Why is he here?
Before the boat bumped the dock, Cooper vaulted. Alexa waited until the captain cut the engine and started wrapping lines around the dock cleats. “Thank you,” she said, handing him her dripping life jacket. He offered her a hand up, which in her shaky state she accepted but slipped on the wet wood anyway, landing on her ass.
“You right?” the captain asked.
“Yes, sure,” she said, turning over and looking at him from all fours. She stood, heat flooding her face, and guardedly walked toward the DI.
“Has something happened?” she asked before he could comment on her grace.
His face was grave, but he shook his head no. They stood in the rain and watched Cooper disappear into the parking lot.
“I have more questions for her. But Officer Cooper’s clammed up.” Alexa’s teeth chattered. Her saturated jacket was a pitiful reminder of how useless she’d been. Horne took off his poncho while scanning the dock area.
“I’ve put her in an awkward position,” he said, turning back to her. “Family and work don’t mix, but she was the only way Ngawata would consent to you stepping foot on the island. She was your ticket and protector, you know.” He handed her the poncho.
Instead of protesting, she struggled into it, disappearing and then reappearing, dropping her tote in the process. “I don’t see how I needed protection. From what?”
DI Horne picked up her tote, slung it over his shoulder, and studied her, one eyebrow an inch higher than the other.
She knew he was right. The forbidden island and the three men holding court had been menacing. “We can talk in my car. Now you’re getting wet, and I need to get the heater going. Or you can stop by Trout Cottage.”
Alexa longed for a hot shower and dry clothes. It was five, and she couldn’t face going back to headquarters. “Why are you here?”
“Go home. Get dry. I’ll follow you in my car and explain.” He handed over her tote.
Alexa drove fast through the rain. Even though her body was cold to the core, she was warming up to the man in the rearview mirror.
* * *
Turning on the electric kettle, she put Earl Grey bags in mugs and told him to fix the tea. “Back in a jiffy. I’ll just take a quick shower.” Her voice shook.
The hot water eased the shivers racking her body; the knowledge that Horne was in the next room prolonged them. She let go her restraint and imagined him showering with her, his nakedness pressed against hers, his mouth hot and hungry.
Cold water extinguished the vision.
Alexa toweled off vigorously, wiped a hole in the steamy mirror, and studied her hazel eyes. Control. I do not want to get involved. Her reflection was noncommittal, so she hurried to dress. Beige bra, granny panties. Last night’s jeans, clean white T-shirt, and NC State Wolfpack sweatshirt. Slipper socks. A quick comb through her combatant hair and she corralled it into a ponytail. A brush of lip gloss and she was armed.
“My cup of tea,” she said, looking at the DI sitting on the couch and then at the steaming mug he’d set on the coffee table.
She popped into the little kitchen and arranged a couple of Tim Tams on a plate.
“I love these cookies, by the way.” She set the plate down, picked up the mug, steadied herself, and perched on the edge of the recliner, hoping for the becalming effects of oil of bergamot. Why was her heart racing?
“Best biscuit there is.” Horne stared at her, one eyebrow inching higher than the other. “You look ten years old.” His large hands encircled his almost empty mug. “Do you drink tea in the States?”
“Hot in the winter, iced and sweet in the summer.” Was looking ten years old good or bad?
He nodded. “What transpired on the island?”
“Why were you at the docks?”
He studied her, his blue eyes darkening. “You’re a hard case.” He swallowed the last of his tea. “I was at the docks because I had four phone complaints and two walk-ins about police trespassing on Pirongia Island. I was concerned you might have a greeting committee.”
“You’re kidding. Who are these people?” So he had been looking for someone at the docks.
“You know Rotorua has the largest indigenous population of anywhere in the country, right?”
“I think so.” Mary had said there were a lot of Maoris in the area. The councilwomen had mentioned it as well.
“Over thirty-five percent of Rotoruans are Maori,” Horne said. “Elsewhere in New Zealand, Maori makeup maybe ten or fifteen percent of the population.”
“So people of Maori ethnicity complained?” Alexa thought of Terrance.
“Right. Let’s just say my decision to get you on the island was shortsighted. I’ve disregarded the rules of tapu—the sacred Maori code. According to one elder who came in and complained, we have offended the gods.”
“Me?”
“Not just you. The police department.”
“But…”
“And the consequences are disaster, demonic possession, or death.”
“Get real,” Alexa snapped. “That crap doesn’t belong in the twenty-first century. You don’t believe that, do you?”
“It doesn’t matter what I believe. What matters is that we have a segment of our population insulted and angry. I’m sorry to have put you—” Horne stopped.
“What?” Alexa knew what he was about to say. In danger.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t more respectful of the Maori community. What happened on the island? Did you learn anything or find anything?”
Alexa recounted her trip, told him Paul Koppel and his buddy, another white guy, were suspected of making a second trip to the island and maybe stole treasures. She left out the strange transformation from silence to symphony with the raising of Ngawata’s arms at the golden pools. She now doubted her memory—probably had imagined it—and described the Ngawata posse. “The two warrior men had green clubs. I wonder if a club was used to attack Jenny?”
“Clubs? You mean patu?”
“What?”
“Patu. Maori war clubs. Made of greenstone.”
“Is greenstone the same as jade? They looked jade.”
“That’s greenstone. It comes from the South Island and is considered a treasure by the Maori. More valuable than gold.”
“They looked like small paddles.”
“Patu were used for hand-to-hand fighting. Most are made of whale bone or wood. Only royalty had clubs made of greenstone. They’d be worth a fortune. I wonder where they came from.” He bit into a Tim Tam and chewed thoughtfully.
“Couldn’t they have come from the caves where the chief was buried?”
“I wonder. Theft of artifacts. It happens. But I’m off track. Let’s get one from the Rotorua Museum and see if it matches the weapon used in Jenny’s attack.”
“Good idea. First thing in the morning.” Alexa then told him that the extra duct tape prints had yielded no match.
“That clears anyone from the department,” Horne said. “We all have prints on file.”
They talked about what would happen next, Alexa relishing the role of confidant. The DI had an interview scheduled with the mayor’s husband. Full disclosure of Koppel’s financial records had produced some unexpected deposits. Detective McNamara was meeting with the owner of Bowen Realty Group. And Koppel’s phone records had been released.
Horne stood.
Alexa took the plunge. “Are you hungry?” She had an urge to rock this man’s even keel.
“I have to go back to headquarters and then pick up my daughters.” He checked his watch and then stared at her. “Rain check?”
* * *
The evening ahead stretched long and empty, and Alexa, restored by hot shower, hot tea, and hot thoughts, restlessly turned her attention to food. Rice and beans tonight. She would add garlic and onion and went into the wee kitchen to check if there might be cumin or red pepper hidden in the cabinets. Barking dogs made her jump. Her phone.
“Hello?”
“Alexa? It’s Terrance.”
“Hi.”
“Are you okay?”
Alexa immediately remembered his concern from their lunch- time talk about the island. She should have called him. “I’m fine, Terrance. I was able to speak to Mr. Ngawata on the island, and Officer Cooper made a good guide.” Hardly.
“I am relieved. But watch out for yourself. People are talking.”
“What people? What are they saying?”
“My people. There is concern that a Maori may be unjustly blamed for this murder. Maori have been made scapegoats throughout history.”
Like people of color in the States, she thought. “Please assure whoever you’ve been talking to that we are doing our best with the evidence we have. We aren’t jumping to any conclusions or falsely accusing anyone. Trust me.”
“I wish I could. But history is full of shattered trust.”
“Evidence will guide us.”
Silence.
“Terrance, did you call the police department about my trip to Pirongia?”
More silence. And then Alexa realized he had hung up. She stared at her phone for a few moments, shaken. Watch out for myself? Mary’s brother meant well, but his call left her uneasy.
The little kitchen came with a rice cooker, which would free her up for a walk along the river to calm her nerves. The bergamot had failed. She measured rice and water, slowly and methodically, as the river beckoned.
The skies had cleared, as so often happens in the small island country; a “change,” her colleagues in Auckland had called it. She grabbed the cottage umbrella, just in case, and headed for the door, checking her watch. Just past six—what time did it get dark? On impulse, she grabbed the little egg basket and decided to find Trout Cottage’s owner and return it.
The scrambled egg incident seemed years ago, yet this was only her fifth night at the cottage. What had Egg Boy said? A side trail either before or after the falls led to Flying Fish Farm. The air was fresh, clean, light, North Carolina’s humidity a faded bad dream. Alexa inhaled deeply and hustled along the roiling emerald Kaituna, certain there could be no more pristine air anywhere.
I could live here forever.
She had switched to running shoes, the left one blotched with yolk, and dodged puddles.
When the sounds of the river intensified to standing ovation behind a curtain of vegetation, Alexa knew the falls were close. The cave Horne had told her about must be nearby, and she was tempted to search for it until she dropped the egg basket. Her thoughts jumped to the women and children who once hid from rival tribes, paralyzed. Imagine hiding in the dark, mothers clutching and hushing little ones.
Scooping up the basket, Alexa picked up her pace. A scrabble from behind made her turn. Another walker? Except for Egg Boy, she had not met a single person on the path. The thick, tall flax stalks quivered, opposite sides leaning toward each other in shadowy conspiracy.
But no one emerged.
Shortly after passing the falls, she came to the side path and veered onto it. In five minutes, she had climbed a small rise. Below, about fifty yards away, a clapboard gray house, weathered and homey, nestled near an outbuilding. Alexa started toward it when a commotion made her whip around. A flash of fur and teeth encircled her.
“Stop,” she screamed. “No!”
A rumble of a fast-approaching four-wheel ATV drowned the barking. The Egg Boy was at the wheel.
“Back. Back down,” Stevie commanded the dogs. “Sorry about that,” he said, cutting the engine. “They won’t hurt you.”
Famous last words.
The two dogs jumped on the back of the four-wheeler and grinned at her, tongues lolling.
“We meet again,” she said, her heart hammering. Even when dogs didn’t ambush, she was nervous around them. “I want to meet your mother, thank her. I’m guessing the welcoming committee belongs to you?”
“Eh. They’re friendly, I promise. This is Iris, with one blue eye.” Stevie leaned back and patted her. The border collie returned the affection with a lick to Stevie’s cheek, melting Alexa’s heart a tad. “And this is Echo.” Brown and scrawny, Echo barked.
“They look ready for action. How many animals do you have on your farm?” Alexa was thinking Flying Fish Farm might be larger than she thought.
“Six sheep. Three lambs. I was checking on them. And chooks. Look. There’s my mum.” He pointed toward a car pulling up the drive. “Wanna lift?”
“How could I resist?” The dogs hopped off as Alexa hopped on. “Sorry, guys,” she laughed.
They took off with a jerk, the dogs barking and nipping the wheels. In a jiff, they were on the driveway next to a green compact car. A woman was emerging. Her sandy blond hair was swept into a topknot, adding inches to her frame, and her dangling greenstone whale-tail earrings caught the waning light and matched her eyes.
“Hello,” she said, sending a questioning look at her son. “Who have you found?” A tween-aged girl got out of the passenger side and stared.
“Hi.” Alexa waved. “I’m renting your cottage.” She climbed off the ATV. “I wanted to introduce myself and return your basket. That was so kind of you to have Stevie deliver fresh eggs.” Alexa wondered how much of the egg debacle Stevie had shared. “And I wanted to apologize for the phone call from the police yesterday. Just routine, I assure you.”
“It’s all good. Maybe you can fill me in sometime. I’m Sarah Ingall. This is my daughter, Lucy. Why don’t you come in? I’ll fix tea. Lucy—will you get the groceries into the house?”
Lucy glared.
“No thank you,” Alexa said. “I have rice cooking and need to get back. But I’d love to come another time.”
“Right-o. You’re here for another week, eh? Maybe for a glass of wine instead of tea. Do you have everything you need at the cottage?”
“Yes. Yes to both. The fresh lavender in the vase is lovely.”
“There’s more growing alongside the cottage. If you have trouble sleeping, put some next to the bed.”
“I will. Thank you again for the eggs.” She handed Sarah the basket.
“You’re welcome. You walked over?”
Alexa nodded and looked down at Iris, who had plopped on her sneakers.
“Why doesn’t Stevie run you home? It’s almost dark, and it would just take a second on the quad. You don’t mind, do you, Son?”
Stevie revved the engine.