Moonlight Cocktail

by William Cassidy

  “It’s so sad,” Katherine said. “It was such a happy evening up until that point.”

  “Yes it was,” said Jack.

  “I’ve got it!” Katherine exclaimed. “I found the People magazine with a picture of Barbara Franklin standing next to the boy toy we saw at the party tonight.”

  “Who’s Barbara Franklin?” Jack asked. “Do you mean the actress?”

  “Yes. Georgia was talking to one of the cast members tonight and she thought he might be Barbara Franklin’s boy toy. She thought she’d seen a picture of them together in People. And, sure enough, here it is. My, my, I’ll bet Barbara Franklin has thirty years on him.”

  “I see what you mean,” Jack said, glancing at the photograph. “I guess Georgia’s friend likes older women.”

  “Oh, she was just talking to him, and we both thought we’d seen his picture in People. Now,” said Katherine with a proud smile, “I can confirm it.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Jack’s alarm went off at six on Tuesday morning. Katherine groaned and asked why he always took the early morning flight to Kona, when he was going to be there all day anyway.

  “Oh, sweet one,” Jack said, pulling his wife toward him, “I get a lot more accomplished when I’m at the Plantation in the morning. The farm hands see me and talk to me about their work and their lives, and it gives me a better feel for the operation I’m running over there,” said Jack.

  “I know. I just hate to see you leave this early. It means we spend less time together today, and I don’t like that.”

  “I don’t either,” Jack said as he turned on the television to hear the local news and weather for the neighbor islands. The weather report was on the screen. It would be a beautiful day on the western side of the Big Island, very sunny and warm with blue skies, a typical day on the Kona Coast of Hawaii. Then the morning show shifted to breaking news.

  “We just learned,” the newscaster announced, “that Hollywood producer Derek Reynolds has died. We reported late last night that Mr. Reynolds apparently suffered a heart attack while attending a cast party at the Diamond Head Canoe Club. He was producing a film here on Oahu and flew in from Los Angeles last weekend to check on its progress and attend a party for the cast.”

  “He bit the dust, Katherine,” Jack said, sitting down on the foot of their bed.

  “What a shame,” Katherine added. “That will probably change my morning. Hypatia and Martha couldn’t possibly stop by under these circumstances.”

  “I wouldn’t think so. I’m going to jump in the shower. Would you listen for more news? They didn’t say what the cause of death was. I hope the Club didn’t serve him any bad food.”

  “Oh, come on, Jack, we eat there all the time. The food is excellent, and the chef couldn’t be more careful.”

  “I know. I’m just thinking of Gordon and how concerned he was last night.”

  “Why was he worried? He eats at the Club more often than we do.”

  “Gordon is worried because of that incident on Maui, where a restaurant inadvertently served a reef fish contaminated with ciguatera,” replied Jack.

  “What is ciguatera?”

  “It’s a toxin that’s sometimes present in fish that swim around reefs and feed on the organisms there. It’s very harmful to humans.”

  “Do you think the Club served any reef fish with ciguatera last night?” asked Katherine.

  “I doubt it. As you said, the chef knows what he’s doing. But that’s why Gordon was so concerned last night. It was a rather sudden event,” Jack said.

  “Most heart attacks are, Jack.”

  “That’s just it, Katherine, the cause of death hasn’t been identified. The news reports are still calling it an apparent heart attack. I’ll bet Gordon is beside himself this morning.”

  “But, Jack, if the fish was bad, Derek wouldn’t be the only one who got sick.”

  “You’re right, but I better call Gordon on the way to the airport.”

  Jack dressed quickly, kissed Katherine, patted Hugo on the head, grabbed his Panama hat, and ran for the stairs down to the fifth floor. When he reached the elevator and the doors opened, he saw Richard Stanley peering in the elevator’s mirror, adjusting his tie.

  “Good Morning, Mr. Secretary,” Jack said cheerily. “And how do you feel on this fine Navy day after a good night’s sleep?”

  “Thanks to you, Jack, I feel remarkably well. I did exactly as you said. I stayed up till a little after eleven, which, I might add, was not easy. It was four in the morning for me. And I pretty much slept straight through until about six Hawaii time. Then, I got up, listened to the news, and had breakfast in the Surf Room. So I’m ready for anything the Pacific Fleet throws at me today.”

  “Good for you.”

  “Jack, I saw on the news that the producer at last night’s party died. What happened to him? Did he have a heart attack?” Rich asked.

  “I saw the same news you did. I don’t know what happened to him.”

  “He looked and sounded plastered to me,” Rich said.

  “No question about that.”

  “Well, I know from my days as a prosecutor that they’ll do an autopsy on him this morning,” Rich said. We’ll know soon enough what caused his death.”

  “So you were a prosecutor too?” Jack asked.

  “I told you we have a lot in common. We’ve got to get together while I’m out here.”

  “I agree.” The elevator door opened and they stepped out into the lobby where two Naval Officers in white uniforms, one with four gold stripes on his shoulder boards, waited for Richard Stanley.

  “Good morning, Mr. Secretary,” the Navy Captain said to Rich.

  “Good morning, Captain. I’d like you to meet Jack Sullivan, a former Naval Officer who lives here at the hotel and is a friend of mine.”

  “Good morning, sir,” the Captain said to Jack.

  “Good morning, Captain.” Jack mused at how infrequently he had seen officers of that high a rank during his days on the Destroyer.

  “Rich, I’m going to Kona today on business but I’ll be back tomorrow. Why don’t we meet for dinner at La Mer in the Halekulani at eight?”

  “I’ll look forward to it, Jack. See you then.”

  Rich got into the right rear seat of a four-door white sedan with “U.S. NAVY” in blue letters on each of the front doors. Jack thought this was a nice way to travel and wondered whether he had missed something during his own Navy experience.

  Jack took H-1 to Honolulu International Airport’s Interisland Terminal, parked his car, and walked to the gate. When he reached it, he saw the back of a familiar figure, his companion on many flights between Oahu and the Big Island of Hawaii. It was Stanton Char.

  “Stanton, good morning,” Jack said.

  “Jack, I thought I might see you this morning. And how is Katherine?”

  “She’s fine, although we’re both a little frizzed out after what happened at the Club last night.”

  “Were you there when Derek Reynolds died?” Stanton asked.

  “I don’t think he actually died at the Club. But he did keel over and pass out there.”

  “Yes, I heard about it on the news this morning,” Stanton said. “They didn’t specify where he died. Typical superficial television coverage, I guess.”

  “I guess,” said Jack.

  “So, Jack, how’s the coffee business treating you?”

  “Pretty well, and due in no small part to the wisdom you have graciously provided me over the last few months.”

  “It’s a complex business, Jack, and I’m happy to help a colleague, even if you are a competitor,” Stanton said, smiling as they boarded the aircraft. “In fact, I’m testing out a new technology today that you may be interested in. I’m using a UAV, an unmanned aerial vehicle, to take color video of my orchards that will show where the red, yellow, and green fruits are, so I can direct my labor force right to the red fruits that are ripe for picking.”

  “I don’t think
you have to worry about competition from me, Stanton. Your coffee plantation dwarfs mine, and I don’t have enough land to make a UAV worth the investment.”

  “Give it some thought, Jack, but you do have an advantage over me. When tourists come to the island, they want to visit small plantations. They’re easier to see and they don’t take much time away from the beach. Your plantation is closer to the hotels, and the tourists can see it in a half-hour. Mine requires a longer car ride from the Kohala Coast hotels and a larger investment of time for the tour.”

  “You are a very generous man,” Jack replied.

  “Plus you own one of the Big Island’s premier coffee properties that has consistently turned out high quality beans, with the exception of that unpleasant period when the dotcommers thought they knew how to run a coffee plantation.”

  Jack smiled and leaned back in his seat. Derek’s death was intruding on his thoughts of the coffee business, but he blocked it out and returned to his conversation with Stanton. He and Stanton had become friends for reasons beyond their common endeavors on the hillsides of Kona. Stanton, too, had served in the Navy. He was a graduate of the Naval Academy who had returned to his birthplace to do good and, in the process, had done well. As the plane landed after the half-hour flight, Stanton asked Jack how long he would be staying on the Big Island.

  “I’m going to stay overnight and take a late afternoon flight back to Oahu tomorrow,” Jack said.

  “So am I. Why don’t we have dinner tonight?”

  “I’d love to.”

  “Meet me in the dining room of The Poinciana at eight?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  Putting his Panama hat on as protection from Kona’s enveloping sun, Jack walked down the airliner’s stairway to the warm tarmac below and looked toward the several, low one-story brown buildings at Kona International Airport. He spotted Keoni Campbell, his plantation manager, standing just inside the gate.

  “Good morning, Mr. Sullivan,” Keoni called as Jack approached.

  “Good morning, Keoni, how are you?”

  “I couldn’t be better. The weather is perfect, and everyone showed up for work on time,” Keoni said with a smile.

  As he shook Keoni’s hand, Jack turned back toward the aircraft and beckoned Stanton Char to join him and Keoni.

  “Stanton, I must thank you again for recommending Keoni to me. I couldn’t run this operation without him,” Jack said.

  “Keoni’s the best coffee man on this island, and I’ve tried many times over the years to hire him away from his various employers, with the exception of you, of course.”

  “Please tell Lokelani and your children that I said hello. I assume they are all fine,” said Stanton to Keoni.

  “They’re all healthy, Mr. Char, and will be happy to hear from you.”

  Stanton’s driver then approached, and Stanton said goodbye.

  “He’s a wonderful man,” Jack said to Keoni. “How come you didn’t take him up on his offers?”

  “He is a great man,” Keoni responded. “Mr. Char has been a leader on this island for a long time. He grew up in Hilo on the wet side of the island and was a star at everything he did. When he won an appointment to the Naval Academy, it was as if every father and mother on the Big Island were his parents. Everyone was so proud of him. But I prefer to work on small farms; I don’t like the big operations.”

  “Well, I’ll be forever grateful to him for introducing me to you, Keoni.”

  “I knew that if Stanton liked you, I would too,” Keoni said as they walked out of the terminal to a green Jeep Cherokee with the words ‘Kailua Plantation’ in white letters on each front door.

  They drove south along Queen Kaahumanu Highway for nearly a half-hour until they reached the town of Kailua-Kona, a small tourist town on the western coast of the Big Island, and then turned off the main highway and drove along less developed roads until, a few miles later, they reached Kailua Plantation. There, they turned right into the gravel driveway that led to the office and, a little farther along, to the Sullivans’ green plantation-style house.

  The farm occupied one of the most beautiful sites on the Kona Coast. Set on a volcanic hillside, it looked down on verdant hills and valleys undulating like green ocean swells that eventually broke as waves on the black sand beach nearly two thousand feet below. The sun shone brighter here than Jack had seen anywhere else on earth, and this location, with its volcanic soil and nightly rains guaranteed by the elevation, followed by brilliant sunshine each morning and protective clouds each afternoon, ensured the quality of Kailua Plantation’s coffee beans.

  “Would you like to start with a look at the condition of the trees?” Keoni asked Jack.

  “I would, Keoni, and I’d like to talk with our guys along the way.”

  “Certainly.”

  Keoni led Jack to the orchard of coffee trees that produced the primary cash crop of Kailua Plantation. Along the way there were big-leafed banana trees, colorful lemon and lime trees, and a sprinkling of mango and papaya trees.

  The coffee beans begin their lives on tropical evergreen shrubs known as coffee trees. Jack laughed to himself, remembering his reaction when he first laid eyes on these bushes and thought he was in the wrong place. Fortunately, Keoni quickly assured him that those tall shrubs were indeed the real deal — coffee trees that grow only on the sides of mountains between the Tropic of Cancer and the Tropic of Capricorn, where the Big Island was located.

  Jack enjoyed inspecting these cheerful, eight-foot high bushes with their broad green leaves and branches marked by clusters of red fruit that looked like cranberries, although everyone referred to them as cherries. But his chief concern was the inside of their pit-like seeds which, after harvesting, processing and roasting, became Kona coffee beans.

  He was also mindful of the limited capacity of coffee trees. Each new coffee tree had to grow for five years before it could produce the full bounty of its capacity and, even then, it could only produce enough beans each year to generate one pound of roasted coffee. Nevertheless, as Jack knew when he purchased Kailua Plantation, coffee ranks second only to oil in the volume of commodities traded around the world.

  Jack and Keoni stopped to rest on a slope during their walk through the farm, and Jack took in the view. The orchards at Kailua Plantation traced orderly green lines across the black volcanic soil that covered the lower slopes of Mount Hualalai. While the Plantation’s elevation of two thousand feet was modest in comparison with the four to six thousand feet in the coffee-growing regions of Central America and East Africa, its location on the volcanic Kona Coast guaranteed porous and fertile soil, the essential natural resource required to produce comparable coffee.

  “These trees are in great shape, Keoni. Now, all we have to worry about is Kona coffee maintaining its niche in the world market.”

  “No problem there, Jack. Kona beans always deliver the mild taste most coffee drinkers want.”

  The coffee beans that emerged two weeks after they had been plucked from Kailua Plantation’s trees and processed, now called green coffee, were about three-eighths of an inch long and grayish-green in color and would be shipped to coffee brokers in San Francisco and New York. The Plantation also roasted green beans for sale throughout the Hawaiian Islands, to visiting tourists, and to the Kona coffee-lovers around the world who purchased roasted beans from the Plantation’s website.

  As Jack and Keoni neared the roasting shed at the end of their tour, Keoni turned to Jack.

  “I’m going to roast some beans this morning, Mr. Sullivan. Do you have time to join me?” Keoni asked.

  “Absolutely.”

  Roasting is as much art as science. Fortunately for Jack, Keoni Campbell was a master roaster as well as an experienced farm manager. He knew instinctively when to stop roasting the Plantation’s green beans so that their acidity, body and aroma were at their peak.

  “Do you ever roast beans beyond ten minutes?” Jack asked.

  “Not often. A
t twelve minutes, what they call the ‘Vienna roast’ level, the body of the coffee starts to outweigh its acidity. To go to the fourteen-minute ‘Italian’ and fifteen-minute ‘French’ roasts, you’ve really got to have hard and dense beans from higher elevations like Guatemala Antigua beans. I don’t want to produce coffee that knocks the socks off the consumer. I’m looking for that mild and fruity taste people associate with Kona beans.”

  Just then, Jack’s cell phone rang. “Jack, I saw Hypatia this morning.”

  “So she came by your shop after all.”

  “Yes, she and Martha and Georgia were here at 10:30, just as we had planned.”

  “Was she upset?” Jack asked.

  “Not particularly, but she did tell me that Jennifer blew up at Derek last weekend when they were at The Poinciana Hotel.”

  “Really?” Jack replied. “Stanton Char invited me to join him there for dinner tonight.”

  “Hypatia said she was completely embarrassed. It happened during dinner in the dining room. Her sister got into a major shouting match with Derek.”

  “That dining room is always so quiet. It must have stunned the guests,” Jack said.

  “Fortunately, there weren’t too many. Hypatia said only a few other tables were filled when it happened.”

  “Well, she won’t have to worry about him anymore,” Jack said.

  “No, she won’t,” Katherine replied. “Did you talk to Gordon?”

  “No, I decided to wait until I got here. Maybe I should talk to Dave before I call Gordon,” Jack said.

  “I think you better, Jack, because you know Gordon will ask your advice.”

  “You’re right,” Jack said “I’ll call Mc Neil first.”

  “I’ve got to run, Jack. Call me later.”

  “Bye baby. Keoni, the next time you roast beyond ten minutes, save me some. I’d like to try it. I’m going up to the house and make some marketing calls.”

  The house was an old plantation-style place in the Hawaiian tradition. It was one story, made of wood, painted dark green, with white shutters and a wrap-around porch. The front porch looked out on the Pacific, and the back porch faced the orchard. Inside, the mahogany floors were covered with oriental rugs, and the living room was filled with overstuffed furniture upholstered in warm tropical colors and prints. Named “Hale Kai,” the house offered a quiet refuge from the frenetic pace of Honolulu.