Primitive Secrets by Deborah Turrell Atkinson

murders, arson, and accidents to check out, too.”
    â€œSo I’m on my own.” Storm’s face hardened.
    â€œNot entirely. They’ll run prints and see what turns up. They’re just spread a little thin.” Hamlin grinned at her. “You have Leila and me.”
    This is when she might have at least chuckled, but Storm’s sense of humor had departed like Fang fleeing the neighbor’s rottweiler. She took a healthy belt of her wine and didn’t even remember to enjoy his legs. This whole week was looking like hell. Her headache and ear buzz fused into a piercing throb.
    â€œWhat were those papers anyway?” Hamlin asked.
    â€œNothing I saw looked important.” She looked at Hamlin. He knew that Hamasaki handled sensitive issues. “Some beef about Hamasaki’s neighbor’s seawall and some notes on the prices of old folks’ homes.” Storm sighed. There had been two hand-scribbled, barely legible pages breaking down the cost of private home care for the elderly versus one of the swanky local nursing homes and a note with Sidney O’Toole’s name and some phone numbers. Storm hadn’t looked twice at that one. O’Toole was his golf partner, after all.
    â€œAnd you’ve had them since he died?”
    â€œYeah.” Storm did not feel like sharing the fact that Hamasaki had given them to her last Friday. She was supposed to have discussed them with him Monday morning. However, she’d spent the night at Rick’s after a dinner with a bit of wine and hadn’t finished reading them. As a consequence, she’d been a little late to the office Monday. When she arrived, she’d found Hamasaki cold in his chair. Even though the medical examiner stated that Hamasaki died Sunday night, Storm felt guilty. And she still hadn’t gone through all of the papers as carefully as she’d have liked.
    Leila set her wineglass down on the coffee table with a click. “You should move in with us for a while.”
    â€œGood idea,” Hamlin said. “Stay with Leila for a few nights. You’ll feel better.”
    Robbie walked over to them with Fang in his arms. The Simpsons must be over.
    Leila looked at her watch. “It’s nine o’clock. Storm, I’ll help you pack some things. We’ll load your car and you can follow us home.”
    Hamlin stood and gathered the glasses. “I’ll rinse these for you.” He gave Storm’s shoulder a squeeze with his free hand. “Call me if you need help, okay?” He looked over at Leila. “You, too.”
    â€œI’ll go throw a few things in a bag,” Storm said.
    When Storm came out of the bedroom, Robbie was asleep on the couch. Lying on his tummy was Fang, her head in the curve of Robbie’s neck. Storm could hear the cat’s purr from across the room. “You mind if we bring the cat, too?” She twisted her mouth into a smile.
    â€œWouldn’t think of leaving her,” Leila said. “After the initial shock, Pua will enjoy the company.” Leila referred to her aging English bulldog.
    Storm followed Leila and her drowsy passenger to Leila’s house, several miles away on one of O’ahu’s mountain ridges. Once they tucked Robbie in, Leila insisted that Storm have a sandwich. The women sat together, Storm hunched over a plate, her gaze out the window on the twinkling lights of the city below.
    â€œI have to tell you something. Rick might call here when he can’t find me at my place.”
    â€œHuh?” Leila snorted. “After what that asshole’s done—”
    Storm’s words were muffled by bread and she kept her eyes on her plate.
    â€œChili?” Leila’s eyes widened. “I love it!”
    Storm peered up at her friend and let a smile twitch the corners of her lips. “Yeah.”
    Leila chuckled. “Why didn’t I ever think of that?”
    â€œTheir underwear was in