by Debra Bokur
Kali’s eyebrows rose. Hara looked down at the floor.
“The tourists?” repeated Walter, his voice rising. “What about the hardworking, tax-paying families that actually live here?”
“Yes, yes, them too, of course,” said Pait. “In fact, what I have in mind will make them happy as well. Make them see us as one of them.” He fumbled over the awkward sentence. “Or them as us, and vice versa.” He threw up his hands. “You know what I’m trying to say. It’s all about connection. And we have you, Walter, to thank for part of my brilliant plan.”
Everyone in the room except Pait held their breath. The chief turned to Walter, his leg banging against the front of Hara’s desk. Pait didn’t seem to notice.
“I heard through the department grapevine that you’ll be taking part in that ukulele competition at the Fire Garden Cultural Festival that’s coming up. Got me to thinking about making it a department-wide activity. There’s a wonderful opportunity here for community outreach. Connection. There’s great talent in our ranks: Joe Keahi over in Evidence, Joyce Hale and Tutu Kalani in Patrol, Walter on his little guitar. We’ll play up the public relations angle of officers as bona fide locals.”
Walter made a small, unhappy sound. Kali turned toward the window, hiding a smile.
“Now, just a minute, Chief—” Walter began, but Pait cut him off.
“And Detective Mhoe! Not only an extraordinary sleuth, but a genuine Hawaiian priest to boot!”
Kali’s smile vanished. She swung around to face Pait, her face reflecting her dismay.
“I’m not a priest,” she began, but the chief wasn’t through.
“I’ve been told that hula dancing is part of your ceremonial procedures, and that you happen to be quite adept at the art. Happily, there’s a hula demonstration component to the festival.”
Kali’s expression darkened. “Who, may I ask, told you that?”
Pait waved one long, pale hand in the air. “Oh, one of the officers I expect. Can’t recall exactly who at the moment. But that’s not important. What is important is that we band together for the people, yes?”
Kali took a deep breath, then spoke. “Actually, Chief, it might be more effective—”
“Good, that’s settled, then,” said Pait as though she hadn’t spoken. “I’ve already signed you up for a hula demonstration.” He turned to Hara. “Officer . . . ?”
“Hara, sir,” said Hara, his voice filled with trepidation.
“What’s your gift, son—singing? A musical instrument, perhaps? I’m sure you have some talent to share from your . . . what is it? Japanese-Hawaiian heritage?”
Kali shook her head in despair at Pait’s questions and comments. “You can’t say that, Chief,” she said, but he was oblivious.
There was a pained expression on Hara’s face. “Yes, Japanese-Hawaiian. I practice traditional Japanese drumming, sir.”
Kali and Walter turned to Hara in surprise.
“Well, then. There you have it.” Pait rose from the corner of the desk. “I’ll leave you to decide if Japanese drumming is Hawaiian enough, then. Someone from my office will be in touch to coordinate. Meanwhile, carry on. We have unsolved crimes to deal with, don’t we?” Pait gave a thumbs-up to the others, then turned toward the door, making his way out of the building. They heard him say goodbye to the duty officer seated behind a counter near the entrance.
Lost for words, Kali, Walter, and Hara slowly drew apart. Hara walked back to his own desk and rearranged the papers Pait had moved, then sat down in his chair. Walter began rummaging around in the top drawer of his desk, swearing softly under his breath. Kali walked over to the coffeemaker.
“Just double-checking,” she said. “There’s nothing stronger than coffee in this building, is there?” No one answered. At his desk, Walter swore again, still searching through the detritus that had accumulated in the drawer.
“Anyone seen my bottle of aspirin?” he asked.
“No, sir,” said Hara, his voice subdued.
“Small drawer, bottom right side,” said Kali.
Walter abandoned his search of the top drawer and turned his attention to the smaller one Kali had indicated. The aspirin bottle was there. He took it out, opened it, and shook four tablets into his palm. He stared at them for a moment, then slammed them in his mouth and tossed back his head to swallow. Kali watched him from her vantage point of the counter, then chose a small glass and poured it half full from a large plastic bottle of water resting next to the microwave. She brought the glass to Walter, placing it next to his keyboard.
“Drink this,” she directed. “Those pills are going to dissolve in the back of your throat and the taste will be awful. I think the day is already bad enough.”
Walter picked up the glass and drank from it.
“Bet it was Roger Sanoe in accounting,” he said, scowling. “He saw me buying new strings for my ukulele last weekend and I mentioned the festival. Filthy bastard. Think I might shoot him in the foot.”
Hara looked up, alarmed.
Kali smiled at Hara reassuringly. “He doesn’t mean it.” She turned to Walter, her look conveying that she wasn’t absolutely sure. “Your problem-solving skills could use some tweaking,” she said, moving closer to the window. Outside, the edge of the parking area was visible. Pait’s car was just easing out of its spot when the brake lights flashed and he pulled back in. Kali watched as he climbed out of the front seat, slammed the car door and sprinted back to the office. The sound of the door banging open followed, and they saw him once again standing in the doorway.
“I nearly forgot my second plan,” he said, slightly breathless. “That fellow with the podcast show, the one that starred in that great television series, something about lights and Maui. Let’s get one of you on there as soon as possible. Dispel any fears about a serial killer, talk to the public; make a plea to anyone who might be able to help us with some information about the missing people those bodies belong to.”
Kali made a choking sound. She stared at Pait, then turned to Walter, speechless. Walter spoke into the void.
“Excellent idea, Chief. We’ll figure out who should do it.” He looked sideways at Kali. “Since he’s already blabbering about the discoveries on Lna‘i, and the newspaper coverage has people looking over their shoulders, worried about becoming the next victim, it would be a good opportunity to offer some assurance. Maybe even motivate somebody to reach out to us to offer a possible identification.”
“Excellent!” Pait turned away again. “Carry on, everyone!”
A moment later, Kali could hear the sound of gravel crunching beneath the wheels of Pait’s car as it pulled away. She turned to Walter. “Toss me those aspirin.”
Hara watched Kali and Walter nervously.
“Captain,” said Hara, hesitant. “I don’t understand . . .”
“What just happened?” Walter laughed, but the sound was humorless. “We used to call it the Pait Effect. The man can turn any scenario into a political maneuver. Genius, really.” He sighed. “Get used to it, kid.”
“That’s right,” said Kali. “Escape from a Pait plan is not only improbable, it’s likely impossible.” She patted her back pocket and turned to Walter. “For the record, I refuse to deal with Chad. And I’ve got the address for the farm worker Hara tracked down. He’s up-country over in Makawao. I’m going to go talk to him.”
Walter swiveled his chair to face her. “You just said escape was not an option.”
Kali took her canvas messenger bag off the back of her chair where it hung, then crossed to the door and opened it. “Escape? Hell, I’m flat out running away.”
CHAPTER 16
Kali followed the quiet main street of Makawao past its row of shops and galleries for the third time. The address she was looking for wasn’t where her directions indicated it would be. There was one main intersection that linked four roads leading away from the small town’s center, and Uphill Street wasn’t one of the names on any of the road signs.
She
slowed the Jeep and pulled into a space painted diagonally on the pavement in front of the Star Shop. The cheerful, wood-shingled building was slightly dilapidated, with a wide, sagging front porch and glittering windows, the light reflecting off glass objects hanging from the window frames inside. It was unfamiliar to her, but it had been years since she’d spent any time in the small town.
She could hear singing as she walked across the threshold, her day bag swinging against her side. It was a woman’s voice, soft and caressing, the words to her tune sung in what Kali recognized as Spanish. She stepped into a space filled with gifts. There were small glass stars dangling from transparent strands of fluorocarbon fishing line attached to hooks in the ceiling above her head. The stars shifted slightly in the breeze, and the sunlight moved through them to create random prisms. Charmed, Kali smiled, and called out in greeting.
“Aloha,” she said, and the singing stopped. A slender, elderly woman with black hair streaked with silver came into sight from behind a display, holding a tray. Several glass kaleidoscopes rested on its surface. They looked handmade to Kali, and she caught her breath involuntarily at their beauty.
“Aloha,” said the woman. She saw Kali’s gaze had taken in the kaleidoscopes. “Pick one up,” she said, smiling. “Go ahead. Look out the window with it.”
Kali reached forward, choosing one that had a triangular tube base constructed from small, opaque glass panels. It felt substantial as she lifted it, filling her hand. At the end, there were more glass panels fastened on a central pin that allowed them to move in a circular pattern. She looked through the small viewing spot on one end, and spun the moving panels at the other end with one hand. Inside, small colored glass beads tumbled, unfolding in beautiful patterns against an interior mirror.
Kali lowered the kaleidoscope and replaced it carefully on the tray. The woman waited, then moved toward an empty space on a shelf next to a row of stuffed toy animals, and slid the tray onto its surface. She turned back to Kali.
“They’re extraordinary,” said Kali.
The woman smiled in gratitude. “Thank you. I’ve been making them for a very long time. Not so many anymore. But still. Some each year. They bring me great pleasure.”
Kali gestured toward the stars. “And these?”
“My little corner of the universe. A safe place filled with light and beauty. You have to create your own, you know. The forces of the world expect you to make an effort.”
Kali nodded. “Yes. I agree with you. But it seems the effort is overwhelming for a lot of people. I think maybe some of them just don’t know where to start.”
There was a momentary stillness as each woman considered what had been said. Then Kali spoke. “I’m sorry, I think I’ve been distracted by all of this beauty. I’m trying to find an address, but the road seems to be missing. It’s called Uphill Road.”
The woman laughed.
“That’s what local people call the Olinda Road.” She pointed behind her. “Because it goes uphill, you see. Into the high country. Who are you looking for? I know most of the houses in that part of town.”
“Manuel Raso. Do you know him?”
A small, shadowy frown swept across the woman’s face.
“Oh. That one.” She looked away briefly, her eyes brushing the small, barely moving constellations above her head. “I think he is a lonely man.”
Kali wondered at the comment. “Do you know his house?”
“Yes. You’ll follow the Olinda Road for about three-quarters of a mile, and his house will be on your left. White, I believe. But you can hardly miss it. There is a short driveway with a mailbox shaped like a large pineapple.”
Kali started. “Did you say a pineapple?”
“Yes, very garishly colored if you ask me. But since you didn’t, I’ll keep my opinion to myself.” Her eyes twinkled.
Kali said nothing, but her mind raced. “Well, thank you,” she finally mustered. “And thank you for letting me look through the kaleidoscope. I’ll have to come back soon.” She hesitated. “The stars—are they for sale?”
“Not the ones already hanging,” said the woman. “But there are more. You can choose your own.” She walked behind a counter where an old cash register sat, bending slightly to lift a square wicker basket from a lower shelf.
Kali moved closer, drawn by the small shiny glass stars visible inside, each fitted with a long piece of clear fishing line.
“Feel free to look through them,” said the woman. “See which one wants to be yours.”
Kali reached in, gently lifting a blue star, turning it over, then replacing it. She looked back into the basket. Each star was between an inch and an inch-and-a-half across. The hues were subtle, running the full range of the rainbow. Her eye caught a star that seemed to be made from a pale green glass that grew slightly more intense at each of its points, but was nearly clear in the center. She held it up to the light, delighted by the color.
“This one,” she said with confidence. She glanced toward the shelf and the row of stuffed animals. “And that small stuffed pony. The white one with the blue polka dots and the brown tail, please.”
The woman smiled. “Children?”
Kali hesitated. “Yes, but not mine.”
“Well, someone will be pleased.”
Kali handed the star to the woman.
“Would you like me to wrap this for you so that it doesn’t become chipped?” the woman asked.
Kali shook her head. She reached into her bag, pulling out a cloth wallet. “That won’t be necessary,” she said, placing a twenty dollar bill on the counter.
The woman counted out some change, and placed it on the counter next to the stuffed horse and the pale green star. As Kali moved her purchases to her bag, the woman met her eyes. “I hope this star shines happy light on you,” she said. “And the little horse brings a smile to someone’s face.”
“Thank you,” said Kali, pleased. She looked up at the woman, a sudden thought occurring. “You know, while I’m here, I’d like to show you something.” She pulled out her phone and scrolled through her images until she came to one of the little anchor, then held it out so the woman had a clear view. “Have you ever seen anything like this? It’s about half the size of these small stars.”
The woman took the phone and looked closely at the image. “Hmmm,” she murmured. “Yes, I have seen something like this, but it was a while ago. It’s an anchor, yes?”
Kali nodded.
“Well, we do live on an island. Chances are I saw it on a sign or a bumper sticker.” She handed Kali’s phone back to her. “Maybe a shop selling jewelry might know? It would make a pretty pendant if there was a chain or a cord attached to the little hole.”
Kali put the phone back into her bag. “Yes, it would. Thanks for looking.” She left, walking quickly across the porch and down the steps to her parking spot. She started the engine of the Jeep, but before she pulled away, she hung the little star from her rearview mirror, where it immediately caught the sun.
* * *
The road, true to its nickname, ran upwards, twisting as it went. After a half mile, Kali began watching the left side, slowing as the pineapple mailbox came into view. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected to see, but the mailbox was hardly a duplicate of the pineapple found resting on the dead man’s shoulders. Instead, it was a kitschy, heavy-duty plastic monstrosity positioned on its side on top of a short post. The lid resembled the green, spiky crown of the fruit, and could be pulled open to insert or remove mail. Kali couldn’t help but think that whoever it was that delivered the mail here must hate having to open the prickly lid.
She parked in the driveway and sat for a moment, allowing anyone inside to take note that company had arrived. She had deliberately not called ahead, but had learned that too much surprise could sometimes be a bad thing. Then there was a brief movement in the front window of the house, and a curtain pulled back to give someone inside a better view of the Jeep. Kali opened the door and slid from the
seat, her bag looped over one shoulder. She walked slowly up the short length of the dirt driveway to the front door. By the time she reached it, it was open, and a heavy man in an old pair of trousers and a stretched-out T-shirt was standing in the frame, watching her.
“Aloha,” she called, her voice friendly.
“Aloha maybe,” the man said, his voice neutral. “If you’re here to raise money, beg for money, or sell me something for money, you can leave and take your aloha with you.”
“None of those things,” Kali answered, displaying her badge. “I’m with the Maui Police Department. Detective Kali Mhoe. You’re Manuel Raso, yes? If you have some spare time, I wanted to ask you about the old pineapple plantation on Lna‘i.”
He nodded in affirmation, but looked surprised all the same. Kali watched the expression on his face change from one of caution to mild interest. From what little she’d been able to find out about him, he hadn’t worked steadily since Shandling Fruit had ceased production, and was now well into his early seventies. She’d found that older people who were bored usually had a lot of memories they were willing to share.
She gestured back toward the brightly colored pineapple at the end of the drive. “That’s quite a mailbox.”
His face creased into a wide smile. “Grandkids gave that to me. Pretty special, isn’t it?”
“Very,” agreed Kali. “Do you have a few minutes to chat with me? An investigation I’m working on involves the old fields, and I’m trying to get a sense of the workflow that was involved with the production. I was told you were the head foreman for a number of years, and might be able to help me understand some of the day-to-day.”
“That’s right.” He stood away from the door. “Come on in. Afraid it’s pretty hot inside. If you don’t mind sitting out in the back, I’ll tell you what I can.”
CHAPTER 17
Kali followed Manuel across the front room and through the kitchen, then out the back door onto a large lanai. It was shaded and much cooler there, and Kali felt herself relax. An assortment of mismatched chairs faced the trees leading up the slope behind the house, and a well-tended collection of plants in pretty pots had been placed on the wooden floorboards amongst the chairs.
