Thursby Manor
Chapter 4: So This Is Our Man, Eh?
Five minutes later, Sam and Halia were back on the Kalaniana’ole Highway, barreling into town. Halia still hadn’t recovered from their scare.
“Oh my gosh oh my gosh oh my gosh,” the rattled teenager babbled over and over. “We weren’t allowed to be in that house, were we? Omigosh. What if we’d been caught? Would we be going to jail? Do you think they tried to chase us? Oh my, oh my!”
“Its okay,” Sam told her, waving an impatient hand. “We weren’t caught, right?”
“I know!” squeaked Halia. “It was so exciting!” Her eyes shone. “Do you do snoop around like that on every case?”
Sam couldn’t resist a big, lopsided grin. Halia was growing on her.
“Will we be going back?” Halia asked.
“I don’t think so,” Sam mused. “We got the big clue I was looking for.”
“Your book?” Halia asked.
“Yeah,” Sam said grimly. “That proves I was at Thursby Manor last night. I just don’t remember it.”
Halia processed this statement. “What… what does that mean?”
“I have a theory,” Sam said thoughtfully. “But we need more information.” Her eyes glued on the road, she absently rummaged in her oversized purse with her free hand. “You got your backpack on you?”
“Yeah,” Halia replied.
“Okay,” Sam said, drawing out her pack of cigarettes from the purse. “I’m gonna drop you off at City Records. Forget about sand surveys. I need you to research that house. Who owns it? Who is living there now? When was the house built? Are there any lawsuits associated with that address? Whatever you can find.”
She passed the pack of cigarettes to Halia. “Here, give me one of these, will ya?”
The teenager obediently drew out one cigarette and handed it back. “There should be a lot of stuff at the library,” she said.
Sam accepted the cigarette. “Oh? Why do you say that?”
Halia giggled. “See, now I know for sure that you only moved to the islands recently. Not long ago, everybody knew Thursby Manor.”
“Uh-huh,” Sam frowned, not at all appreciating the teen’s gentle ribbing.
“I remember when I was a little girl, there was a big policeman’s ball at Thursby Manor,” Halia recalled. “I guess Mr. Thursby gave to police charities? I guess. Mamma wanted to go to the ball, ’cause it would be all fancy, like the ball in Cinderella’s story, you know? But poppa couldn’t get tickets. We were too poor. She was so upset. Afterward, that party was in all the papers. Momma was so sad.”
“Okay, okay,” Sam mused. “Okay, to the library, then. But won’t it be harder to pull information from library microfilm than from City Records?”
“Leave that to me,” Halia grinned.
“I like your determination,” Sam told her.
The midmorning traffic was mercifully light, and soon, Sam pulled up to the Hawai’i State Public Library Main Branch, right on South King Street. “I gotta drop you off here,” the detective said to Halia. “How much time do you need?”
“I dunno,” the teenager shrugged. “Maybe most of the day?”
“Good girl,” Sam complimented. She dipped into her wallet, and thrust a five dollar bill over to Halia. “This is for lunch, then taxi fare. Can you meet me back at the office, say, around six?”
“Sure thing, chief,” Halia chirped, snatching the money.
“Okay,” Sam nodded curtly. “Work fast, I need everything you can dig up.”
“You’re not coming?” asked Halia.
“Can’t,” Sam shook her head. “I need to work my other cases. But this Thursby Manor thing, that’s our top priority, you get me?”
Halia straightened in her seat and gave a crisp, military salute. “Count on me, chief!”
“G’wan, get outta here,” Sam chided her, unable to resist another grin.
As Halia bustled across the manicured lawn to the library’s main entrance, Sam realized the cigarette was still between her fingers, unlit. She stared at the little cigar for a moment, then returned it back into the pack.
Sam’s other cases were more demanding than she’d anticipated. Mr. Manna Patterson had retained her to track down his runaway teenage daughter. Sam caught up with the girl playing hooky in her twenty-something boyfriend’s apartment, smoking dope and listening to Dylan records. The female detective was also hired by the Hele Malie Travel Agency to determine which employee was stealing from the company’s little in-office safe. Turned out to be the company’s slimy owner.
By four-thirty, Sam’s feet and brain hurt. She had little time to cross town and meet up with Halia. But before she could, there was one last task that she required her attention.
There was no time to swing by the Hotel Hotel Maika?i Resort in person. But Sam got lucky, and was able to reach Mackenzie via a pay phone.
“What’s up?” Mackenzie asked, clearly surprised that Sam was calling so early in the evening. “You need to cancel on dinner again?”
“Mack, I gotta ask you something,” Sam said, ignoring the question. “Where were you last night?”
“Last night?” echoed her cousin. “What is this—?”
“Its important,” Sam insisted.
She could hear Mackenzie roll her eyes. “Well, I performed in the show, then I went to bed early. I was tired.” The hula dancer had answered quickly and automatically. As if she hadn’t actually thought about the question.
“Are you sure?” Sam said, her voice intense. “Because I don’t think you were home last night.”
“I’m… yeah, I’m sure,” replied Mackenzie, sounding uncertain.
Now Sam was convinced she was right. “Mack, I need you to come to my office straightaway, get me?”
“I have a show at eight PM!”
“You’ll make it,” Sam assured her. “But you’ve got to come, you get me? Its really important.”
As usual, Halia was waiting for Sam when the detective reached her office. “Good hunting?” Sam asked, as she unlocked the office door.
Halia immediately began unloading stacks of papers, photocopies from the Honolulu Advertiser and the Honolulu Star-Bulletin. Sam squinted down at the blotchy black-and-white photographs. Most depicted a mainlander fellow, tall and barrel-chested. The man was commonly photographed with his bear-like arms around the shoulders of pretty, young women. He always had a wide, confident grin.
“That’s Harper Thursby,” Halia explained. “Yes, he built that big manor house. He was a shipping tycoon, or something. Lots of money. Most of these old stories are from the gossip columns; it seems he did a lot of swinging in the Honolulu nightlife.”
“So this is our man, eh?” Sam mused, picking up a paper and giving Thursby’s photograph a very close inspection. The man appeared to be in his late thirties. He possessed barely any hair on his head, but his paunch, meaty body, and rich tan testified to a life of prosperity and indulgence.
Sam skimmed the article:
HARPER THURSBY TO BUILD MANSION NEAR WAILUPE
JANUARY 20, 1954. BY EBAN TABOR.
LOCAL ADVENTURER AND SHIPPING MILLIONAIRE HARPER THURSBY IS PUTTING DOWN
ROOTS.
“I’M SELLING MY YACHT,” THE YOUNG MAN ANNOUNCED AT THE PINEAPI GALA,
AMAZING HIS FELLOW ATTENDEES. “I’M DONE ON THE PACIFIC; NO, ITS TIME TO
BUILD MY HOUSE.”
HE THEN ANNOUNCED CONSTRUCTION OF A 60,000 SQ FT MANSION, JUST OFF WAILUPE
BEACH. THE HOUSE IS TENTATIVELY TO BE NAMED THURSBY MANOR, WILL BE
MAINTAINED BY AN AUTOMATIC TRUST, AND LOOKS TO BE THE BIGGEST-
Another article from the gossip pages added to the picture:
HEARD ABOUT TOWN: MILLIONAIRE KICKED OUT OF JET SET SOIREE
OCTOBER 3, 1958. BY GRETA CLACKER.
HARPER THURSBY, HAWAII’S FAVORITE PLAYBOY MILLIONAIRE, WAS EJECTED FROM
PACKER KELEKOLIO’S HOUSE PARTY LAST FRIDAY! IT SEEMS, DEAR READERS,
THAT THE FAMOUSLY LADY-CRAZY MR. THURSBY WANTED TO BE A LITTLE TOO COZY
WITH MR. KELEKOLIO’S OLDEST DAUGHTER. SO, FOR THE THIRD TIME THIS MONTH,
MR. THURSBY HAS BEEN REJECTED BY HIS PEERS. WHAT’S MORE…
“Yeah,” Sam said, more certain than ever. “This is our guy.”
“What do you mean?” Halia asked, leafing through more papers.
“I think this is the guy,” Sam pronounced. “This is the guy who’s responsible for kidnapping me, and then blacking out my memory somehow.”
“Can’t be,” Halia shook her head.
Sam snorted, “Oh no?”
“No,” insisted Halia. “He’s dead.”
Sam’s confident grin faded. “What do you mean, he’s dead?”
“Dead,” repeated Halia. She flipped through more papers, then held up a large obituary:
HARPER THURSBY, LOCAL ADVENTURER AND SHIPPING MAGNATE, DEAD AT 38
JUNE 14, 1959. BY KALINO KONO.
HARPER THURSBY, ONE OF HONOLULU’S MOST PROMINENT BUSINESSMEN AND
SOCIALITES, WAS PRONOUNCED DEAD BY COUNTY OFFICIALS AFTER A HEART ATTACK
CUT SHORT A PARTY AT HIS MANOR HOME. MR. THURSBY, A NAVY VETERAN FROM
THE WAR WITH JAPAN, HAD BUILT A CONSIDERABLE FINANCIAL SHIPPING EMPIRE,
BASED OUT OF HONOLULU. AFTER BEING MAROONED ON AN ISLAND FOR THREE YEARS
DURING THE BATTLE OF ARAWE, MR. THURSBY…
Sam’s jaw dropped. As she skimmed the article, her theory went up in smoke. She sat down heavily in her chair, stunned.
“You’re… you’re sure?” she said stupidly to Halia.
In response, the teenager unearthed a second article:
HARPER THURBY LAID TO REST, PRAISED BY MANY
JUNE 16, 1959. BY KALINO KONO.
HONOLULU CITY OFFICIALS AND SOCIAL ELITES ALIKE CAME OUT ON THIS WARM,
SUMMER’S DAY TO BID FAREWELL TO ON OF THE CITY’S FAVORITE ADOPTED SONS,
HARPER THURSBY (1921-1959).
“HE WAS JUST SO YOUNG, SO FULL OF VIGOR,” SAID MRS. SABURO OBASI,
ATTENDING WITH HER HUSBAND. “AND TO THINK HE NEVER HAD A CHANCE TO SETTLE
DOWN…”
There was a picture of the wake. Although the photo was little better than an inkblot, Sam could see Thursby’s unmistakable girth and face, resting in the open coffin.
Sam dropped the articles onto her desk, feeling blindsided.
“What?” Halia asked, watching her closely.
The female detective ran fingers through her thick, red hair, a gesture of frustration. “I was so sure…” she mumbled to herself.
Her eyes fell on the clock. Mackenzie should have arrived by now. It was half-past six.
It was almost time.
Suddenly, Sam’s thoughts blurred. She felt a strange peace seep over her body and mind. Nothing mattered. She was happy. She had a party to go to.
The detective stood, smiling absently.
“What?” Halia said again.
Sam paused, as if noting the teenager for the first time. Halia had big, gorgeous eyes, perfectly complimenting her doll-like face. In addition to being very pretty, the girl had an appealing, slender figure, still shaped by her youth and the twilight of puberty. Sam’s wandering eye appreciated Halia’s round breasts, slender hips, and long legs. She was beautiful and sexy.
“Are you free this evening, Halia?” Sam asked, reaching into her purse.
“Uh,” the teen replied, “well, I really should be getting home. I told momma that I was working with you tonight, but she’ll—“
“You should call your mother and tell her you have a party to go to,” Sam said sweetly.
In her purse, there was a small bag made from velvet. How had Sam not noticed it before? No matter. The detective untied the strings.
“A party?” Halia asked, scrunching her nose. “What party?”
“You’ll love it, sweetheart,” Sam promised, placing a sisterly hand on Halia’s little shoulder. “But first, I need you to sleeeeep…”
The redheaded detective playfully tossed a handful of glittering sand into the air, just before Halia’s face. The teen coughed in surprise, and tried to step back.
Sam stepped forward, quickly and gently pressing one hand against the teenage sleuth’s cheek. The other hand gripped the teen’s arm. “Halia, honey, its okay,” she purred. “Look at me, okay? Look at me.”
Halia’s gaze fogged over, but her brown eyes swiveled up to stare at Sam.
“Very good, Halia,” murmured Sam. “Now… relax, baby. You will relax deeply. So deeply. Don’t fight it, Halia, relax and let go. Let go…”
Suddenly a stream of words appeared on Sam’s lips, flowing from her with confidence and seductive force. Where this dialog was coming from, Sam had no idea. But she did nothing to stop the continuous instruction.
As Sam spoke, Halia’s body relaxed and her thoughts dissolved. The teen was helpless as Sam poured command after command into her mind. Soon Halia’s eyes closed. She was asleep, yet entirely focused on Sam’s every word.
“Wonderful, Halia, wonderful,” Sam sighed happily. “You will now follow and obey all of my instructions. You have no desire of your own, except of what I give you. It feels so good to follow and obey. Every time I or one of my sisters cup your cheek just like this, you will find that your mind returns to sleep and you must obey. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Halia mumbled, her voice faint.
“Very good, my dear,” complimented Sam. The detective’s own mind was becoming focused, and she was beginning to forget who she was. She had a party to go to. “Now listen very carefully…”
The party was in full swing by the time Sam and Halia changed into their bikinis.
“Oh my God!” Halia squealed when she saw that the water gun battle was just getting underway. A dozen bikini-clad women were racing across the lawn, blasting one another, and shrieking with laughter. Generous bosoms and legs dripped with water. No-one seemed to know what teams were in play… and absolutely no-one cared.
“I gotta get in on that!” declared Halia, bouncing up and down. Her chest nearly escaped out of her bikini top.
“Whoa, girl,” Sam giggled. “The night is young. Why don’t we—“
“Sam! Over here!”
Mackenzie bounded up, barely crammed into a tiny, chocolate-colored swimsuit. The girl’s svelte body looked almost nude in the soft torchlight.
“Mack!” Sam exclaimed in glee. The cousins hugged. Halia was introduced.
“I can’t decide,” pouted Sam. “Should Halia and I complete in the karaoke contest? Or maybe get in on Marco Polo in the pool?”
“Oh, I did Marco Polo,” Mackenzie said, tossing her hair. “You get groped a lot.” She laughed, then playfully sighed at the memory. “No, you guys should come with me.”
“Where?” Halia giggled.
“Hula hoop dance competition,” Mackenzie grinned, swiveling her hips in demonstration. “Gotta warn you, though; I’m a ringer.”