Murders of Conveyance

MURDERS OF CONVEYANCE

ISBN: 978-1-932926-72-9 (hardcover)

ISBN: 978-1-932926-73-6 (ebook)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2018961605

Copyright © 2019 by Jeanne Burrows-Johnson

Cover Illustration and Design: Yasamine June

(www.yasaminejune.com)

Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage or retrieval system without written permission of the publisher, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.

Artemesia Publishing, LLC

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Tijeras, New Mexico 87059

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www.apbooks.net

Murders of Conveyance

By

Jeanne Burrows-Johnson

A Natalie Seachrist Hawaiian Mystery

Artemesia Publishing

Albuquerque, New Mexico

Conveyance…The transference of property from one owner to another…

To Kevin Charles Horstman PhD, who loved and honored

family, friends, and the earth that brings Life to all!

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Stan Carrington: Former colleague of Keoni Hewitt

Jason Chin: Honolulu radio personality

Veronica Ching: Restaurateur

Jesse & Jimmy Comacho: Murder victims; cousins

Leah Coombs: Fiancée of Bō Shēn

Esmeralda [Izzy] Cruz: Neighbor of Natalie Seachrist

John [JD] Dias: Lieutenant, Honolulu Police Department

Akira Duncan: Master Chef; owner of a restaurant and culinary school

James Durham: Honolulu Architect

Maria Espinoza: Tenant, Makiki Sunset Apartments

Bertram Fong: Owner of a Chinatown bookstore

Brianna Harriman: Granddaughter of Nathan Harriman; twin of Ariel Harriman who is deceased

Nathan Harriman: Twin brother of Natalie Seachrist; psychologist

Keoni Hewitt: Boyfriend of Natalie Seachrist; retired homicide detective

Alena Horita: Uniformed officer, Honolulu Police Department

Chu-Hua Lee: Amah of Pearl and Jade Wong

Harry Longhorn: Publisher and Chief Editor of Winward O`ahu Journeys Magazine

Cory Lowell: Son of a tenant, Makiki Sunset Apartments

Lori Mitchum: Intern at the State of Hawai`i Coroner’s Office

Dan and Margie O’Hara: Friends of Natalie Seachrist

Makoa Pane: Contractor and furniture craftsman

Miss Una: Feline companion of Natalie Seachrist

Alec Salinas: Retired police detective; hotel security manager

Natalie Seachrist: Semi-retired journalist

Bàozhĭ Shēn: Granduncle of Bō Shēn; murder victim in 1953

Bō Shēn: Chinatown businessman

Chāng Shēn: Grandfather of Bō Shēn; now deceased

Toitoi Naiporo Shēn: Grandaunt of Bō Shēn; widow of Bàozhĭ Shēn

Martin Soli: Assistant Coroner, State of Hawai`i

Evelyn and Jim Souza: Nathan Harriman’s neighbors

Linda Tan: Contestant, Aloha Scavenger Hunt

Samantha Turner: Neighbor of Natalie Seachrist

José Valdez: Assistant to James Durham

Joanne Walther: Neighbor of Natalie Seachrist

Pearl Wong: Co-owner and manager of the Makiki Sunset Apartments

Brian Yamaguchi: Boyfriend of Toitoi Shēn

Fù Hán Zhāng: Murder victim; Chinese linguist

Table of Contents

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

EPILOGUE

NOTES AND ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

A BRIEF OVERVIEW OF THE HAWAIIAN LANGUAGE

GLOSSARY OF NON-ENGLISH & SPECIALIZED VOCABULARY

Questions for Book Club Discussion

PROLOGUE

I met murder on the way.

Percy Bysshe Shelley [1792 - 1822]

I look around at the metal cage surrounding me. Below my sandaled feet are scuffed tiles framing a Chinese logogram. With heavy vibration, the vintage elevator stops. The gate opens by an unseen hand and I walk out to the black and white scene of a film noir.

I face three sash windows, the center one being wider than those flanking it. Above them, is the beginning of three clerestory windows reaching toward the roofline. My view to the world beyond is dimmed by sheer curtains. I look down at a patterned carpet runner on a dark wood floor.

I am presented with an immediate choice. Which way shall I turn? With little hesitation, I move to the right and soon reach the end of the short hallway. I then turn to the left and stop as though halted by a glass panel. I am looking along a dim corridor lined with several numbered doors. Stretched diagonally across the carpeted floor is the still form of a man. I blink and check to see if this tableau is being observed by anyone other than me. No. I am alone.

I walk forward slowly until I stand above the man. He is definitely dead. He wears a white suit. Although he is lying on his stomach, I see the collar of an aloha shirt. Two-toned shoes stick out from his pant leg cuffs. Beyond his head, a fedora leans against the base of the wall.

A few inches to the left of the man’s shoes, the door to room 312 stands ajar. The opening widens. I look within. A woman rises from inspecting the space below a single bed. Turned away from me, she examines each drawer of the room’s dresser, desk, and nightstand. I suddenly find myself positioned directly behind her as she opens the door to a closet with dressing room. She is obviously practiced in her work. After going through the pockets of the few hanging garments on the left, she quickly searches each compartment of a suitcase sitting open on a luggage rack to the right.

Debating whether she is at the end of her task, she gazes steadily at a large mirror resting against the back wall. The glass is mottled with age and I cannot see her features. She walks to the mirror and pulls it toward her. She looks behind, and then with a disgusted sigh, pushes it back in place. Stepping backward, the woman again looks into the mirror and straightens her tailored skirt and jacket. Other than her dark upswept hair, the only characteristic I note about her is her height, because she is considerably taller than I am.

I watch numbly as the stately woman strides past me and into the bedroom. I turn to face her retreating figure. Shortly, I hear the elevator clang open and shut.

CHAPTER 1

Adventure is worthwhile.

Aristotle [384 BCE - 322 BCE]

An unrelenting yowl demanded my attention. I withdrew from my private showing of the film noir and sat up. All right, I’m awake. What’s the problem, girlfriend? I asked my tortoiseshell companion. I left you with a full bowl of dry food last night and your usual serving of canned. You can’t have finished all of that, I said, dragging myself up to follow Miss Una to the kitchen. There I noted that every morsel had been licked from both plate and bowl.

If you weren’t spayed, I’d suspect you were pregnant.

As I laid down a fresh helping of her favorite salmon, she rushed to devour it. After changing her water and setting out her usual supply of dry food to nibble throughout the day, I pleaded for a return to our normal routine. Now, that should keep you satisfied until tonight when you’re going to have to make do with Izzy’s scrumptious goodies.

With an adventure in the offing, I turned to my own needs. I was glad there was just enough coffee syrup to meet my desire for an intake of caffeine, and equally glad that I did not have to share it with my sweetheart Keoni who had spent the night at his home in Mānoa Valley. For Christmas he had given me a French coffee press. I have discovered that the resulting rich extract delivers the smoothest beverage—hot or cold. Since we were in what passes for winter in the Hawaiian Islands, I was ready for the heated variety.

Soon I was seated at my parents’ old Formica table, where I enjoyed a leisurely breakfast of fresh papaya from our neighbor Izzy, and the last piece of cake my grandniece Brianna brought us from the O`hana Hawaiian Café in Portland, Oregon, during her holiday break from college. People may laugh at my savoring an Island treat from the mainland, but Sandie’s desserts are a special treat. She uses freshly roasted macadamia nuts in her pie crusts and on top of some of her cakes!

I checked my voicemail while sipping a second cup of coffee. The recording announced it was Friday the thirteenth of February—my lucky number. I took that as a sign of good fortune for our participation in the forthcoming First Annual Aloha Scavenger Hunt. Keoni and I would be staying in the heart of Honolulu with friends for the week-long event, so it was good I had no messages—especially from publishers with writing assignments for me.

Of course, it was possible that the hunt might yield a tale or two worth telling. I could not wait to partake of the lū`au, Chinese New Year feast, and other meals planned for the event. The locales and their taste treats could be good material for my food and entertainment column in Windward O`ahu Journeys magazine!

Glancing at a memo on the refrigerator, I was reminded of how thoughtful Keoni is—and almost as note-driven as I am. We have been together as a couple for over a year and have developed a routine that nurtures each of us in this new phase of life. We first met when he was a detective with the Honolulu Police Department. We became truly close when I experienced an unexpected tragedy a year and a half ago, shortly after I took early retirement from my career as a journalist and occasional television presenter for an international media corporation.

I had been enjoying the freedom of selecting my research and writing assignments and was delighted when he asked me to undertake a research project. Tragically, Brianna’s twin sister Ariel was murdered the next day, and I do not know how I would have survived if I had not had his backing. During that experience, we became intimate on many levels. By Thanksgiving, we were a couple. We were living together a couple of months later when my Auntie Carrie died and I inherited White Sands Cottage in Lanikai.

I knew I should be preparing for our departure, but it felt so nice to savor the moment. I carried my cup of coffee into the living room and sat down on my mother’s old pūne`e. The room had benefited from months of remodeling. The art I had acquired during my world travels and Keoni’s distinctive koa furniture were ideal additions to my aunt’s classic Hawaiian furnishings and paintings.

After moving to the cottage, we immediately became friends with our neighbors across the fence. The owner of Mokulua Hale was Miriam Didión, a retired human rights activist and psychologist. Her housemates were retired teacher Joanne Walther and Esmerelda [Izzy] Cruz, who had been the housekeeper of Miriam and her husband. When Miriam mentioned needing a live-in housekeeper since Izzy had developed rheumatoid arthritis, my twin brother Nathan offered to locate potential candidates as he is a psychologist and former director of Hale Malolo, a women’s shelter. This was how Samantha Turner, a young woman in a failing marriage became the fourth person to join our neighbor’s household.

Sadly, tragedy inserted itself into our lives again. Miriam was murdered just as we were adjusting to life in this welcoming beachside community. Dismayed by the dramatic loss of their friend, The Ladies, as we refer to Miriam’s housemates, rallied to support one another. Both Keoni and I have experienced many sorrows in our lives; being together eased our acceptance of this tragedy.

The benefits of our new surroundings also fortified our adjustments to our new lifestyle. We celebrate the fruits of our years of labor with long soaks in the hot tub and daily walks along the nearby white sands beach. And, at the end of our varied daily activities, we frequently join with The Ladies for potluck meals. The delicious dishes Izzy prepares from the bounty of Joanne’s garden are often paired with the wine and delicatessen treats we provide.

Despite being nominally retired, Keoni has expanded Hewitt Investigations. Through liaison with a national security firm, he now accepts assignments to analyze security systems for small businesses. He maintains his bungalow in Mānoa for times he needs to meet clients in the evening—or for breaks during a stakeout. My own schedule is quite flexible since I am a free-lance writer. My latest project is a magazine article featuring a gourmet cooking school founded by Akira Duncan, a hapa Japanese-French chef noted for gastronomic delights of the Pacific Rim.

Inspired by what I learned from the man’s biographical information, and the amazing food Izzy produces, I have decided to broaden my meager culinary abilities. It seems only fair to use the exquisite kitchen Keoni designed and helped construct. So, without letting anyone know my plans, I am going to check out Chef Duncan’s school personally as well as professionally. I have already looked over the curriculum and am thinking of signing up for the course on cooking basics. Aside from tips on food shopping and kitchen organization, it will teach me the proper use of knives. You never know when a girl will need a skill like that.

The course does not start for a couple of weeks and I have some lead time until the deadline for my article. Therefore, Keoni and I are extending our celebration of St. Valentine’s Day to embrace a full week of fun and romance by competing in the scavenger hunt which coincides with Chinese New Year. The hunt is sponsored by a conglomeration of non-profits aiding women and children, including Hale Malolo. A notable feature of the event is that contestants can designate which member organization will receive a percentage of their entry fees.

We can participate since Nathan is no longer serving on Hale Malolo’s board. As winners of the early entry prize drawing, Keoni and I will be enjoying a week at the luxurious downtown hotel serving as the hunt’s headquarters. Certain that the hunt would appeal to a variety of people, I emailed the promotional information to friends who have enjoyed holidays with me during my overseas assignments.

Most were recovering from the rush of the holidays. But Margie and Dan O`Hara immediately replied that they would come. That pleased me specially, since they had last visited the Islands at the time of Keoni’s birthday party and we did not get to socialize after Miriam’s funeral. My friendship with the couple goes back to the short period in which Dan served with my husband Bill in the U.S. Navy. They have remained my lifeline in many ways since Bill’s death from encephalitis during a six-month deployment to the Western Pacific.

I glanced at the clock and saw that I needed to stop my reminiscing and finish getting ready for our late afternoon departure. I realized I had not given The Ladies a key to the new lock on the back door. They would be watching over the cottage and Miss Una and I wanted to ensure they had everything they might need. Thankfully, Izzy was home when I called so I dashed through our back gates to deliver a key.

Although we would be driving against the flow of afternoon traffic, we needed to leave as soon as possible. So, by the time Keoni returned, I had tidied the house, taken out the trash, and shut my single suitcase. I greeted him with a kiss and a glass of strong sun tea with cinnamon, cloves, and orange peel. We chatted briefly while he downed his tea and an energy bar. He then showered, dressed, and completed his packing. As he wrapped a light shawl that had been my Auntie Carrie’s across my shoulders, we looked down at his two suitcases, laptop and briefcase alongside my single suitcase and carryall.

You haven’t packed much. Do you have everything you’ll need?

We’re only going for a week, dear. Perhaps your other girlfriends were big on luggage, but with all my years on the road, I’m a minimalist when it comes to travel. One suitcase, a carryall, and one small handbag for evenings on the town. I think that covers it, don’t you?

Well, that philosophy will certainly make international travel easy.

I’m glad you approve, sir. Now let’s hit the road.

Final check: The Ladies have keys to the house, know the security system, and where I keep the keys to my truck? Keoni asked with a smile.

Yes, I nodded. Most importantly, they know Miss Una’s routine and where all her food and goodies are. I just hope the supply of food holds out. All of a sudden, that cat has more than doubled her intake, I noted.

I don’t think Izzy would allow anyone to go hungry—certainly not your precious baby.

You’re right about that. And as a second-generation cook-to-order chef, she’s likely to create an entire line of cat cuisine delights while we’re gone, I added.

Izzy is the only one of Miriam’s Ladies who is from the Islands. I had thought she was of purely Filipina background, but recently I learned the diminutive woman’s mother was Portuguese. At the time her parents married, there was much less mixing of ethnicities. Her maternal grandmother had not been pleased when her granddaughter married a short man with little education who worked his entire life as a fry cook in a diner. I, for one, benefited from the results of that union, since the delicacies created by Izzy greatly enrich my daily life.

Keoni grinned. Who knows what Joanne might contribute from the garden—aside from the catnip I saw her planting the other day.

Joanne came to her love of all things horticultural late in life. She journeyed throughout the world before arriving in Hawai`i, but sometimes I hear a hint of the South in her voice. I recently learned that she comes from a poor Creole family in rural Louisiana. After escaping her limited prospects, she joined the Army and eventually used the benefits of the G.I. Bill to earn a bachelor’s degree in education. Returning to government service, she became a teacher for military families. In addition to providing the neighborhood with luscious fruits and vegetables, she inspires our youth as a volunteer photography instructor.

At that point Keoni got a call. His Bluetooth system kicked in and I heard Samantha Turner’s voice. While she clarified details of the work she would be performing for him during our absence, I thought about how we know her.

After being an abused wife of a man noted for sordid business dealings, Samantha had been delighted to join the loving circle of women that welcomed her to Mokulua Hale. And although she was not originally one of Miriam’s Ladies, being present at the time of the psychologist’s death also awarded her lifetime occupancy of their benefactor’s home. Now, in addition to helping us with odds and ends that arise in our individual work, she is looking forward to a full-time career and is studying European languages and international business.

Within a few minutes we were pulling up at the front of our hotel. I dropped Keoni with our luggage and opted for self-parking, since the scavenger hunt might require access to rapid transportation. When I entered the lobby, I saw that Keoni had already checked us in. He was visiting with someone near a huge pot filled with blooming ki plants.

Natalie, I’d like you to meet Alec Salinas. You could say we spent a lot of our misbegotten youth together. We both attended Queen Lili`uokalani Elementary, served as MPs in Nam, and entered the police academy together.

Nice to meet another survivor of Keoni’s working life, I said, extending my hand.

The pleasure’s mine, replied the scarecrow of a man.

The two men may be the same age, but it appeared that life had been less kind to Alec. Although his jacket fitted his body as though it had been tailored for him, he was completely white haired and hunched, as well as skinny. When he clasped my hand with his left, I realized he was missing a couple of fingers on his right hand.

Those were the glory days, my friend. After that, I moved to the Big Island for a couple of decades of alternating rhythms. Between the slow pace of upcountry policing in Waimea and the hustle of tourist-driven Kailua-Kona, I had the ideal balance—until a little run in with a man piloting a plane-load of contraband ended life as I knew it.

I don’t think anyone would say you slept through any of your career, responded Keoni.

Alec shrugged and rolled his eyes. I’d better get back to writing some reports. One nice thing about this gig is that I don’t have to be dexterous. I can use voice recognition software for most of my paperwork. You two enjoy yourselves. Here’s my card if you need anything.

In a moment, we were alone in the elevator. Keoni squeezed my waist and leaned into me for a kiss.

Hey, where’s the luggage? I asked.

Already taken care of. That’s the beauty of a full-service hotel. I checked in and the bellman took everything away. By now it should all be in our suite.

We soon arrived at the door of our suite. Keoni popped in his entry card and passed a second one to me. I have not taken any trips since retiring and had never been in this hotel. But I could tell we were going to be comfortable in this suite featuring a coffee bar, five-strand cane furniture, and lithographs of classic paintings by Paul Gauguin and maps drawn by James Cook.

Mm, there’s even a kitchenette with a rice cooker. I think I could get used to this kind of compact living, I said gleefully.

Calling from the bathroom, Keoni added his acknowledgement of the value of our prize. If you think you like the kitchen, wait until you see the Jacuzzi tub.

We then played house for a while, arranging our clothing and toiletries. You may not have brought much clothing, but you certainly didn’t stint on the bottles and jars, he laughed while fanning his hand across the bathroom counter.

Well, this is our first getaway and I want to make the most of our rendezvous with romance. Especially tonight, since we’re alone.

Promises, promises. And now my dear, how about a little champagne to christen our week in the big city. If you’ll look in the refrigerator, I believe you’ll find a little something has been dropped off by Ben.

That neighbor of yours really gets around, I commented, moving quickly to open the refrigerator. Oh, my…Pierre Gimonnet Champagne Brut…Blanc De Blancs. And who made the choice of this fine wine?

I did. And I’ll have you know I even did a bit of research. Balanced with floral and fruit notes and a crisp finish.

Sounds like a heavenly assurance of the evening to come, I replied.

That was the idea. One thing though, let’s not get too comfortable. Alec suggested we check out the hotel’s facilities, including the restaurant and lounge on the top floor.

All right. Although I thought we might live it up and dial room service for dinner.

Great minds think alike. Alec said the restaurant handles room service. They’ve got superb seafood. They even have Maine lobster flown in once a week. On Fridays. It’s the one night the business crowd hangs around town after work. We may need to place our order before the kitchen runs out. Not that I mean to force you into eating lobster.

"You did say Maine lobster? I haven’t had that for several years. Why don’t we order our dinner at the restaurant during our tour?" I suggested, anticipating treats of many kinds.

While sharing a single glass of bubbly, we looked over the hotel’s comprehensive album outlining their amenities. The only decision we had to make was whether to go upstairs or down. After slipping into our sandals and closing the door, we decided to check out the first-floor shops and spa prior to enjoying the lounge.

Keoni was patient as I salivated at high-end jewelry and handbags. I tried to be as kind while he contemplated aloha shirts and kangaroo leather hats. When we entered the doors of the spa, we were greeted by a team of one man and one woman—obviously wanting to ensure that each guest felt welcome. Upon learning we were locals on a tight schedule, they eased up on what I was sure was normally a prolonged pitch for the many services we could experience.

Back in the elevator, I announced the one spa service I would truly appreciate. That evening. Delivered not by the hands of a stranger, but those of the man I love.

Happy to ease your stress, my dear, responded Keoni with a leer. Will that be now, or do you want to complete the tour?

It’s a difficult choice, but I guess as long as we’re upright with shoes on, we might as well continue exploring our temporary home, I said with a sigh.

Never one to ignore an opportunity to assure me of his affection, Keoni pulled me to him and planted a kiss on my brow. He had just straightened up when the elevator doors opened on a crowd of business men and women who looked like they had been enjoying an early round of TGIF liquid delight.

Within a few moments, we were seated at a table overlooking the city and the ocean. Knowing we would be enjoying a private dinner in our room, I ignored the pūpū menu, and simply nibbled at the mix of nuts and dried fruit the waiter set in front of us.

I don’t usually play tourist, but I haven’t had a Mai Tai in years. What kind of rum do you use? I asked the young man serving us.

"As a connoisseur, I can say you’ll be pleased with our signature Mai Tai which includes Coruba Jamaican rum, Amoretti Orgeat almond syrup, Giffard curaçao liqueur, and lime juice."

That sounds divine, I said.

The only catch is that I may end up having to finish the champagne by myself, observed Keoni with a sparkle in his beautiful blue eyes. It’s a good thing I’m going to stick with the classic iced tea served with a spear of pineapple for now.

Recognizing the potency of the drink I had ordered, I began eating the house nut mix in earnest. This is really good.

I’m glad you’re getting a little protein to go with the liquor, but don’t overdo the snacking if you want to appreciate your dinner.

Yes, Daddy. I’ll have you know that in anticipation of tonight, I restrained myself from eating much today. Besides, we’ve got a refrigerator for storing any leftovers.

Good point, dear.

Soon we had consumed our drinks and eaten a full bowl of the nut mix. After settling our bill, we moved next door to look over the restaurant. As I glanced through the menu, I realized that the restaurant was owned by the chef who had opened the culinary school I would be writing about. Since it was Friday, there was no deliberating on what I would order for dinner. Upon returning to our suite, we moved into the bathroom for one of our favorite pastimes—a long relaxing steamy shower for two. By the time dinner arrived an hour later, I was attired in one of the fluffiest bathrobes I had worn outside of a five-star hotel in Europe. With Keoni wearing swim trunks and a T-shirt, it seemed prudent to let him answer the door.

When I heard the waiter leave, I came out to find a lovely setting on the table in front of the sliders leading to the lānai. We began our feast with halves of artichoke stuffed with crab and then shared a Caesar salad. In addition to one entrée of lobster and another of grilled `ahi, we relished a medley of wild rice and quinoa with slivers of Maui onion and asparagus.

Well, honey, welcome to my world. At least the world I knew as a leisure journalist. I know it may not be the blast you and the guys have when you go deep sea fishing, but what do you think? I inquired extending my glass for a refill.

Now this is a form of R & R I could get used to—on a regular basis, said Keoni.

"I agree, sweetheart. With a potential trip to Japan on the horizon, I’m glad I’ve maintained my travel industry contacts. I’ll see what I can come up with for a party of four—unless your old HPD buddy Stan Carrington and his girlfriend Tamiko have better connections in Sapporo. When’s the last time you spoke to Stan?

I haven’t talked to him since my birthday party, but I think I would have heard if he and Tamiko had broken up. He’s always been one for sharing the big moments in his life…not always just the good ones.

Here’s a toast to romantic relationships…and continuing journeys of interest, I said.

After that, we filled a couple of glasses with the sun tea we had brought from home and went out on the lānai to enjoy the twilight sky. Later we settled in for a private film festival.

What are you in the mood for? queried my sweetheart.

I’m game for most anything. Last night I had a funny dream from an old black and white movie. I just can’t remember which one.

"Sounds like fun, but don’t look to me for titles. I’ve probably watched them all, but I never remember the details—except for a classic like Casablanca, which I think would be a bit of a