I
slipped into the driver seat as Keith wrenched open the passenger door and got
in. He sat leaning forward in the seat and stared straight out the windshield.
His expression was so grim I half-expected him to pull out a gun and carjack
me.
“We
gotta talk.” He clamped a hand over his mouth as if talking was the last thing
he wanted to do.
I
waited. He removed his hand.
“Okay,
here it is.” The words came out in a rush. “I really need you to drop this
thing about Crystal. She never was Nicole’s friend; she was just some babe
Nicole met at her health club who wormed her way into our lives. She was always
pushy, always sticking her nose in where it didn’t belong. I didn’t like her
from day one, and Nicole knew it, but she wanted a half- dozen bridesmaids and
she wanted a rainbow of pretty girls—you know, black, blond, brunette,
redhead—the whole nine yards. It was hard to find a redhead that met Nicole’s
high standards so when Crystal showed up, Nicole asked her to be a bridesmaid.
Turns out she was a whack job, even though she was quite the looker.”
“You
keep saying ‘she was.’ Do you know something about Crystal you’re not telling
me?” I said.
“What
do you mean?”
“You
keep referring to her in the past tense.”
He
worked his jaw back and forth a couple of times, then turned to face me. “Look,
she’s taken off and upset Nicole a week before our wedding. As far as I’m
concerned, she
is
past tense and I hope she stays that way.”
“What
about the ponytail I found on my back seat?”
“Like
I said, she’s a total whack job. She probably cut it off to freak us out and
make herself the center of attention. Trust me, right now she’s laughing her
ass off about the whole thing.”
He
glanced into the back seat. “By the way, where’s the hair?”
“It
gave me the creeps so I took it out of my car.” I wanted to tell him it was
none of his business what I’d done with it, but keeping rude remarks to myself
was something I’d been working on ever since I became a wedding planner.
“Okay,
here’s the deal,” he said. “If you’ll drop the whole thing, I’ll give you a
hundred bucks to take that hair off your hands.”
“What?”
“That’s
fair. You won’t need to worry about it anymore and I can toss it and get on
with this wedding. I know she’s playing us, but Nicole’s really freaked out
over Crystal taking off like that. I don’t want this thing hanging over us.”
“Keith,
I don’t have it anymore.”
“Where
is it?”
“I
gave it to the police when I filed the missing person report today.”
From
the look on his face, I’d say Nicole wasn’t the only one who was freaked
out.
CHAPTER 7
I
got back home a little after nine. I felt drained, but too wound up to go to
bed so early. I stood in front of the open refrigerator hoping to find a
forgotten stash of Maui Taco takeout. My stomach growled in impatience so I
settled for microwaving some leftover mahi-mahi Steve had grilled the night
before.
As
I munched on the soggy fish, I sorted through the stack of messages Steve had
scribbled on odd scraps of paper: Keith, Glen Wong, Keahou, Farrah, the printer
who was doing Keith and Nicole’s bridal announcements; and finally, at the
bottom of the pile, Ono Kingston. Wait. Steve hadn’t mentioned the boat captain
had called. Had he called before or after I’d met with him in Lahaina that
afternoon? The message was written on the back of a junk mail envelope. I
flipped it over. Nothing. Just Ono’s name and number.
As
much as I tried to deny it, I felt my heart rate pitch up a few notches. My
fatigue hopped over to riding shotgun as curiosity slipped into the driver’s
seat.
If
Steve had been home he’d probably have come down to the kitchen by now, but I
went upstairs to check anyway. Maybe he was on the phone, or taking a shower,
or playing a video game.
No
such luck.
It
was now almost nine-thirty—a bit late to return calls—so I got to work
rationalizing why I needed to call Ono right away rather than wait until
morning. He was a new vendor for me. Maybe he had a question, or perhaps he’d
run into a snag with the schedule. Or, maybe…
Stop it
, I said to myself—
get
a grip
. The guy’s got a honey in Honolulu who’s not only his love interest
but also his boss. Why was I yearning for the mango on somebody else’s tree? I
had my faults, but playing the ‘other woman’ wasn’t among them.
But
that didn’t stop me from punching in the number on the scribbled message.
The
call went to voicemail. I listened to the no-frills message—
Aloha. You’ve
reached Ono. Leave your name and number
—and caught myself smiling at my
reflection in the dark window above the sink. I stuttered a quick message and
hung up.
I
was emptying the dishwasher when headlights turned into the driveway. I grabbed
my purse and smacked on a little lip gloss. Then I recognized the car.
“Hey,”
Steve said coming through the back door. “You okay? You look kind of weird.”
“I’m
fine.”
“Any
news about the hatchet haircut on the disappearing diva?”
“Not
really. Keith tried to convince me Crystal’s just playing around. He offered me
a hundred bucks to give him the hair. Said it was bumming out Nicole and he
wanted me to forget the whole mess.”
“Whoa.
He wanted you to hand the hair over to him? What’d he say when you told him
you’d already given it to the police?”
“Let’s
say he didn’t look happy.”
“And…”
“That’s
it. He didn’t say anything, but he looked a lot more worried than he’d lead me
to believe.”
“So
what now? You going to drop it?”
“I
have no choice. It’s in Wong’s hands now. Maybe she just took off, like Keith
said. But I’m still going to be keeping an eye out.”
“Which
is business as usual for you. I think working that TSA job made you paranoid.
You know, I spent the better part of Tuesday with Ken Doll and Bimbo Barbie
going over every possible angle of their photo shoot and I’m convinced high
crimes and misdeeds are way over their blond-i-locks little heads. I’ll bet you
ten bucks they think Stephen Hawking sings back-up for Lady Gaga.”
“Good
point.”
Steve
bid me goodnight. I rinsed off my fish plate and put it in the dishwasher. Five
minutes later, I was in bed.
***
At
seven the next morning I drove down to Pa’ia. I pulled into the alley behind my
former shop space which shares a common wall with Farrah’s grocery store. The
back door to the shop was open and I heard male voices inside. No work sounds,
just loud voices and laughing. I went inside and all conversation ceased.
“Hey,
Pali,” said Tiko, one of the building inspectors from the county office. I’d
met him right after the fire, when he’d annoyed me by nailing a ‘No
Trespassing’ sign right into the mahogany of my front door.
“Hey,
Tiko. What bad news have you got for me today?”
“Not
so much bad news, just
hoihoi
—interesting stuff.” He turned to the two
other guys standing in what had been the office area of ‘Let’s Get Maui’d’.
“Yeah,”
said one of the guys. “We heard you got new digs down in Lahaina.”
“Just
temporary. I’m waiting to move back up here once the Mo’olelo Society gives me
the go-ahead.”
“Oh
well then, sorry, but maybe it’s bad news after all. Looks like you moving back
here isn’t gonna happen.”
I
turned to Tiko.
“Yeah,”
he said. “I’m here to write up an occupancy permit, but it’s not for your
wedding store.”
“Are
you going to make me do twenty questions, or will you at least give me the
respect of spilling who
cock-a-roached
me out of my shop space?”
“Pali,”
he said, pointing to the two men standing next to him, “these guys are from the
Maui Mo’olelo Society. This is Bono and that’s Mike.”
They
nodded.
“So,
the Mo’olelo Society’s finally getting around to blessing a tenant,” I said.
“But it sounds like it’s not me.”
“’Fraid
not,” said Tiko.
“So?
Who is it?”
“It’s
them.”
It
took me a second to figure out what he was saying. “The Mo’olelo Society wants
to move in here?’
“Yep.
It’s their building now, and they’re about as historical as it gets. They’re
say they’re going to turn it into a visitor’s center.”
“But
it’s too small. Look around, it’s only about five hundred square feet. Way too
cramped for a visitor center.”
Bono
spoke up. “We always wanted a little outpost in Pa’ia, but we couldn’t afford
the rent. When they had the blessing party for this building Bessie looked
around and said she thought this would be perfect. We don’t need much. Just a
desk and some brochure racks.”
It
made sense, but I hated the idea of being shoved out. As he’d said, it was
nearly impossible to find affordable shop space in Pa’ia.
“I’m
going fight this. You can’t just come in here and throw me out. I paid my rent;
I was a model tenant for two years.”
“A
model tenant in an historic building. Sorry, but that’s progress—or I guess I
should say, anti-progress,” said Bono. “I doubt you’ll get much support if you
fight us. The merchants up and down this street will love the idea of tourists
stopping in here rather than just blowing by on their way to up to Hana.”
Pa’ia
was on the famous road to Hana, a must-do tourist attraction. Unfortunately,
most tourists didn’t stop in Pa’ia except maybe to buy a quick sandwich to
sustain them on the three to four-hour drive.
I
went out back to wait to go up to Farrah’s apartment. The Mo’olelo guys were
probably well aware she was still living up there, but everyone acted as if it
were a well-guarded secret. When I saw their car moseying down Baldwin I went
up and rapped on the door, using our little code knock. She opened up so
quickly I assumed she’d been standing on the other side also waiting for them
to leave.
“How’s
it going?” I said.
“Can’t
bitch, and too old to moan.” She motioned for me to sit down in my usual spot.
“You want coffee?”
“
Mahalo
.
Say, did you hear who your new neighbor’s going to be?”
She
shot me a sympathetic look and nodded.
“What
am I going to do? I can’t take that fishy smell much longer, and it’s killing
my business to ask clients to come through a back alley and clomp up those
rickety stairs to spend twenty thousand bucks on a wedding.”
“You
want me to work a little black magic?”
“No,
but keep your ears open, okay? I’ve got to find a place for my shop.”
She
served the coffee and we settled in our usual spots—me in a ratty orange
director’s chair and Farrah on her forlorn-looking velveteen sofa.
“Guess
what our pal Keith did last night?” I said.
“Confess
to some heinous crime?”
“Hardly.
He made me drive all the way to the Ritz and then he tried to give me a hundred
bucks to forget I’d ever seen that hair.”
“What’s
that about?”
“He
says it’s upsetting Nicole and he wants us all to move on and consider
Crystal’s disappearance simply her pathetic attempt to grab the limelight away
from Nicole.”
“Why’d
he offer you money? Why didn’t he just ask you for the hair?”
“Keith
strikes me as the kind of guy who thinks everything has a price.”
“Funny
you mention it. He handed me a hundred dollar bill for a thirty-buck session,
then told me to keep the change. That was even before I got started. It felt
like a bribe.”
“He’s
loaded. I hope you kept it.”
“Would
you have taken his money for the hair?”
“No
way.”
“Well,
me neither,” she said. “I told him to tip his hotel maid. Those girls work hard
and get paid slave wages. Besides, I don’t like the feeling of being bought
off.”
I
knew what she meant. There’s a weird push/pull in living and working in a
tourist destination. We all need a lot of money to live in Hawaii’s inflated
economy, but most of us resent the step-and-fetch-it relationship it creates
with the visitors we serve.
“Anyway,”
I said. “You got details for me on Keith’s visit yesterday?”
“I
don’t know. I probably should keep my mouth shut.”
“Why?”
I said. “Did he say something bad about me? Or is it that you think I’ll freak
out over something you saw?”
“All
I’m saying is that guy puts a capital ‘C’ on the word ‘creepy’. Where’d you
snag those two, anyway?”
“The
Internet. They told me they loved the gorgeous website Hatch whipped up for me
while he was down for the count.” Firefighter Hatch Decker had spent most of
February on my sofa recuperating from a broken leg. He’d jumped at the
opportunity to work on a project he could do while sitting down.