“It’s a good thing Miss Una likes people. It’ll make the move to the seaside a lot smoother.”
“I hope so,” I replied, munching on a fresh strawberry and reaching toward a paper plate filled with scones. As I spread on some lehua blossom honey, I expressed my sincere gratitude for another sweet gesture on Keoni’s part. “Thanks for the lovely breakfast. You thought of everything. These paper plates and cups and plastic flatware are the best I’ve ever used.”
“Well, I didn’t think you’d want to run the dishwasher.”
“You’re right. Doing laundry is bad enough.”
At that moment, the entry buzzer alerted us that Ben had arrived. Keoni quickly picked up his cup and plate and went inside. Within a couple of minutes, I had finished my breakfast and tidied the table for our partner in manual labor for the day.
The door opened and Keoni and Ben came in, laughing as usual. “Hi, beautiful lady. Are you ready to rock ‘n roll?” asked Ben.
“As ready as I’ll ever be. It’s been a long process to reach this point—with all the remodeling, cleaning, and shelf lining.”
Seldom without a reply, he quipped, “You know what they say…always low and slow.”
Keoni piped up, “That phrase isn’t applicable in every case. We may be going to a cottage, but I wouldn’t call any roofing job low or slow. I nearly broke my neck on the first day of that task.”
“All right guys, enough banter. Ben, the coffee’s in the kitchen; scones are on the lānai.”
“As you can see, I’ve already visited my favorite barista, but I won’t say no to a refill.” As Ben settled into a chair with his renewed hit of caffeine and a plate of fruit topped by a scone, Keoni arrived with a clipboard.
“Here’s the layout of the cottage,” he said, holding up his diagram. “I thought we could strategize loading the truck, based on balance and how soon we need to access things.”
Between sips of coffee and continuing punches of humor, we arrived at a game plan. By the time my second load of laundry was finished and folded into large garbage bags, the men had lined up boxes from the front door to the back guest room.
Glancing at his watch, Keoni pronounced, “On time and ready to launch. Natalie, why don’t you take Miss Una down to Anna’s? If you’ll pull the truck into the loading dock, Ben, I’ll call up the freight elevator.”
Fortunately, Miss Una likes her carryall because it usually means she’s about to have an adventure. Within a few minutes, I was ringing Anna’s doorbell.
She quickly answered. “Good morning, Natalie. Come in and sit for a minute; it’ll probably be the only break you get today. Are you and Keoni ready for the next phase of your lives?”
“Yes, indeed. Keoni and his neighbor Ben are set to begin loading the truck. We should be ready to leave in a couple of hours. Here’s Miss Una AND a treat of Danish herring for her to enjoy with her mummy. Speaking of her, how is Mitzy doing since being neutered?”
I opened the pet carrier for Miss Una to jump and gave Anna the can of fish. “As you can see, Mitzi’s romping like a kitten. I think the girls and I will be having more fun than you and the guys for the next couple of hours.”
“You’re probably right about that,” I concurred and made my exit.
Back in my condo, I found that a considerable dent had been made in the boxes lined up like soldiers in formation. I was glad when the auspicious momentum of the beginning continued for the next couple of hours. Per orchestration, at ten o`clock the last of my worldly possessions were assembled on the loading dock and the truck was nearly filled.
After checking the condo one last time, I returned to Anna’s and gave her the keys for my former home. Putting Miss Una back in her carryall, I headed to Lanikai in my parents’ old car. Waikīkī was now crowded with tourists and locals looking for a good Sunday brunch. The delay in my departure from Waikīkī meant that when I reached Kailua, traffic would be backing up on the road to the beach park and Lanikai. At that point, Miss Una was serenading me with pleas for freedom.
In the long run, it was good that it took me longer to reach the cottage, because the guys had already unloaded the patio table and chairs, as well as several boxes of things for the bathrooms and kitchen. With the food and drink I was ferrying, we would be able to survive comfortably while moving in. I parked on the street behind Keoni’s fully loaded Ford F150 truck with extended cab. Then I got out and went to the passenger’s door for Miss Una.
“Here we are sweetie. Our new home.”
Without missing a beat, Miss Una continued to wail her displeasure.
“Hi, Natalie. Welcome home to White Sands Cottage,” Keoni said expansively as he emerged from the front door.
Taking the carrier from me with his right hand, he wrapped his left around my waist and leaned down to kiss me.
After settling Miss Una in the guest bath, I did a walk-through with Keoni, while Ben continued bringing in boxes that had been wedged around the furniture in the truck. By noon, we needed a break and were lounging on the back lānai with plate lunches ordered ahead from Kalapawai Market.
Sipping a glass of the sun tea he had brought, Ben said, “A cold beer sounds good, but one becomes two and that would lead to a nap we don’t have time for.”
“Amen to that,” responded Keoni. “If we laze around much longer, we won’t get the truck back on time.”
Reminded of my good fortune, I said, “Thank you so much, Ben. I really appreciate your giving up your Sunday to help with our move.”
“No problema, Natalie. And I really appreciated you researching my family’s name.”
“I love looking into anything related to Ellis Island. So few Americans realize how many of our surnames were changed for the convenience of pencil pushers, let alone their ignorance. Your family’s name was one of the easiest research projects I’ve ever worked on. Finding that your family is related to Max Factor—the famous Hollywood makeup artist and founder of the cosmetic company—was a fluke. I didn’t connect the dots until I saw the original name. The odd spelling, Faktorr, indicated a misspelling at Ellis Island. After a little digging, I found your name resulted from the shortening of your grandfather’s original surname, Faktorowicz.”
Recalling translation challenges closer to home, I thought of the Hawaiian language. In the late eighteenth century, Europeans and Americans wrote lists of their interpretations of Hawaiian words. Later, Protestant missionaries reduced their seventeen letter Latin-based Hawaiian alphabet to twelve letters. Then they moved on to translating the Bible, hymns, and other Christian texts into Hawaiian. As they, and then Roman Catholic missionaries, opened schools across the Islands, words were added to the various Hawaiian dictionaries.
Analyzing these early records is hard, since early transcriptions did not include diacritical marks. Conflicts in interpretation were further complicated by variations in how Hawaiian was spoken on the different islands. Even without distinct dialects, variations in translation can indicate the origins of some names and words. Thank goodness my research seldom dealt with foreign languages.
“It’s amazing what can be unearthed with a little effort—yours not mine, that is!” Ben affirmed.
We all laughed and moved into high-speed to reach the finish line in as timely a manner as we had begun. While I was grateful for Ben’s help, I could barely wait for him to leave with the truck. Then Keoni and I could slip into our swimsuits and head to the beach…or take a shower.
While I completed putting things away in the master bath and worked on bringing initial order to the kitchen, Keoni and Ben assembled beds together in the guest bedrooms. About three o’clock, I heard the deep classic chimes of the doorbell. It was too early to be Nathan, so I dabbed at my face with a paper towel and smoothed back my sweaty hair as I trotted to the front door to greet our first company.
Standing side-by-side on the porch were two
women obviously north of sixty years of age. Each was wearing a short floral print mu`umu`u with flip-flops. One had her long blond hair pulled to the side with a beautiful tortoise shell comb, and the other had a tight afro with silver streaks.
“E komo mai,” I said in greeting.
“Hello, I am Miriam Didión,” said the blond with a slight accent I could not identify.
“And I’m Joanne Walther,” said her companion.”
“We live just down from your lānai at Mokulua Hale. I think you met our third housemate, Izzy, when you began your remodeling this spring,” offered Miriam.
“Why yes,” I said, recalling the petite Filipina. “She brought us the most delicious malasadas one weekend.”
“That’s our Izzy…Esmeralda Cruz. She’s always filling the kitchen with the fragrance of luscious treats, for the neighborhood as well as for us,” continued Joanne.
“As she probably told you, we were very fond of your Aunt Carrie. We hope you’ll enjoy our little corner of paradise as much as she did,” said Miriam.
“Oh, I’m already in love with this house. I’ve visited here since I was a teenager.”
Extending a tinfoil covered pan, Joanne said, “You’ve probably planned your entrée for tonight, so we brought a potato salad that will go with most anything. I hope you like it Hawaiian style.”
“I adore potato salad, especially local style: potatoes; macaroni; slivers of carrot; tops of green onion, and mayo. Did I get it right?”
“Pretty much,” replied Joanne. “Though I confess, I add a tiny bit of finely minced Maui onion plus a dash of Dijon mustard and seasoned salt.”
At that moment, Keoni came around the side of the house. Stepping forward, he shook hands with each woman. After another round of introductions, he continued on to the truck and I invited the ladies into the living room.
“We do not mean to take you away from your work,” said Miriam. “But we have been dying to see what you have done with the cottage. You know our two homes are among the few historic bungalows left in Lanikai. Nearly all of the others have been replaced by McMansions.”
I agreed with their observation. “Yes, it’s sad to think of the spirit of the old neighborhood disappearing. I’m proud to be the new keeper of White Sands Cottage. That’s how I see it. I’m merely the caregiver of this lovely home until it’s my turn to pass it on to the next generation.”
“I know what you mean, my dear. That is why I invited Joanne and Izzy to join me. No matter whom we are or where we live, I believe we are merely keepers of small patches of earth for a short while. And hopefully, we leave our corners of Mother Earth in better condition than we found them.”
“So true, my dear Miriam. And now I think we’d better leave Natalie to complete her tasks for the day,” added Joanne in a warm contralto voice that spoke of Louisiana.
“Well, sometime in the next few days, you must come back for the full tour. And bring Izzy,” I invited.
As we stood up, the front door opened and in walked Nathan.
“I just couldn’t wait…oh, hello...” he said, seeing the visitors.
“This is Miriam and this is Joanne. They’re our seaward neighbors,” I announced.
“Delighted to meet you. I’ve heard this is a very friendly neighborhood. I’m Nathan Harriman, Natalie’s brother.”
“No one could miss seeing that you are brother and sister. Am I right that you are twins?” asked Miriam.
“Yes, the pairing of siblings in the womb runs in the family,” he replied.
“Well, it is nice to meet you, Nathan Harriman. Are you psychologist Nathan Harriman?” Miriam inquired.
“Why, yes. Have we met before?”
“I do not believe so. But I read your recent article in Professional Psychology: Research and Practice, about bringing creativity into the workplace. I found it on target for therapists, as well as for innovative employers. I especially appreciated the extensive list of potential activities to boost the morale of employees. I believe it will heighten awareness of the benefits of recreational activities, as well as the overall productivity in the workplace.”
“That’s quite a review. May I quote you?” asked Nathan with a grin spreading across his face.
“You may indeed. Allow me to formally introduce myself. I am Dr. Miriam Didión, a former advisor to the National Center for PTSD.”
“Now it’s my turn to be surprised. Before being with the National Center for PTSD, you were at UNICEF and the United Nations. I’ve followed your work since college.”
“This is when I should blush and think about all the gray hair I would have if it were not for Miss Clairol.”
Just then, we heard the crashing sound of metal meeting brick coming from the back lānai. Hearing the back door open, I went to see what was up and put the potato salad in the refrigerator. Entering the kitchen, I found Ben putting a handful of paper towels under the faucet.
“What was all that noise, Ben?” I asked.
“Nothing much. Keoni’s okay, but he scraped his hand when the frame of the porch swing toppled over.”
I quickly grabbed a towel and ran outside. “Are you all right, honey? I appreciate everything you’re doing, but you don’t have to donate your blood today.”
“I’m fine, Natalie. There’s nothing wrong that won’t be cured by getting this little task completed,” he replied. Taking the kitchen towel from me, he brushed off his forehead and used the wet paper towel from Ben to dab at the back of his hand.
“Have our guests left? I thought I heard the doorbell a while ago.”
“Nathan just arrived with our dinner. He and Miriam are sharing professional perspectives. If you’re okay, I’d better return to my duties as a hostess,” I said.
As I re-entered the living room, everyone was laughing at something Nathan had said about his work with a windward shelter for abused women and their children. As a new board member, he had been focusing on providing new avenues for expanding clients’ self-awareness and empowerment.
Continuing his explanation, he said “As I watched a few of the women and their teenage kids experience aha moments, I realized that simply providing shelter wasn’t enough. In addition to physical and psychological support, we need to provide opportunities for them to obtain and refine skills that are directly applicable to the work place. I’m hoping to develop a program to help the women find jobs that will evolve into successful careers.”
Joanne glanced at me with the polite look of a non-participant in a technical conversation. After a few minutes of the continuing discussion of effective programs for helping battered women, she spoke up.
“Miriam, you’ve said you want to remain active professionally. Maybe you could be one of Nathan’s motivational guest speakers. And, perhaps there’s a way for all of us to help Nathan’s program. When Izzy’s arthritis worsened, she shifted from being part-time housekeeper to fellow housemate. The maid’s quarters have been empty for years and we’ve been talking about getting some additional help around the house. Why don’t we have one of the women from the shelter join us. I think it would be wonderful to help women needing to make self-empowering changes in their lives.”
Miriam responded immediately. “That’s a wonderful idea, Joanne. It would free up a bed at the shelter, and help a woman build skills that can lead to a permanent job. Selfishly, it will ease things for us. The position wouldn’t require any heavy work, Nathan; just general housekeeping and coordinating with gardeners, maintenance staff, and repairmen. With one or more of us travelling frequently, we really need someone to stay on top of the cottage’s day-to-day operations. After six months or so, the woman would have experience as well as references to list on a resume. Then, if she wanted to move on, we would begin the process all over, providing shelter and entry-level work to another woman in your program.”
“I thought I was bri
nging supper to the work-weary,” he said, handing over several paper bags to me. “Now I’ve found a solution to one of our major concerns at Hale Malolo. This fits in perfectly with my networking with community staffing agencies. If I can find several sites for our clients to intern, I can provide potential staff to employment agencies. That’s a win-win in my book. I’ll check in with the staff and find out which of the women are ready to move back into the community. I should have one or more candidates lined up in a couple of days for you to interview.”
“That would be wonderful, Nathan,” responded Miriam. “And now, as Joanne said some time ago, we should move on to our home and let you finish your work.”
“I appreciate your positive reinforcement, Miriam,” I said, “but it’s going to take a lot more one day to finish settling in.”
While I escorted the women to the door, Nathan went outside to see what Keoni and Ben were doing. Before joining them, I put the bags with our dinner on the kitchen counter. As I opened the back door, I heard a right on and quickly saw that the challenge of the porch swing had been conquered.
Keoni declared the mission of the day complete and went into the kitchen for a round of drinks, as I settled on the swing. Soon after, the men were passing around a bag of sourdough pretzels to go with their Fosters beer and I was downing a tall glass of iced tea before deciding which wine to serve with dinner.
“Now this tastes smooth,” said Ben.
“And it’s truly deserved,” agreed Keoni, clinking bottles with him.
I jiggled my glass. “Here’s a toast to friendship that has survived the test of another move.”
Adding a quick rejoinder, Keoni said, “And after all the work and money you’ve put into the place, may this be your final move.”
“Hear, hear,” chimed in Nathan.
“Well, this has been fun, kiddies, but it’s about time for me to hit the road,” declared Ben.
Murder on Mokulua Drive Page 4
