by AJ Llewellyn
“Awesome,” he said, not noticing my sarcasm.
I wondered where my mom was. She’d conducted the wedding plans as though she was the one about to tie the knot. Just as I pressed the digits for her number in my cell phone, her Prius rolled into our driveway. She had a clicker for the gate, and it was still swinging open as she raced through it. I peered out the window. Sitting beside her was Mele. She looked like she’d been crying.
I went outside and after absorbing the shock of the now frigid outdoor temperature, forced myself to smile. My mom almost drove over my foot as she threw open the driver’s side door before she’d even finished parking.
“Leilani’s done a runner,” she shouted at me.
“She what?” I must have misheard her. Leilani would never do a runner. Not on my wedding day.
Unless she wanted me to kill her.
“What happened?” Ferric asked as he joined us. “Jeez Louise, it’s cold. Excellent waves, though.” He eyed the massive swell across the street from our house with the kind of look that spelled trouble.
“Don’t even think about it,” I said. “Those waves have gotta be forty feet.”
“Chillax, Dad. It’s your wedding day. I got bigger fish to fry.” He gave me a serene smile, and I had nothing more to say. Sometimes the kid bugged me. He could fly off the handle about poor social networking etiquette, yet handled real emergencies better than most adults I knew.
Mele threw herself in his arms. She sobbed so hard her whole body shook.
Mom rolled her eyes. “Leilani went to pick up the wedding cake. The dog’s missing, and we assume Leilani took her along for the ride,” she summarized.
“Debbie’s missing?” Ferric demanded, holding Mele away from him as she tried moving from my arms to his.
“Leilani’s missing too!” Mele shrieked.
Poor Ferric looked distraught. He loved that dog. We all did. Mele and Leilani had recently taken up volunteer work with Guide Dogs for the Blind and were housing and training dogs for the program. Debbie was the third dog they’d taken in, and if you asked me, they’d become too attached to her. Not only that, but Debbie was also the least obedient, yet most loving dog I’d ever met.
“Mingo!” Francois’s voice boomed from inside the house.
Uh-oh.
Mele swatted at her tears with well-manicured fingertips. Candy apple red. Her signature color. Why did irrelevant facts swim into my brain in moments of panic?
“She told me she was going there at seven o’clock this morning.” Mele fought off a fresh tide of tears. “I was asleep, and she woke me to say that. It’s eleven now. She’s left me! There’s no other possible explanation.”
I tried to remain calm. “I’ll admit four hours is a long time but who doesn’t love cake? Maybe she’s sampling other cakes at the shop,” I said. I hope.
“But I called the cake shop. She never went there!” Mele’s bottom lip wobbled.
“Okay.” I was worried now, because Leilani hadn’t returned my calls and none of this behavior was like her. At all. Even when cake was involved.
“Mingo.” Francois trudged outside, storming over to me, ignoring my mom’s cheery, “Aloha, son!”
“That’s me.” I gave him a little finger wave.
“Mingo, that bald eagle in there? He’s a famous one. That piece is called Crater. It was made in 1940, before the ban on eagle feathers. It should be worth millions, and in fact, it is. Jeffrey Toomer—”
“You got a gift from Jeffrey Toomer?” Mom looked dreamy-eyed.
“Toomac,” I muttered.
“It’s Toomer, darling,” Mom insisted. “I always liked that boy.”
Oh, shut up, woman! “Toomac, Mom.”
Francois shouted at me. “He inherited his great aunt’s art collection worth over a billion dollars. And that thing in our house is valued at over one hundred million dollars. Did you hear me? A hundred million!”
Mom’s eyes widened. Flashing dollar signs danced across them. “Does this mean we’re rich, Mingo?”
Francois gritted his teeth. “The IRS wants twenty-nine million dollars for it. Jeffrey had very few choices in how to deal with it. If he sold it, he’d be heavily fined. If he donated it, he could get into more trouble by taking a tax break on it.” He paused for a much-needed breath. “So, he figured he’d give it as a gift to some idiot who’d agree to accept it as is.”
“Mingo, are you the idiot he’s talking about?” Mom stared at me.
I avoided her gaze. “Oh, boy. What do we do now?” I whined.
Francois’s hands shook a little as he read from his notes. “We have options.”
“Options are good,” I said, wishing my neck would stop sweating.
“I didn’t say they were good options,” Francois snapped. “In fact, they’re all terrifying.”
“Terrifying?” I echoed.
Francois took a breath. “The IRS has been after Jeffrey to pay the twenty-nine-million-dollar tax on it. We can either keep the eagle and come up with the money ourselves or sell it and go to jail for that. We can also refuse to pay the tax and go to jail for that, or we can accept the feds’ valuation and donate the sculpture to charity. Then we’d be fighting the IRS over that.”
“Unless we agree to not taking a charitable deduction for it,” I said.
“We could still be subject to fines and taxes, Mingo.”
“Oh, my God!” I clapped my hands to my face. “All those options suck!”
“Yeah. They do.” Francois let out an aggrieved sigh. “Right after this wedding, we ought to get used to the idea of wearing stripes.”
Chapter Two
“Stripes?” I shouted. “I look hella lousy in stripes. Especially horizontal ones. They make me look fat.”
“Everything will make you look fat, darling. You’ve put on a little weight.” Mom poked me in the belly. “Are you still sneaking donuts?”
“Donuts?” Francois swiveled a steely gaze in my direction. I was pretty sure the knocking sound I heard was my knees about to give out on me.
Shaddup, Mom! I hadn’t put on weight. I hadn’t eaten a piece of chocolate in two days, so I’d look nice and slim for my wedding. Donuts didn’t count. Not until tomorrow at least. Didn’t she have an off switch somewhere? Would she never stop with her relentless…blurtitude?
“I don’t have time for jail, Francois. I’m gonna be a newlywed. I’m an accountant. I’ll think of something.” I hope.
“You’d better. I hear Halawa Correctional Facility is horrible this time of year.”
I looked at him and almost laughed.
“Can I have the flat screen TV from your bedroom if you wind up in the pokey?” Ferric asked.
“No!” we both shouted.
“Okay, okay. Just askin’.”
“Can we stop talking about stripes and flat screen TVs and discuss my wife? Please?” Mele was losing it, and I didn’t blame her.
“What about your wife?” Francois looked around. “Where is she, anyway?”
“Missing.” Mele flung herself into Francois’s arms.
Mom repeated the whole sorry saga for his benefit, and Francois looked at me. His expression seemed to say, this is all your fault. “Mingo, do we have any idea where she went last?”
“Supposedly the cake shop. But Mele says she never picked up the cake.”
“Let’s start there.” He gave Mele a kiss on the head and glanced at my mom. “Can you take over with the table setting? Don’t freak out when you see the disgusting wedding gift we got.”
“Who gave you a disgusting wedding gift? Who’s okole do I need to kick?”
“It’s the one Jeffrey Toomer gave us.” Francois glowered.
Mom put a finger to her lips. “Oh. Toomer. Right. Oh, I nevah liked that man.”
“Toomac! And that’s not what you said a minute ago, Mom!” I shouted.
She swiveled her razor-sharp glance in my direction. “Isn’t he the guy that had the unrequited love for you?�
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Jeez. Thanks! As Francois’s eyes widened in surprise, I stepped in fast with, “Not anything like it. It was a dumb crush.”
“If you say so.” She flicked a withering glance up and down my body. “He sent you a dozen roses every day. Anonymously.” She turned to Francois. “It freaked the hell out of Mingo, and me, too, to be honest. I’m the one who contacted the florist and found out it was Jeffrey Toomer who was pummeling my Mingo with roses.” She whipped her head back around to me. “Do you remember I came to visit you in college, and I walked into your dorm and asked you who died? All those flowers. He must have spent a fortune on you.”
Oh. My. God. Will she never stop speaking?
Francois looked at me. “He sounds like a stalker.”
“He stalks his Facebook page,” Ferric reminded Francois.
“I need to look at that.” Francois’s smoldering gaze turned murderous.
Mom nodded. “You don’t know the half of it. He did stalk him. We had to get the police involved after Jeffrey poisoned everyone in the frat house with bad soup.”
Nooo! Don’t tell him that. I still can’t look at a bowl of gazpacho.
“He clicks like on everything Dad posts,” Ferric told my mom. “I think he’s re-requiting the unrequited love again.”
Shaddup! I took a deep breath. “No. He just wanted to unload a horrible gift onto me. He hates me.”
“I’d have to agree with that.” Francois rubbed his chin. “I don’t think he’s re-requiting. Though, I do love that expression.” I knew that look in his eyes. I was beginning to feel sorry for Jeffrey. Francois would pulverize him. We’d find pieces of the guy for months. “He’s waited a long time for revenge. Mingo. Are you sure you’ve had no contact with him since you left the mainland?”
“None.” Not that I recalled. My entire body was soaked in sweat now.
“Dad, can we put the eagle back in its box?” Ferric asked. “It gives me chicken skin.”
“All right,” Francois said, “but be careful. It’s worth millions.”
Ferric grinned. “Which? The eagle, or my chicken skin?” When Francois just scowled, Ferric lifted a hand. “I know. Maybe we could get it stolen and we’d have no more problems.”
“Where do you get these ideas?” Mom’s eyebrows flew up into her hairline.
“I’m a teenager with exploding hormones. Dumb stuff just comes naturally to me.” Ferric pulled Mele and Mom toward the house.
“Bring me back my baby,” Mele shrieked over her shoulder at me. “Please.”
Francois gave me an exasperated look. “I had such a quiet life before I met you.”
“Quiet, but boring, right?”
He was silent for too many seconds. He checked his watch. “Okay, let’s go.”
I went inside to get my car keys and wallet.
Mom was gushing over the illegal eagle. “Oh, my, he’s a thing of beauty, isn’t he?”
Ferric looked appalled, and Mele sent me another pleading glance.
“Put it away,” I advised. “The fewer people who know about this catastrophe, the better.”
“Can I have it?” Mom asked.
I hesitated before saying no. It would get the monkey off our backs, but I didn’t dislike my mom sufficiently to do it to her. Besides, she’d tell everyone about it. The dead bird would be all over the news before nightfall.
“I don’t think so, Mom.”
Ferric was already wrapping the twisted bird in bubble wrap as I ventured back outside. Francois lounged against the door of his black SUV and frowned. Man, he was hot. And hung. He looked so yummy, but all my fantasies of a little man-on-man lovin’ before our ceremony evaporated when he said, “I just checked Leilani’s cell phone. You know I track it, right?”
I knew he tracked me and Ferric but had no idea he kept tabs on our friends, too.
When I didn’t respond, he went on. “Anyway, I checked her phone and according to my Find My Friends app, she’s outside the cake shop on South King. I think we should go there first because when I called there, like Mele said, they claim she hasn’t been inside.”
“Right. Okay. Let’s go.” I put a smile on my face because I didn’t want him to know how freaked out I was.
“I blame you for this, Mingo.” His jawline was taut as we got into the car and peeled out of the driveway.
Of course, you do.
“I should never have let you order a cake from some place called Hissy Fit. What else could we expect but drama?”
Shifting in my seat, I buckled up as he hit fifty on the Kam Highway. Three local stray cats darted across the road narrowly missing getting hit as he plowed past a cluster of shops still closed for business. I knew all the owners and their habits. They were all blissfully surfing while I was contemplating a future as a fugitive.
“I was doing a favor for Benny,” I muttered.
“Yeah. And about that. Quit doing favors for the guy. Stop being so damned nice to people.”
“Okay. I’ll practice my snarling and snapping.”
He glanced at me but kept quiet. Damn that Benny Leonard. He frequently employed me, and when his long-lost cousin opened a wedding cake shop, who was I to say no to a guy who kept money in my pockets? Or his cousin Vitoria, whose buttercream brought happy tears to my eyes?
Francois kept up a long silence all the way past Sunset Beach. Red flags dotted the sand near the highway, and lifeguards patrolled the narrow strips of beachfront on bright red quads. Police cars lined the shoulder as vehicles crowded both sides of the highway, making traffic slow-going. Everybody, locals, and tourists alike it seemed, wanted to see the huge waves.
Some of the most prestigious surf breaks could be found up here. I lamented that my favorite contest, “The Eddie,” held in memory of surfer Eddie Aikau, had been canceled for the fourth year running in September but this year, not due to the lack of waves. The Aikau family had wanted to protect people from the coronavirus.
It usually runs between December and February when the swells are biggest, and the contest’s sponsors said the waves could be no less than twenty feet. Now would have been the perfect time for the contest.
Except we still had the virus and scaled-back island life.
“Look at that traffic.” Francois scowled again and turned on the radio.
“The surf remains huge and dangerous,” the radio announcer intoned, “with a High Surf Warning for the North Shore today. Surf is expected to peak at thirty to forty-foot face heights. This cold front is staying with us, folks.”
“Great. Just great. And we have an outdoor wedding,” Francois muttered.
“Yes. But we rented heat lamps,” I reminded him.
“True.” He still didn't look happy, though. “I could always steal a boat and head off to some other island.”
“That’s not very nice. Our guests want a party.”
“I didn’t say we. I said I.”
Oh.
The radio announcer butted in with, “There’s also a Small Craft Advisory for Hawaiian coastal waters due to the swell.”
“You still want to steal that boat?” I asked.
“Don’t tempt me.”
It wasn’t like Francois to be so testy. I knew then that he was very worried about Leilani. So, I cut him some slack.
At the freeway, he merged with the flow of traffic and barked at me, “Check her social media. Let’s see if she updated her Facebook page this morning.”
“I don’t know why I didn’t think of that myself.” I stabbed a finger at the Facebook icon on my cell phone. “Ah. She took a selfie at seven-forty-five. Man, I had no idea she looked like such a train wreck without makeup.” I peered at the image she’d posted of herself holding a malasada in one hand and a selfie stick with the other. She was sitting behind the wheel of her car. Debbie’s tail was visible behind her. “The dog is with her,” I reported to Francois.
“Huh. Did she write anything?”
“Just a hashtag. #IBreak4Donuts.”
“Sounds like our girl.” He hurtled down the freeway. Traffic was smoother as we headed into town. I flicked through her social media updates. She was more addicted to constant posts than Ferric. I’d had no idea. She’d even posted a photo of the exterior of Halawa Correctional Facility when we’d gone to interview a client a few days before. Wow. Hashtag #VisitingTheBigBoysInTheBigHouse. I had to talk to her about this potential invasion of our client’s privacy. Not to mention mine. I didn’t like people knowing my business.
By the time I looked up again, we were coming off the King Street exit. Francois made a left and we headed south. It was a strange street, King, once you veered away from the central business district of the island. Most of the buildings were old. Several lei shops and produce markets had been there for over a century. Heading toward Waikiki, a gazillion mini malls all seemed to feature the same mixed businesses. Local restaurants boasting noodles and, or Chinese food, lei and flower shops, souvenir stores, and oddly, always a dentist. Or two.
One-quarter of the island’s restaurants and other businesses had closed due to the lack of tourists flooding the islands. If the need to curb travel to the islands went on even for another six months, experts claimed closures would climb to fifty percent. Even well-established businesses inside major hotels had crashed. I tried not to stare at the empty shop windows and hand-written signs on the doors. It would depress me for the rest of the day.
Dillingham Saimin, was my favorite place to buy tempura shrimp and fragrant, Japanese noodle bowls when I was working in the downtown area. It had closed after sixty-four years of serving up the best soup in the islands.
Some places, however, were thriving. Hissy Fit was a small, bustling business with the neon image of a purple wedding cake atop its name written in lime green.
Let them eat cake, I guess.
People streamed in and out of the shop, which was wedged between a sprawling Hawaiian barbeque chain restaurant and a sushi slash cocktail bar.
