The Cursed
Canoe
FRANKIE BOW
The Cursed Canoe
Copyright © 2016 by Frankie Bow
Published by Hawaiian Heritage Press
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the authors except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, are used fictitiously.
Edited by Maria de Pillis-Shintaku
Hardcover ISBN: 978-1-943476-14-5
Paperback ISBN: 978-1-943476-15-2
Library of Congress Control Number 2016933621
DEDICATION
To my favorite canoe paddler, with love.
Also by Frankie Bow
Miss Fortune World: Hair Extensions and Homicide
Once Upon a Murder
Tabasco Fiasco
Schooled
Miss Fortune World: Supernatural Sinful
Sinful Science
Miss Fortune World: The Mary-Alice Files
Mary-Alice Moves In
Bayou Busybody
The Vanishing Victim
Aloha, Y'all
The Two-Body Problem
Black Widow Valley
The No-Tell Motel
Vampire Billionaire of the Bayou
The Pajama Murder
The Lost Weekend
Professor Molly Mysteries
Trust Fall
The Musubi Murder
The Cursed Canoe
The Black Thumb
The Invasive Species
Mother's Day
The Nakamura Letters
The Perfect Body
The Case of the Defunct Adjunct
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Also By Frankie Bow
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
CHAPTER FIFTY
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Also By Frankie Bow
About the Publisher
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I could not have written this without the tireless support of my family. Thank you.
CHAPTER ONE
EMMA NAKAMURA’S CREW was out near the breakwall, but even at that distance I could tell her canoe was moving fast. She’d promised us she’d finish paddling practice in time for sunset happy hour (half price drinks and free pupus) at the Pair-O-Dice Bar and Grill. But the sun had already sunk out of sight, and Emma’s canoe continued to zip back and forth with no sign of slowing down.
It wouldn’t be any use complaining to Patrick Flanagan, who was standing next to me on the black sand beach. Pat is indifferent to food and looks it.
“Emma’s pushing them hard,” I said.
“Probably trying to get in as many sprints as she can before it gets dark. Was that your stomach growling?”
“Ooh, Pat, I hope Emma doesn’t end up giving someone a heart attack or anything.”
“Careful what you wish for. You might get it.”
“Okay, I guess I’m not actually wishing for anyone to have a heart attack. That wouldn’t be nice.”
“Lightning strike?” Pat suggested.
“Maybe a little one.”
I imagined Zeus astride the dormant volcano that dominated the island (Mount Olympus being impractically far away), aiming a thunderbolt directly at seat five of Emma’s canoe. Just enough voltage to knock Kathy Banks out of commission for a while.
It’s not like me to wish someone ill. I try to get along with everyone, not always an easy task for a new department chair. But seeing the good in the officious and incurious Kathy Banks, my liaison in Mahina State’s Student Retention Office, is beyond my ability. I squinted at the distant outline of the canoe.
“Why does Emma tolerate her?”
“Kathy’s a strong paddler. That’s why Emma keeps her on. You know, Emma doesn’t like Kathy any more than you do, but she doesn’t really have a good reason to kick her off the crew.”
“Flirting with Yoshi doesn’t count as a reason?”
“You know Emma will ignore that kind of stuff if it has anything to do with one of her big canoe races,” Pat said. “Besides, I don’t think Kathy’s flirting is completely a one-way street.”
“That’s probably true. Emma told me her spineless husband, those were her words, doesn’t initiate it, but he doesn’t exactly try to—oh hi Yoshi, I didn’t see you standing there!”
“Did they come in yet?” Yoshi shaded his eyes and peered out at the dark ocean. I wondered why he didn’t simply turn the bill of his baseball cap around to face the front.
“It’s getting a little dark to see them now,” I said. “But Emma’s canoe is out there.”
“The sun sets so fast here. I’m still not used to that. It’s so different from upstate New York. I feel like we’re the only ones on the beach.”
“We’re not,” I said.
A man leaned on the wall of the halau, the open-sided shed housing the crew’s canoes and equipment. He was texting or playing a game on a handheld device, slouched against the halau’s weathered siding as if he were doing a fashion shoot. His leather pants were so snug it looked like the lower half of his body had been dipped in black latex.
Pat followed my line of sight.
“Enjoying the view?”
“He’s more your type than mine. Besides, I’m not looking.”
“Careful, Molly. I think Gorgeous George there is with one of the ladies in Emma’s crew. Does Donnie know about your roving eye?”
I tried to formulate a devastating comeback, but couldn’t think of anything wittier than, “Shut up, Pat.”
“I’m starving,” Yoshi said. “I paddled for almost
an hour today.”
“I guess I could eat something,” Pat agreed. “You think we should head over to the Pair-O-Dice and get a table? Emma can meet us there whenever she’s done torturing her crew.”
I was about to chime in with my support for Pat’s idea when a distant voice yelled,
“Call 911!”
Pat was already on his phone to the emergency dispatcher before I could locate my own phone in my purse. I wondered if I should look into getting one of those bags that lights up when you open it, like a refrigerator.
“Yes, I’m sure we need an ambulance,” Pat enunciated into his phone. “No, I can’t tell you the exact nature of the emergency. Someone shouted, ‘Call 911’, so—Medical. Yes. I’m sure. Look, the boat’s not on fire, and I’m pretty sure they didn’t get attacked by pirates. Yes. No, I’m not trying to be...Okay, thank you.”
Still on the phone, Pat touched my arm to get my attention and pointed at Emma’s canoe. As it crept closer to shore, we saw what the problem was. Only three women were paddling. Behind the boat, three more shapes trailed in the black water. Two were swimming, holding up a limp figure between them. Yoshi, now waist-deep in the surf, gripped the side of the canoe and pushed it hard to point it up toward the shore. Emma and the two remaining paddlers hopped out of the canoe and pushed it until it rested on the sand. An ambulance pulled up, and two men in white hurried down to the water’s edge.
Even with her blonde hair stringy and wet, I recognized her immediately. The men in white bundled Kathy Banks into the back of the ambulance and pulled away slowly. Yoshi stood and watched until the ambulance was out of sight.
CHAPTER TWO
THE WOMEN IN EMMA’S crew hosed the boat down and hauled it into the halau. The paddlers worked quietly and dispersed quickly, leaving the four of us—Pat, Emma, Yoshi, and me—on the dark beach.
You might imagine a Hawaiian sunset as a florid blaze over the water, edged with pinks and golds, but here you would be wrong. Those sunsets happen on the west side of the island, the dry sunny side that draws all the tourists. Here on the rainy windward side, the sky darkens and the palm trees become black silhouettes, and it’s nighttime. If you really want to see something, stand on the beach at dawn. When the rising sun lights the ocean, then creeps up the forested slopes rising up from the shore, and finally illuminates the snowy peak of the volcano...well, I’ve heard it’s spectacular. I don’t usually get up that early myself.
“One minute everything’s fine,” Emma fumed, “an’ next minute she falls into the water in front of me. No warning at all.”
I seemed to be the only one who was feeling the cold. Emma was fairly incandescent with rage. She seemed to think Kathy Banks had keeled over on purpose, specifically to ruin paddling practice.
“Was she breathing when they took her out of the water?” Pat asked.
“How should I know?” Emma crossed her sturdy arms. “Sherry and Pam were the ones who pulled her up. That was all we could do. None of us had a phone out there. Man, I knew something like this was gonna happen.”
“Cause of the diet?” Yoshi asked.
“You put your crew on a diet?” I was glad I had resisted Emma’s attempts to persuade me to join her crew. The thought of daily workouts was bad enough, but a diet on top of everything else sounded downright totalitarian.
“No, I did not put anyone on a diet. I mean, I might have told ‘em that we could all stand to lose a little weight.”
A chill breeze sliced through my loose knit angora sweater. I hugged myself and rubbed my upper arms.
“Can’t you eat whatever you want?” I said. “With all the exercise you guys do?”
“You don’t want extra weight in the boat,” Emma said. “You gotta be light so your boat rides higher in the water. That way there’s less drag, and you go faster. But look, I did not encourage this. In fact, I told them, you can’t train on five hundred calories a day.”
“Five hundred calories a day! Plus hours of paddling? You guys are like galley slaves. How does anyone think this is fun?”
“Molly, when you start paddling with us? Once you’re out on the water? You’ll understand.”
“No,” I said. “That is not going to happen.”
You can’t equivocate with Emma. You show any hint of indecisiveness, and she’ll steamroll right over you.
“I mean, when the Labor Day Race is over,” she said. “Right now I’m dealing with seven crew members and only six spots in the boat. Everyone wants to race, so it can get a little ugly.”
“Can?” Pat said. “Looks like it already has.”
“We call it paddletics,” Yoshi said. “When paddlers get too competitive within their crew, and turn on each other.”
Yoshi has mellowed a lot since he first moved here with Emma as a freshly minted MBA. At first, he didn’t like living in Mahina. He claimed there were no decent jobs to be had, and would say things like, “I can’t live in a place where no one can tell I’m wearing a two thousand dollar suit.”
Tired of his grumping around the house, Emma got him into canoe paddling, which he embraced with the zeal of a convert. Most of his time is now spent paddling and hanging out at the beach. Today he wore board shorts, a souvenir t-shirt from the previous year’s Labor Day canoe race, and a cap with the logo of a local paddling shop.
One thing that hasn’t changed about Yoshi is his need to be the Expert. His favorite pastime is explaining things to people.
“Paddletics!” Pat exclaimed before Yoshi could expound further. “Molly, isn’t that one of those words you hate? What do the Word Police have to say?”
Pat knows I hate sloppy neologisms: Homophobe. Anything-gate. The worst of the bunch is the suffix –holic, which got snapped off the end of ‘alcoholic’ and now is attached to any word you can think of to indicate addiction or even mere affinity. Normally I enjoy arguing etymology with Pat, but right now, I wasn’t in the mood.
“I’ve heard worse. Paddletics could mean affairs of the paddle, in the same way that politics means affairs of the city.”
A fire truck pulled up, lights flashing. Pat shook his head and went over to talk to the driver.
“Okay, Molly. We’re gonna head home. I hafta change. Sorry about making you miss the Pair-O-Dice.”
“It’s okay, Emma. I wasn’t even thinking about happy hour. You should get going. You must be freezing.” Emma’s wet rash guard and board shorts clung to her sturdy frame. I shivered in sympathy.
“Nah, not really. It’s not that cold. Oh, I dunno if I can have lunch tomorrow. I gotta follow up with Kathy. I’m gonna visit her tomorrow at the hospital if she’s still there.”
Emma and Yoshi started back to the parking lot. I called after them,
“Give me a call tomorrow. I’ll go with you to visit Kathy.”
Emma paused and turned back.
“Seriously?”
“Yes. Of course, I know her too. I mean, I work with her.”
“Sure. Okay.” Emma sounded unconvinced.
An hour ago the ocean sparkled cobalt blue. Now whitecaps foamed on the black water, illuminated by a cloudy sliver of moon. I was lightheaded with hunger, and I doubted I would ever feel warm again. Pat came back as the fire truck pulled away.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
Pat shook his head.
“Who knows? I told them the ambulance came and went already. They tried to argue with me.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have been so sassy on the phone.”
“I told them to go take it up with their dispatcher. Molly. Molly!” Pat gripped my shoulder. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. No, I’m not. I will be, though.”
My two-tone turquoise Thunderbird looked unfamiliar, black and white under the sodium light. Pat gently removed my keys from my hand, opened the car door, and deposited me on the driver’s side. I pulled the heavy door shut, cranked the window open, rested my hands on the wheel, and started doing the breathing exercises from the vi
deo that came with my yoga ball. I didn’t want to be sick all over my new-old-stock upholstery. Pat braced his hands on the door and bent down to eye level.
“I told you, you have to see someone about this.”
“This breathing is supposed to fill me with peace and calm,” I said.
“It doesn’t seem to be working.”
I leaned forward and rested on the hard steering wheel, focusing on the sensation of the cool Bakelite pressing on my forehead.
“No. It’s not working.”
“Do you want me to drive you home? You can probably leave your car here overnight. Who would be stupid enough to steal a 1959 Thunderbird?”
“I’ll be okay.” I hoped I really would be. “It’s a little unnerving, the way Kathy collapsed at the exact moment we were talking about her.”
I expected Pat to say something to reassure me. Emma’s crew simply got overzealous with their diet, he could have said; Kathy probably overexerted herself.
Instead, he squinted out at the black water.
“Something about this doesn’t feel right to me. I don’t think this is going to turn out well for Kathy.”
He pulled his attention back to me. “I hope I’m wrong. Molly, you go home and get a good night’s sleep.”
“Pat, why did you say that? Why do you think this isn’t going to turn out well for Kathy? What doesn’t feel right?”
I wondered if years of reporting on murder and mayhem had made Pat paranoid. He used to be a reporter for the County Courier, before the layoffs. Now he teaches freshman composition part-time at our university and runs his own news blog, Island Confidential.
“Go see a doctor about this.” Pat wasn’t going to answer any of my questions. “Before you keel over. I’m serious.”
CHAPTER THREE
THE TEMPERAMENTAL CLIMATE control in my office was working this morning. My wall thermometer showed seventy-nine degrees Fahrenheit. Warmer than I'd like, but significantly cooler than outside. I brewed a strong cup of coffee, tried to get comfortable on my yoga ball chair, and prepared to tackle my to-do list.
You might think my recent promotion to interim department chair would be some kind of ego-inflating power trip. Allow me to disabuse you of that notion right now. In addition to teaching my classes and trying to keep my research going, this is how I spend my days: