Livin' Lahaina Loca

by JoAnn Bassett

  “Sorry,” he said, giving my legs a quick appraisal. “I didn’t realize you were up.”

  “Yeah. I’ll cop to my caffeine addiction. I can’t do morning without a cup in hand.”

  He smiled. “You sleep okay?”

  “Like a rock.” I didn’t ask him how he slept; it might open the door to more information than I could handle so early in the morning.

  “I almost came in to check on you last night, but I didn’t want Tomika getting the wrong idea,” he said.

  I stared at him. What was that about?

  He nodded toward my room and continued. “You better put on a robe. Tomika’s sort of a prude about flashing too much skin.”

  “I didn’t bring a robe.”

  “Check in your closet.”

  I looked in the guest room closet and, sure enough, I found a silky jade green robe hanging on a padded hanger. I slipped it on and was about to return to the kitchen when I heard voices in the hallway.

  “Good morning, my sweet.” It was Tomika.

  “Good morning. How’re you feeling? You get rid of that headache?” Oh yikes, the woman had feigned a headache? I wanted to clap my hands over my ears to avoid overhearing any more.

  I opened the bedroom door and Tomika smiled at me. “Oh, that robe is so pretty on you with your lovely blond hair and blue eyes. You look beautiful in green.” I guess some people don’t need coffee to be cheery in the morning—or flattering. My hair’s more dishwater than blond, my eyes more hazel than blue, but if she wants to call me blond and blue, I’ll take it.

  “Mahalo,” I said. “This is a lovely robe. Is it silk?”

  “Yes. It’s from southern China. I don’t admire their politics, but they do make gorgeous heavy silks.” She paused a moment, then continued. “I want you to have it.”

  Without coffee in me it took me a few seconds to respond. “Have this? You mean this robe? Oh, mahalo, but no. I’ve already imposed enough staying here with you and Ono.”

  “I insist. It’s not every day I get to meet someone new and give them a little present. Please don’t disappoint me.”

  I looked over at Ono. His head was down and he was rubbing his eyes as if he was still waking up, but it looked more like a ruse to avoid casting a vote on whether or not I should accept the expensive robe.

  “Well, I don’t know what else to say but mahalo. It’s a very generous gift. I’ll think of you every time I wear it.”

  “There, you see,” Tomika said, turning to Ono. “I told you she was a nice girl. You would do well to surround yourself with nice friends like Pali when you’re back home on Maui.”

  CHAPTER 10

  I’m not one for puzzling things out. I prefer the direct approach. Schemes, mind games and sarcasm don’t work for me. I wasn’t a hundred percent sure what was going on with Ono and Tomika’s relationship but I figured I’d wait until we were back on the boat for the trip home and then I’d just come right out ask him. I spent a pleasant Sunday morning with Tomika poking through the immense cathedral of commerce called Ala Moana Shopping Center, but I didn’t buy anything except a new cell phone battery. As soon as we got back to her condo I installed the battery and my phone fired right up. The screen showed I had messages waiting, but I chose to ignore them until I could return the calls in private.

  A few minutes after three we were in the town car heading back to the harbor. Bub pulled to the curb at Holomoana Street, across from the harbor entrance, and Ono and I got out. We trudged down to the moorage and I waited while Ono fiddled with the keypad on the metal gate, since getting to the actual dock required punching in a code.

  “You and Tomika have fun today?” he said. We’d both been quiet on the ride down, as if each of us was waiting for the other to bring up the subject of Tomika.

  “Yeah. She’s a sweet lady.”

  “That she is. I probably should have clued you in on our relationship before bringing you over here.”

  “I, uh, well…” I was about to say something dumb, like it wasn’t any of my business, or something equally phony. Truth was, I was dying to know.

  “She saved my life. Literally. There’s no doubt in my mind,” he said.

  I waited.

  “Yeah, I was one sorry son-of-a-bitch when I showed up in Honolulu three years ago. When my wife Penny died, I didn’t take it well. For one thing, I quit my job—or to be honest, I got fired. I’d started drinking pretty heavy, and the only way I could keep myself from putting a gun in my mouth was to keep pouring liquor in there instead.”

  I looked over at him, but he wouldn’t catch my eye.

  “It’s hard to think about,” he said. He stopped and put his duffel down. He stared toward the far end of the dock like he didn’t have any idea what he was doing there.

  “Hey, you don’t have to go into the ugly details if you don’t want to,” I said.

  “No, it’s good for me to talk about it. I came to Hawaii on a whim. I think I blamed the dark and rain of Portland for my drinking and depression, so I figured if I moved someplace warm and sunny I’d snap out of it. Problem was, it didn’t work out that way.”

  I nodded.

  “Once I got here I started hittin’ the booze even harder, if you can believe that. I had no friends; I lived in a ratty ohana shack I rented from a guy up in Waianae. I’d take the bus down to the city and get so drunk I couldn’t figure out how to catch the bus back home. One night Tomika was out with some friends and I…” He paused and sucked in a breath.

  He continued. “Wow, this is harder to talk about than I imagined. I don’t usually unload on people like this. Sorry.” He dragged his hands down his face.

  “Hey, I’m serious,” I said. “You don’t have to air all your dirty laundry at once. I’m fine with just taking it one pair of socks at a time.”

  He smiled. “Yeah, thanks. But if you don’t mind, I’d rather get it over with. I haven’t told this story very often. They tell me it gets easier every time.”

  I wanted to tell him ‘they’ were usually full of crap, but I kept quiet.

  “Anyhow, I panhandled Tomika and she gave me a fifty dollar bill wrapped around a business card. I couldn’t believe it. Then she told me I could count on more where that came from if I’d go to the address on the card and call her when I sobered up.” He smiled. “I had no intention of sobering up, and with the price of the rot gut I’d been drinking, fifty bucks was more than enough to kill me.”

  He went on. “Funny how stuff works, you know? I took that fifty and started walking toward an ABC Store. I was planning to buy the biggest bottle they had, but then I just kept walking until I got to a Christian mission down on Pau’ahi Street. That was the address on the business card.”

  I said nothing. It was tough for me to imagine this good-looking, energetic man panhandling and sleeping off rot-gut in a homeless shelter.

  “Anyway, I got into a program and Tomika offered to be my sponsor.”

  “Isn’t a sponsor usually another recovering alcoholic?”

  “Yep. That’s how it works.”

  Okay, picturing Ono as a pathetic alcoholic was one thing; picturing Tomika pounding down the booze took more imagination than I possessed.

  “She was a drinker?”

  “Yeah. When you’ve got money, it’s even worse ‘cuz it’s a much longer fall before you hit bottom.”

  I nodded.

  “I can’t talk about her story, but trust me, she’s got demons we wouldn’t wish on our worst enemy. Saving people isn’t a hobby for her, it’s a necessity.”

  ***

  At a quarter to four, Chico showed up carrying two bulging plastic shopping bags of juice and gin. I watched as he set up the bar and I wondered how Ono and Tomika felt about having all that liquor around.

  The first guests began arriving at five. There were lawyers and real estate tycoons, business owners and politicians. I couldn’t quite figure out what they all had in common, but it wasn’t my job to scrutinize the guest list; I was
there to make sure they had a good time.

  After everyone was aboard and had a drink in hand, Ono fired up the engine and we pulled out of the harbor. We cleared the channel and were headed north, toward the Honolulu airport, when one of the male guests got up on the steps leading to the stern and bellowed for everyone’s attention.

  “I’d like to offer a toast to our hostess.” He had to yell to be heard over the rising wind. “We’ve all benefitted from Tomika and Willie’s generosity and I think I speak for everyone here when I offer my ko’u mahalo for your kindness, and wish you all the best in your retirement. The Honolulu Press and News will never be the same without you.”

  I looked over at Tomika, standing on the deck holding a glass of fruit juice festooned with the obligatory paper umbrella and cherry on a pick. She was looking down. When she raised her head, her eyes were shiny and her lips tightly clamped, as if she were walking a thin edge between sorrow and pride.

  “Mahalo to all of you, my good friends,” she said. “You have stood by me and my dear, late husband through all kinds of happy times and hard times. Your aloha and good wishes mean more to me than the most precious of jewels. My home is always open to each and every one of you. May you have the good fortune of a long and interesting life, and may each of your families be safe and prosperous for generations to come.”

  She may have looked like she was struggling to keep her emotions in check, but I couldn’t have been that eloquent if you’d given me two days’ head start.

  We sailed up the coastline almost to Ewa Beach before turning around. It was dark when we returned to the harbor and the partygoers had become quiet. One by one they made their way off the catamaran, kissing and hugging Tomika while whispering their mahalos and best wishes. She left arm-in-arm with the last departing guest—a woman who’d offered to drive Tomika home.

  “Whew. That was fun, but I’m exhausted,” I said as I picked up plastic cups and appetizer plates and stuffed them into the garbage bag Chico held open for me.

  “I think Tomika was amazed everyone showed up,” said Ono. “We were pretty much at capacity.” He sounded tired, but I chalked it up to the stress of keeping the boat on course and getting all those mucky-mucks safely back without incident.

  We swept and wiped up and hauled trash for the better part of an hour. Then Chico slipped on his sandals and waved good-bye.

  “We’ll be pulling out no later than six,” said Ono.

  “Got it, boss. I’ll be here.”

  While we waited for Bub to come down and pick us up in the town car, we made small talk but avoided revisiting the topic of Ono and Tomika’s struggle with sobriety.

  I was eager to get back to Maui. Back to home base and my normal life. But, as they say, be careful what you wish for: it wouldn’t be long before I’d be hard-pressed to remember what my normal life even looked like.

  CHAPTER 11

  At five-thirty on Monday morning we were back in the town car and Bub was driving us down to the harbor. The sun had barely lightened the sky beyond the Ko’olau Mountains and by the time we got underway the wind was blowing hard from the south. The crossing was rougher than it’d been on Saturday, but we still managed to make it to Lahaina before dark. Ono slipped the catamaran carefully alongside the dock and Chico jumped out and tied it up. As I gathered my belongings and picked up my sandals, Ono pulled two white envelopes from a drawer in the cabin and handed one to Chico, the other to me. Chico gave Ono a fist-bump of thanks and bounded onto the dock. I hung back.

  “Mahalo for thinking of me,” I said. “I appreciate it.”

  “Are you kidding? You saved the day. Chico’s a good sailor but he’s kind of lacking in people skills. And Tomika really enjoyed having you around. She told me so.”

  “I can’t believe she gave me that silk robe,” I said. “It’s so gorgeous.”

  “Believe me, she loved every minute. Maybe you’ll consider going out with me another time?”

  I nodded, unsure of what I’d just agreed to do.

  As we said our alohas, I reminded Ono we’d be doing Keith and Nicole’s photo shoot at noon on Saturday, right before the ceremony.

  “I’ll have everything spic and span.”

  “I guess I’ll see you then,” I said.

  “Unless I see you before. Call me if you want.” He leaned in and put an arm around my shoulder and gave me a squeeze. I’ll admit to being a tad disappointed it wasn’t followed by at least a peck on the cheek.

  His comment about calling reminded me I hadn’t picked up my cell phone messages for three days. I generally didn’t get many messages on the weekends but it was unheard of for me to go incommunicado for more than a day when I had a big wedding coming up.

  I punched in my voicemail code.

  You have six messages, said the stern female voice. The number of messages and her curt tone made me feel even worse about falling off the radar for seventy-two hours.

  The first two messages were vendors—the DJ and the bartender—confirming the date, time and place of the reception. I was known for getting cranky with my suppliers if they didn’t call and check in with me a few days before a wedding. But it was justified. I’d literally been left standing at the altar without things like flowers and folding chairs, and once even the official performing the ceremony was a no-show, so I demanded a call-in from everyone the week before a wedding.

  The third message wasn’t a vendor. It was the guy who’d called on Halloween night—the night I’d been searching for Crystal. Same whispery voice, same peculiar accent. “So, I guess you don’t take me for serious,” he said. With his accent it sounded like ‘cirrus’—a type of wispy cloud—but I was pretty sure he wasn’t calling to discuss the weather.

  He went on. “That’s too bad, you know? ‘Cuz I wanna talk to you. Don’ keep me waiting too long, Ms. Moon, or you’ll be sorry. Okay?” I heard muffled noise in the background, but I couldn’t make out what it was. Bar clatter? A sporting event? I saved the message and went on to the next one.

  Hatch’s familiar deep voice came on after the voicemail lady announced I’d received call number four on Sunday at eight-twenty-three a.m. “Hey, Babe. I’m off today. You want to get together? Call me. I’ll wait to hear from you.” Oh, darn. I’d forgotten to call him and tell him I’d be out of town. Not good.

  The fifth message was from Glen Wong. “Ms. Moon, we’re wrapping up our investigation on your report of November One. If you’d like a hard copy of the final paperwork, give me a call. We’ve documented the damage to your vehicle for your insurance company.”

  The sixth and final message was from Keith Lewis. “Where are you? I came by your shop and then I called your home number. Your roommate said you’d gone out of town. We’ve got less than a week to go here. Call me—now.”

  I sprinted up Front Street, my anxiety level tipping into the red zone. The message from the creepy guy, me standing up Hatch on his day off, and Keith’s continuing grumpiness made my homecoming feel less than welcome. The only good news was my car was right where I’d left it in the alley behind my shop. It appeared unscathed, so I didn’t stop to check it over. Maybe subconsciously I wasn’t prepared to deal with any more creepiness, especially now that it was getting late and the alley was in deep shadow. I walked right by, not even stopping to put my overnight bag in the trunk, and headed for the stairs.

  In the soft glow of the setting sun I noticed something shiny and yellow hanging on the doorknob to my shop even before I started up the steps. Halfway up, I could tell it was a little Chinese silk pouch with a drawstring closure. Many of the local jewelers use them as gift bags when you buy a necklace or a pair of earrings.

  Out of reflex I looked up and down the street hoping to catch sight of someone. A pang of guilt caught in my chest. Had Hatch brought me a peace offering for his recent lack of attention? Or maybe Keith and Nicole felt bad about their rude dismissal of my concerns about Crystal. Whoever it was, it lifted my mood to come upon an unexpected treasu
re. I shifted my overnight bag to the other shoulder and bounded up the last few stairs.

  I carefully unwound the drawstring from around the door knob. The pouch was feather-light. I fingered the contents through the smooth silk. There was too much in there for it to be earrings or a simple gold chain. I imagined a shell necklace or maybe a coral bracelet. I don’t wear much jewelry, but when I do, I prefer organic stuff—like shells or clay beads. Only Hatch would know that.

  I unlocked the door and went inside. The room smelled like I’d left an egg salad sandwich on the window ledge for three days, but a quick scan of the room didn’t turn up any misplaced foodstuffs. I dumped my overnight bag and the gift pouch on the desk and rummaged around for a can of tropical breeze-scented air freshener.

  Outside, the light was failing so I flicked on lights as I sprayed. The yellow silk pouch gleamed in the glow of my desk lamp. I couldn’t take it any longer. I pulled the puckered silk open along the drawstring.

  Inside I saw a jumble of shells, but they didn’t appear to be strung. I tipped the pouch and poured the contents into my palm. It wasn’t shells. When I recognized what I was holding, I gasped and dumped it all out on the desk.

  They were human fingernails. Entire nails, not just cuttings. They weren’t bloody or torn so I figured they must be fake—probably acrylic. Each had hot pink polish and a tiny palm tree decal. I’d seen them before when Nicole had proudly shown off the matching mani-pedi’s she and her bridesmaids had gotten the day of the bachelorette party.

  My pulse thumped in my neck as I dialed the phone.

  “Maui Police Department. Do you have an emergency?”