Skanks. That was McFetridge’s term. That was what he had called them.

McFetridge had probably played wingman that night because, horny a guy as he was, he just wasn’t likely to go after a girl like Patty Afantakis.

A hand closed on my shoulder. Ki’anna had come up behind me. “You sad man, you,” she said.

I told her I wasn’t really. She didn’t believe me.

“You not s’pose to be sad in Kauai.”

Which was pretty close to what I was thinking about Howard Landry.

She stuck her finger in my cup. “Your coffee cold.”

“I’m all right.” I forced a smile.

“I wish I could do something for you.”

My smile got more genuine. “Would you? Do something, I mean.”

She sucked the coffee off her finger and put her hand back on my shoulder. “Oh, can’t date guests. But you like to snorkel? I can show you secret place. Can’t be unhappy with all the fish and coral, you. Too pretty.”

I stumbled a bit, trying to tell her that a date wasn’t what I meant. “What I would like you to do, if you could, is put in a call to one of your connections and see if you can find out what happened to Captain Howie. Why he went bust. Why he lost his boat.” I closed my hand on hers. “Could you do that for me?”

“I try.” She squeezed my shoulder in a way that she could not possibly do to all the guests. “But only if you snorkel while I doin’ it.”

5

.

IN THE MORNING, KI’ANNA LAUGHED AND PUSHED ME PLAYFULLY in the chest. “What the matter? You didn’t like snorkel?”

“It was the best snorkling I’ve ever done.” In truth, I had not gone. I had spent the day in the town of Hanalei at a bar called the Tahiti Nui, drinking beer and worrying.

She raised her eyebrows, but let the lie pass. “I got something good for you,” she said, and handed me a piece of lined paper with handwritten notes on it.

I read: “Princess Lea, Bertram 38 Twin Diesel bot January 2001 by L. Sullivan title trans. H. Landry June 01 taken by bank September 2005. Sold auction February ’06.”

“See,” she said, pointing with her finger, “Princess Lea. Like the lady in Star Wars.”

“That was Leia, with an i in there somewhere.”

“Boddah you? L. Sullivan. L for Lea. Thing is, he bought wrong time.” She moved her finger to the purchase date. “Summer’s pau here. Then Nine-Eleven, you know. Not so many people come after that. See, I been knowing him maybe five years.” She counted off her fingers. “Two t’ousand t’ree. And the reason I know him is when we couldn’t get nobody else, I would call him and he always there for me. You know?”

“Wasn’t he a very good captain?”

“Fishing boats. Not hard. They all have sonar, go same place. T’row the lines in the water and fish jump on board. Tourists go home happy.”

She pulled my face down close to hers and kissed me loudly on the cheek. “Now you go home happy, my friend.”

6

.

PRINCESS LEA. LIKESTAR WARS. ONLY HOWARD LANDRY DID not strike me as a Star Wars kind of guy.

And as it turned out strike was the operative word when he saw me at his door. He looked like he was going to attack me, put his head and shoulder down and bull-rush right through the screen. He also looked like he had already had his daily ration of beer, even though it was barely 10:00 in the morning.

“Get the fuck outta here, you moron,” he bellowed.

“I want to know what really happened, Howie.”

“What happened is I’m gonna punch your teeth down your throat.”

I didn’t laugh, although I could have. If he tried to carry out his threat, the only thing the American Dental Association could look forward to was Howard falling over, hitting his mouth on the floor. “Shouldn’t say such a thing to a district attorney, Howie. Not when he’s on official duty. You know that.”

“You’re not on jack-shit duty, pal.”

“You obviously didn’t call my boss.”

“Fuck your boss.”

“Did you call Chuck Larson?”

His rage stalled. His expression clouded. “Who?”

And then I knew. He had not been sent into exile by the Gregorys. Or at least not directly. I had an initial clue of somebody who bought a boat for him. Somebody named L. Sullivan, and the L was probably for Lea. It all came together almost without me thinking about it. “What happened to Leanne, Howie?”

He did not ask me who Leanne was. Instead, he waved his arm. He was still a good ten feet and a screen door away from me and he had not gotten his body focused enough to mount the charge he had been intending. “Gone.”

“She left you?”

The former detective was swaying. He had to grab the counter to make his next pronouncement. “It’s not just she left me.” He held on tighter. “It’s how she left me.” His voice rose a couple of decibels. “It’s who she left me with.” And then his eyes opened wide in surprise at what he had just said. “Or for.”

I guessed again. “She leave you for Jason Stockover?”

“Yeah, right,” he howled. He put his hand under his chin and began flapping it up and down. “That twit,” he said, and I realized he was simulating an ascot. “Mr. La-de-da.”

“Who was it, Howie, that she left you for?”

“That’s my point. Who? A fuckin’ exterminator, that’s who.” He thumbed his chest. Unlike the last time I saw him, he was wearing a shirt, but it was made of burlap, like an old flour bag, and his thumb got tangled in the cloth. “My exterminator,” he said as he struggled to extract it. “That I hired. Coming to my house all the time while I’m out on the water. Supposed to kill the bugs. What’s he doin’, really?” His eyes grew even wider than before. “Killin’ bedbugs?”

He was expecting a reaction to his line, his little joke, and was going to keep looking until he got one. But then he started to topple over.

I opened the door just as he caught himself and yelled at me to stop. “I used to shoot fucks like you,” he said, pointing a shaky finger in my direction.

I told him I didn’t want to hear that. I was just there to learn about Leanne Sullivan.

“So you know,” he said, as if we had not just been discussing her. And then he busied himself holding on to the counter again. He appeared to be riding waves. “Cutest angel you ever seen. But inside? Inside she’s the fucking devil.” His voice took off again, soaring until the last syllable was almost deafening.

“Why don’t you come out here with me, Howie?” I figured that was the safer alternative to me going inside. There were fewer things he could throw if he were outdoors. More room for me to maneuver. “We’ll sit like we did the other day.”

“Fine,” he said. “And then I’m gonna bust your head open.”

“Fine,” I agreed. “And bring me a beer when you come, will you?”

He said fine to that, too.

I waited until he came out and negotiated a position in one of the broken lounge chairs before I sat down myself. He did not have Sams this time. Sams were probably too expensive for the type of binge he was on. He was holding two cans of Miller and I had to pry one from his hand.

“You know what the worst part is?” he asked, just as if our conversation had not been interrupted. “Worst part is it makes me feel so fuckin’ old. I never felt so old in my life.”

“How old’s Leanne?”

“Leanne’s …” He tried to count. “Thirty-three, maybe. But it started before that. Started like when she was thirty, or gonna be thirty. I think that’s when she felt she was old. She was old and I was older. She used to like it I was older. She used to like it I was a big-shot detective.”