The Bone Field Debra Bokur (novels for beginners .txt) 📖

chair from the other side of the deck. “Nice to see you, too, by the way.” She yawned as she sat down, hoping Walter would be brief so that she could go inside and take a nap without the extra guilt of having been seen collapsing onto the sofa.

“You’ll change your mind about that in a minute,” said Walter darkly. “Your presence is requested over on Lna‘i. You need to get over to the ferry dock at Lahaina first thing tomorrow. The police cruiser will be heading over, but you can take the ferry across if you miss it.”

Kali leaned forward in her chair, instantly alert. She could feel the small hairs on the back of her neck prickle. She watched Walter’s face carefully.

“They’ve located the head?”

“No.” He waited. “But the search turned up another body. You’d know all this already, of course, if I’d been able to reach you.”

Her sense of trepidation increased.

“And?”

“Scene-of-crime crew will fill you in on the details when you get there. There’s another room booked for you at the Hotel Lna‘i in town for tomorrow night, and the following one if staying over is necessary.”

Nodding, Kali rose to her feet. “Okay.”

Walter met her eyes.

“What are the chances it’s only one more grave?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

He looked grim.

“Yeah,” she said. “That’s what I’m thinking, too.”

She turned, looking out across the lawn to the lava-edged coast where land and water met. Beneath the softly undulating blue-green expanse of the ocean, and between the blades of tall green grass growing in front of her, other battles were in full play: deliberate deaths on vast scales, many plotted and premeditated, over everything from terrain and food to breeding grounds and shelter. Nor was the idea of people killing other people anything new. It was, she reflected, something humans had done since the first dispute over a hunting ground or a desirable woman had taken place.

She shook her head, trying to dispel the veil of darkness that was falling around her, fighting to keep it at bay. She looked at Walter and thought of his determination, his kindness, his belief that it was his duty and calling to strive for order and some semblance of decency, to mend the broken things that filled the world.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll head over to the harbor first thing in the morning. I’ll give you a call once I’m there.”

With some difficulty, Walter began extracting himself from the deck chair. He stood and stretched, the ukulele in one hand.

“Oh, and Kali?” he called as he started down the steps. “Special request from the crime scene unit. They said to leave that dog at home, or they’d make you build your own raft to get back to Maui.”

The steps creaked ominously as Walter made his way carefully down them.

Kali watched, half smiling. She whistled for Hilo, who appeared from beneath the lanai where he’d been dozing in the cool shade, and began a slow jog toward Elvar and Birta’s home, her constant companion following; she was ready to make her request for more babysitting help. “Might be time to lay off the coconut pancakes, Walter,” she called over her shoulder.

As he walked toward his car, Walter waved his free hand in the air without turning around, his middle finger pointing skyward.

CHAPTER 7

Kali stood in the roadway in the faint morning light, looking for oncoming traffic. There was none. She was on a small hill on Highway 31 close to where it became Highway 37 as it curved north, but her path was blocked by the carcass of an enormous pig. The feral pig population had spread throughout the island as droves of animals were forced to search for new sources of food in the wake of sugar plantation closures, and traffic encounters with them had increased in direct proportion. She guessed from bits of glass on the road near the carcass that it had likely been struck by a heavy truck.

By her estimation, the dead pig in the road weighed about three hundred pounds. It was positioned across the centerline, spilling into both narrow lanes. She could probably get around it by navigating the sloping, grassy road verge, but it had rained during the night, and the ground was soft. She sighed. The pig’s body was on a blind spot, and someone coming along at a fast clip might wind up in a crash trying to avoid it.

Looking up and down the road in both directions, she willed another motorist—preferably one in a pickup truck with a winch—to show up. There was no one. From the hillside sloping down to the road, several chickens appeared, followed by a huge rooster. A few seconds later, more chickens spilled across the crest. She calculated that there were about forty altogether. She was aware of the wild chickens that were as much of a problem as the pigs, and even more cognizant that they were coming to feed on the remains of the carcass. Kali grimaced at the thought, knowing that the chicken problem had developed after 1992, when the destructive forces of Hurricane Iniki had smashed through the islands, destroying buildings that included enough chicken coops and holding pens to launch a feral population. Now they were everywhere, ubiquitous to the landscape, helping to feed the underground cock-fighting organizations that operated illegally throughout Maui.

She’d already activated her hazard lights, which blinked in a steady warning as she opened the back of the Jeep. There was a shovel there, but she knew the pig was too heavy to lift. Reluctantly, she hauled out the heavy towrope coiled in a corner in the back. Swearing under her breath, she dragged the rope out and wrapped one end around the smashed remains of the pig’s hips above the splay of intestines and guts, hoping the whole animal wouldn’t simply fall apart as she moved it.

After securing the rope to the rear of the Jeep she walked back to the newly re-installed driver’s