by Debra Bokur
She followed the highway north, past a collection of five-star resorts positioned along the coast, spread out to such a degree that each one seemed to be its own oasis amid the arid lava-rock landscape. For miles on either side of the road, tourists and locals had spelled out private messages with pieces of white coral, which stood out in sharp relief against the ancient black lava stone. The messages were a mix of declaration and longing—Marci loves Jonathan 4-Ever, We Miss You Papa, Will You Marry Me, Brett?
She made her way at a leisurely pace, relishing the views to the east of the lush Kohala Mountains and the long-dormant volcanic hump of Mauna Loa. North of the mountain range was the rich Waipi‘o Valley. When she was a teenager, Kali had spent more than one season working for her mother’s cousin Brian in his taro fields. Every morning had begun with Brian and the other workers chanting, invoking the demigod Kamapua’a, also called Pig Boy, to help them by burrowing in the watery earth, making it more malleable and easier to work. The laborers, cooled by the ocean breezes, had moved through the mid-knee water, planting and weeding. The sound of their conversation and friendly banter had been a soothing sound track.
For long hours, Kali waded through the muddy water with them, picking snails off the plants and dropping them into a bucket. She simply couldn’t understand how she could collect so many snails and still find so many more the next day.
“Do you bring the snails back out here at night and sprinkle them over the plants?” she asked Brian one particularly frustrating snail-filled day.
Brian laughed, then called out to some of the others. “She thinks we’re planting snails,” he said.
Kali frowned. Planting taro—or, in this case, making sure the snails didn’t consume the crops before they could be harvested—was as Hawaiian an activity as surfing and fishing. The crooked, knobby roots were believed in island mythology to be the original source of the Hawaiian people. The old legends told how the union of the son and daughter of Wakea, the Sky Father deity, had resulted in the stillbirth of a malformed infant. The following day a taro plant arose from the place where the child’s body had been laid to rest. According to the legend, the plant was the forefather of all Hawaiian people.
The taro plants that were spread out before her in the shallow water, concluded the young Kali, deserved more respect than she was currently showing them. For the rest of the season, she dutifully picked off the snails, filling bucket after bucket, each snail making a small, dull clunking noise at it fell atop the others. An ignoble fate, and hardly worthy of their remarkable perseverance, she decided. In the end, she felt sorry for the small, determined snails and was unable to enjoy eating taro, in any of its various incarnations, for years afterward.
Traffic remained light, and Kali reached Waimea about twenty minutes before her first appointment. She pulled off onto the side of the road where the long fields of Parker Ranch ran east toward the island’s interior, rising slowly beneath the ancient lava cones that ascended in ever smoother bumps across the cattle grazing grounds. She looked again at the address she’d been given and at a page that Hara had printed out from a Web site, advertising Sunshine on Your Shoulders Solar Energy Company, Inc. The one-page flyer featured a poor-quality image of a roof boasting a covering of solar panels.
Hilo sniffed at the air through the open rear windows, enticed by the aroma of distant cows. He whimpered, pushing his nose against Kali’s shoulder.
“Not a chance,” Kali responded, eyeing the many visible piles of dung that the cows had left behind. Hilo, given the opportunity, would proudly cover himself in muck. Kali knew from numerous past experiences that it would take several energetic baths to remove the scent, and covering the interior of the borrowed car with Eau de Hilo à la Cow would not win her any favors with her colleagues on the local police force.
She pulled slowly away from the road’s shoulder and followed the detailed directions just north of the town, where what looked like an old garage had been brightly decorated with enormous painted sunflowers. A hand-lettered sign above the wide double roll-up doors identified the building as the correct address. Kali parked next to the building in the shade offered by a stand of palms. As she opened the car door and slipped out, Hilo pushed past her, positioning himself close to her hip.
At the edge of the building a second door, largely camouflaged by the giant sunflowers, bore a sign that read OPEN FOR BUSINESS. Kali turned the handle and entered, setting off a jangle of bells and metal chimes shaped like surfboards that hung above the doorframe. Inside, sitting at a long, scuffed wooden table, his feet slung across a surface littered with papers and food wrappers, was a young man in his early twenties. His long hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and he was wearing a faded shirt covered with hula dancers and denim shorts that had frayed at the edges. He glanced up as Kali and Hilo entered, his eyes slightly unfocused. He yawned, confirming her suspicion of sleep.
“Many alohas, dude,” he said, then covered his mouth with the back of his hand as he yawned a second time.
“Sorry to interrupt,” said Kali.
“No prob. Just catching up on a few REM cycles.” He caught sight of Hilo and did a double take. “Whoa. That’s one seriously large dog.”
“He won’t bother you. He already ate today.”
The boy grinned. “That’s cool, then.”
Kali took a deep breath. “Are you the owner?”
“Me?” The young man laughed, swinging his legs off the table and onto the floor in front of him. “Nope, just the hired help. I’m Matt. This is Randy’s business. He’s the solar dude.” He caught sight of the flyer in Kali’s hand. “You’re looking for some sun fire, right? Well, this is the place.”
Kali waited, but Matt just continued to smile.
“Is Randy anywhere nearby?” she finally asked.
“Yeah, sure. He’s around here somewhere.” Matt looked suddenly doubtful. He eyed Kali closely, his gaze resting on the edge of a tattoo just visible below the short sleeve of her T-shirt. He nodded, as if in approval. “I mean, I think he is.”
Kali looked out the window. There wasn’t any real reason to hurry. The sun was shining, no one expected her back in Maui until they saw her, and Kali suspected that Matt wasn’t deliberately trying to be annoying. He didn’t impress her as the type that thought that far ahead.
She glanced more closely around the office, targeted a plastic chair in the corner, and turned toward the makeshift table-desk. She walked over to the chair and sat down. Immediately, Hilo dropped to the linoleum at her feet and spread his long length across most of the available floor space.
“Sounds good,” she said. “I’ll just wait, if you don’t mind. Maybe you could see if he’s around?”
Matt nodded helpfully. “You bet. I’ll be right back.”
He exited through a door to the rear of the room, and Kali could hear him whistling as he moved away. She looked at the chipped linoleum. Sunshine on Your Shoulders Solar Energy Company, Inc., didn’t appear to be an especially prosperous enterprise, judging from the collection of mismatched furniture and rusted file cabinets. But it was hard to say. Casual was definitely the governing principle in a lot of the smaller towns, and recycling office furniture was certainly an environmentally responsible thing to do for a company with an eco focus, whether or not it was aesthetically pleasing.
The sound of whistling returned, and the back door opened. Matt, still grinning, came in, followed by a second man, also dressed in shorts, sandals, and a worn Hawaiian shirt. He was only a few years older than Matt, and Kali detected the possibility of a slight family resemblance.
She rose to her feet, extending her hand. Hilo reluctantly pulled himself into a sitting position, his head clearly visible above the table’s surface. “You must be Randy.”
The man smiled, nodding. “Randy White. Matt tells me you’re in the market for some solar panels. And that you have an enormous dog.”
“Hilo. Keeps me company.” Kali waved the flyer. “Mostly, I supp
ose, I have some questions about solar panels.”
Randy turned to Matt, and nodded toward the door. “Go ahead and take a break. I’ll help Miss . . . ?” He paused as Matt gave him a thumbs-up and headed out the front door, and waited for Kali to give her name.
“Kali.” She hesitated. “Detective Kali Mhoe. I’m making some inquiries on behalf of the Maui Police Department.”
Randy’s face collapsed, a look of panic washing over it. “Oh, crap.”
Without another word, he turned and bolted through the rear door. Kali watched, slightly amazed, as the door slammed shut. Then she walked over and pulled it open, whistling to Hilo. She snapped her fingers.
“Hilo! ”
The dog raised his head, then scrambled toward the door. Kali pulled it open a little wider.
“Fetch, boy,” she said.
Dutifully, Hilo bounded forward, his tail pointing in a straight line behind him.
She settled back into the chair, leaving the door propped open. Half a minute later, she heard a bark, followed by a terrified human yelp, and then silence. She pushed back the chair and walked out the door, then along the edge of a path leading back across the lot behind the shop, following the sound. She could make out a small storage shed just on the other side of the trees. Rounding a curve, she came upon Randy, sprawled facedown in the underbrush on one side of the path, with Hilo half sitting, half lying across his back and head.
“Good boy, Hilo,” she said, scratching the big dog behind his ears. “Good boy.”
Hilo closed his eyes and panted in acknowledgment, thumping his tail against Randy’s upper legs. The only sound coming from Randy was a muffled whimper. Kali snapped her fingers again, signaling to Hilo to move and allow Randy to get up.
He turned over onto his back, shaking his head. “What the hell, man? He could have killed me! He weighs, like, three hundred pounds. This is clearly a case of undue use of force.”
“I didn’t sit on you. The dog did. And he weighs only about a hundred twenty. I hate it when people exaggerate.”
Randy scowled and pulled himself into a sitting position, running his hands through his mass of hair, made worse by the bits of twigs and grass that had become tangled in it during his encounter with the ground.
“And I’m not selling, anyway, whatever you heard. I just grow enough ganja for myself. I have a medical marijuana license, I swear! Seven plants, that’s all!”
Kali shook her head. The last thing she was worried about was a little herbal pakalolo. “Good for you. I don’t care what you’re growing, pal. I’m here to find out where you get your solar panels and equipment.”
Randy looked at her blankly. “What?”
“Where you buy your solar panels,” she repeated patiently.
Randy shook his head. “My solar panels? For crying out loud, that’s why you’re here?”
Kali waited. When Randy did not elaborate, she said, “Not the answer I’m looking for.”
Randy got to his feet, then brushed off his shirt and shorts. He turned without a word and made his way unsteadily back to the office, followed by Kali. Inside, he walked over to a large gray filing cabinet in one corner. He ran his fingers across the tops of the files, selected several thick ones, and pulled them out. After slapping them onto the table, he gestured for Kali to take them.
“It’s all right there, man. Japanese company outside of Tokyo, cheaper than the ones on the mainland in the States. Orders, shipments, invoices, canceled checks, the works. Knock yourself out. The blue file has records of the sales I’ve made this year and last year—which is when we opened—along with the dates of installation that the insurance companies want documented. And my license. My ganja license, too.”
Kali picked up the folder nearest to her and began to thumb through it. On the surface, at least, it all appeared to be in order. Randy was organized, if nothing else.
“You got a copy machine?”
Randy pointed to a copier half buried beneath a stack of papers.
“Good. Make copies of these for me, and I’ll be on my way.”
Sputtering at the injustice of it all, Randy did as he was asked, while Kali sat back down in a plastic chair by the window.
“Aren’t you supposed to have a subpoena or something like that?”
“Something like that. But it’s always better to volunteer information than to have it dragged out of you. Unless, of course, you have something to hide.”
“Yeah, thanks for the philosophy lesson.”
Her phone rang, and she saw that it was Walter’s number. “News?” she asked him when she picked up.
There was a grunt. “Funny you should choose that particular word. Your friend the actor-blogger, or whatever the hell he calls himself, posted a podcast with a local psychic about an alleged string of attacks on Maui that have . . . Let me quote this to you . . . ‘left a wake of bloodied bodies targeted by a malicious spirit.’ The phones have been ringing off the hook.”
“Chad.” She scowled even as the name passed her lips. “Have Hara pick him up and toss him into a cell for the night.”
“Right. On charges of being a jerk? Fake news is all the rage, as you well know. And he’s the local pretty-boy celebrity. If you ask me, he’s nothing more than a highly recognizable pain in the ass.”
“That’s a stretch. Nice teeth and a part on a forgettable series hardly make him a celebrity.”
“Only your point of view, I’m afraid. It was pretty popular. Even my wife and kids watched it. But regardless. Free speech, et cetera.”
“Yeah. I still think we should pick him up.”
“Neither the time nor the energy, I’m afraid.” He paused. “Anyway, I called to let you know that Grace Sawyer hasn’t come around yet. No sign of any change.”
“Okay.” She glanced over to the copy machine, aware that Randy was listening. She ended the call and waited as he slipped the stack of copies into a large envelope and handed it to her.
He waited, fidgeting. “That’s it?” he asked, looking nervously over his shoulder at the back door leading to the path and the storage shed.
“That’s it. Course, I could do a quick search of the grounds if it would make you feel any better.”
Randy shook his head energetically. “Not necessary. Really.”
“Well, then, have a good day. And remember that overwatering never did anything any good.” She half smiled. “At least, that’s what I hear.”
Randy looked at her in surprise, but Kali didn’t elaborate. She walked back out to the car and opened the door for Hilo. She settled herself behind the wheel and slowly pulled out, waving. Hilo stuck his head out the open window and barked. She could see Randy watching from the doorway. He looked, she thought, a little worse for wear.
CHAPTER 11
After stopping for a quick lunch, she found her way to the Secret Haven builder’s business address in Honoka‘a. It was a small office in a row of colorful old buildings fronting the main street, near the People’s Theatre. The historic cinema had been a centerpiece in the town for decades, and she pulled up along the curb next to the old, familiar marquee.
The office door was open. Inside, two men were seated across from one another at a glass-topped coffee table, talking earnestly. She walked up the front steps and along the narrow porch, then paused in the doorway and knocked lightly on the frame. Both men turned in her direction.
“Looks like I might be interrupting,” she began.
One of the men stood up. He was smiling, but she didn’t like the way his eyes raked up and down her body and paused a little too long on her T-shirt.
“Please, come in,” he said. He turned to the other man, who also rose to his feet. “I believe we were just finishing up, weren’t we?”
The second man nodded, but Kali sensed that he was displeased. “Sure. I’ll catch up with you at the building site tomorrow. Just remember my wife hates those floor samples. All of them. We need to see something completely different.”
Kali winced, biting her lip. The man’s voice was arrogant, condescending. She felt herself take a strong and immediate dislike to him. The second man, who appeared to be a customer, frowned and headed for the door, nodding curtly to Kali as he passed. She watched as he got into a car parked on the street outside, slamming the door as he got inside.
As she turned around, she saw that the other man had stepped up beside her and was standing quite close.
“Well, now. How can I help you?” He thrust out his hand. “Billy Shane. And you are?”
“Kali Mhoe,” she said, ignoring the hand and displaying her badge. “Actually, that’s Detective Kali Mhoe, Maui Police Department.”
There was a nearly imperceptible narrowing of his eyes. She watched him closely, estimating him to be in his late fifties or early sixties. There were streaks of silver in the well-groomed hair framing his face, and significant lines around his mouth and across his tanned, leathery forehead, which indicated a cavalier attitude toward sunscreen.
“My goodness. Should I call my attorney?”
“You’re assuming you’ll need one?”
He threw back his head, laughing. “No, but that’s what they always say in the movies, right?”
She tried to hide her annoyance. “If you say so, Mr. Shane.”
He sat back down, clearly at ease. “Have a seat. Make yourself comfortable. Let me sell you a house.”
“I already have one, thanks.” She ignored the offer of a chair, enjoying the effect of looking down on him. “I’m here as part of an investigation and would like to ask you a few questions related to solar homes.”
He looked at her blankly. “Come again?”
“You have a number of building projects here, I understand. Can you tell me what the costs are for configuring them for solar power, along with a few other details? For instance, at what stage are the panels added?”
