“The sergeant’s mom said Mike Hokama was allergic. He had a severe allergic reaction when he was a boy and nearly died.”
“Come on. This island is filled with kukui nut trees. My grandmother surely isn’t the only person who uses kukui nuts for practically everything.” I hugged my shawl closer. “Besides, what makes you think it was murder? What if it was an accident?”
Detective Imada answered. “Whoever gave him the concoction knew what they were doing. Mike Hokama never would have taken anything with kukui nut oil in it. Everyone around him, your grandmother included, would have known his medical history. It just doesn’t look very good for her that she was one of the last ones to see him—and that she, by her own admission, took him herbs and medicines to heal his stomach.” He hesitated. “Poison is a very intimate intervention. Much more detailed than say, a murderous rage, or crime of passion when someone is pushed to their emotional edge and lashes out. The DA is going on the theory that someone knew he was allergic and gave him the kukui nut oil in order to kill him.”
“This just makes no sense,” I said. “My grandmother would never—”
“Ms. Park,” he interrupted. “You have to understand. Murders don’t happen that often on our island. Mrs. Park was at the scene, and did leave behind herbs. She is a known healer and self-appointed medicine woman, and has been charged with using illegal substances in the past. Your grandmother is a prime suspect. I’m sorry.”
“Detective,” I grabbed his arm. “You and I both know she did not do this. She had no reason.” I flung my arm around Halmoni’s shoulders. She patted me, trying to make me feel better.
“Not that,” she said. “Not that.”
“Halmoni. I’ll get you out as soon as I can.” My grandmother felt smaller than ever when I hugged her goodbye.
“We’ll need your statement, also,” Detective Morgan said. “We’ve already taken Dr. Case’s, and his story pretty much coincides with yours, except he had the exact time he brought you home.” He wouldn’t meet my eye.
After the police left I didn’t know what to do. I paced around the living room and stroked my sunshmina and hoped for inspiration. When my grandmother’s phone rang, I nearly jumped out of my skin.
“Hey, it’s Jac, here. Dr. Case?”
“Hello. Sorry. I missed my appointment, but—”
“I know. I figured you might not be able to make it,” he said. “I talked to the police and knew they were headed to your grandmother’s house. Is she okay?”
A tear spilled out of my eye. “No. They took her to jail. They said she’s their main suspect.” I took a deep breath. “Jac, I’m scared. The detectives are nice guys, but I don’t think either of them has solved a murder before. It’s ludicrous to think that that sweet old lady could have done anything like this just because she uses kukui nut oil for just about anything and everything.”
“Sh, I know,” Jac said. “It will be alright. Listen, do you have an attorney? No? I didn’t think so. My buddy is a lawyer. He’s a little rough around the edges, but he’s a good guy, who hates to lose. I’ll have him go see your grandmother. After that, maybe he can call you and tell you what’s going on. Is that okay?”
“Thanks, Jac.” I sniffled. “Thanks for being so nice. Sorry about all that, you know.”
“Hey, what are you apologizing for? Everything is going to be fine. Your grandmother has a lot of friends on this island. She’s helped almost everyone, or one of their relatives, in some way. She’ll get through this.” He paused. “And so will you.”
I snorted. “From your mouth to God’s ear.” Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, Mr. Big figment of my imagination appeared and leaned against the door jamb, making smoochy, kissy-kissy noises. “Thanks for calling, I have to go.” I hung up.
“Now what?” I gritted my teeth. “Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. What do you want? I’ve got enough going on in my life without some bizarre hallucination mind freak showing up all the time.” I turned my back on him and tried to hum.
“Is that any way to treat a member of the Supreme Being’s army?”
“What are you talking about?”
He laughed. “Just a joke. We are not really in any army.”
“If you’re not going to help me, please leave me alone.”
For the first time, he came close enough to touch me. I couldn’t hear his footsteps, it was as if he floated. He reached for my hands. His big paws were warm and strangely comforting. “I am trying to help you,” he said. “I told you that you were not going back to San Diego. You have got to start trusting me.”
“Trust you?”
“Sh-sh!” He pumped his hands. “You are going to disrupt the mating of the humpback whales.”
“If you are my guardian angel, don’t you think my life is pretty spectacularly eff-ed up right about now?” I lowered my voice. “You prance around like you’re some kind of big naked Kahuna who,” I flicked my fingers at him, “sees all, knows all. So, what are you going to do about it?”
“About what?”
“About helping me out of this mess. Throw me a bone here, put in a good word there.”
“There where?”
I sighed and pulled my hair hard, back into a ponytail. “For argument’s sake, and my sanity, let’s just say you truly are my guardian angel. Even if I were hallucinating, I think I’d try to make you do some tricks.”
“What kind of tricks?”
I wanted to smack that smile right off his face. “You know, whip me up a party dress, glass slippers, a pumpkin coach. Ringing any bells? How about granting me three wishes? Or maybe, a get out of jail free card.”
“Jaswinder.” The timbre in his voice vibrated like didgeridoo, coating me in goosebumps. “Sit down, sister.”
“You sit down, mister!” I would not be calmed by this monster. “Maybe you should explain yourself. How did I manage to scrape the bottom of the barrel of guardian angels? And if you are who you say you are, what are you supposed to be doing for me?” My eyes were popping as I centered all my frustrations on him.
He stood up and held up two fingers, looking like he was posing for his holy card photo. “The Supreme Being helps those who help themselves.”
“I’ll top your ‘helping themselves’ with a ‘that which doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.’ And I will so win this battle, so don’t even try. We don’t call my mother Platitude Patty for nothing.” I threw my hands on my waist and jutted my shoulders back. “All I know is that you appeared in my life, now of all times, when I’m under a great deal of stress. You are a large, apparition who likes ketchup, of all things, but not wearing clothes. Stop me if I’m getting anything wrong.”
“Ketchup. The nectar of the gods,” he said. “Goodness multiplied when shared.”
“I don’t think that is in any Heinz commercial. Besides, why would I want to share my goodness with a giant imaginary aberration.”
“You do not think I am real?”
“Nothing you’ve done or said so far has impressed me. And, don’t you find it odd no one but me can see you?”
He ran his hand through his blue-black curls, looking like he enjoyed their springy texture. “No one is supposed to see their guardian angel. You are a chosen one.”
“We both know that isn’t true,” I said. “Besides, I’d rather have a new car instead, or a job, or a Prince Charming to call my very own, or, I know, how about an ex-con grandmother? Shall I continue?”
He tilted his head at me. “Oh, ye of little faith.”
“Prove it, then. If you are who you say you are, step up to the plate.”
“Honey-Girl, I am at your command.”
“Iamatyourcommand,” I mocked him. “You stink. Where have you been all my life? What have you been doing? Where were you when I had possibly every crappy thing that could happen to a teenager, happen? Where were you when I totally forgot my lines during that live shot in San Diego and started humming? Where were you when my sister stole my
boyfriend and ended up marrying him? What if he was supposed to be my soul mate?”
“Jaswinder.” His voice was so kind I itched to scratch out his eyes. “All those trials make you the sweetheart you are today.”
“Some sweetheart.” I folded my arms in front of me.
“Upon reflection . . .” he paused, as if choosing his words wisely, “have you ever thought TV may not be the career for you?”
“It’s only been my dream since I was seven years old.”
“And would you really want the life of your sister?”
He had a point. “Isn’t a guardian angel supposed to protect you from harm and hurt and heartache?”
“No.” He laughed, with his whole body. Again, I felt the vibration. “We are forces to correct your hyper vigilant use of self-pitying alliteration and encourage you to reach for the stars.”
“Is that from God’s employee handbook?”
He waved his hand, laughing again. “Nobody reads those things.”
Okay. I was intrigued. “Is there really a God? Who is He and what is He like?”
Again with that asinine smile. “You already know.”
“Stop with the psychic mumbo-jumbo. Why does everything always have to be so hard?”
“To help you jump higher.”
I clenched my fists and punched the sofa pillows. When I opened my eyes he was gone. “Wait. I don’t even know your name. What if I need you? Come on. If you are real, I really need your help.”
Chapter 12
No Fun in Funeral
By the next morning, my sunburn had been toned down to a bright fuchsia. I pulled on my sundress, hat and oversized knock-off Gucci sunglass. I stepped in front of the mirror and put on my grandmother’s sunshmina. “Please be okay, Halmoni.” I sent the thought out to the universe, or, to hedge my bets, to my so-called guardian angel. I ran outside, hopped in the jeep and headed toward the beach memorial service—with no idea what or who I was supposed to be looking for.
As I parked, I was hit with a panic attack. My heart pounded and my stomach churned. I never really knew how to act or what to say at funerals, so I usually ended up saying wildly inappropriate things, or laughing. Though I didn’t really know Mike, we did have a connection. I was probably one of the last people he talked to that night. And if I had to be totally honest, yes, I would have gone out with him if he called me. I folded my hands in front of my flustered heart, and wished him peace. I turned my head from side to side in case anyone had seen me, then I giggled. See?
I found the service by following the huge crowd gathered on the sandy beach. It was a favorite local surfing spot just a few miles outside of Lahaina. With all of my shady accoutrements I felt pretty confident I’d be well hidden in the crowd and no one would question me being there.
“Hey, look, it’s Hollywood!”
I turned my head. I guess I must have looked like some minor celebrity trying to act like I didn’t want to be noticed. Besides, I was positive they couldn’t remember my name.
“Hey, Zev. Bronco, Kenny,” I said. I peered at them over the top of my sunglasses and greeted the three surfers from my grandmother’s ear-cleaning party. They were actually wearing plaid-buttoned shirts, with shorts and flip-flops. “How are you guys? What are you doing here? Did you know Mike?” Then and there seemed as good as place as any to start my investigation.
They all looked at each other. “We knew the dude,” Zev said. “Plus, this is where we surf.”
“We were going to come here anyway, so we thought we’d pay our respects,” Bronco said as he nudged Kenny. “Too bad about what happened, huh?”
“Even if he was a wave hog, claiming he had more rights since he was Hawaiian. Dude was no fun to surf with,” Kenny said.
“Shut it, Kenny.” Bronco looked at me with an apology. “Real nice. He only had nice things to say about you,” Bronco told him.
“Did not. He didn’t even know my name.”
“Did you guys hear about my grandmother?” I interrupted. “They think she killed him.”
“Yeah, we heard,” Zev said. “But, there is no way. She’s aces. We’ll vouch for her.” They all nodded and stared at the ground before looking up at me.
“Is she in jail?” Bronco asked.
“Yes, but I talked to an attorney and he’s trying to work out a bail agreement, but so far, no luck. They just don’t have any other suspects, and they’re afraid she’ll run away or something. Especially since her son, my dad, lives on the mainland. But you guys, she did not do it. You know that, right?”
They nodded.
“I’m trying to meet people and see if I can learn anything, see if anybody knows who else might have wanted him dead.”
They all started laughing.
“What?” This was a very strange memorial.
“Hollywood, you couldn’t swing a surfboard without hitting someone who didn’t have a beef with Big Shot Mike. And if your grandmother actually did do the dirty deed, I’m sure she did a favor for a lot of people.”
“Kenny. What did I tell you? You’re not supposed to speak ill of the dead. Even if they were a jerk,” Zev said.
“You just did.”
“Did not.”
“You said he was a jerk.”
“He forced my Auntie and Uncle out of their home and turned around and resold it for a million dollars. They’re now in some crap condo in Kihei and not very happy about it.” Zev kicked at the sand. “I wasn’t talking bad about him. I was just speaking the truth.”
“Guys. Thanks. I’m just trying to get my bearings and hear what everyone is talking about. This is such a small island, surely everyone is talking about who might have killed him. Someone other than my grandmother. So, maybe you could help listen around and let me know if you hear something?
“Right on!” The three high-fived each other.
I smiled at them, my crack team of surfer dude PIs were on the case with me.
“Shh,” a group of mourners turned around and frowned at us, motioning up toward the minister on the sand. There were about two hundred people gathered, as best I could tell. I noticed what must have been Mike’s family up front, a group of Hawaiians holding onto each other, and crying. An older, handsome man was trying to console a beautiful, weeping woman. I felt sad for them and would go pay my condolences after the service.
Under the hot sun, I drew my sunshmina closer over my shoulders. Though I was cool and comfortably dry inside the sun-shielding fabric, I felt extremely uncomfortable. I peered out the side of my sunglass, and sure enough, a few Hawaiian women were staring me down. Maybe they liked my sunshmina? I turned to face them and they quickly turned away.
Hmm. I peeked over my shoulder. Another couple stared at me and didn’t even turn away as I faced them. Eyes forward, I tried to pay attention to the service, while trying to scope out suspicious characters. Hopefully I would be able to talk to Mike’s family and friends after the service. All of a sudden I felt a nudge at my elbow.
“Jac. Hey. What are you doing here?”
“I thought I’d find you here and I wanted to make sure you were holding it together.”
“I’m fine.” I smiled way too inappropriately for a memorial service. “And look,” I spread my arms to show him my sunshmina, draped like protective wings. “My grandmother made it for me. My sunburn doesn’t hurt as bad anymore and I’m feeling a lot better.” Especially seeing Jac.
“Good. How’s Mrs. Park?”
“I called the jail this morning. Even though they said she’s doing fine, she has to be miserable, and scared. I’m going to see her this afternoon.”
He nodded. I sniffed, catching the fresh scent of his shampoo. Like most men there, he wore shorts and flip-flops. Unlike most men, he pulled it off. I tried not to stare.
“And thanks, Jac, for the lawyer recommendation. I talked to him, briefly.” And owe him a $1000 retainer check. I hoped he wouldn’t cash it right away—it would leave me with about $400 left in the ba
nk. I tamped down that worry to focus on my mission at hand.
As soon as the service came to an end, everyone in the crowd reached out to hold hands during the final prayer. “Ha’ale i ka la kamea mahana,” the priest intoned. “He has left the warmth of the sun.” I was glad Jac was at my side and squeezed his hand in a silent thanks.
“Is that it?” I asked him.
“I think so,” he answered. “Now what?”
“I need to go talk to his parents.”
Jac shook his head. “Jaswinder, I don’t think that’s a very good idea.”
“Why not? I’ve got to find out everything I can. Maybe they know something. At least I need to say I’m sorry, and so is my grandmother, but I have to tell them she is not involved.”
Jac reached for my arm, but I pulled away and bumped myself through the crowd to head up front. I shimmied this way and that, slipping my sunshmina-covered shoulders past mourners who were standing around as if they weren’t quite sure what to do next.
I got close to a small huddle of people and asked a young Hawaiian boy if the man and woman standing about ten feet away from me were Mike Hokama’s parents. “Yes, ma’am,” he replied, pointing at the well-dressed Hawaiian couple being comforted by the minister.
“Thanks.” Time to make my move.
“Hey,” the little kid said, looking at me like he knew me. Gosh, do people really think I’m some kind of celebrity in this hat and these sunglasses? Weird. I wiggled my fingers in a little wave and trudged forward through the sand.
Mike’s parents looked up as they noticed me coming. I slowed as Mrs. Hokama stared at me, hard. I took my sunglasses off before holding out my hand to take Mrs. Hokama’s. “Mr. and Mrs. Hokama, I am so sorry for your loss.”
Mrs. Hokama bowed her head, but Mr. Hokama leaned in for a closer look.
“Who are you?” he asked. “Did Mike know you?”
Oh, boy. This was going to hurt them a lot more than it was going to hurt me. I swallowed, feeling the blood run away from my hands and feet, leaving me wobbly.
“I am Jaswinder Park. I think you know my grandmother and I wanted you to know how very, very sorry we are about what happened—”
Haole Wood Page 8
