Primitive Secrets by Deborah Turrell Atkinson Page B

tranquility than the blades of sunlight reflected from the white sands of Maui or O’ahu. Standing at the covered, open-air luggage claim, she took a deep breath of the humidity. Water dripped from the eaves of the building onto blooming anthurium plants. Men in rubber slippers slapped one another’s backs and women hugged each other. All around her, people smiled. Storm relaxed; this was the Big Island, where everyone knew someone who knew you or your parents. She could unwind now.
    Becky rushed by. “I’ll meet you here in fifteen minutes. I’ve got to check out.”
    Storm had time to pick up a car at the rental booth, then call Fujita to tell him that she’d found the appointment book with its entries about Hamasaki’s activities the days before his death. She struggled with whether to tell the detective about the briefcase, but then realized she’d have to reveal Sakai’s medical issues and O’Toole’s conflict of interest. She decided not to mention it yet, because of the potential damage to both Sakai and O’Toole. She’d talk to O’Toole first.
    Sure enough, Fujita wanted to see Hamasaki’s appointment book. An officer would meet Storm at the airport, package it, and send it back on the next flight. “Don’t leave, now. He’ll be there in ten minutes,” Fujita said.
    Storm looked at her watch. Nearly seven-thirty. He couldn’t be too late; the last plane to O’ahu left in an hour. The small, outer-island airports tucked in early, just like the rest of the businesses, except for the bars. She and Becky would have no trouble finding a cozy place to have a bite, especially if it had good beer on tap. Local folks liked their happy hour.
    The police officer, who turned out to be a no-nonsense woman, showed up before Becky arrived. Hilo is not a big town, but she must have been only a few blocks away. She pulled her squad car to the curb, got out, walked to Storm as if she were the only person standing around, and gave Storm a receipt for the notebook with an efficient thank-you.
    â€œTell Fujita that I’d like it back, eventually. Please?” Storm called after her.
    The officer turned with a half salute and a nod. “Will do.” And she disappeared into the terminal area.
    Storm phoned Aunt Maile to tell her that she’d be late, threw her bag and Hamasaki’s briefcase into the trunk of the car, then leaned against the door to wait for Becky. She wondered if Becky had access to passenger lists. Storm knew from experience that airline personnel wouldn’t usually release passenger information to the general public. She felt a pang of guilt at wanting to check up on Aunt Bitsy. Did it matter if the flight time Hamasaki had written didn’t jibe with when she had arrived? Storm wasn’t sure, and the loose end bothered her.
    She caught sight of Becky, who had changed into jeans and was dragging a small bag on wheels.
    â€œOh, good,” Becky said when she saw Storm’s car. “I was hoping I could bum a ride from you. My fiance can pick me up at Haunani’s Grill.”
    â€œSure. I have a favor to ask.” A story spun out of Storm’s mouth before she could reconsider. “My aunt lost her trifocals on a plane from Hilo last Wednesday. I thought we could look for them.”
    â€œWhat flight was she on?”
    â€œI’m not sure. Can you find out?”
    â€œI think so.” Becky led Storm into the terminal. Except for helping a straggler trying to make the last plane, the attendants were beginning to close up. Becky asked a clerk whose computer terminal was still lit to check the passenger lists for Elizabeth Hamasaki.
    He typed, then waited a few moments. “She was on flight twenty-eight, the two-forty. Let’s see…lost glasses.” He looked at Storm. “What color were they? We’ve got two pairs.”
    â€œTwo in the afternoon? From Hilo? Uh,