Beside Still Waters (2 page)

             
Now she was crying freely and she had to leave.  She felt like she couldn’t breathe and she struggled not to think about the men who had drowned here, gasping for air when there was none.

             
I can breathe.  There is air.  In.  Out. 

             
She got onto the boat and fixed her eyes on the shore.  She had been thinking of taking the boat tour around the harbor, circling Ford Island, but she couldn’t.  She just needed to get away.

             
As soon as she made it back onto dry land she hurried away from the center as fast as she could.  Her mind was racing and she felt queasy.  She should stop, get on one of the buses or take a taxi, but she just kept walking, sucking the warm, fragrant air into her lungs and reminding herself that she was alive.

             
She heard a shout and she turned and saw a man on a small boat helping a man in a wetsuit with scuba gear onto the boat.  They turned and looked at her and the man on the boat waved.  She gave them a little wave back before hurrying on.  Everyone was so friendly in Hawaii.

             
That friendliness was just one thing that seemed to make the place so unique.  The flower-scented air, the casual, laid-back attitude of the locals, and even the pigeon English all combined to give the place a unique feel.

             
She was enjoying soaking it all in so much that it even made her think of her brother who had a television travel show and was constantly visiting strange and exotic locations.  Was it something akin to the sense of wonder that she had been feeling since she arrived that drove him?

             
Of course, Kyle always chose places that were dangerous and activities that registered somewhere between insane and suicidal.  She wasn’t sure if he’d been to Hawaii, but if he had he had probably found it all too safe.

             
Safety, though, was one thing Cindy prized highly.  Hawaii was just about her speed.  Anything more would make her crazy.

             
After walking a few more minutes Cindy made it off the base and finally found herself standing outside a little restaurant with a sign that read
Uncle’s
.  It made her smile.  Apparently the proprietor wasn’t just her cab driver’s uncle, but everyone’s uncle.  She had heard somewhere that it was local custom to refer to older people as Auntie or Uncle and people your own age as Cousin, regardless of relation.

             
It was early, only just after eleven.  The open sign was lit and a small hand-lettered sign declared that they opened at half past whenever and closed when they felt like it.

             
She laughed, beginning to feel better.  The island lifestyle and slower pace was something she’d heard about, but it played out in the most interesting ways.

             
She pushed the door and it swung open freely.  The interior was brightly lit but empty.  There were half a dozen tables with chairs clustered around them.  A counter at the back was positioned with a menu hanging on the wall above it.

             
She walked forward, perusing the menu.

             
She had finally settled on the Loco Moco which was supposed to be a favorite according to the sign.

             
Having decided she looked around for a bell to ring but saw none.

             
“Hello?” she called.

             
There was no sound from the kitchen area which she could see a sliver of through an open doorway.

             
“Hello?” she called, louder this time.

             
Silence. 

             
Maybe they weren’t open yet.

             
But the sign outside had been lit.

             
And the door had been unlocked.  Maybe that wasn’t uncommon here.

             
She turned to go and her eyes fell on an iPhone sitting on the counter.  It seemed out of place.  Beside it was a Tip Jar that was stuffed full.

             
Better just go
, she told herself.

             
And then her eyes fell on the cash register.  The drawer was open and she could see money just sitting there.

             
There had to be someone in the restaurant.  There was no way they would just leave the drawer open and leave.

             
She bit her lip, torn.  Finally she picked up a take-out menu and dialed the phone number listed there.

             
The iPhone rang and she jumped.

             
“You’ve reached Uncle.  Leave me a message and tell me how you like the food.”

             
She hung up.

             
There was nothing else she could do.  The restaurant and the money weren’t her responsibility.  She walked out the door and as it swung shut she noticed an emergency contact number in the window.

             
It would be stupid to dial it.  Obviously someone was either there or would be back soon.  Maybe they were just in the bathroom.

             
She wanted to believe that was true, but another part of her whispered that there was something wrong.  Someone could be sick or injured.  Uncle must be older and he could need help.

             
She gritted her teeth and dialed the number.  It started to ring and she heard a shrill ring coming from inside the restaurant.

             
And then it went to voicemail.

             
She hung up and took a deep breath.  She glanced around.  There were several other businesses close by.  Maybe she should go inform someone at one of them of what she had found.

             
But what if someone steals the money because I didn’t do everything I could?
she asked herself. 
And what if someone’s injured and needs help?

             
For all she knew Uncle was a large, overweight man who could have had a heart attack.  She walked back inside and headed toward the counter.

             
This is stupid, it’s not your job.

             
And she thought of the men on the Oklahoma, dying, and yet still pushing others to safety.  She took a deep breath.  Finding out if the owner needed help was such a little thing.

             
“Hello?” she shouted this time.

             
Still no answer.

             
She walked around the counter and took a step into the kitchen. 

             
And that was when she smelled blood.

             
The hair on the back of her neck raised up and she gripped the doorjamb hard.

             
Uncle could have fallen, hit his head.

             
She forced herself to take another step, and then another.

             
And then she could see all of the kitchen.  She saw white countertops, stainless appliances, and a dead man on the floor lying in a pool of blood, a bullet hole in his forehead.

2

             
Cindy screamed and then clamped a hand over her mouth as she realized that whoever killed the man might still be nearby.

             
She dialed 911 with shaking fingers and when the dispatcher came on she explained where she was and what had happened in a halting, terrified whisper.

             
And the woman made her repeat the information several times until she could hear sirens in the distance.

             
“They’re almost here,” she whispered and hung up.

             
A minute later two uniformed officers came through the front door, hands on their guns.

             
“He’s over here,” she called, voice shaking.

             
The one officer pushed past her and the second took her elbow and steered her back out to the dining room and had her sit at one of the tables.  She put her small bag of purchases from the Pearl Harbor store on the table and after a minute opened up the deck of cards and began to shuffle them in her hands.

             
When the officer came back to her he raised an eyebrow.

             
“Nervous habit, sorry,” she muttered.  The deck had been held together with just plastic and there was no case so instead of dumping the cards back in the bag she slipped the deck into her pocket.

             
“Ma’am, I’m Officer George Li. What happened here?” the officer asked, staring at her
intently
.

             
She closed her eyes for just a moment, wishing that none of this had ever happened.  Or wishing that instead it had happened back home and she was talking to Detective Mark Walters.  Wishing couldn’t change anything though so she took a deep breath and told him everything she knew.

~

             
It’s good to be a rabbi
, Jeremiah reflected to himself as he greeted people after the Shabbat service.  The sun was shining brightly outside and children’s laughter drifted into the building.  Everyone was in a good mood and telling him how helpful they’d found his comments on the day’s Torah reading.

             
It was nice when it was like this.  Some days just seemed made for happiness.  The only thing that would have made it better would have been the promise of a late night meal with Cindy.  He was glad she had finally taken the trip to Hawaii, though.  If anyone needed, deserved, a vacation it was her.

             
“Rabbi,” a wizened old man said, grasping his hand with shaking fingers.  “It is good I came here today.”

             
“We are pleased you made your way to us.”

             
“I think, I think you are the person I need to talk to.”

             
“I’d be happy to listen to whatever it is you wish to speak about.”

             
The old man looked around, bright eyes furtive.  “Not now.  Not here.”

             
“I am available weekdays in my office,” Jeremiah said.

             
The old man nodded quickly.  “Good,
ja.  Danke
.  I will come on Wednesday.”

             
“If you have a card I can have my secretary call you to set a time,” Jeremiah suggested.

             
The old man shook his head fiercely.  “
Das glaube ich nicht.
 
Nein
.  I will come Wednesday morning and then...then we have much to discuss.”

             
The old man shook his head and then turned and walked away.

             
Jeremiah couldn’t help but stare after him.  He had never seen the man before but it was not uncommon for visitors to the area to attend services in the synagogue.  Something about the man’s demeanor troubled him, though, even more than the fact that he was speaking German.

             
“Who was that?” Marie, Jeremiah’s secretary asked as she walked up beside him.

             
“Apparently someone who wants to speak with me.  He’ll be coming by the office Wednesday morning.”

             
“Did you get his name?” she asked, voice laced with suspicion.

             
He smiled at her.  “No, but do not worry, Marie.  I’m sure such an old man is harmless.”

             
His words seemingly placated her but they did nothing to calm his own mind.  He turned aside to greet a young couple and did his best to put it from his
thoughts
.

             
Whatever the old man had to say would have to wait until Wednesday.  Just like dinner with Cindy would have to wait until Tuesday.

~

             
Three hours later Cindy felt like she was going to drop from exhaustion.  She’d answered all of Officer Li’s questions at least four times.  Then she’d had to go through it all over again with Detective Robinson when he arrived.  She was beginning to feel that one of the worst things about being a witness was being made to feel like a suspect when the police questioned you like they did.

             
“I think that about does it,” Detective Robinson said at last, snapping shut his notebook.