“The bomb, you know, the bestest ever.”
I picked up a tomato, careful not to squeeze it. “At least that’s what they tell you. People who hand over half their paycheck for fancy vegetables probably need to convince themselves it’s worth it.”
“Did you boogie in here just to dis my glorious vegetable matter, or did you—” She stopped and put a hand over her mouth. “My bad. I spaced about you goin’ to the doctor yesterday. What’d you’d find out?”
“It doesn’t look good. The doc said we have ‘reproductive issues’ and it’s going to be hard for me to get pregnant.”
Farrah squinted. “But she didn’t say ‘no cigar,’ right? I mean, you’re tough. I’ve seen you do heavy lifting when you had to. You’ll power through.”
“It seems I’m not the one with the problem.”
“Oh. Bummer, man.”
We fell silent as we both considered the implications of Finn, or any red-blooded male, learning he had fatherhood issues.
“How’s he takin’ it?” she whispered, although there wasn’t anyone within thirty feet who could hear us.
I shrugged. “He left for O’ahu this morning. I tried to talk to him last night but he shut me down. Right now it’s pretty much ‘don’t ask, don’t tell.’”
“Like that ever worked before.”
“I know. I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t be pleased if he knew I was telling you about it.”
She crossed her heart. “No prob. Mum’s the word.”
“What about Ono? I can’t ask you to keep secrets from him.” Ono was Farrah’s husband, and my husband’s brother.
“Ha! Again, no prob. With the twins climbin’ in our bed every night, he’d be jealous of his little bro’s extended honeymoon. I know you guys want keiki of your own, but what I’d give for a little alone time with my man, eh?”
“I’m north of thirty-five, Farrah. Not much time left to start a family.”
“I hear ya.”
“I’d like Finn to be able to tell Ono in his own way. Those two have been competitive from day one.”
“True dat. I’ll tick a lock.” She twisted her bottom lip with a thumb and forefinger. “Not a peep outta me.”
“Mahalo.”
We let a beat of silence pass before Farrah said, “Oh, I almost forgot. I’m pretty sure our new place is haunted.”
“What?”
“Yeah. Total bummer, yeah? In all the craziness over getting the coin to buy it and then moving the keiki and everything, we spaced on getting the house blessed. Seems we got a Night of the Living Dead thing goin’ on. There’s a dude in cane worker duds haulin’ a big machete around the back yard. You can kinda see through him, like a ghost. ”
I shot her a quizzical look.
“No, serious,” she said. “Ono and me have both seen him.”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
She shrugged. “He’s outside, so for now it’s no biggie. But Ono’s stressed he could boogie inside. I mean, it’s a ghost, right? Those dudes can go through walls. And even if he stays outside he might take a mind to going after the keiki when they’re playing in the yard.”
“What’re you going to do?”
“Ono told me not to stress about it. He’s hoping it’ll just go away, but I’m not so sure. On the sly I’ve been trying to get in touch with the dude to see what he wants, but so far, nada.”
Farrah’s sort of a paranormal princess, like a Mystical Barbie. She’s got all the accessories needed to contact the dead, as well as the “undead.” She claims the undead are souls who’ve shed their mortal bodies but continue to walk among us. Most are hanging around trying to complete personal unfinished business and are generally harmless. But she acknowledges some harbor darker intentions.
“If you contact this guy but he won’t go away, what’s your plan B?” I couldn’t believe I was talking about this as if contacting the dead was a commonplace chore we all deal with from time to time.
“I s’pose I’ll have to hire a kahu to do a blessing,” she said. “But that will cost moolah, and we’re pretty tapped out.”
“You know Finn and I are happy to help.”
She held up a palm. “No dice. We’re already going down for the third time in the money pool. We can’t keep moochin’ from you guys ‘cuz we’ll never be able to pay you back.”
“You don’t have to pay us back. You’re family.”
She laughed. “’Ohana are the worst moochers of all. Mahalo, but no. We’ll figure this out on our own.”
I hugged her, and bought a pre-packaged Greek salad for dinner that night. When I was little, my auntie Mana used to tell me, “Ipo, you got lots to think about, but nuthin’ to worry about.” Ipo is a Hawaiian word that’s used like the English word, “sweetie.”
But, from where I was sitting, it seemed the past two days had dragged up quite a bit to worry about.
CHAPTER 3
At ten that night, Finn called from his super-secret location on O’ahu. He’d never told me exactly where it was, or what his specific job entailed, but I knew he worked in military cyber-security. I assumed his office was at Hickam Air Force Base near Pearl Harbor or maybe Schofield Army Barracks in the north-central part of the island.
“How’d your day go?” he asked.
“Not great.”
“Me neither. I found out they’re sending me overseas.”
Alarms went off in my head. “Where? And what for?”
“Can’t say. But I’m allowed to tell you I won’t be in a hot zone. My boss swears we won’t hear bombs falling or bullets flying.”
“That’s a relief. Can you at least tell me what continent?”
“No can do. In fact, this project’s so secret I probably won’t be able to call home much. We’ll have a satellite phone in case of emergency, but we can’t bring our mobiles.” After spending the past few years in Australia Finn still called cell phones, mobiles. With the long “i” sound. In the early going I’d corrected him a few times but he shot me stink eye. Definitely not the hill I wanted to die on.
“How about Skype or email?”
“Nope. Just the sat. My assistant here on O’ahu can get a message to me, if necessary, but that’s it.”
“When are you leaving?”
He blew out a breath. “Tomorrow, early.”
“But what about packing? I thought you only kept a week’s worth of clothes over there.”
“They’ll hook us up with the stuff we’ll need.”
“When will you be coming home?”
“Can’t say. They said they’ll cut us loose when we get what we came for.”
“We need to talk, Finn. And now you’ll be gone for who knows how long.”
“Sorry.” He didn’t sound very sorry. He sounded like a guy who’d volunteered to go to who knows where for who knows how long rather than talk about his malfunctioning man parts.
“Bring me back a souvenir, okay? You know, maybe some Russian vodka or a pair of those silk Chinese slippers.”
“Nice try, but I swear I don’t know have a clue where we’re headed.”
“I’ll miss you,” I said.
“You too, ku’uipo.” He’d used the Hawaiian word for “sweetheart.” In the past few months he’d made an effort to learn the local lingo. Usually he used it correctly. Sometimes he didn’t. But I was smart enough to know if I wanted him to keep trying, I’d best not nit-pick.
“Love you,” I said.
There was a pause. “Love you, too, Pali. I’m sorry things didn’t work out.”
Before I could respond he went on. “And don’t worry. I’m in good hands. They said they’d pull us out at the first sign of trouble.”
I didn’t like the sound of that. Not any of it.
***
The next morning I slept in, but still managed to make it to my shop by nine. I had a ten o’clock appointment with a bride and groom whose wedding was only six days away. I still hadn’t met them, which was unusual for
me. I normally like to meet clients at least a week before their wedding date, but today’s happy couple had had their flight cancelled from the West Coast so they’d arrived a day late. Then, when they got to Honolulu , the airlines managed to lose the bride-to-be’s luggage so they’d spent an entire day on O’ahu tracking it down and waiting for it to be delivered to their hotel. It arrived so late they couldn’t get a flight to Maui until the next day.
If I viewed life through the same lens as Farrah, I might’ve been wondering if the universe was trying to tell them something. I’m not superstitious, but still my anxiety level ticked up a notch with every phone call detailing the latest snafu. I’m a wedding planner, with emphasis on the word, “plan.” In this business, winging it doesn’t pass for playful serendipity, it’s a recipe for disaster. Florists run out of flowers, limos are in the shop, and restaurants are too booked up to take a dinner reservation for twelve. In short, I was eager to get things nailed down.
The couple showed up on time looking none the worse for wear in spite of their ordeals. The bride-to-be, whose name was Katrina, but went by Kat, was a tiny woman. She was probably five feet tall if she stood on tiptoe and weighed no more than ninety pounds. Her skin was so fair the pale blue veins at her temple, neck and inner arms looked like an Aloha Airlines interisland route map.
In contrast, Alex, her fiancé, was a bruddah of substance. He was at least six feet six, with the shoulder-to-fingertip wingspan of a long-distance swimmer. He was dark-skinned, probably from both parentage and sun exposure and he had jet black hair with thick eyebrows that met in the middle. I always marvel at couples who seem mismatched, whether it’s due to disparate age, physical attributes, or education level. How do these people meet? And is it true opposites attract, or was my freshman college roommate right? She used to say, “Opposite attraction only works with magnets.” Wouldn’t you know, she was a physics major—a rather cynical physics major. If I remember correctly she was from one of those skinny little states on the East Coast like Vermont or New Hampshire.
I invited the wedding couple to sit down and I covertly crossed my fingers as Alex dropped into one of the wicker guest chairs across from my desk. The chairs were sturdy, up to a point. But I had no idea what that point might be—two hundred pounds, two-fifty?
The chair held. He reached a beefy paw out to grip the childlike fingers of his fiancée. She shot him a thin smile. Then she pulled her hand back and crossed her arms. From their body language she appeared to be the one in control. The alpha to his beta.
“Great to finally meet you,” I said.
Kat spoke first. “Yeah, it’s been a long week. Will we still be able to get married on Tuesday?”
“I don’t see a problem. It’s good you picked a weekday. We might’ve run into some problems if you’d chosen a Friday or Saturday, but Tuesday is typically one of the slower days around here. Not as much demand for sunset beach permits or dinner reservations.”
A look passed between them and Alex said, “Uh, we don’t want to get married at night.”
“Ah, so much the better. Afternoon weddings rarely run into conflicts.”
Kat locked eyes with me. “Actually, we want to get married before afternoon.”
I let a beat go by in case they cared to elaborate. They didn’t.
“Okay. I’m a little confused. I’m pretty sure on your booking form you said you wanted an outside wedding.”
“That’s correct,” said Kat.
I scanned the page I’d printed of their online reservation. My website includes a checklist of venue choices. They’d left “church,” “beach,” and “private location” unchecked.
“But you still want to be married outside, correct?”
“That’s right,” Kat said again. “But not on a beach.”
Alex finally chimed in. “We want to get married on a mountain, close to God.”
I leaned back in my chair. “Mount Haleakala?” It was kind of a silly question. Haleakala is pretty much the only named mountain on Maui with public access.
Alex grinned. “Yeah, that one. We want to get married at the top at sunrise.”
They shot each other a triumphant grin as if they were the first people on earth to come up with such a clever idea.
“I see. Well, that’s certainly an interesting setting. Tell you what, let’s go up there tomorrow morning and check it out. I always like my couples to get a feel for where they’ll tie the knot. It lessens anxiety and gives you a chance to visualize what things will be like on your big day.”
“Can you drive us up there?” Kat said. “We don’t want to get lost.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to take your own car ‘cuz mine’s a two-seater.”
That was more or less true. My little Mini Cooper technically seats four since it has four seat belts, but the seats in the back are just for show, or menehune, the Hawaiian word for leprechauns. Even tiny Kat would’ve been twisted into a pretzel after the hour-long trek to the summit.
Alex turned to his fiancée. “It’s okay. We should take our own car, babe. We might want to stick around and do a little hiking. And Pali probably needs to get back.”
I nodded. “True. I have a lot of things to line up before next Tuesday. Let’s start by getting some of it handled now.”
I pulled out a wedding folder and had them fill in their contact information. Then we spent the next hour going through the checklist: flowers, music, officiant, vows, and so on. I gave them a map of Maui and mentioned that in late July sunrise occurs before six a.m.
“How about we meet at five-fifteen in the upper parking lot near the ranger station?”
Kat nodded. “We’ll be there.”
Before they left, Alex asked if I’d join them in prayer. I agreed, and we all joined hands. He mumbled an appeal for a blessing on their union, requesting good weather for the wedding day.
As they closed the door behind them, I felt a twinge of remorse over what I’d done, or more precisely, what I hadn’t done. But after four years in this business I’ve learned you can’t sway prospective brides and grooms from insisting on stupid stuff. I’ve tried to warn dozens of couples away from unwise decisions and it never works. If the least little thing goes wrong they claim everything would’ve been perfect if I’d simply allowed them to do things their way.
Now, I’m all about hands-on learning. I say little but allow my clients to experience the full impact of their illogical ideas. With any luck, they figure out their folly prior to the actual wedding day. This keeps my “I told you so’s” to a minimum while giving them the opportunity to save face. But sadly, even in the face of certain calamity, I’ve had clients insist on staying the course.
When that happens I paste a smile on my face and allow things to unfold as they will. I haven’t seen it all, but I’ve seen plenty: beachside weddings in the pouring rain because the couple poo-pooed the offer of a canopy; or a screaming kid who drowned out the wedding ceremony (and the audio on a seven-hundred-dollar video) because the bride’s matron of honor insisted on holding her four-month-old in her arms, even though the little dude had cried and carried on throughout the rehearsal. Or how about the bacon and blue cheese wedding cake with chocolate buttercream frosting? The couple figured their favorite burger and candy flavors would translate nicely to a three-tiered sugary confection. And yes, it tasted as bizarre as it sounds.
But who knows? Maybe Alex and Kat will enjoy getting up at two-thirty a.m. and clawing their way up a pitch-black mountain road in a long line of other sunrise watchers. Hopefully, they’ll arrive before the upper parking lot is full and park rangers block it off and make the latecomers return to a lower lot and hike back up. Possibly their idea of a good time is standing around in a whipping wind with temperatures only a few degrees above freezing. And perhaps they’ll be cheery even if the cloud cover is so thick it’s impossible to see more than a faint glow from the rising sun and not the brilliant explosion of light and color detailed in Maui travel books.<
br />
It was out of my hands. I’d said little, but reminded them they’d need to make a reservation with the Park Service before four o’clock that afternoon. The reservation system was relatively new and some visitors hadn’t heard about it.
They assured me they’d paid the fee and were ready to go. I kept the smile going until they closed the door behind them, all the while hoping that after our little scouting trip in the cold and dark they’d be willing to listen to reason.
CHAPTER 4
At noon, I locked up the shop and made my way down to the Palace of Pain. I was anxious to hear how things had gone with Lani. Doug’s Jeep was parked in the alley, but when I went inside, the practice room was empty and the lights were off. This wasn’t Doug’s style at all. He and I maintained an ongoing tiff over the annoying fluorescent lights. He insisted on keeping them blazing, and I preferred working out in the cozy gloom of a cinderblock room with light coming solely from a row of grimy clerestory windows.
I called out, “Sifu?”
“In here, Pali.” The voice came from his office.
I made my way across the dimly-lit room, careful to not trip over the practice mats, and stood in the doorway. I could barely make out his form behind his battered Formica desk.
“Why are you sitting in the dark?”
“First you rag on me about turning on the lights, and now you’re on my back ‘cuz I don’t? Looks like I can’t win.”
It wasn’t like Sifu Doug to be grumpy. I didn’t say anything for a few seconds waiting to see if he’d explain his sour mood.
“Sorry, Pali. It’s been a rough morning.”
“You want to talk? Maybe we should have some tea.”
He considered my suggestion, and said, “You mind making it? I’m tapped out.”
I couldn’t remember a time when Doug had sounded so down. The guy had always been my go-to cheerleader no matter how lousy things were in his own life. But now it appeared the tables had turned and I needed to pull out my imaginary pom-poms.
I flicked on the overhead light and the overhead fixture buzzed for a couple of seconds before blazing to light. He blinked and winced as his eyes adjusted to the bluish glare.
Isle Be Seeing You (Islands of Aloha Mystery Book 9) Page 2
