Time Risk: A Time Travel Novel, page 20
Pukui knocked, and he was invited in. He closed the door softly and moved to a high-backed wooden chair to the left of Kawai’s heavy and tidy oak desk, where Kawai sat behind it, hunched over some papers.
The walls were painted in a dreary, institutional gray, while the floor was covered with gray tiles. Along the far wall, wooden file cabinets, worn and scuffed from years of use, remained shut. Two open windows without curtains offered a view of a faded brick building next door.
Detective Kawai looked up, acknowledged Pukui, and then adjusted his metal desk fan, aiming it toward the center of the room.
“Sit down,” Kawai said. “Talk to me.”
“We had some luck,” Pukui said. “A friend of Victoria Gilbert called me today. She read the newspaper story about Mr. Stone, and she said she might have seen something of interest. Yesterday, the friend saw Gilbert’s car enter the Aloha Tower parking lot and park. Friend was showing her brother, a first-time visitor, some of the tourist sites. Anyway, Friend recognized Gilbert’s car. Friend was about to walk over to Gilbert when a woman she didn’t know emerged from the car. Friend stopped. Friend said the woman wore a wide-brimmed hat and floral dress. Friend watched the woman tug a suitcase from the backseat, close the door and then wave down an Aloha Cab and drive away.”
Kawai kept his attentive eyes on Pukui. “Where did the cab take her?”
“To the Sunset Hotel. I checked it out. No single woman with that description checked in. I glanced through the hotel register. Eight people checked in yesterday: a family of four and two couples. I figure if Hunt is as smart as we think she is, she took another cab.”
Kawai nodded. “Of course she did. What have you got?”
“The Aloha cabbie driver said the lady had a heavy Southern accent. Said she was from Georgia. Then we checked with The Cab Hawaii and Charley’s Taxi, and a woman with a British accent took a Cab Hawaii taxi to Club Rainbow on the Kamehameha Highway. Three single women took taxis around the same time, and we’re still checking them out. Only one woman was picked up at Club Rainbow by Charley’s Taxi. The driver described her as having on a yellow and green scarf tied around her head and speaking in a Spanish accent. He drove her to Wahiawa to Bud’s Quick Lunch Grill.”
The Greg Stone case had piled up anxiety in Detective Sergeant Kawai’s stomach. He needed a Bromo-Seltzer. Reaching for a pitcher of water, he poured a glass half full, then opened his lower desk drawer. He pulled out a bottle, unscrewed the cap, and shook two white tablets into his hand. After he dropped them into the glass, both men watched as the tablets dissolved and fizzed. Kawai downed the water in a single gulp.
He replaced the bottle, shut the drawer, wiped his mouth and leaned his head back, staring up at the ceiling. “So, it seems like maybe Rachel Hunt is somewhere in Wahiawa?”
“I’d make book on it,” Detective Pukui said. Kawai knew Pukui was fond of betting on horses at the Kapiolani Park Racetrack.
“Why is she there?” Kawai asked, more to himself than to Pukui.
“I’m leaving for Wahiawa after this meeting. I’ll have a look around.”
“No, let me go,” Kawai said. “You stay and follow Victoria Gilbert. She still might lead us to Hunt. I don’t think their business is concluded.”
Kawai ran a hand through his short hair. “We know that Victoria Gilbert worked at the White House with Eleanor Roosevelt. There must be some kind of connection between the government and Rachel Hunt, though I have no idea what that could be. And from all accounts, the woman fights like a wildcat in a corner.”
Detective Pukui rose. “We have two good men up there. If you find her, what will you do?”
Kawai lowered his head and thought about it. “I certainly won’t fight her.”
Pukui’s smile held confidence. “Well, that’s why you carry a Smith and Wesson, isn’t it?”
CHAPTER 41
“Holy jumping cow,” Zach Reynolds exclaimed, as Rachel opened the bungalow door and stepped out into the yellow glow of the porch light onto the narrow porch. “You look like a million bucks!”
Rachel smiled. “Thank you, First Lieutenant Zachary Reynolds.”
“Oh, well, Ma’am, you can call me Zach. May I call you Anne?”
“Of course you can call me Anne. And you are handsome in that impressive uniform, with your cap under your arm and those pilot’s wings.”
Zach felt his cheeks blush. “Thank you, Anne. I can see I’m going to have to fight the guys off tonight. But don’t worry—I won first place in the middleweight boxing match at Officer Candidate School. I’ll protect you from any rascal who tries to steal you away.”
Rachel was gently amused. “Thank you, Zach. I may hold you to that. Shall we go?”
They traveled along a two-lane road in Zach’s gold and green 1939 Buick, with the radio on. They listened to Green Eyes by the Jimmy Dorsey Orchestra, with singers Helen O’Connell and Bob Eberly, or so Zach told her.
Rachel’s right foot tapped to the beat, and she loved Helen O’Connell’s playful, sexy voice. “I like this song,” she said, moving her head to the sound of the clarinet.
“Yeah, it’s a swell song, Anne. My girl and me like to dance to it.”
Rachel glanced over. “Does your girl know you’re out with me?”
Zach shifted uncomfortably. “Well, yeah… Well, you know I had to tell her because all the guys and girls would have told her, anyway.”
“And your girl’s name is Angie?”
“Yeah, Angie. Yeah, I guess I told you yesterday.”
“Is she okay with you taking me to the dance?”
“Well, to be honest, Anne, she got a little sore about it, but I told her we were just friends. I told her that if things were reversed and I was sick, I wouldn’t mind if she went to a dance with another guy.”
Rachel looked at him doubtfully. “Really? You wouldn’t mind if she went out with a guy she’d just met that day?”
Zach squirmed, shrugging, obviously trying to convince himself and Rachel. “No… No, I wouldn’t. Not if she told me they were just friends.”
Rachel could have continued the conversation, but she decided not to. Zach was a handsome young man. She loved his uniform, and she loved his polite Southern manners. She was also enjoying herself, and for a few hours, she was just going to let herself go and continue enjoying herself.
Sunday would come soon enough, and the world would go crashing into a World War, and Rachel couldn’t help but wonder about Zach’s fate. Would he survive tomorrow, and if he did, would he survive the war?
Zach gave her a side-eye glance. “You’re not married, are you, Anne? You said you were just traveling alone, right?”
“That’s right. Not married and never have been.”
Zach was perplexed. “Well, I don’t get that. A nice-looking woman like you. Have you ever been engaged?”
“Yes… But it didn’t work out. I’m a loner, Zach, and I don’t mind being a loner.”
He thought about that, and there was still some uncertainty in the tilt of his head. “Well, I guess that’s fine, Anne. Just fine.”
A minute later, he asked. “Would you think I was rude if I asked you your age?”
“Not at all. I’m thirty-three, and I bet you’re about twenty-four or twenty-five?”
“Twenty-four, soon to be twenty-five, at the end of the month.”
“So you are out with an older woman, Zach. Does that bother you?”
“No, Ma’am, I mean, no, Anne, it doesn’t. Not one little bit.”
The Buick pulled into the bustling parking lot, and Zach turned off the radio.
“Well, here we are, Anne. Geez, look at that parking lot. It’s already so crowded.”
Rachel took in the grand, stately building. Its off-white exterior, glowing warmly in the enchanting Hawaiian night, was surrounded by vibrant tropical foliage. Tall palm trees lined the pathway leading to the illuminated entrance, which was flanked by lofty arched windows. On the grand terrace, officers and their guests mingled under the colorful Japanese lanterns, enjoying cocktails and conversation.
Rachel and Zach exited the car and strolled across the gravel parking lot toward the entrance, serenaded by the big band melodies floating out and echoing through the night: sliding trombones, sassy saxophones, lofty clarinets and the deep thump of a bass drum.
As they neared the clusters of people mingling on the expansive porch, Zach looped his arm through Rachel’s, beamed broadly, and waved to friends. Their curious gazes returned, the officers’ eyes lingering on Rachel, intrigued by the attractive mystery woman at Zach’s side.
Inside, the air buzzed with energy, elegance, and the promise of romance. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm, inviting glow over the main ballroom, their light dancing on the polished wooden floors. The walls were a tapestry of military history and featured framed portraits of distinguished officers and revered leaders. In the center was a large portrait of President Franklin D. Roosevelt.
Aviation insignias and squadron patches added splashes of color, while maps and sea charts, along with black-and-white photos of aircraft in flight and battleships at Pearl Harbor, told stories of courage and adventure.
Rachel was captivated by the lively scene, her eyes sweeping across the round tables with crisp, white linens and vibrant tropical flower centerpieces. On the brightly lit stage, a lively twelve-piece band, dressed in white coats and black bow ties, belted out jazzy, razzle-dazzle tunes, creating a rhythmic backdrop for couples swaying and twirling to the pulsing big band music.
With pride, Zach led Rachel through the room. Women and officers seated at tables exchanged glances and raised eyebrows, while others gave curious squints, as the couple made their way past the busy mahogany bar.
“Want a drink?” Zach asked, his voice loud over the music and talk.
“Yes, a vodka soda, extra lime.”
Zach excused himself as he edged into the bar and raised a hand. Bartenders in white coats and ties mixed cocktails, drew frothy mugs of beer, and reached for booze bottles.
While she waited, Rachel caught sight of the tall, arched doors that led to a side veranda with wicker chairs, potted palms and a string of glowing Japanese lanterns. It offered a stunning view of the starlit Hawaiian sky—a perfect setting for intimate conversations and romantic interludes.
Despite herself, Rachel took in the scene with anxious excitement, delighted at being part of the formal tableau and a romantic night she could have never imagined. There was nothing in the twenty-first century that could compare with the elegance, the grandeur, and the timeless spell that surrounded her.
With drinks in hand, Rachel and Zach approached a round table at the rear of the room that offered a good view of the musicians and the dance floor.
When two Army Air Corps officers spotted Zach and Rachel approaching, they sprang to their feet in astonishment. In their early twenties, the officers were taken aback to see Zach accompanied by a woman other than Angie—an older, attractive woman wearing a stylish hat.
Zach nudged his hip closer to Rachel’s, lifted his chin and declared, “Anne Fowler, I’d like you to meet Second Lieutenant Billy Day and Second Lieutenant David Whitlock. Gentlemen, meet Miss Anne Fowler, from Nebraska.”
The lieutenants promptly circled the table, extending their hands for an eager shake. Billy Day smiled with pleasure, looking Rachel up and down. “I’m Billy, and it’s real nice to meet you.”
“And you as well, Billy.
David stepped forward, and Rachel grasped his hand, her gaze sharp and probing.
“It’s a pleasure to meet such handsome officers,” Rachel remarked with a hint of a smile, sizing David Whitlock up as she spoke.
The dark-haired father of Andrew Whitlock caught Rachel by surprise. She’d seen two black-and white photographs of David, but neither had captured his leading-man good looks and winning smile. David Whitlock was handsome, square-jawed and athletically fit. Andrew and his father shared the same forehead, the same nose, and the same facial bone structure, but Andrew lacked the smooth good looks of his father. Andrew’s face was a bit severe, his eyes small and suspicious. David’s eyes were a friendly blue.
“And it’s a real pleasure to meet you, Miss Fowler.”
“Hey, Whitlock,” Zach said. “Anne here says she knows a friend of yours.”
Rachel swallowed, hoping her 2024 research was correct.
David lit up. “Really? Who is it?”
Rachel didn’t hesitate. “Willard Baxter’s sister. We met on the train to San Francisco. When I told her I was traveling to Hawaii, she mentioned you.”
David gave her a curious look. “Will’s sister? You mean you met Jane?”
Rachel’s smile was tight. “Yes.”
“Well, what do you know about that? Isn’t it a small world? Did Jane say how Will was doing?”
Rachel went into a full-lying bluster. “Said he was doing just fine… Just doing great.” And then Rachel abruptly changed the subject. “She said you’re married, David.”
“Yes, I am.”
“Yeah, he’s got the old ball and chain,” Zach said.
“Too bad my wife, Lorraine, isn’t here to meet you,” David said. “But our little baby, Andrew, caught a cold and she didn’t want to leave him. And then she caught the cold. I told her I’d go home, but she told me to stay away, or I’d get sick, and then I couldn’t fly.”
Zack spoke up. “Ain’t Whitlock an ace of a husband? And Lorraine knows you’re moving on to twin-engine trainers next week.”
David shrugged. “Yeah… Isn’t she a peach of a girl?”
Billy Day gave Rachel a hang-dog look, and he spoke in a bass voice that defied his baby face and slender body, “So, I guess I’m the only sap at this table who didn’t have a date for tonight, and I still don’t have one.”
“Of course you’re a sap,” Zach joked. “Everybody knows that.”
“I see a lot of pretty girls around,” Rachel said. “I’m sure you’ll meet one of them, Billy.”
“Okay, enough of all this,” Zach said. “Let’s get this party started, Anne,” Zach said, gesturing toward the dance floor. “Let’s dance.”
Rachel raised a hand, her story ready. “Can’t dance. I twisted my ankle a little yesterday, so I can only dance to the slow music.”
Zach’s eyes lit up. “Hey, that’s okay by me.”
As if on cue, the band began to play the ballad popularized by Glenn Miller and his orchestra, And So Do You. “Hey, how about that, Anne? They’re playing our song. Let’s go.”
On the crowded dance floor, Zach held Rachel close, and she followed him the best she could with her limited dance skills. The music was so far from rock, house, and rap that she could have been dancing on another planet.
Fortunately, Zach didn’t seem to care how clumsy she was. He drew her in so close to him that she felt his heat and caught the scent of his Bay Rum aftershave.
When the tune ended and the band launched into Moonlight Serenade, another ballad, Zach was overjoyed.
“This is swell, isn’t it, Anne? Another slow dance.”
Rachel forced an enthusiastic smile as she craned her neck to catch a glimpse of David Whitlock seated at the table with Billy. Zach tugged her close again, and they drifted across the floor, his hand gently sliding up and down her back. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy it; she did. And she had just gulped down most of a vodka soda, and the bartender had been generous with the pour. On an empty stomach, she had a bit of a buzz.
And it had been a while since she’d been with a man—and her partner was a young, nice-looking Air Corps pilot from 1941. How was that for a fantasy date? But she’d have to cool him down if he made a move on her. She had no time for a roll in the sack with this guy.
At that moment, a tall naval officer in a crisp white uniform tapped Zach on the shoulder. Zach looked up, and his face fell.
“May I cut in?” the officer asked. And then to Rachel, he offered a little courtly bow and said, “Hello, Miss, my name is Lieutenant Commander T. J. Rowe. May I have this dance?”
CHAPTER 42
Inside the Officers’ Club, the lights dimmed as the glitterball spun, scattering shimmering dots across the room and over the dancers. The soft notes of clarinets carried the melody of Moonlight Serenade, wrapping the space in a dreamy, romantic glow.
Lieutenant Commander Rowe and Rachel danced in silence. After dancing with the graceful Zach, Rachel was glad to find that Lieutenant Commander Rowe was just as awkward on the dance floor as she was. They were no Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, but on the crowded floor, it didn’t matter; they simply moved and bumped into other couples.
Finally, Lieutenant Commander Rowe drew back and looked at her, the brim of her hat low over her forehead. “I didn’t ask your name. Forgive me.”
Rachel regarded him coolly. “Anne Fowler.”
“And what brings you to Hawaii, and, more specifically, to the Wheeler Officers’ Club on a Saturday night?”
“I’m on vacation from Nebraska, and I met First Lieutenant Zachary Reynolds while having lunch. He invited me to the dance, and I accepted.”
“Well, isn’t that friendly? Very fine of the first lieutenant. And are you traveling with someone? Your sister or your mother, perhaps?”
“My sister wanted to come,” Rachel said, without taking a beat, “but she was needed at the bank. She’s a teller. I wasn’t about to cancel my trip, so here I am, exploring Hawaii all by myself.”
“I find that charming, Miss Fowler. I’m not sure my own sister would have had the courage or the adventurous spirit to take on such a journey. I congratulate you.”
“Thank you, sir,” Rachel said, keeping her tone formal.
“Oh, please call me Thomas, Miss Fowler.”
“All right, Thomas, and what does the R stand for?”
“It’s a family middle name. Randall.”
“Well, now,” Rachel said, impressed. “Thomas Randall Rowe. It sounds as though you should be a Supreme Court justice.”
