Fern Michaels - Tuesday’s Child

Kala looked at Jay, who shrugged. Both of them got up and shook Hughes’s hand.

“Thank you for taking the time to speak with us, Mr. Hughes,” Kala said.

“It was a terrible thing if Adam did what he said he did, and his wife died at his hands. I hope that young woman is able to get on with her life. She’ll certainly have enough money to do whatever she wants, even though it’s blood money in my eyes.”

There didn’t seem to be anything to say to that comment, so Kala and Jay made their way out and down the hall, the receptionist hot on their heels with a tinfoil-wrapped paper plate full of brownies that she extended to Jay, who took it like it was dog poop on a silver platter. On top of the plate was a manila envelope with what they both assumed was Adam Star’s written account of how he had killed his wife. Kala thanked her profusely as they scurried to the elevator and the nearest trash receptacle.

Outside, Kala looked upward, then bent to massage her knee. “Told you it was going to rain. Look at those clouds, black as the ace of spades. We should have placed a bet. So, what did you think?”

“Not much. Hughes looked like a straight shooter to me. If he says Adam lied, then I think he lied. I don’t know the why of it, however. I’ll let you know when I read that damn thing. Right now, I just want to get rid of these… these… this plate.”

Kala laughed all the way back to the office. She was still laughing when they arrived, just before the heavens opened, and a good old-fashioned Georgia summer rainstorm commenced.

KALA ADJUSTED HER SUNGLASSES, THEN REALIZED IT WAS THE sun umbrella on her terrace that needed adjusting. She loved the sun, the warmth it generated. She always felt like she could do anything, accomplish anything when the sun was out. Her Hawaiian heritage, she supposed. She craned her neck to look through the sliding doors to the giant hand-carved teak clock over her mantel, a gift from a grateful client years ago. A clock that had never lost a second of accuracy in all the time it had been hanging over her mantel. Twelve minutes past noon.

The ham-and-cheese sandwich on the plate that she’d fixed earlier didn’t tempt her. She wasn’t hungry, but no matter; if she suddenly got hungry, it was there for her. Maybe if Ben were there, she would have eaten it, but Ben said he was going nuts sitting around waiting for news. By news he meant Adam Star, and he also refused to refer to the waiting game as a death watch. Golf was his answer. Her answer was just to sit and wait. It was three weeks to the day that Adam Star had walked into her office and turned her world upside down.

So, there she was, alone, waiting for word. She eyed the pitcher of ice tea. The ice had almost completely melted. Well, what could you expect with the temperature in the low nineties?

Soft music wafted through the French doors, which she had left ajar. She did love the golden oldies, and so did Ben. Oftentimes they danced out here in the cool evenings after the sun went down. Ben was a romantic. So was she. At times. Soft music and balmy breezes always made her think of back home. Her game plan after the six-month vacation with Ben was to head that way and reclaim her roots. She wished now she had told Ben of her plans, but something inside her warned her that the timing wasn’t quite right. She would, of course, extend the invitation for him to join her, but he had so many friends here, she seriously doubted he would give up his present life even for her. She needed to go home, that was the bottom line. Her family had made it possible for her to go to the mainland at an early age, to attend college, then law school. It was time to take her place in the family clan.

Perhaps out of guilt, perhaps not. She thought of it as guilt because while her family had been wealthy, the inheritance always went to the sons. The females were provided for, and her brothers had certainly seen to that by shipping her off to the mainland for an education. Back then, she’d thought of it as being banished from the clan, which was far from the truth.

The Aulani coffee plantation was the largest on the island and managed by her brothers and their children. It was beyond profitable. The brothers, forward thinkers, had dropped the old ways, the old customs, after a typhoon wiped out the plantation, but not before a fungus attacked the coffee-bean plants. The insurance they carried was a mere drop in the bucket for the amount of money they needed to go on. With nowhere to turn but to their sister, Kala handed over all her savings, then borrowed money to get the plantation up and running again. Today, the Aulani plantation was a major source of coffee in the US. She never regretted even for a moment the hardships she’d had to endure to make sure the plantation survived. For many, many years now, she received a full share of the profits because her brothers were fair. A house in Lahaina had been turned over to her, her grandmother’s house, right on the ocean. Her brothers, their sons, the neighbors, and the workers from the plantation had refurbished the large five-bedroom house and added on to it after they bought up the two adjoining properties and made it into one. While it wasn’t palatial, it was darn close to it. They said it was an act of love for her, and she believed them because, when it came right down to it, family was all that mattered in their world-her world as well. She loved going back home, loved waking up to the sound of the surf, seeing the palms swaying, hearing the rustle of the wind, staring for hours at her banyan tree, the biggest and the oldest on the island, and it was all hers. She loved the way the Hawaiian sun kissed her entire body and made her feel at peace. She hungered for that feeling.

If there was a way to get out of the six-month trip that she and Ben had planned for four years, she’d do it in a heartbeat. She knew she wouldn’t really do it because she had promised Ben she would take the trip, and she never broke a promise. That wasn’t exactly true, she fretted. She’d broken one promise, and that was the promise to Sophie Lee that she would successfully defend her so that she would be free. She never knew to this day if Sophie held that broken promise against her or not.

Kala didn’t know how it happened or when it happened, but slowly, over the year she’d spent preparing Sophie’s defense, the young woman had come to be like a daughter to her. She still, to this day, thought of her that way. Jay had told her once that Sophie, who was an orphan, said that knowing Kala was like having a mother. She’d cried when Jay told her that. She still teared up when she thought of Sophie locked up for the rest of her life.

Well, that wasn’t going to happen. Soon, she’d be free. Free! God, how wonderful that was going to be for Sophie.

Kala looked down at the dried-out sandwich, at the pitcher of almost lukewarm ice tea. She sighed as she got up and carried it all into the kitchen. She might as well go to the office and pester Jay and Linda. She grimaced at the thought. Jay had threatened to kick her fanny out the door if she showed up again. Well, let him try.

Kala did a quick check of her makeup, her linen pantsuit that was so wrinkled it looked like she’d slept in it, her hair, and her sandals. She shrugged. Linen was supposed to look wrinkled. She headed out to her SUV, a Porsche Cayenne, and headed for the office. She only drove her little convertible when she wanted to show off. She much preferred the safety of the big SUV with all the crazy drivers on the road. Her cell phone rang just as she shifted gears to back out of her driveway. She had many rules when it came to driving. First and foremost, no drinking and driving. Nor would she use her cell phone or text while driving. Nothing was more important than keeping her eyes on the road, and the person could and would call back at some point. And last, never speed, always obey the law. Kala lived her life by rules, always had and always would. Besides, it was probably Ben just calling to check in. Something he did without fail when they were apart. She only wished she was half as diligent as he was.