Lana'i of the Tiger (The Islands of Aloha Mystery Series)

by JoAnn Bassett

  When Tyler finally returned to the White Orchid late on Sunday morning he was in high spirits.

  “Hey, Penny,” he said as he clattered through the front door. “Sorry I didn’t get a chance to call and let you know I wouldn’t be coming in last night.”

  “No problem. I wasn’t worried. One of the perks of being a grown-up is you don’t have a curfew.”

  “Deedee begged me to stay the night. You know how that goes…” He grinned, then must have thought it might be considered tactless to bring up the joy of sex to a recent widow. He started back-peddling. “Uh, what I mean is, we kind of got, uh, well…”

  “I know exactly how that goes, and once again, congratulations on your upcoming wedding. It’s an exciting time.”

  He looked relieved.

  “Speaking of which,” I said. “Let’s go out to the greenhouse. I want to show you where you’re going to tie the knot.”

  I took him out back and showed him how tidy Mr. Ho had already made the area where the ceremony would take place.

  “It’s not finished, because he’ll be bunching a dozen blooming orchid plants back here,” I said as I stepped into the corner. “Then I’m going to see about getting someone to build a simple lathe and frame arched arbor that will go here.” I pointed to where Tyler and Deedee would stand with the minister.

  “The guests will assemble here.” I indicated an eight foot square area. “If it’s okay with you, we’re not going to provide chairs. The ceremony will only last about five or ten minutes.” I watched his face as I said this, ready to offer Plan B if he didn’t like the idea of everyone standing.

  “Sounds good. And hopefully, with everyone standing, it will keep the minister from rambling on,” he said. “Nothing’s worse than a preacher who loves the sound of his own voice.”

  “Since you mentioned it,” I said. “Have you asked someone to officiate at the ceremony?”

  “Uh, I thought you handled that.”

  “Sure. No problem. We hadn’t discussed it, so I didn’t want to overstep in case you had someone special in mind.”

  “Nope. I don’t know a soul over here.”

  I wanted to say, welcome to my world, but I held my tongue.

  “Okay, how about religious preference? Would you rather I look for a Catholic, Protestant, Jewish…”

  “Heck, I never even thought about it. Does it have to be religious? Can’t we have a justice of the peace or someone like that?”

  Oh no. I didn’t know if they even had a justice of the peace on Lana’i. Chances were, with only three thousand people, everyone went to Maui or Honolulu if they needed a government official.

  “Let me look into it. If you’re okay with leaving it up to me, I’ll find you the best person available. Someone who’s got the legal chops, but who’s also a person of few words.”

  “Excellent. By the way, what time should the guests arrive?”

  “For a four o’clock ceremony, I’d say tell them to be here no later than three-thirty. That way, if there are any late-comers, we’ll still have a half-hour leeway.”

  “Well, since they’re coming in on my private jet, I don’t think they’ll have much of an excuse to be late,” he said.

  “Oh, I almost forgot! Did you get your marriage license?”

  “Hmm, can you get that for us too?”

  “No, that’s something you and Deedee will have to handle yourselves.”

  “I totally forgot about it,” he said. “I suppose we can’t get one here on Lana’i.”

  “I’m afraid not. Lana’i is in Maui County. The county seat is in Wailuku, Maui, on the far side of the island from here. You can go to Maui by ferry, but it’d be quicker to fly. Or you could also get a license in Honolulu. Since it’s a state license it will be good anywhere in the state.”

  “Deedee’s getting a little bored over here. She’d probably like to go to Honolulu. I’ll tell the pilot to file a flight plan and we’ll fly over first thing tomorrow.”

  “Good. Now, the final item we need to discuss is how we’ll pay for everything.” I felt awkward asking this, but I didn’t have a credit card or a bank account on Lana’i. And the meager cash the feds doled out to me each week wasn’t enough to even buy a decent wedding cake.

  “No problem. Let me get you a credit card.” He dug around in his wallet and pulled out a black American Express Card. “Just give it back when you’re done. I hardly use that one anyway.”

  “Uh, I hope the local merchants will accept this. I mean, it has your name on it.”

  “Hang on. I’ll do what I do with my assistant back home.” He took out a business card and scribbled something on the back.

  I looked at the card. It said, Penny Morton OK to use T Benson Amex card. Call if ?

  “Great. You and Deedee go get your marriage license tomorrow and after that’s taken care of, you won’t need to worry about anything else. Oh, but you should plan to be here at least an hour before the ceremony so the photographer can do the posed photos.”

  “Thanks so much, Penny. You have no idea how much I appreciate you doing all this.” He took my hand but instead of shaking it, he gave it a little squeeze. “And I’m sure Deedee feels the same.”

  ***

  On Monday morning, Tyler left the White Orchid at nine to pick up Deedee and head off to Honolulu for their marriage license. I wondered if he was concerned about being recognized in the big city, but I didn’t mention it. After all, he lived in Southern California. He must have had of plenty of experience dodging the paparazzi.

  I spent an hour on the bed and breakfast’s phone line setting up the last of the essentials. I arranged for a justice of the peace to fly over from Honolulu, and I hired a local photographer from the Lana’i Times who claimed he was the best on the island. I called a video guy from Honolulu to come over and record the ceremony. I didn’t tell him he’d be shooting for a Hollywood big-shot. I figured that could go one of two ways. Either he’d freak out and refuse to do it, or he’d bring a resumé and a promo reel and spend his time trying to land a job in Hollywood.

  I hung up and walked down to a local café. On the phone, the owner had asked me to come in to discuss catering the tiny reception. By the time I left, he’d promised to supply extra-fancy pu-pu platters and pour the champagne after the ceremony. I asked him where I might find someone to provide music. He recommended a slack-key guitar player who lived on Moloka’i. When I called the guitar player, the guy offered to bring along his teenage daughter. I politely declined.

  Later, when I went back to pay the deposit on the catering, I thanked the café owner for the musician referral.

  “Is he bringing his daughter?” he asked.

  “No, it’s only a small wedding. We don’t need a vocalist.”

  The guy looked stricken. “You for real? His daughter’s Kaikala Wainwright. She’s only fourteen, but she’s got the voice of an angel. Everybody around here will think you’re nuts if you don’t let her sing.”

  I went back to the White Orchid and called the guitar player in Moloka’i to request that he bring along his angel-voiced daughter after all.

  “If you don’t want her to come, no worries,” he said.

  “No, I’m sorry. I was mistaken when we talked earlier. I didn’t realize the bridal couple wanted a soloist, but they do.”

  “She’s a real good girl. Planning to be a veterinarian. You know, first she goes to college, then to vet school. It takes the same amount of time as medical school, and it costs almost the same. She’ll probably have to go to the mainland to do that.”

  I could tell where this was heading.

  “We can pay your daughter up to fifty dollars, plus her airfare.”

  “On Maui they usually pay her a hundred.”

  “This is a really small wedding. Only seven people.”

  “Well then, how about seventy dollars? I’m sure after those people hear Kaikala sing they’ll agree it was worth ten dollars each.”

  We struck a
deal.

  By noon, I had almost everything wrapped up except a cake. Back on Maui, I worked exclusively with one wedding cake supplier, Keahou’s Bakery in Kula. I couldn’t risk ordering from her, even though I knew she’d come through with not only something delicious, but she’d probably insist on hand-carrying it to Lana’i on the ferry.

  I called Darryl in Honolulu.

  “Sorry to bug you. How are mom and baby doing?”

  “No worries, call anytime. Ewa’s a natural-born mother. We checked out of the hospital yesterday afternoon. She was driving the nurses pupule hanging out in the nursery all the time. They told her to get some rest but she wasn’t willing to leave Ethan. Say, how’s the wedding coming along?”

  “Everything’s going great,” I said. “I have a question, though. Where can I get a cake made? I need a small wedding cake.”

  There was a pause on the line and I wondered if we’d been disconnected.

  “Darryl? You still there?”

  “Yeah.” He sounded perturbed.

  “Did I say something wrong?”

  “No. But I’m the one who always makes cakes for people in Lana’i City. You got a graduation, a birthday, any stuff like that—I’m the one who makes the cake.”

  “Nobody else?”

  “Never needed nobody else for the past five years.”

  We chatted a little longer and then we hung up.

  I was about to call Tyler to see if he’d be willing to pay to have a cake flown in from Honolulu when he came crashing through the front door. His eyes told me I wasn’t going to like the news he was bringing.

  CHAPTER 7

  Tyler plopped down on the sofa. He didn’t say anything and neither did I. In the past couple of years, I’d learned to read would-be bride’s moods so I knew in cases like this it was best to wait and allow them to make the opening volley.

  “She’s not gonna do it,” he finally said.

  “Not going to do what? Not going to get married?”

  “She’s not willing to getting married here.”

  “Oh.” I sat down across from him.

  “She’s already got everything set up with the wedding coordinator up at the Four Seasons. She didn’t say a damn word to me about it until we were flying back with the wedding license.”

  “Well, okay. I understand.” Of course it wasn’t okay, and I didn’t understand, but what could I say?

  “I’m so sorry, Penny. I know you and Mr. Shu—”

  “It’s actually Mr. Ho,” I broke in. I usually don’t interrupt so abruptly, but it was my chance to show Tyler I really wasn’t as okay with what was going on as I was pretending to be.

  “It’s a different guy?”

  “No, it’s the same guy. But in Chinese culture the first name is the family name. Ho Wing Shu would be Mr. Ho, not Mr. Shu.” I couldn’t believe I was nit-picking cultural niceties when what I wanted to be saying was, Speaking of ‘ho’, why on Earth are you marrying that sneaky bitch?

  “Anyway, I’m really sorry about this,” he said. “I’ll be happy to pay everyone…”

  I probably should have assured him I wouldn’t feel right taking any money since I didn’t provide him with a wedding, but I didn’t. Even if I ended up declining my own commission, I wanted to make sure Darryl and Ewa still got their thousand dollars for baby Ethan’s college fund.

  “What can I do?” he went on. “Deedee says she’s always had her heart set on a formal wedding. Big white dress, ballroom reception, catered dinner, you know—the whole fairy-tale number. And she’s right. She deserves that.”

  “But you’ve only invited a handful of guests.”

  “Nah, she’s pumped the guest list up to about eighty. Most of ‘em are big-shots from her dad’s bank. Or her mom’s tennis friends. Or Deedee’s friends from her cheerleading days at college. So far, everybody’s said they’re coming. So what can I say? You gotta admit, it’s not gonna be easy for her to be married to a guy like me.”

  I wanted to correct him and say that from where I sat, it looked like he was the one in for a tough go of it.

  “Well, these things happen,” I said. I stood up. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m going to have to get on the phone. I’ve got to make quite a few cancellations.”

  He took the hint and slinked out to his Jeep and took off. I sat down at the reception desk and looked over my list of the folks I’d just finished hiring and now had to fire.

  ***

  One of the hardest things about being a persona non grata in the WITSEC program was I had no one to commiserate with. Back home, I had my b/f/f Farrah Milton, my gay roommate Steve, my on-again off-again boyfriend Hatch, and my kung fu instructor, Sifu Doug—just to name a few. On Lana’i I had nobody.

  Before I started making cancellation calls I needed to calm down. I sat at the reservation desk and flipped through the four-page visitor’s guide Ewa had compiled for guests. She’d listed local restaurants, the historical museum, a smattering of gift shops, and ‘natural wonders.’ I read about the Munro Trail, a dirt road that goes to the top of the island to a place called Lana’ihale—the ‘house of Lana’i’. I needed to get out. I craved fresh air and exercise. I promised myself I’d go up there. But first, I needed to get on the phone.

  It took me less than an hour to call everyone. In most cases I was able to give them the bad news directly, but a couple of times I had to leave a message. I hung up the phone and put the “Be back by” sign—the one with the clock where you move the hands to the time you’ll return—on the front door. I gave myself a couple of hours. If Tyler returned, he had a pass key to the front door. If anyone else showed up, tough. I wasn’t in a ‘guest relations’ mood anyway. I laced up my sneakers and headed out.

  Ewa’s tourist information said the Munro Trail climbs to an elevation of thirty-three hundred feet, more than sixteen hundred feet above Lana’i City, in just under thirteen miles. That’s pretty steep, especially on foot. I wasn’t planning on tackling the whole thing, however. At about the two and a half mile mark there’s a scenic overlook, with a view down into Maunalei Gulch, one of the few naturally green places on Lana’i. It also offers sweeping views across the channel to Maui. Just the thought of being able to gaze on Maui again got my blood pumping.

  The trail started near the Lodge at Koele and wound through a forest of Cook Island pine trees. When I’d visited the tiny Lana’i Historical Museum during my first week, the docent there told me the trail was named for George Munro, a New Zealand naturalist who’d arrived on Lana’i in 1890. At that time, the island was dry and barren, with only a handful of Norfolk pines scattered here and there.

  Munro noticed that the tree branches dripped water as the trees extracted moisture from the humid air. He came up with the idea to plant a forest of Norfolk pines at the higher elevations as a kind of irrigation system. The trees would extract the water, raising the water table and making agricultural crops possible. The trees would also provide shade which would make Lana’i a more hospitable place for people to live.

  Munro arranged for ships coming up from the South Pacific to bring Norfolk pines to the island. But when the ships arrived they’d brought Cook Island pines instead of the Norfolk pines. Turns out, it wasn’t a big deal. Both types had similar water-extracting capabilities.

  I caught the shuttle van to go to the Lodge. It was always an adventure riding the shuttle. Since rental cars are scarce, and absurdly expensive, many visitors ride the shuttle to get from one hotel to the other. Locals like me, who don’t have a car, sometimes use the shuttle as well.

  On this particular ride I had a two-person seat to myself but across the aisle was a visitor on a cell phone, bellowing at his business associate on the mainland.

  It’s amazing what you can learn about someone in a six-minute ride. After a minute it was clear the guy on the phone was a sports agent and he was negotiating a deal for a hockey player. I’d never been to a hockey game—it’s not a popular sport in the tropics—nor ha
d I ever heard of the player the sports agent was talking about. But whoever he was, he must have been some kind of star because negotiating his next year’s contract involved shouting an unending string of four-letter words and veiled threats. The sports agent’s significant other, seated next to him, stared out the window pretending she wasn’t there. In her tidy pastel Ann Taylor sweater-set and dyed-to-match capris she looked like the screaming guy’s well-groomed nanny.

  By the time we reached the Lodge it appeared a deal had been struck, and the ‘Jerry Maguire’ of major league hockey was pretty darn pleased with himself. He rubbed a thumb across the touch screen, ending the call. Everyone on the van shot him major stink eye, but he flashed back a grin that said, ‘I just made a hundred grand in five minutes. So, how’s your afternoon going?’

  I stepped down from the van and crossed the circular drive. Over by the parking area I found the sign that pointed to the Munro Trail. As I skirted the north side of the Lodge property, I marveled at the string of multi-million-dollar homes perched along the golf course. The course is named The Experience at Koele. Seemed to me the biggest ‘experience’ the golf course offered was the opportunity to hand over three hundred bucks to chase a little white ball around a pristine lawn.

  The road went from blacktop to dirt in pretty short order. As I jogged up the road, sniffing the crisp air and savoring the smell of pine, I got to thinking. Maybe it was time to start thinking about going home. Maybe the feds had already wrapped up their sting operation but were waiting for the holidays to be over before calling the grand jury into session. Maybe there was no longer a price on my head since the guys who’d ordered me killed were already in custody.

  By the time I slowed to a walk to catch my breath, I had my plan in place. I’d stick around the White Orchid until Darryl and Ewa came home because I’d promised I would. But as soon as they were back, I’d call Wong and tell him I’d changed my mind. Then I’d hop on the ferry back to Maui and take my chances.

  I started jogging again while I fine-tuned the plan. I wouldn’t make a big deal of it. No welcome home party, no update on my Facebook page—simply a quiet re-entry into my former life. I didn’t have any weddings booked, so I’d have no money coming in for a while, but I’d survived before. Sifu Doug’s brother owned a successful luau company in Lahaina and my sifu would vouch for me to get a job there. I’d cut and color my hair to change my appearance. Then I’d don a coconut shell bra and trundle mai tais to tourists until I could sign up a few new wedding clients. I’d make enough in tips to pay my mortgage, and besides, at home I had a whole bunch of friends who’d help me out.