Em’s blond ponytail was slipping. Her white tank top was covered with a rainbow of fruit juice spatters and kalua pork grease. From the little Sophie knew of Em’s past, the woman’s life on Kauai was completely opposite from the one she left behind in Orange County.
“Sorry I’m late,” Sophie said. She couldn’t afford to lose this job. There wasn’t another person on Kauai willing to hire her without references. If Em Johnson hadn’t been so desperate the day Sophie appeared, she would have never landed the job.
“No worries. Take these out to the lanai.” Em handed over a tray full of longneck beer bottles with lime wedges partially stuffed into them. “This is for the table on the right side of the door. Then start bussing. We’re already out of glasses.”
Sophie expertly navigated the crowd and made it out to the lanai. She delivered the beers and noticed the coroner’s wagon had arrived. An EMT ambulance was standing by, though it was obviously too late to help Harold Otanami. A second bank of giant spotlights was being assembled. Half the parking lot was already as bright as day.
Cars were parked along the side of the road, wedged into every available space as locals and tourists alike stood around gawking. In a place where nothing changed from day to day except the weather, any diversion was always welcome. There was nothing like a good death or disaster.
Sophie caught sight of a fine looking police officer walking toward the building. He was tall and like her, a local of mixed heritage. Mostly Hawaiian. She quickly turned away without making eye contact and began bussing the tables, piling paper plates, crumpled napkins and dirty glasses on the serving tray. The cop walked past her without pause and headed straight for the bar.
She knew the kinds of questions he’d be asking.
She also knew he’d be hard pressed to find anyone who had anything good to say about the victim, Harold Otanami.
3
Em Gets Interviewed
Em looked up, hoping Sophie was back and coming around the corner of the bar, but it was Uncle Louie.
“Flora fell off the stage.” He shook his head and poured himself a liberal shot of Malibu rum over ice and added a lime wedge.
Flora Carillo, a sixty-year-old Hula Maiden, was the group’s token almost 100% Hawaiian who owned a tourist trinket shop in the Hanalei Center. Among other items, Flora sold poorly made knock off rayon muumuus from China, overpriced plastic tikis, junk jewelry and fold up rain ponchos. The other Maidens constantly griped that Flora danced to the beat of a different drum. After watching her dance, Em was pretty sure the woman heard no beat at all. Her lack of rhythm continually caused confusion among the ranks and was one of the reasons Marlene Lockhart had defected. Flora had become a Hula Maiden by default when none of the serious hula halau would take her.
Tonight wasn’t the first time Flora had taken a dive over the edge of the stage, either. She fell off a lot of things. It was no secret among the Maidens that the Gatorade bottle she always carried was filled with gin, not water.
Em tried to reassure Louie. “Flora usually bounces right back. Look, she’s already climbing back onto the stage.”
Flora’s floral rayon covered rear end, not exactly her best side, was facing the audience. Luckily, the crowd was still too shaken about Harold’s death to pay much attention to the show.
“What if she sues?” Louie’s latest obsession was law suits.
“And risk not performing here anymore?”
“Nobody’s watching the show tonight anyway,” he noted.
Em noticed the noise decibel was higher than usual as people hollered to one another over the amplified guitar and drums.
“They’re too busy swilling free liquor. That was generous of you, Uncle Louie, but it’s time we cut them off.”
“Get enough drinks in them and maybe they’ll forget about seeing poor old Harold like that.” His brow crumpled as he gazed around the room. “I’d hate to have anyone sue me for post dramatic stress.”
“Post traumatic,” she corrected.
“That too.”
“If we keep this up, somebody might suffer death by mai tai,” Em said. “Then where would we be?” Worried about the night’s loss just when they were starting to make financial headway, Em closed her eyes and shook her head. “After this dance number, you’ve got to get up there and announce that we’ve served all the free drinks we’re going to.”
Louie’s shoulders drooped as he walked toward the stage where the Maidens were in the middle of executing a series of mismatched hip rotations. Lined up like oversized dashboard bobble dolls, the women’s ample hips bumped and ground in so many different directions they made Em dizzy.
After ripping open another package of plastic cups, she glanced up and recognized a man watching her intently from across the bar. Roland Sharpe was the kind of guy women couldn’t help but notice. The Maidens all sang his praises and he was well known all over the North Shore. He was over six feet, dark and exotically handsome. Like Sophie Chin and so many islanders of mixed ancestry, Hawaii’s history was written in his DNA.
She’d seen Roland running on the beach a few times, mostly in the late afternoons. He sprinted by the house looking like a well-honed bronzed god. A police detective by day, he moonlighted as a fire knife dancer. The image of Roland Sharpe half naked, twirling long, flaming knives on a dark beach was hard to shake.
It was a definite boost to her ego to discover him checking her out—until she noticed he had a small notebook in one hand and badge in the other.
“Miss Johnson? I’m Detective Roland Sharpe of the KPD. Is there any way you can spare me a moment alone?”
“It’s Ms. Johnson just for the record.” Em spotted Sophie across the room and waved her over before she caught a glimpse of her own bedraggled ponytail and dirty tank top in the mirror behind the bar. The detective was after information, she reminded herself, not a date.
Sophie hurried to the bar. Em and the bartender exchanged a silent glance and Sophie took over. Em led the detective toward Uncle Louie’s office, a small room in back. As they passed the stage, the Hula Maidens stopped dancing long enough to turn their heads and ogle Roland—one of the only times they moved in unison.
“Hey, Roland,” Kiki Godwin the self-appointed head of the Hula Maidens shouted. “I need you on Saturday night. Call me.”
Kiki, in her early sixties, was a long time North Shore resident and colorful fixture in the community. Married to Kimo, the bar’s chef and jack-of-all trades, Kiki was a notorious flirt. She was also a wedding coordinator and party planner. She was a good twenty years older than the detective and Em hoped all Kiki needed Roland Sharpe for was his Samoan fire knife expertise.
Em ushered him into the back office and closed the door. Muted guitar music, the offbeat thump of the drum and the din of high-pitched conversation reverberated through the wall. Once she had taken over as manager, Em had put the Goddess on a tight budget. They couldn’t afford to hire a professional hula troop, let alone an entertainer as renowned as Roland. Not only did the Maidens perform for free, but they brought in friends and visitors to fill the place, even in the off season.
“It’s not very quiet in here, but it’s the best I can do,” she said. “I really can’t be away from the bar long.” At least Sophie was back. Whenever Louie worked the bar alone, they somehow lost money.
Em watched Roland study the photos lining Louie’s office walls; black and white and color images of her uncle standing beside smiling heads of state, former presidents, countless celebrities, local patrons, neighbors and friends. The building that housed the Tiki Goddess was a hundred years old. It was weathered and sorely in need of a face lift, but the bar was always listed in tourist guides as the number one stop on Kauai for food, fun and old time local style entertainment.
Finally the detective turned around. “If you’d rather, I could interview your uncle first.”
“I’d rather you didn’t interview him at all, but I suppose that’s inevitable.”
&
nbsp; “Why not?”
“Let’s just say my uncle’s memory isn’t what it used to be.” Louie’s mental deterioration was the reason she’d moved to Kauai. The plea for help from the Hula Maidens had come when she was most vulnerable and in need of a change.
Em asked, “Any idea how Harold ended up in the imu?”
“Nothing conclusive. Do you know of anyone around who had a grudge against Mr. Otanami?”
“Who didn’t?”
Detective Sharpe’s left eyebrow shot up. The rest of his face remained completely placid. “Go on.”
She shrugged. “Harold rubbed a lot of people the wrong way.”
“Somebody mentioned that he had an argument with your uncle over the parking lot easement.”
Em nodded. “That’s been going on for years. That and the smoke problem.” It suddenly dawned on her that she had no idea where Louie had been earlier. He hadn’t showed up with Marlene.
“You mentioned your uncle’s mental capacity.”
“Wait a minute.” Em shook her head. “My uncle is forgetful, but he’s not crazy enough to kill Harold.”
Roland sat on the corner of the desk. “It’s my job to ask questions, Ms. Johnson.”
She took a deep breath, reminded herself to calm down. Back in California, her therapist had tried to bring her around to accepting that not all handsome men were jerks like her ex. The concept hadn’t quite jelled.
He glanced down at his notes. “Tell me about the smoke thing.”
“We called Harold the smoke monster. When rubbish piled up in his yard he was too lazy to recycle, so he’d burn it. He was continually burning rubbish, even when it wasn’t a burn day. Tires, plastic bottles, whatever. The trades pushed the smoke directly at the bar and the stench was horrible. The air would fill with sickening noxious fumes and we’d get greasy black residue all over the lanai railings and tabletops. We were forced to shut all the windows to keep the smoke out. People would drive by and think we were closed. One or the other of us was always asking him—politely—to knock it off. Ask anybody. It was disgusting. We’re pretty sure he did it on purpose.”
She thought her explanation would satisfy him. He made a couple of notes and then asked, “Were you over there earlier?”
“Not today. I’ve been here in the bar since noon. On the day of a luau I do food prep, take reservations, return calls and sell tickets over the phone. I had no time to go over and hassle Harold.”
“How long have you been on Kauai?”
“Six months. Almost six months.”
“What prompted your move?”
“How is this relative to the case?”
He shrugged and did the eyebrow lift again. “You never know.”
“Kiki Godwin and the Hula Maidens got together and sent me a letter and a one way ticket. They’re concerned that my uncle is showing signs of early dementia and since I’m his only living relative, they asked me to come help out for a while.”
“So you just up and moved to Kauai?” He was staring at his little notebook. “No ties on the mainland?”
“Not anymore.” Her parents were gone. She had no siblings. Phillip was out of her life. She was a thirty-four year old divorced orphan. Broke, too. She figured that was way more than Sharpe needed to know.
Roland stood in stoic silence, staring.
Em sighed. “The letter from the Maidens arrived right on the heels of my divorce being finalized.” As far as she was concerned, the letter couldn’t have come at a better time. She had no idea what she was going to do after a much publicized messy divorce and finding out her husband had burned through all of their resources.
She’d flown over to Kauai expecting to check in on her uncle, stay a couple of weeks, then head back to Orange County to pick up the pieces and find work, but she’d been lured by the magic of the island as well as the challenge of helping Louie turn his declining business around. It wasn’t long before she found herself agreeing to manage the Goddess and stay on indefinitely.
The breathtaking beauty of Kauai had as much to do with the decision as Uncle Louie’s mental health—which for the most part wasn’t as bad as the Maidens led her to believe.
“I’ll be talking to Kimo, as well as the dancers. Your waitress’s name is—?”
“Sophie Chin. She’s actually a bartender.”
“She local?”
“Yes. She’s local. From Oahu. Sophie was late, so she couldn’t have seen anything.”
He looked up. “Has she ever had a run in with Harold?”
Em wished she hadn’t brought it up. “As I said before, who hasn’t? None of us would kill Harold and be dumb enough to toss him into our own luau pit, would we? Besides, a murder like that could ruin business.” She thought she was making a joke, but apparently, Roland Sharpe wasn’t fond of smiling.
Detective Sharpe opened the office door. Just beyond, customers were lined up cheek to jowl at the bar. The dining room and the front lanai were jammed packed, or as the locals would say, the place was choke. Outside on the highway, a conga line of cars snaked slowly by. There wasn’t a parking space left in the lot.
Roland nodded. “Yeah. Real bad for business. Thanks for your time, Ms. Johnson.”
4
Kiki Talks Too Much
Kiki Godwin didn’t care about how Harold Otanami had ended up in the luau pit any more than she cared how the over-capacity crowd came to be at the Goddess. She was thrilled any time the place was packed. It was an opportunity to work the crowd handing out business cards.
Kiki was an event planner on the North Shore. For years, she was the one and only event planner on island, but lately wedding coordinators and party planners were popping up as fast as weeds on a golf course. Thanks to women like Marlene Lockhart, a wealthy upstart who was trying to get her hooks into Louie, Kiki found herself working harder and harder to book events.
Thankfully, her own business had picked up since Louie’s niece took over managing the Goddess. Kiki made it a point to be here almost every night not only to hula but to work the crowd.
At first, the idea of Em Johnson, a young haole woman from the mainland, running the beloved yet derelict local hang out was simply too much for some of the bar’s old cronies to bear. But once word got out that the Maidens had orchestrated Em’s sudden appearance by sending her a convincing letter claiming Louie appeared to be suffering a touch of dementia—Kiki had taken quite a bit of license inventing that one detail—the locals had started showing up again. With elbows splayed and butts riding carved tiki bar stools, the regulars known as the Chairmen of the Board watched Em’s progress in silence.
After going through the paper bags full of receipts and bits of papers that constituted Louie’s account books, Emily Johnson had come up with ways to fill the place. Karaoke was expanded to three nights a week. Happy hour was a hit with the tourists. Danny was hired to play two more nights a week and different original tropical concoctions by Louie were featured as the Drink of the Day at half price. As often as possible, the Maidens worked themselves into the show and Em couldn’t complain if they were a little off now and then. After all, they danced for free.
Kiki didn’t mind taking full credit for single handedly coming up with the brilliant idea of sending for Em to keep the Goddess from going under. Six months ago, Louie Marshall was barely able to pay his bills and the writing had been on the wall. If business hadn’t picked up, Louie would have had to sell out and Kiki’s worst fear was that he’d sell to Marlene Lockhart.
The always fashionable resident of Princeville—a well-manicured planned golf community up the hill across the Hanalei River—had been trying to get her hooks into Louie for almost a year now. Kiki couldn’t tell if Louie knew that Marlene was really after the Goddess and he was just stringing the woman along to get into her white Bermudas, or if the poor man thought Marlene actually cared about him. Fat chance.
The Goddess was one of only two commercially zoned pieces of real estate on the entire north end
of Kauai and it was right on the beach. It was no secret Marlene wanted Louie to tear down the ramshackle wooden structure and build a trendy upscale restaurant with a fancy banquet facility for wedding receptions, luaus, and other events. She wanted an establishment that was nothing like what the Goddess had become over the years—a tacky tiki bar that was the “Cheers” of Kauai.
If Louie went belly up and Marlene bought the bar, or worse, Louie married the woman and she took over the Goddess, then Kiki’s own business would be in jeopardy. Not to mention the Maidens would be without a place to rehearse and perform.
Except for the occasional mercy invitation to dance at business openings or fundraisers, without the Goddess they would have next to nowhere to dance in public. There would be no joy, no costumes, no reason to go on. To Kiki and her hula sisters, hula was life.
Six months ago Kiki had held a meeting and the gals came up with their scheme to improve business. They sold lau lau, pork wrapped and steamed in taro and ti leaves, and held car washes for fund raisers. They bought a one way ticket for Em and wrote asking her to help. Now, thanks to Harold’s unfortunate demise, things were going better than Kiki ever hoped.
Tossing her head back and pretending to laugh with abandon at a joke she hadn’t quite heard over the din, Kiki batted her false eyelashes at a twenty-something tourist and his fiancé. She was just about to hand him one of her “Kiki’s Kreative Events” cards when Roland Sharpe walked up to her with a notebook dwarfed in his left hand.
“And this,” she explained to the tourists as she grabbed hold of Roland’s right bicep, “is our local fire dancer.” She looked Roland up and down and then winked at the fair skinned bride-to-be from Iowa. “You haven’t lived until you’ve seen our Roland with his hips wrapped in his short malo while he tosses flaming Samoan fire knives in the air to the sensuous beat of a Tahitian drum. I can book him for your wedding, honey. Just give me a call.”
Mai Tai One On Page 2
