MYSTERY OF THE LEI PALAOA
A McKenna Mystery
MYSTERY OF THE LEI PALAOA
Copyright © 2015 by Terry Ambrose
All Rights Reserved.
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This book is a work of fiction. The characters and events in this novel are fictional and created out of the imagination of the author. Certain real locations and institutions are mentioned, but the characters and events depicted are entirely fictional.
Printed in the United States of America.
Cover photos © coleong at iStockphoto.com.
Cover design by Pen 2 Ink Designs.
CONTENTS
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Thank You For Reading
Books by Terry Ambrose
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I owe a special thanks to Pamela Asbury-Smith for igniting the spark that became “Mystery of the Lei Palaoa.” Pam is a fellow member of Mystery Writers of America and we were sitting next to each other in a booth at the Tucson Festival of Books when a man approached wearing a lei niho palaoa. The ensuing discussions, both during and after our visitor left, planted a seed that eventually grew into this novella.
I’m also indebted to the Rancho Bernardo Writers Group for their continuing support and critique. The members include Peter Berkos, Mark Carlson, Lillian Herzberg, Mo Kindel, Manjula Pandey, and Mj Roe. Thanks also to my beta readers, who included (but were not limited to) Nicole Blake, Yifat Cestare, Marissa Culp, Celeste G., and Marie J. Maher.
Finally, and most importantly, my deepest gratitude goes to my wife, Kathy, for her love and continuing support. Not only does she serve as my in-house editor, the one who catches my mistakes before others see them, but she also handles my cover designs and book layout through her own business, Pen 2 Ink Designs.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Terry Ambrose writes Mysteries with Character. He started out skip tracing and collecting money from deadbeats, but quickly learned liars come from all walks of life. His McKenna Mysteries could be called Jessica Fletcher meets Magnum, PI on Social Security.
Kirkus Reviews said Terry’s writing has “. . . the kind of snark that will remind readers of Elmore Leonard.” Terry also writes real-life scam tips, author interviews, and book reviews at terryambrose.com.
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Books by Terry Ambrose
COMING IN 2016:
Paradise, Passion, Murder
10 Tales of Mystery from Hawai‘i
(an anthology by 10 Hawai‘i mystery authors)
For more information go to: HawaiianMystery.com
Chapter 1
Honolulu’s hottest new business was all about retro. Based on the premise that people with money wanted to spend it, the “Book & a Latte” catered to a specific clientele. Its visitors drank expensive coffees or teas, liked to read books, and were willing to pay for both. However, in basic marketing terms, I wasn’t in their business demographic. I’ve been called worse, but the best marketing description of me has always been “McKenna the Cheapskate.”
Hoity-toity is definitely not my thing, but my young friend Chance Logan certainly seemed at home. The question of how I liked the place had finally come up and, fortunately, I’d prepared a politically correct response.
“Very nice. Good service, and all the books…wow.” There were a lot, but I was more of a library guy.
“You’re never politically correct, McKenna. You must hate it.”
“Not at all. It’s a great place, Chance. And thanks again for the gift card. Coffee and I have been friends for most of my life.”
Chance and I couldn’t be more different, or more alike. My lot in life had always been that of working stiff who tracked down deadbeats and made them pay their bills. Chance, however, came from the money side of the tracks. Then, there was the age thing—I’d lived life, he was just starting.
“We’ll see how you feel next time. You will want to come back, right?”
“Absolutely.” I raised my cup in a toast to the occasion. What did that make me—other than a liar? A senior citizen, public-library regular, who earned just enough money to get by in one of the country’s most expensive cities. In short, forget the Book & a Latte. I had a coffee pot, a library card, and a monthly bus pass along with the power to use them. I was satisfied with my situation. That is, until Chance Logan gave me that damn hundred-dollar gift card.
“Are you still in that online course?” I asked.
“I’m still working with Mr. Marlowe.” He glanced at the door. “Lexie should be here soon.”
“Avoiding the real issue?” I gestured at the cup he’d barely touched. “Do you even like that stuff? What is chai, anyway?”
“Lexie says I need to cut down my caffeine consumption in the afternoons.”
“So, you’re avoiding all my questions today. What do you think of your…drink?”
Chance snickered. “I hate chai. I hate a 140-degree, Venti, nonfat, no foam, five-pump, Chai even more. I’ll give it to Lexie when she shows up. I’m ordering what you got.”
I tossed him the gift card. “This one’s on me. Please.”
He picked up the card, nodded his thanks, then left to order. What made Chance and I alike was his latest “career” choice. The rich kid wanted to become a private investigator. Though we were nothing more than an amateur sleuth and his apprentice, we’d solved what the papers dubbed “the Honolulu Hottie case.”
The whole thing became big news and brought us a certain amount of local renown. Chance’s help in taking down the killer had been invaluable. Who knows, maybe someday he really would be able to display a PI license on his wall—that is, after he stopped studying with the Phillip Marlowe Online Detective Agency and started with a legitimate PI.
Money wasn’t a problem for Chance. He had a never-ending trust account. On that basis alone, I couldn’t understand why he ever started his “program” with this Marlowe character. Why didn’t he move on? During the short time I’d known Chance, I’d come to see him as enthusiastic about changing the world. Maybe he wasn’t so change-focused after all.
While Chance waited at the bar for his order, I surveyed the interior of the store. No faux wood here. Granite countertops. Books lined one wall to my right. Beyond that was another room with more. This place was first-class all the way; setting it up must have cost a bundle.
To my left, three kids at one of the other tables made faces at the girl working the counter. They were typical local kids, probably in high school. The girls each wore a red T-shirt with the words It’s All Theater emblazoned on the front. The boy was heavyset and had a habit of placing his hands behind his neck to stretch. Perhaps it was a way to make himself seem less overweight—or more imposing.
Chance was right about this place. The service was top notch. The girl behind the counter had greeted us when we walked in. She was probably still in high school, but had been friendly, courteous, and had introduced herself as Mandy before taking our order. She’d also done an admirable job of ignoring the occasional hoots and cackling from the kids hanging out.
While Ch
ance was still ordering, the kids raised the decibel level. Mandy glared at them, but she needn’t have wasted her energy. The owner appeared and went to have a word with them. They quieted down immediately.
A moment later, he approached me with a friendly smile on his face. “Steve McTaggert. I’m the owner. Sorry about the kids. They’re friends of Mandy’s. Drama club, or something like that. How’s the coffee?”
Rather than saying, “expensive,” I gave him a thumbs up. “Excellent.” Same number of letters. Both began with the same one, too. I congratulated myself on my brilliant word selection.
“Great. Hope to see you back soon!” He reached out, shook my hand, then excused himself.
Of course I’d be back, I had a hundred bucks to spend. After that, he’d have to make house calls with free coffee.
Moments later, Chance returned with an iced coffee. This time, he’d opted for whipped cream on the top. He must have read my mind, because he said, “No, Mandy didn’t charge me extra.”
Ouch. He knew me too well. I cleared my throat. “The thought never crossed my mind. What else did you buy?”
He still had one hand behind his back—what was he hiding? What had he charged on my card?
“I bought you one of these. My treat. All the desserts are gluten-free.” He produced a small plate with one of the brownies I’d been eying when we first walked in.
“I can’t—shouldn’t.” Who was I kidding? I was practically drooling on myself already. “Maybe we could split it?”
“That’s why I brought two forks.”
He sat and we dug into the Totally Decadent Double-chocolate Brownie. Chocolate and fudge melted in my mouth, lingered on my tongue. “Unbelievable…oh, man, I’m having a chocolate orgasm.”
Chance rolled his eyes. “This is so named correctly.”
Behind us, the door opened. According to the height marker door strip, the man who entered was a solid six feet tall. He wore a silk-screened T-shirt with an outline of King Kamehameha. Oh, crap. The design included the outline of a hand stenciled in the form of a “thumbs down.” Moron. Talk about asking for trouble.
Mr. Down with Royalty also wore blue athletic-wear pants, which were out of place on a day when the temperature would be in the mid 80s. He parted his short, dark hair in the middle, and had a thin mustache. He approached the bar, the bottoms of his bare feet slapping against his slippahs as he clip-clopped across the tile floor.
Mandy emerged from the back room. The smile on her face fell away the moment she saw him.
“Hey, Mandy-girl. Howzit?”
“How dare you!” she shouted.
The girl pointed at Mr. Down with Royalty and what he wore around his neck. I’d missed it completely. It was a whale’s tooth strung on a necklace with strands of human hair. A lei niho palaoa? Was it real? And with that shirt? Who did this guy think he was?
Mandy’s three friends stood and approached the man. She came from behind the counter and joined them.
I grabbed Chance’s arm. “As much as I hate to say it, we’ve got to do something. I think they’re going to beat the crap out of that guy.”
Chapter 2
Emboldened by her troops, Mandy strode forward and jabbed Mr. Down with Royalty in the chest. “You have no right to wear a lei niho palaoa! And with that shirt? You’re such a jerk!”
Chance pulled his attention from the confrontation and glanced at me with one eyebrow raised.
“Oh, that’s right, you’re new here. The lei niho palaoa was only worn by the Ali‘i—the Hawaiian royalty—on special occasions,” I said. “Unless this guy has Ali‘i blood, he shouldn’t be wearing that necklace.”
“Okay, so he’s stupid. Why’s she so upset?”
Wasn’t that just the trick question of the day? With her blonde hair and gray eyes, Mandy looked like she had zero relation to anyone with Hawaiian royal blood. Crazier things had happened, but— “Maybe she’s studying the culture in school. How should I know?”
The owner stormed out of the back room. “Mandy! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“He’s demeaning our history, Mr. McTaggert.”
Our history? McTaggert didn’t sound very Hawaiian to me. Besides, when Chance gave me the gift card, hadn’t he told me the man was another recent transplant?
“Mandy-girl, chill. I just bought the stupid thing from a collector. Cost me a bundle. I had the shirt made up special to show I’m not a snob. My guy’s a serious collector. I’ll bet your old man has a few things from him, too. Chillax. Your family’s from Cleveland, Sweetness. Your whole royalty hangup is out of control.”
“Out of control?” Mandy reached back to slap the guy, but McTaggert grabbed her arm.
“No.” McTaggert’s voice was firm, but patient.
She made a valiant effort at intimidating him, but he stared her down.
I muttered, “Right or wrong, the lei niho palaoa, the Ali‘i, those are our traditions.”
“Look at you, going all local on me.”
Chance smiled. His intentions were good, but he didn’t understand.
“I’m not—it’s just—look, I live here and have respect for the past. When I moved here seven years ago, only one person befriended me.”
“Alexander? He’s a good guy.”
“Without him and his family, I don’t know whether I’d have survived. You could say I’ve absorbed his love of the culture and respect for tradition.That’s all I’m saying.”
“I get it, McKenna. No worries.”
McTaggert held Mandy by the shoulders. “I want you to return to your station.”
She sulked away. The kids exchanged worried looks. McTaggert turned on them next. “All of you, go home. Leave. Now.”
The two girls turned and fled to their table; the boy shifted from one foot to the other. McTaggert stepped closer. The kid lost his nerve in seconds. He gave a weak apology and hurried after his friends. All three hoisted their backpacks and shuffled toward the door. They each glared at the man on their way out. Mr. Down with Royalty taunted them with a piss-poor shaka sign as they left. For crying out loud, if a guy in his sixties like me could master extending his thumb and pinky while folding over his middle fingers, why couldn’t this moron?
With the kids gone and Mandy behind the counter, McTaggert turned to the man. “Ricky, I like you. But, I can’t abide having you deliberately inflame the emotions of my staff and other customers.”
I couldn’t believe McTaggert knew—and tolerated—this guy.
“Steve-o, ain’t no big deal. They’re just a bunch of snot-nosed kids. They gotta learn the ways of the world. Just teaching them a lesson.”
A lesson? This dumbass, Ricky Whatever, was walking around Honolulu with a shirt deriding the island’s most revered king while wearing a necklace proclaiming him—what? A peer? His actions were stupid. Was he deliberately trying to piss people off?
“I’ve told you not to call me Steve-o. Ricky, you need to learn some respect yourself. Someday, someone’s going to teach you—the hard way.”
Ricky Whatever rolled his eyes and faked a shudder. “Ooh, I’m scared.”
“You need to leave and not come back.”
“No, man, I’m not leaving until after I get my afternoon cup of Joe.”
Behind the bar, Mandy’s shoulders dropped in resignation. “The usual?”
McTaggert shook his head. He crossed his arms over his chest. “No, Mandy, I’ve told him he needs to leave. You’re not serving this man.”
Bravo. This guy’s disrespect would cost him something. I gave Steve-o a mental thumbs up for teaching the overgrown juvenile delinquent a lesson.
“You can’t refuse to serve me without a good reason.”
“This is my business and I’ll serve who I want. You will leave now. If I see you here again, you’ll regret it.”
“You’re the one who’s gonna regret this, Steve-o.”
Ricky shoved McTaggert backwards. The store owner staggered to the
floor. He landed hard. His head smacked against the counter.
Mandy screamed. “You bastard!”
In that instant, Ricky’s face contorted into a red mask of anger. He grabbed the nearest table, flipped it on its side, and seized a chair. The veins in his forehead bulged as he lifted the weight. Chance jumped up. He grabbed one chair leg. Drove it down into Ricky’s kneecap.
Ricky crumpled to the floor, but Chance didn’t wait for him to recover. He dragged him up, pinned his arm behind his back, and had him out the front door before Mandy and I could get McTaggert to his feet.
The store owner shook us off and glowered at the overturned furniture. “The son-of-a-bitch will pay for this.”
Chapter 3
Steve and Mandy returned the table and chairs to their original positions while Chance and I savored our Totally Decadent Double-chocolate Brownie in silence. Obviously, Mandy wasn’t a happy camper. Back behind the counter, she snapped at McTaggert when he said something to her.
He put both hands on her shoulders and they engaged in a quiet conversation with Mandy doing more nodding than talking. At the end of their little talk, Mandy took off her apron and left the store.
We were working on the last of the dessert when Chance got a guilty look on his face and hid his fork and slid the paper plate in front of me. A bright smile replaced his guilt when Lexie strolled through the door.
I snickered, but didn’t say a word as I popped the last morsel of chocolate into my mouth.
After the lovebirds did the kiss to say hello thing, Lexie and I exchanged pleasantries. She frowned at the unfinished chai with the impossible recipe.
“Let me guess, you didn’t like it.”
Chance shook his head. “I ordered it exactly like you said, but that stuff’s awful, Lexie. How do you drink it?”
“It’s just a black tea, spiced milk, and sweetener. Chance, you have no taste.” She took a sip and smiled. “Perfect. Want to try some, McKenna?” She extended the cup in my direction. She wore her hair up in a knot, which made her seem delicate and fine. But, there was no way I wanted anything to do with that drink.
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