Haole Wood (9 page)

“Me?” My hand flew to my chest and I squawked like Flipper. “But, I—”

“We know, we know,” Detective Morgan said, jingling his keys. “You had a little bump and grind in the local park under the banyan tree.”

I bit my lips. Guilty as charged.

“Maui is really a small island,” he said.

“But, we still don’t know the exact time of death,” Detective Imada added.

“I had a lot to drink. I came home and went right to bed.”

“You can’t verify that, and neither can your grandmother. Plus, you can’t even give your grandmother an alibi.”

I could feel the skin start to peel off of my nose. This was serious. Worse than losing my job. Worse than heat exhaustion and hallucinations. Their third degree made me forget all about my second-degree sunburn, as my grandmother looked down the barrel of a first-degree murder charge.

I wanted to run away, but I couldn’t leave my grandmother. The police left and I escaped to my room. I started stuffing things into my backpack, pretending I could take Halmoni to my parents. I was desperate. I stormed around, slamming drawers. I had to get out of there.

“Sister, sister. That is not going to happen.”

“What?” I looked across the room at the other twin bed. “You! Get out! What are you doing here?” I had all but forgotten my earlier visitation. Was he a ghost? I clutched my backpack in front of me. I felt claustrophobic and just wanted to run down to the beach.

“Poor child,” he said. “You always were the prickliest pineapple in the patch.”

“I am going to scream if you don’t get out of here.” I blinked my eyes, and even tried rubbing them. I could still see him, the large naked mound, now reclining on what had been my sister’s bed. “What do you think you’re doing?

He looked back over at me, his big brown eyes sparkling.

“Who are you?”

His basketball-sized head rested in his palm, his arm bent into the pillow, while his other hand cupped his mouth in a megaphone. “I am your guardian angel,” he said. He laughed and collapsed onto his back, his head flopping on the pillow. The poor mattress struggled to hold his form.

“Stop saying that. You’re not my guardian angel.”

“Why not, pray tell?” His dimples beamed at me.

“First of all, there’s no such thing as guardian angels.” I threw my backpack on the bed. “And if there were, surely a guardian angel would do a much better job than you’ve been doing. I am in more trouble than I’ve ever been in before in my life. Everything’s going wrong. I’m probably having some kind of psychotic episode and you’re the manifestation.”

He just smiled at me.

“You know what?” I pretended I was going to do a live shot for the news. “Let’s start over. I’m going to go with this.” I raised my voice. “Joining me now is the alleged guardian angel, ready to use his powers for good, for once, instead of evil. Thank goodness you’re here.” I clasped my hands to my heart. “Oh, save me, save me.”

His eyes swiveled around my room and he tugged on his ear lobe. “When did SpongeBob SquarePants move to Maui?”

“Oh, you . . .” I had nothing, but forged on, lowering my voice. “No, seriously. You want to play this game? Fine. I’ll go along. I need a guardian angel by my side. In fact, I’ve never needed a guardian angel more in my life, than right now. Please, Mr. Magic Genie, can you get me and my grandmother out of trouble?”

“That is more like it,” he said.

“Really?” I stood up straighter. “So, you can help me?” Call me crazy, but I really did want to believe.

“No.” He made an
aw shucks
motion with his hand. “Honey-Girl, it is not my job to win you the lottery, or kiss your boo-boos and make them all better.” He held up his finger, like he just remembered. “Or help you beat a murder one rap. Remember the free will clause? It is all your choice. Your path.”

“Fine. If you won’t help, then I’ll try to get my grandmother out of this mess and then I’m going back to San Diego.” I pushed my backpack onto the floor.

“No. I do not think that is going to happen.”

“Why not?”

“Feel the island spirit.” His large shoulders shrugged. “Relax. You are in Maui now. How bad could it be? Many would love to change places with you.”

I plopped down on the edge of my bed. “No. I need help.” I looked toward the other bed, but I was only talking to thin air. “Why is this happening?” A guardian angel? Really? Me? I am not even remotely religious. Sunday mornings you can find me at the church of St. Mattress and Holy Pillows. And that, apparition, for lack of better word, was probably the first step to a nervous breakdown. I climbed into bed, pulled the sheet up over my nose and tried to take a nap. I may have said a prayer. Or two. That might have included something along the lines of “and please don’t let me be crazy, but if I do have a guardian angel could you kick his arse into doing a better job?”

I couldn’t sleep. I got up and tried to talk to my grandmother, and then called my parents. I put Halmoni on the phone to let my dad deal with her and try to figure out what happened. He is the only one who can understand her. That conversation could have been taped and packaged as a meditation, the swirling patterns of da-di-da, da-di-da, da-di-da, were strangely soothing, until Halmoni grunted and looked like she was at a track and field event for the shot put. My dad couldn’t get any new details, other than she knew Mike Hokama and didn’t trust him as far as she could throw him.

“How can this be happening?” I yelled into the phone. “She’s your mother. Do something!”

“Jaswinder!” My mother interrupted. “Calm down. This is not helping.”

My dad cleared his throat. I let the silence build until he started talking again. “Mr. Hokama invited your grandmother over to his house the other day. He said he wanted some of her healing teas for stomach problems he had been having. She said she thought he might be getting an ulcer, but when she showed up, he started in on her again about selling him her house and land.” My dad paused.

“Land the plane, Dad,” I said. Honestly, could he talk any slower?

“Your grandmother told him no, she wouldn’t sell, and then she left. But, she left her basket of herbs that only had her concoction of peppermint, chamomile, and ginger.”

“Dad. This is serious. I think you and Mom should be here. Halmoni needs you. You need to come to Maui. I am out of my league.”

“Jaswinder, we’ll be there as soon as we can. But, I’m not walking that great just yet because of my knee surgery. I still have a lot of therapy, but I should be able to come in a couple of weeks.”

“A couple of weeks?”

“I’m sorry. And your mother is here, taking care of me. We need you to be responsible and handle things until we can make it over there. Can you do that?”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Dad,” I said, feeling like a thirteen-year-old, wanting to have a temper tantrum. I bit my tongue. Chin up. “I can take care of Halmoni, Dad. Don’t worry. I’ve got everything under control.” I hung up quickly after that, wishing I hadn’t spoken those last words aloud about “being in control,” afraid of tempting the fates. Now, where had grandmother gone?

My skin was stretched as taut as my nerves felt. I jumped as the screen door slammed. My grandmother hurried into the room and handed me a holy card. It had Mike Hokama’s name on it, with details about his memorial service. My grandmother pointed at me, “da-di-da, da-di-da.”

“Oh, good idea, Halmoni. I’ll go to the service,” I said as I read the back of the card. “I’ll see what everyone is talking about and if anyone knows anything.” My grandmother smiled as I looked at the card more closely. “The service is being held at the beach, that’s outside in the sun, Halmoni, at eleven in the morning.” I stuck out my arms. “I can’t get any more sun.”

“Not that,” she said and disappeared into the back bedroom. I followed her down the dark hallway. “Halmoni?” I stuck my head into the bedroom just in time to see my grandmother pull a greenish-gold swath of shimmery fabric from the closet.

“That’s so pretty,” I said, enjoying the slippery feel of the material sliding through my fingers. I followed Halmoni back into the kitchen where she tugged a large copper pot out of a corner cupboard. She stuffed the fabric into the pot, added water and what looked like a whole bottle of some kind of oil. “Is that kukui nut oil?” My grandmother responded by pushing me away from the stove so she could set the pot down and reach inside to stir.

I figured it was kukui nut oil. Tons of trees ruled her backyard, and when I was little she always harvested the fruit and processed the oil from the seeds.

Kukui trees covered the entire island, their silvery gray foliage served as lush shade trees. My sister and I played for hours out back under those trees, protected from the intense afternoon sun.

As for the nuts found inside the fruit, every tourist store, all the ABC stores, and Hilo Hattie’s souvenir stores, sold kukui nut leis, made from the hollowed out and polished seeds. The kukui was even the state tree because of all the things the ancient Hawaiians used to use the nuts for, everything from light to fuel to medicine. Fishermen used to chew up the seeds and spit them out over the side of their boat, making an oily residue that helped them to see beneath the waters. I smiled. I could even remember a saying Halmoni used to pull out when my sister and I fought, “
Pupuhi kukui maino ke kai
.” My dad said it meant “spewed kukui nuts calm the sea,” or, in other words, pouring oil on troubled waters. I never really appreciated what that meant, I just knew that grandmother would give us ice cream to get us to stop our bickering.

I watched as she pushed the kettle in place over the burner and lit the stove. As the flames kissed the bottom of the pot, she stirred slowly with a large, wooden spoon.

“Halmoni? What are you making?” She just smiled at me and made us both some terrible tasting tea, that as usual, managed to somehow make me feel better. I sat at the kitchen table and watched her. I wrinkled my nose. “I can’t decide if kukui nut oil smells good or bad,” I said, sipping my tea. I did remember making teeny-tiny leis with my sister out of the small, sweetly fragrant kukui flowers. The oil smelled much different, though, more pungent.

When her magic internal time clock buzzed, Halmoni jumped up, took the silky/gauzy dripping material from the pot and wadded it up and dried it off in a towel, rolling the bundle on the counter. She took the fabric from the towel, shook it out and smoothed her hands over it. She nodded her head and ran outside. Through the screen door, I watched her toss it over the clothesline. I guess that’s going to be my sun protection at the funeral tomorrow.

The fabric was so light and airy, it dried quickly. Less than half an hour later, my grandmother practically danced back into the house, rubbing the fabric against her cheek, then inviting me to do the same. “Mmm, soft,” I said.

She headed back into the bedroom where an old sewing machine sat in the corner. She ironed the fabric first, smoothing it out with swipes of her hands. She had some grand plan going, and I got a kick out of watching her. I remembered wishing I had her energy and passion for something . . . for anything.

With a few quick snips on the fabric, followed by an impressive snapping fold, Halmoni sat at the machine and powered up. I couldn’t believe the antique actually worked. I watched Halmoni’s industriously bent head and felt the tug of a smile compete with the wrench of a tear.

It wasn’t long before Halmoni managed to sew up what looked like a shawl, or stole. It was a large scarf-like covering, the warm weather version of the upscale cashmere pashmina wraps worn by the rich and famous. I laughed. I would call it a sunshmina, a tropical pashmina. I watched her string a set of three jade beads and attach them so they dangled from the two corners. The beads were a nice touch, and probably my grandmother’s superstitious protection against all that was evil, along with a little fertility thrown in, just for luck.

Halmoni ironed the fabric again, and then folded it ceremoniously three times, just like her towels, and presented it to me. I bowed my head as I accepted her gift. It was so lightweight I could hardly feel it in my hands.

I opened it and shook it out. The material glistened in the afternoon sunlight that cheered through the small bedroom window. I tossed it over my shoulders where it floated on my skin, the light gossamer fabric a soothing touch. The jade beads clanked as I swirled around to look in a mirror on the wall.

“Halmoni, it’s beautiful. Thank you! I can wear this over my sundress at the funeral tomorrow, with my hat, and stay completely out of the sun.” I primped into the mirror. “This is so gorgeous. I feel like a princess. I can’t get over this fabric. Where did you get it?”

Halmoni was busy cleaning up the scraps of material and didn’t answer. The important thing was that I would go to that funeral to see what I could find out. I would do anything I could to help Halmoni. I saw her in the reflection of the mirror. She came and stood next to me. I watched as she reached up toward my face and ran her fingers through my hair, her motion as graceful as a hula dancer. She held a few bleached out strands of the ends of my hair to her own face and brushed it against her sagging cheeks before gently placing the tendrils back on my shoulder.

Just then, we heard banging on the front door. I followed Halmoni back down the hallway.

“Mrs. Park. You have the right to remain silent—”

“You don’t have to put handcuffs on her,” I said, my heart breaking.

“Sorry, Jaswinder,” Detective Imada said. “I know your grandmother and I wish we didn’t have to take her in. But we have our orders and are just doing our job. The toxicology report came back. Cause of death is kukui nut poisoning.”

“What? Kukui nuts are poisonous?’

He shook his head. “Not really,” he said. “In fact, it’s rare. This is one of only a few cases the coroner has ever seen. The raw seeds can be toxic, plus they don’t taste very good. But, if they are ingested they usually only cause severe cramps as the body seizes up trying to expel it all.” He said something in Hawaiian to my grandmother, while Detective Morgan turned to me.