“That’s ridiculous,” Noelani said.
Dillon didn’t argue. His suggestion had been pretty farfetched. “OK then, what’s your explanation?”
“I don’t have one,” she said. “I mean, say he faked his own death and ran off to become a priest. That doesn’t explain how his photograph found its way into a dusty old album in Grandmother’s attic. No matter how I crunch the numbers, it doesn’t add up.”
Dillon studied the priest in the photograph. “You’re right,” he admitted. “Unfortunately, I’m too tired at the moment to do the maths. Why don’t we call it a night? Tomorrow maybe we can visit your great-uncle’s grave.”
“So you aren’t leaving?” Was that relief he saw in her expression?
“Not until we get to the bottom of this.” He paused. “I owe you an apology, Noelani. I leaped to some unwarranted conclusions earlier. You didn’t have any ulterior motives when you contacted my office, did you? You truly didn’t realize who you were hiring.”
“No,” she said.
“And you never got my letters.”
“No,” she said again. “Grandmother’s doing. I’m sure she meant it for the best, but . . . She was always trying to save people from the consequences of their own folly, you see. That’s why she missed out on the last few days of my grandfather’s life. She felt it was her duty to help Thomas.” Noelani heaved a weary sigh. “Ironic, isn’t it? Despite her well-meant intervention, Thomas continued down the same destructive path.”
Noelani had already been up for an hour and a half by the time Dillon wandered into the kitchen looking for breakfast at a quarter to seven.
“You’re up early,” he said.
“I haven’t adjusted yet to Hawaii time.”
“Headache?” he asked.
“No. Why?”
“You’re frowning,” he said.
“I went out on the lanai to drink my hot chocolate a while ago, and I found this lying in the centre of the table.”
“What is it?” He leaned closer to get a good look. “Obsidian? One of Pele’s tears.”
She nodded.
“What was it doing on the lanai}”
“I haven’t a clue. Maybe it’s a sign,” she said lightly. “Maybe Pele’s telling us we’re on the right track.” Then she frowned as another possibility occurred to her. “Or maybe she’s warning us off.”
Six stones marked the family plot, six stones but only five actual interments accorded her great-grandparents, her parents and her great-uncle. The remaining stone marked her grandfather’s empty grave, empty since John Crawford lay entombed inside the USS Arizona.
“Grandmother’s stone will go right there.” Noelani pointed to a space next to her grandfather’s memorial.
A shaft of sunlight sliced through the clouds as if to mark the spot. Dillon caught a flash as the beam glittered off something near John Crawford’s headstone. He knelt to take a closer look. An obsidian teardrop glistened in the grass.
“Find something?” Noelani asked from behind him, then “Oh!” she cried when she realized what had captured his attention. “Another tear.”
One might have been a coincidence, but two? Dillon didn’t think so. He plucked the tear from the grass and stood. “Someone’s playing games with us.”
“But why?”
“Good question. Wish I had a good answer.” He studied the little cluster of gravestones. One caught his attention. “What year did your great-uncle die?” he asked Noelani.
She gazed at him, obviously confused by the sudden turn in the conversation. “In the forties. The early forties.”
“That’s not what it says on his stone. Look.”
She stooped to examine the grave marker. “ ‘Thomas Adam Ferguson,’” she read. “ ‘Born 6 May 1926. Died 3 June 1976. God was his salvation.’” She glanced up at Dillon, looking stunned. “But there must be some mistake. I’ve seen this headstone a dozen times or more, and I know it didn’t say 1976 before or include that bit about God being his salvation. Someone’s switched stones.”