Mai Tai One On

by Jill Marie Landis

  “Your address?”

  She gave him Trish Oakley’s address. “I live in a small studio under her house.”

  “Was she there? Did she see you?”

  “No. She was here. She’s our luau photographer and sometimes she dances hula with the Maidens.”

  Sophie and the detective were both island born and bred. She could tell by his expression he knew as well as she did that calling any of the Maidens a hula dancer was stretching it, but she also knew their hearts were in the right place.

  “So, you stopped by your place and showered, then came straight here. You arrived about what time again?”

  “Just before eight.”

  He rifled through his notes. “After the body was found.”

  She had had plenty of time to get back to the North Shore, hassle Harold again, somehow lure him into the parking lot and shove him into the imu.

  “I didn’t kill him,” she said.

  Detective Sharpe met her gaze and held it. “Somebody did.” He suddenly reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone.

  “Excuse me a sec.” He communicated to someone on the other end in a series of yeah-yeahs and grunts before he hung up and shoved the phone back in his pocket.

  Again, he searched her eyes. No way would she look away first.

  “As I was saying, someone killed Otanami. We found the blade of a machete in the imu pit under the body. The handle burned up. His skull was split open.”

  6

  Hurricane Harold Moves On

  It was one-forty-five a.m. before the place was empty and Em, Kiki, and Sophie could finally sit. At a table close to the stage, Em sipped at a mug of herbal tea. Kiki was half way through yet another glass of house white. Sophie’s choice was diet soda. Kimo had left two hours ago.

  Louie insisted the women relax while he mopped the floor behind the bar.

  “Gee,” Kiki said, looking around, “it feels like a hurricane just hit this place and moved on.”

  “Hurricane Harold,” Sophie mumbled.

  “Who could have done it?” Em traced her finger around the edge of her mug.

  “Why did they do it?” Kiki wondered. “He was a bastard, but there are a lot of those running around. Not exactly a reason to kill the poor guy.”

  Sophie was unusually quiet.

  “You okay?” Em asked.

  “Just tired.”

  “Town day,” Kiki said.

  Town day explained it all. It was a good hour’s drive into Lihue on a two lane highway with traffic that brought to mind songs about paving paradise to make parking lots. Most folks saved up their list of errand stops and groceries and took along coolers to keep frozen food from thawing on the way home. Town days were definitely exhausting.

  “Did Harold have any family?” Em couldn’t wipe the image of Harold’s body out of her mind.

  “Shark Lady was out front earlier,” Kiki volunteered.

  “Shark Lady?” Em asked.

  “Leilani Cabral. Harold’s niece.” Kiki replied.

  “Why Shark Lady?” Sophie massaged her temples.

  “She’s a Realtor. Local. Has her face on all those bumper stickers that say Keep Kauai Kauai. She caters to the Malibu-Aspen-Hollyweird crowd.”

  “Ah. That one. I’ve seen a lot of her For Sale signs around here.”

  “Yeah, she’s all talk about Keep Kauai Kauai when she’s really selling it off like crazy. She only deals in high end stuffs—”

  “Those two big estates on the beach near Limahuli are her listings. I saw her picture on the For Sale signs,” Em said. “It looks like a photo from glamour shots.”

  “That’s her. She flies to Honolulu for monthly haircuts and Botox injections. Years ago she was on the County Council but she lost her seat over rumors that she was taking bribes from developers. Nothing was ever proven, of course. Since then, she married a judge.” Kiki smiled. She loved gossip almost as much as hula.

  “Convenient,” Em said.

  “Very.”

  Even though the place was empty, Kiki leaned closer and lowered her voice.

  “I think she’s tight with Roland.”

  “Who?” Em asked.

  “Shark Lady. I could see it. Something’s going on.”

  “You think?” Sophie leaned in.

  “I’ll find out if anything’s up when Suzi gets back in town. She went to high school with both of them.” Suzi Matamoto was one of the Maidens. A Realtor herself, Suzi was born and raised in Kapa’a.

  “Everyone knows Roland, right?” Em’s brow puckered.

  “Not intimately,” Kiki chuckled. “You interested?”

  Em shook her head. “I’ve sworn off men.”

  “Leilani and Roland looked pretty chummy when he told her about Harold earlier,” Kiki said. “Pretty chummy.”

  “How’d she take the news?” Sophie’s dark eyes mirrored concern.

  “She actually shed a tear. One. More than that would have ruined her make up.”

  “Pretty awful,” Em said. By now everyone knew Harold’s death was no accident.

  “Pretty scary,” Kiki added. “Who’d do such a thing?”

  “Question is, why murder him?” Em wondered aloud.

  “Roland was pushing me hard about the smoke thing and the argument I had with Harold today, “ Sophie volunteered.

  “Ridiculous,” Em said.

  “That’s what I told him,” Kiki nodded in agreement. She polished off her wine and picked up her purse. “So, what time tomorrow, Sophie?”

  “It’s already tomorrow,” Em reminded them.

  “What time for what?” Sophie asked Kiki.

  “You were going to teach us a new hula.”

  Sophie shrugged. “I haven’t danced since I was kid. I’m not sure I can remember the whole thing.”

  “Make it up where you need to. We have to have a new number for the Slug Festival.”

  “Slug Festival?” Em hoped she’d heard wrong.

  “Actually, it’s the ASEF, the Apple Snail Eradication Festival, but I like Slug Festival better. They started it in 1989 to commemorate the introduction of the apple snail to the island. Somebody had the bright idea to farm escargot in the taro patches alongside the taro.”

  “Let me guess…,” Sophie started.

  “You got it,” Kiki finished. “The snails started eating the taro.”

  Water flushed muddy taro fields spread out across the Hanalei Valley like a huge checkerboard of rice paddies. Glistening in the sunlight, against the backdrop of lush green mountains with their trailing waterfalls, the taro fields were a photographer’s delight.

  “Is there anything you don’t celebrate here?” Em still couldn’t wrap her mind around a festival dedicated to slug eradication.

  “Hey, Kauai is trying to overcome its Newly Wed-Nearly Dead image. We need to attract tourists that aren’t on a honeymoon, celebrating retirement, or checking it off their bucket list.” Kiki slid out from the banquet along the wall.

  “And you think a slug festival will bring them in?” Em wanted to know.

  “So how about it Sophie?” Kiki asked, ignoring Em. “What time?”

  “Ten. I’m going to sleep in.”

  “Perfect. I’ll email the Maidens and let them know.” Before Kiki headed for the door, she paused and turned to Sophie. “How come you didn’t tell us you knew how to hula sooner?”

  “She didn’t tell you, remember?.” Em reminded Kiki. “You saw her on an old Merrie Monarch Festival DVD.”

  “I’m really not that good,” Sophie said.

  Kiki walked back to the table. “Not that good? Your halau danced at the Merrie Monarch!”

  “What’s the Merrie Monarch Festival?” Em wanted to know.

  Kiki shook her head and rolled her eyes as if it should be common knowledge. “Only the Olympics of hula. Three days of competition on the Big Island. Only some of the best of the best hula halau—schools—directed by the top kumu—their teachers.”

 
“I was only seventeen.” Sophie tried to shrug off the praise.

  “Oh, and now you’re over the hill. What are you? Twenty?”

  “Twenty-two.”

  Em noticed how Sophie shied away from talking about her dancing. In fact, she never said much about her past at all.

  “I’ve got to get home.” Kiki headed for the door again. “Kimo will be wondering what happened to me.”

  “You okay to drive?” Em asked.

  “Ha! I’m good. Besides, the entire KPD is probably following the coroners’ van back to Lihue. They aren’t going to miss all that action.” The twinkle lights were off. The parking lot was no longer lit up like a movie set. The front lanai cast a dark backdrop behind Kiki as she stood in the doorway. She blew a kiss to Louie across the room.

  Sophie stood up. “Anything else you need done tonight?”

  Em glanced over to the bar where Louie was carefully stacking clean glasses.

  “We’re done. I’ve got to get Louie to stop. He’s got more energy than the rest of us put together.”

  “Remind him it’s time to feed David Letterman. That’ll get him going.”

  “Good idea. ‘Night Sophie.”

  “’Night, Em.” Sophie paused. The glow from a rainbow of tinted glass globes overhead gilded her eyebrow piercings. “Hey,” she added, “I’m sorry I was late tonight.”

  “No worries,” Em said.

  Sophie told Louie good night and left. As Em stared out into the dark night, she heard Sophie’s old Honda engine kick in. With a clink and a clunk, the rusted beater slowly rattled away.

  While Louie puttered behind the bar, Em thought about the day she hired Sophie. She’d had seen the bruises not quite hidden by the tattoos on Sophie’s arms. She had also noticed how young and vulnerable Sophie looked. How desperate.

  Em looked past Sophie’s pierced eyebrows, her spiked and tinted hair and into her troubled eyes. Em offered her a sandwich during a casual conversation that passed for a job interview.

  The longer they had chatted, the more comfortable she felt with Sophie. Instead of trying to pass herself off as something she wasn’t, the girl confessed she’d been on island less than two weeks, having just moved over from Oahu. She was living in the beach parks, sleeping in her battered heap of a car like so many of the island’s homeless.

  When Em asked why she’d left Honolulu, Sophie had shrugged. “I needed a change.”

  Em decided to hire her on the spot. She knew all about needing a change and having to start over.

  Now, exhausted, Em finally slid out from behind the table and picked up her empty mug.

  “Come on, Uncle Louie. We’d better get home.”

  Home was a rambling beachfront bungalow next door. Em had fallen in love with the place the first time she saw it years ago. When she arrived six months ago she had moved into one of Louie’s large, airy spare bedrooms without a qualm. Tropic breezes blew through the wide open rooms with their high vaulted ceilings and woven mat floor coverings. Em loved falling asleep to the sound of rain thrumming against the metal roof.

  “One second,” he called. “I’m almost through putting a little something together for Letterman. “

  Em walked behind the bar and watched as Louie carefully measured white rum into a jigger. He poured it into a cocktail shaker filled with ice, added some simple syrup, a touch of powdered ginger, some lime juice and then a couple drops of Tabasco sauce.

  Louie’s red macaw, David Letterman, was touchy when it came to spices. Touting himself as a professional mixologist right up there with the likes of the legendary Donn Beach of Don the Beachcomber and Victor Bergeron of Trader Vic’s, Louie prided himself on his extensive Goddess drink menu. He made up an equally well concocted legend for every drink. But David Letterman, the taste testing parrot, definitely had the last word on whether a libation was a keeper or not.

  “Are you sure David likes ginger?”

  “Depends. I think this is going to be a hit.” Louie turned off the lights over the bar as Em locked the front door.

  Together they headed through the office and exited out the back. Louie carried the cocktail shaker. The parrot only needed a thimble full. The rest was Louie’s nightcap.

  Em tipped her face up to receive the kiss of the light misty rain sifting down from a passing cloud. Even the seductive scent of jasmine carried by the balmy night air couldn’t erase the horrific memory of what happened to Harold Otanami.

  She tried to erase the horrific image from of her mind.

  “What are you going to name the new drink?”

  “In honor of Harold, I’m calling it Great Balls of Fire.”

  7

  The Right to Remain

  By 10:45 a.m. the next day, hula practice was in full swing. Recorded Hawaiian music was playing loud enough to vibrate the liquor in bottles lined up behind the Goddess bar.

  Sophie tried to help the Maidens perfect the ami, a basic hula move. Unfortunately, the pre-and-post menopausal bag of middle aged mixed nuts she was trying to teach had more enthusiasm than co-ordination.

  The women were all crowded onto the small stage. Instead of paying attention, a couple of them were forearming each other, struggling for space in the front line. The width of the Goddess stage could handle only four or five in a row—not counting Flora—whose talent for dancing wouldn’t fill a jigger, but seven Maidens now vied for the front row. No one wanted to be left out of the limelight.

  The only one not wrestling for a spot was Little Estelle Huntington—and that was only because she was confined to a motorized Gad-About parked on the floor below the stage. Little Estelle, a former Rockette, was ninety-five and the mother of Big Estelle Paulson. Big Estelle wasn’t much bigger than her mother but the women needed a way to distinguish between the two of them in conversation. Big Estelle was already in her early seventies.

  Little Estelle never let her daughter or the rest of them forget that she was the only professional dancer among them. She was also an escapee from an upscale retirement home on the mainland where her son had insisted she’d be much happier than living at home alone. She wasn’t. Ever since Little Estelle had moved in with her daughter on Kauai and joined the group, she had been campaigning to have the girls vote Flora out of the hui. Little Estelle and her daughter spent most of their time bickering with each other.

  “Ladies, let’s try a right ami one more time,” Sophie began. “Ready? One, two, three and four.” Flora and Kiki rotated their hips in opposite directions and immediately caused a pile up down the line.

  “You’re always out of step, Flora!” Little Estelle snapped from her Gad-About on the floor.

  “Not! I’m on beat. Everybody else is always ahead.” Flora, outfitted in another ankle length floral muumuu, looked like a float in the Rose Parade.

  “If you know so much, how come you don’t get up here and show me, eh?” Flora held both hands up to her cheeks and feigned surprise. “Oh! I forget. You can’t even stan’ up.”

  “Kiki’s hogging the middle of the line again and I can’t see around her.” Lillian Smith wore her hair in a perm that resembled cotton candy, complete with a pink rinse and was a serial whiner. The others no longer paid much attention to Lil.

  “So? I’m the one who arranges all the practices,” Kiki reminded her. “I’m the one who finds teachers. I deserve to be center stage.” Kiki had been basking in one spotlight or another—ever since she reigned as co-Queen at the St. Perpetua High School Homecoming nearly a half-century ago.

  Lillian adjusted her black framed rhinestone encrusted glasses and patted her pink hair. “Well, I brought that expensive sushi pupu platter to the last practice.”

  Kiki obviously didn’t care how many pupu platters Lil hauled in. “You missed three classes last month and our bowling alley appearance. If you’d been at practice, you might not have gotten tangled up in the curtains during our grand exit at the Kapuna Competition.”

  “Yeah,” Flora adjusted her muumuu. “Good
t’ing you landed on my Reggie when you was blinded and fell off the stage.”

  “Good thing Reggie weighs three hundred fifty pounds,” Trish Oakley, the photographer, chimed in. Reggie was Flora’s son. “Like falling on a mattress.”

  Kiki laughed and slipped into a pidgin accent like Flora’s. “Good t’ing he like sit up front.”

  “Hey, can I help it if I missed the last minute changes because my daughter lives in Colorado?” Lil whined. “She had a baby, for heaven sake. I had to be there.”

  “Pretty rude of her to pick July to drop her load,” Kiki mumbled.

  Usually the Maidens’ bickering amused Sophie, but not now. Not today.

  “Knock it off!” She clapped her hands. When that didn’t shut them up she said, “You all need a break. I’m buying one round. What’ll it be?”

  Miraculously moving as one, the Maidens quickly filed off the stage. Since it wasn’t noon yet, most of them opted for Tiger Shark Attacks, Louie’s version of a Bloody Mary. He’d mixed his first Tiger Shark in ’73 to commemorate a close call he’d had while surfing off Hideaways. A huge tiger shark had taken a two foot wide bite out of the side of his surfboard.

  The board was on display over the front door.

  Sophie was behind the bar filling glasses when Detective Roland Sharpe suddenly appeared in the doorway.

  The Hula Maidens, scattered about at various tables near the stage, fell silent. The only sound in the room was the rhythmic creak of the dusty overhead fan.

  “Aloha, Roland,” Kiki waved.

  The detective nodded in her direction but didn’t smile. He was all business as he headed straight to the bar where Sophie had paused with her hand around the neck of a vodka bottle.

  “Miss Chin,” he began. “I’d like you to come into town for more questioning.”

  She let go of the bottle. “More questioning?”

  “You were one of the last people to see Mr. Otanami yesterday.”

  “I already told you everything—”

  He gave her a knowing look and lowered his voice. “I think you know why I’d like to talk to you again. There might be more that you recall now that you’ve had some time to think about it.”