a war going on. What good will that do anyone? You want to just sit in our house all day listening to the depressing news on the radio and twiddling our thumbs?”
“No!” was the unanimous response.
But there was an element of guilt that went along with enjoying yourself when a large portion of the world was suffering.
Fluff continued. “We deserve to be here. Consider it research to become better WARDs. Plus, these poor Oscars are stranded out here all day at the end of the earth. They could use a morale boost.”
No one could argue with that. The unpaved road paralleled the cliff, and grew more rutted by the inch. Bodies flew in the air more than a few times, and a film of red dirt coated the windshield. Though Daisy had never been up here, the iron-rich soil prevalent on this side of the island made her feel right at home. Pretty soon they came to a circular clearing with a 180-degree view of the ocean. Two hulking military trucks were parked on one side, a canvas teepee-style tent on another, and the antenna trailer sat in the middle. All dirt, no grass.
“This is the station?” Fluff asked.
Daisy knew what she meant. The only impressive part was the antenna, which stood taller than a coconut tree. A head poked out from the side of the truck. Then another.
Betty jumped out and held up her badge. “Hello! We’re Rascals from Little Robert, touring the radar sites.”
“Well, I’ll be...” one of the men said.
They were invited into the crude station, which felt more like the inside of a furnace, heated by the noonday tropical sun. Stripes of perspiration creased the men’s uniforms and they all looked like they’d be better off in swim trunks. There were five of them in the cramped truck, which turned out to be the operations room. The other truck provided power.
“Welcome to the club. Best view on the island, if you don’t mind centipedes in your bed and dirt in your oatmeal. They set us up here the day after the attack, round the clock, and it’s been nothing but pleasure,” said Bobby Ortiz, whose lightly accented voice sounded familiar.
“Things could be far worse, soldier,” Betty said.
He grinned. “Oh, I’m not complaining. Just giving you a flavor of what it’s like here. I’m the shift chief. Can I show you the ropes?” he asked, eyes settling on Daisy.
“Sure, we’d like that.”
He lovingly pointed out an impressive array of equipment. The receiver, receiver trombone, spare receiver, spare parts kit, azimuth speed controls and the oscilloscope, which was where the signals came across on the screen.
“Oscilloscope. What a mouthful. I’ll bet you can’t say it five times in a row,” Fluff mumbled to Daisy under her breath.
If Ortiz heard her, he didn’t let on. “This baby is the star of the show—well, this and Big Bertha out there,” he said, nodding toward the antenna.
He then picked up a pair of binoculars and handed them to Daisy. “We use these to read the azimuth angle, which is painted on the antenna turntable. Have a look.”
Why was she always chosen to go first? A part of her wondered if her short hair and slacks had anything to do with it. That in their eyes, she was somehow more like a man. As if hair and clothing had anything to do with it.
“How tall is that thing?” Lei asked.
“Fifty-five feet. Nine dipole elements high, by four wide.”
“What happens when it’s windy?”
“So far so good. We haven’t had to take her down yet. Last thing we need is another fuckup—” His hand went to his mouth. “Pardon my language. I’m not used to having ladies around.”
Fluff waved it off. “We’re used to it by now.”
The antenna made one revolution per minute. They passed around the binoculars and listened to Ortiz expound on a lot of technical jargon, much of which went over their heads. Daisy was touched that he thought them important enough to share all this with. On top of being handsome and personable, the man knew his radar. After being there for well over an hour, and taking a few photographs with the crew, the girls finally tore themselves away.
They all considered the day a big success. Meeting Archie at the racetrack, the friendly team at the Opana radar site—once they’d gotten past the gate—and later, picnicking together in the shade of a m¯amane tree, nibbling on crustless egg salad sandwiches, saloon pilot crackers and chunks of pineapple. There was something to be said for a day of fresh air and friendship.