Lana'i of the Tiger (The Islands of Aloha Mystery Series) (26 page)

When we pulled up at my house,
Hatch leaned over and lightly kissed me. “I’ve been waiting to do that for six
weeks now,” he said. “I love you, Pali. Welcome home.”

“I love you too, Hatch.” I
wanted to say more, but my guilty lips wouldn’t work right. 

“Hey, so now we’re even, right?
I mean, you took me in when I got busted up, and I took in your friend when she
got busted up. I know people around town have been talking, but screw them. I
had to do what I had to do.”

“
Mahalo
for taking care
of her. Not everyone would’ve done that.”

“Hey, not everyone’s a proud
member of Maui County Fire and Rescue. It’s how we roll.”

I kissed him again and got out
of the car.

Steve was in the kitchen. I went
in and he started chattering but I couldn’t make out what he was saying. I
looked at him and I started crying again. He’d known me long enough to know I wasn’t
crying about coming home, and I wasn’t crying because I was scared some drug-addled
moron was going to blow me away for a kilo of weed.

“What’s going on?” he said.

“I can’t tell you.”

“You can’t tell me, or you don’t
want to tell me?”

“I’m sworn to secrecy.”

“Okay. Well, I don’t need to
know the particulars to still give you advice. You need to ask yourself, WWSDD.
You know, What Would Sifu Doug Do?  Whatever’s the problem, he’s your go-to guy,
right?”

My problem was fear. I feared
Farrah would never forgive me. I’d put her in the situation that got her beaten
up, and then I’d accused her of stealing my boyfriend. And worst of all, I’d
doubted her. I’d listened to gossip rather than trusting her decency. 

But Steve was right, Sifu Doug
was my North Star, my Yoda, my great and powerful Oz. I’d heard Sifu Doug’s philosophy
on fear more than a few times.
If you face your worst fears and survive,
then fear will lose its grip on you. Fear, in all its forms, will fall away
like red leaves falling from a tree in autumn
. I was pretty sure he hadn’t
made it up, since we don’t have autumn leaves in Hawaii. But regardless of who
said it first, it was sound advice.

I drove my old green Geo down to
Sprecklesville where Hatch, and now Farrah, lived. The knot in my stomach was
so hot and gripping that every half-mile or so I felt like I might have to pull
over and vomit. But I made it without incident.

I pulled into the long driveway
that winds through the secure compound where Hatch lives. His home is the
caretaker’s cottage, the first building you come to on the opulent property.

As my car scrabbled over the
gravel parking area to the right of Hatch’s house, his dog, Wahine, came
bolting out of a hole in the screen door in a fury of barking. Not far behind
her came Sir Lipton, Farrah’s dog. Lipton is Wahine’s mother. The “sir” part of
Lipton’s name was a result of Farrah miscalculating the plumbing on her dog when
she named her. But even after the dog’s correct gender had been determined, Farrah
still referred to the dog as “he.” I’d tried to get her to change, but it was a
losing battle. While I opted for reality, Farrah preferred fairy tale.

Farrah came out on the porch and
waved. From the look on her face, I guessed Hatch had told her about our
conversation at Hargrove’s. She wasn’t wearing make-up and I could see traces
of the bruises and cuts that were now nearly healed.

I walked to the porch amid a
whirlwind of yipping and leaping dogs.

“
Aloha
,” I said as I
leaned in to hug her. I was careful to avoid squeezing her too tight.

“
Aloha
ku’uipo
,”
she said. “I’m so glad you came to see me.”

I started up with the waterworks
again.

We sat on the porch and talked
and talked. Hatch never once came outside. I didn’t know where he was but I was
thankful he’d allowed us this time to ourselves.

“So what are you going to do?” I
said when we finally got around to acknowledging the reason for my visit.

“I don’t know,” Farrah said. “For
now, Hatch has offered to let me stay in his back bedroom until I feel strong
enough to live alone again. I hope you’re okay with that.”

I felt like crying again but
fortunately, I was cried out. I simply nodded.

“Do you have anywhere to go for
Christmas Eve dinner?” she said, changing the subject.

“You know, it doesn’t even seem
like Christmas anymore,” I said. “So much has happened.”

“Well, it
is
Christmas,
Pali. And since you’ve got to be somewhere, it might as well be here. And bring
Steve. Tell him to make those killer
pupus
he makes with the little
shrimps on top.”

I told her I’d love to come and
I was pretty sure Steve would too. Then I got up to leave.

“There is absolutely nothing I
can say to tell you how ashamed I am,” I said. We stood and held hands. I
looked into her eyes and it felt like I hadn’t given her my full attention for
years. “I hope you’ll forgive me. Someday.”

“We’re
ohana
forever,
remember?” she said. “Nothing you’ve done needs forgiving. With
ohana
,
forgiveness is
pau’ole
—it’s a done deal.”

I kissed her on the cheek and
promised I’d be back later to help with the dinner. As I drove up Baldwin
Avenue it struck me how much Farrah, with her clear, trusting eyes, long wavy
hair and enigmatic smile looked a lot like the Virgin Mary in Renaissance
paintings. Another woman who’d suffered in silence.

I pulled into my driveway and
looked at my house. It was great to be home. Great to be back in the fold of
the people I love. And most of all, it was great to be spending Christmas with
my forever
ohana
.

EPILOGUE

A bunch of things got resolved
after the first of the year. Auntie Cora sold Willie’s Shelby GT 500 for over a
hundred-fifty thousand dollars to a rich guy in Kalispell, Montana. The guy who
bought it promised to send her a picture of the car once he’d gotten it
restored. She said she was going to hang it on her wall and show it to Willie
if he ever came back to haunt her for selling it. She used half of the money to
pay off her mortgage and she tucked the other half away in a credit union on
Maui. Now she’ll be able to buy cookies for her tea any time she wants.

The Diamonte/Romano murder
investigation also got wrapped up in the first quarter of the year. When the
full forensics report was ready and the results of Deedee and Romano’s
autopsies became available, the police pieced together the likely scenario.

George Romano had been
infuriated with Deedee Diamonte for reneging on her promise of exclusive
coverage of her wedding, so he went to her room to teach her a lesson. He
filched a pair of latex gloves off a Four Seasons housekeeping cart, presumably
so he wouldn’t leave any trace of being in the room. It’s unknown whether he’d
planned to kill her or merely scare her, but she died of asphyxiation by
strangulation so it really doesn’t matter what he had in mind when he snatched
those gloves. After he strangled her, he placed her face down on the bed. Then,
using the knife Tyler Benson had previously used to cut an apple, Romano stabbed
Deedee Diamonte in the back—a crude allegory for what he felt she’d done to
him.

When the maids showed up for
turn-down service, Romano ran out to the lanai and tossed the gloves before
falling to his death. Again, it’ll never be known if he had illusions of
pulling a Superman and sailing off that lanai with nary a scratch or if he
jumped in desperation. But when three hundred pounds of human flesh crashes fifteen
feet to the ground below, it’s bound to take a toll. In this case, the toll was
on Mr. Romano’s cervical spine. The autopsy showed he died from severe trauma
to his third through fifth vertebrae.

Farrah’s back to tending the
Gadda da Vida Grocery full-time now. She still startles when the bell on the
door announces someone’s coming in, but she’s learned to mask it well. Hatch
and I have both tried to talk her into pressing charges, but she’s determined
to pretend it didn’t happen. She’s moved back into her apartment above the
store and the only noticeable changes are a ridiculously bright security light
that goes on when you hit the fourth stair, and a couple of heavy-duty
deadbolts. When I visit I have to endure the blinding light and I must wait
patiently while she fiddles with opening the locks, but you can bet I’ve never
complained. I wouldn’t dare.

Hatch and I are closer than ever,
due in no small part to our shared love and concern for Farrah. But aside from that,
we’re working hard to build our relationship, brick by brick. We’ve spent the
last few months negotiating boundaries, laying down history, and enjoying the
physical intimacies that define a couple. I don’t want to jinx things by
assuming too much or predicting anything, but I think it’s safe to say that if
things keep going like they have been, I may be getting a new roommate soon.
And, speaking from experience, he isn’t gay.  

A few words of thanks…

I have the best writing gig in
the world—writing about Hawaii and the people who live there. It was my
pleasure to own a home in Maui for eight years, and when I’m writing, it’s
almost like I’m there. I hear the ocean crashing on the breakwater; I smell the
plumeria trees; and I feel the trade winds rattling the palms outside my
window.

For those of you who enjoy
reading these stories and imagining yourselves in Hawaii,
mahalo
. Good
times are always best shared with friends.

And speaking of friends, I’d
like to offer a big shout-out to friends who’ve helped me in the writing
process. In no particular order, I’d like to thank my early readers who pointed
out the obvious and not-so-obvious problems so I could address them. These kind
people include Diana Paul, Tom Haberer, Rebecca Dahlke, and Jackie Edwards. And
I’d like to thank my fellow writers at misterio press:  Kassandra Lamb, Shannon
Esposito and Kirsten Weiss who edit, tweet, blog and post—all in the name of ‘one
for all and all for one’.

I’d like to thank my supporters,
both old and new, who read my books, write reviews (bless you!) and generally
make me feel as if this may be a worthwhile way to spend my days, after all.
Sue Cook-Goodwin, Wendy Lester, Linda Rosecrans Mitchell, Murphy Lieder, Connie
Bannerman Bruyere, Cindy Rivera and Kaye Haberer. It would be impossible to
thank all my website friends, but please know you are appreciated. You are the
umbrella in my
mai tai
and the
pupu
on my platter.

If you enjoyed this book, please
consider reading the entire “Islands of Aloha Mystery Series” starring Pali
Moon. And don’t forget, there’s a special corner of heaven for readers who post
a review on Amazon.

Aloha
and
mahalo
!

JoAnn

The
“Islands of Aloha Mystery Series”

Maui
Widow Waltz

Livin’
Lahania Loca

Lana’i
of the Tiger

Kauai
Me a River (available 2013)

http://www.joannbassett.com