Surfing Detective 02 - Wipeout

hand as the envelope, the letter said:
    Dear Charles,
    Son, thank God you are alive! The story of your surfing accident at Waimea Bay was carried on all the TV networks and CNN, on the radio, and even the Lewiston paper. They all believed you were dead. But I prayed to God that you survived. My prayers have been answered.
    It’s a shame you have to hide from those bad men and can’t even let your wife know you are alive. I fully understand and will keep your secret.
    Please send me your new address.
    Love,
    Mom
    Corky was more of a fool than I had imagined. If you are planning to disappear, the last person on earth you want to tell is your own mother. Any halfway decent insurance investigator would start with her. If Mr. Gold had not, he wasn’t doing his job. But, then, if he had, maybe this mother who wasn’t bright enough leave her fleeing son’s name off envelopes
was
bright enough to fool an insurance investigator.
    I returned to Maunakea Street late that afternoon, letter in hand—my only piece of hard evidence that Corky McDahl was apparently very much alive.
    Mr. Gold had good reason to be suspicious. But I wasn’t working for Mr. Gold. I was working for Summer, who was now more mysterious to me than ever. Was she totally in the dark, as the letter suggested? Or was she working with Corky? And perhaps Maya? And who were these “bad men”—the same men with Summer in the black Mercedes? Or were the “bad men” just some excuse Corky had given his mother to justify his running out on his pregnant wife and taking up with another woman?
    The red light on my answering machine reminded me that Summer had never returned my call. I pressed Play and heard Tommy Woo’s voice.
    “Hey, Kai, did you hear the one about the Chinese, Filipino, and Hawaiian astronauts . . .” After a punch line that would get Tommy himself punched in some circles, he added “My client got hung out to dry by the Sun organization. He took the wrap for that ice he sold. Thought you’d like to know.”
    Why did Tommy think I would like to know? Because the same thing had happened to Leimomi’s father, who was still cooling his heels in prison? Her dad could have plea-bargained for a lighter sentence, and been out by now on parole, had he testified against the kingpin. But that meant harassment, bodily harm, or death.
    As I erased Tommy’s message, there was a gentle
Tap . . . Tap . . . Tap
at my door. I reached for the knob and found Leimomi standing there, still wearing her
lei
stringing clothes—white Bermudas and a pink T-shirt that said “Fujiyama’s Flower Lei’s” and carried the ambrosial scent of ginger and
pikake.
I glanced involuntarily at her tummy, wondering if it had already started to bulge like Summer’s.
    “I’m worried, Kai.”
    I took her warm hand and walked her to my client’s chair. “Sit down and tell me what’s happening.”
    “Nothing’s changed,” she said looking distracted. “Nothing at all has changed.”
    “Tomorrow’s Friday.” I tried to cheer her up. “Let’s go out to dinner and have a relaxing evening together. It might do you good. Pick you up at seven?”
    “A nice dinner won’t change anything. It will be the same problem tomorrow.”
    “Wait and see. Here . . . ” I pulled a twenty from my wallet. “Why don’t you buy one of those test kits and then you’ll know for sure.”
    “What if I don’t want to know?”
    “Leimomi . . .” The next hour was spent talking in circles, with Leimomi crying, me consoling, and nothing getting resolved. After she left, I realized I had completely forgotten about the ocean blue crystal egg I had bought for her.
Auwe!

    When I tried calling Summer later, I was surprised when she actually answered.
    “What evidence have you found?” she asked matter-of-factly. There was a coolness and distance I hadn’t heard before.
    “I’ve found evidence, but not that Corky died.”
    “What do you mean?” She sounded curious, but not ecstatic.
    “If you are not sitting down, Summer, I suggest you do.”
    “I’m already sitting. What is it?“
    “Corky may be alive.”
    Silence.
    “I’ve just come from upcountry Maui where he is most likely staying with a friend.”
    “What friend? He doesn’t have any friends there.”
    “I’m not sure,” I lied. She didn’t need to be told just yet that not only had her husband faked his own death and skipped out on her, but also was living with another woman. Or maybe it was Summer who