Dying for a Daiquiri

by CindySample

  She sat up and smiled. “I doubt any Realtor on their death bed ever said they wished they’d gotten one more listing.”

  My turn to chuckle. My mother had been a workaholic all of her life. In the beginning, she had no choice because she needed to support her young family. Once she became the top agent in her office, her competitive nature wouldn’t allow her to drop back to number two in sales.

  It looked like the new Mrs. Barbara Bradford would finally bring some balance into her life.

  “Plus Robert is terrific in bed.”

  Oh ick! That made for more than enough mother/daughter bonding for me. I leaped off my towel and hotfooted it down to the water where Stan was cooling his heels.

  Stan glanced at me as I splashed noisily beside him. “Did those big old turtles scare you?”

  Nope, but my mother sure did. Our conversation reminded me of my brother and Regan’s strained relationship. The couple had married after a brief courtship and I felt like I barely knew my sister-in-law. I’d looked forward to getting to know her better on this trip but bonding over a dead body was not what I’d had in mind.

  After a quick dip in the ocean, we decided to head to the volcano. I tried to clean the sand off my calves with a wet wipe. Dark streaks ran up and down my legs leaving me even stickier. As I reached into my straw tote for a clean towel, I noticed a missed call on my cell.

  My brother had phoned but left no message. I tried calling him back, but there was no reception. Maybe I’d have more bars once we climbed higher up. I’d feel more relaxed once we learned more about what happened to Keiki.

  At the visitor’s center inside the Hawaii Volcanoes Park, we wandered around the displays and watched a mesmerizing and scary film. Kilauea is frequently referred to as a drive-in volcano since it’s one of the few spots where tourists can drive past steaming beds of lava. According to Hawaiian folk lore, Pele, the volcano goddess is very unpredictable. The current eruption could go on for another one hundred years or stop tomorrow.

  After pondering my most recent conversation with my mother, I decided that Pele and Mom had a lot in common.

  After our drive around the crater, we tried to check into the Volcano Village. We discovered there was no room at the inn. Who knew the volcano was a hot destination for celebrating Valentine’s Day? None of us wanted to drive the three-plus hours back to our resort in Waikaloa. We piled in the car and headed down to Hilo, a thirty-minute drive.

  Liz Googled a discount travel website on her smart phone and booked two rooms at a decent hotel. The honeymooners snapped up a room with a king-size bed. The three of us decided to save money and take a double-bedded room. My mother and I could share a bed and Stan could have the other.

  Stan had been my confidant for so long, I often thought of him as the sister I’d always wanted.

  My cell rang just as we entered our hotel room. Speaking of siblings…

  “Dave, finally. How did Regan’s meeting with the police go?”

  “She spent almost three hours there, and they took a DNA swab, but she didn’t seem too concerned.” He paused for a few seconds. “Although that’s odd since my wife normally worries about everything. Her staff claims she angsts over every unaccounted for coffee bean.”

  Hmm. I was surprised they’d taken a sample of Regan’s DNA, but maybe the Hawaiian police just believed in being thorough. “Did the police mention when you can re-open the restaurant?”

  “They’re supposed to remove the crime scene tape early tomorrow. Our insurance agent will meet me at the restaurant around noon. I need to know if…” Dave’s voice faltered, “if I was responsible in some way for Keiki’s fall.”

  My heart broke for my brother who had to worry if negligence made him inadvertently responsible for a woman’s death.

  I tried to boost his morale. “C’mon, Dave, think positive. What are you and Regan doing tonight?”

  “She’s packing right now. She stays in one of Koffee Land’s guest cabins when she needs to be in Hilo overnight. For business.” His voice dropped and it almost sounded like he muttered “supposedly.”

  He coughed. “Anyway, Regan said it would be easier to spend the night there to prepare for your tour tomorrow. She’s leaving here in a few minutes.”

  “What about you?”

  “Me? I’m going to grab a six-pack, sit on our lanai and contemplate the meaning of life.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Torrents of rain pelted our balcony screen door and woke us early the next morning. According to our guidebook, the eastern side of the island could receive as much as 150 inches of rain per year. No wonder everything was so lush and green. I just hoped all 150 inches didn’t fall today.

  The group vetoed Liz’s plan to pay an early morning visit to a botanical garden. The gang opted for a leisurely breakfast of sweet potato rolls, macadamia nut pancakes and a hearty portion of local bacon. Liz reluctantly acquiesced once I promised we’d return on a sunny day and I’d zip-line through the botanical garden with her.

  Luckily for me, the odds of the sun shining in Hilo before we flew home were about as high as the odds of me snapping onto a flimsy rope hundreds of feet above terra firma.

  Once we escaped Hilo, the rain magically disappeared and the sun popped out, creating an enormous arched rainbow against the blue sky. We stopped at the Punalu’u Bake Shop on our way to the coffee farm. I managed to make a quick pit stop without succumbing to the purchase of any more pastries.

  At the rate I was eating my way across Hawaii, I would need to jog around all 266 miles of the Big Island to work the calories off.

  Koffee Land occupied five hundred acres near the quaint town of Honaunau, at the southern end of the Kona coffee district. Regan’s employer was one of Kona’s largest coffee farms. Most of the eight hundred growers on the island cultivated far smaller holdings, anywhere from one to five acres.

  A brilliant lime green sign adorned with bright violet letters announced our approach to Koffee Land. Even the lava rock entry bore the KL logo. A long, winding paved road ended at a modern-looking building, the impressive visitors’ center. Covered lanais on three sides allowed tourists to sit and enjoy distant ocean views while they sipped their coffee.

  As our group ambled up the sidewalk, we admired the brilliant red blossoms of the bougainvillea bushes planted along the walkway. I pushed open the heavy Koa wood door and my nose led the way into the coffee-scented gift shop.

  Welcome to Starbucks on steroids.

  A young girl dressed in shorts, a lime green polo shirt with KL embroidered on the pocket, and a name badge that read Tiffany, smiled at us.

  “Welcome to Koffee Land. Is this your first visit?”

  “Yes,” said Mother. “My daughter-in-law, Regan Bingham, is supposed to show us around.”

  “I’ll let her know you’re here. Would you like to sample some of our award-winning coffee while you wait?” She pointed to a beige granite-topped counter across the room bearing seven large carafes and a variety of condiments.

  Silly question. Liz and Brian were already pouring coffee into paper cups before the young woman could finish her sentence. The rest of us followed suit. Labels on the tall silver carafes told which beans had been ground to make the coffee inside. Small bowls in front of each silver cylinder displayed the actual Koffee Land beans: Standard medium and French roast, Gold label premium versions of each roast, and something called Peaberry. Plus toasted coconut and chocolate macadamia nut.

  Yum yum. By the time I’d tasted all the versions, I’d have so much energy I probably could run all the way back to the hotel. We jostled each other as we sampled small cups of the steaming liquid.

  “Aloha, everyone.” Regan joined us, her arms spread in welcome, but her smile seemed strained, and she looked exhausted. Her lime-green shirt hung on her petite frame and emphasized her pallor. It wouldn’t surprise me if Regan had dropped a few pounds in the last couple of days.

  Criminal investigations can do that to people. In
fact, being a murder suspect is the only weight loss program that ever worked for me.

  “There are so many choices,” Mother said. “Can you explain the difference between the assorted roasts?”

  Regan pointed to the bowls. “See the difference in the color, size and shape of the various beans? The lightest beans are our medium roast, which technically produces the purest tasting Kona coffee. Many people, especially Starbucks regulars, prefer the darker French roast. The higher temperatures required for their roasting removes some of the natural flavor though.”

  I mulled that over. “So if I prefer a light roast, I’m not a coffee weenie. I’m really a coffee connoisseur?”

  “That’s correct.” Regan reached into one of the bowls, grabbed a small round bean and passed it around. “Now the Peaberry is our most robust bean.”

  “Peaberry coffee usually costs more, doesn’t it?” Stan asked.

  Regan nodded. “It occurs when the coffee cherry yields only one bean instead of the usual two. It’s very rare.” She paused. “Sort of like a good man.”

  Before she could elaborate, the door opened and six more caffeine-seeking tourists entered. Regan looked at her watch. “Darn. I hoped to take you on a private tour, but we’re short-handed today. Victor needs to leave to help his wife and daughter prepare for Keiki’s funeral.”

  “Keiki’s funeral?” I asked. “Why would your staff be involved with that?”

  “Oh, I guess you didn’t know,” Regan replied. “Victor is married to Keiki’s mother.”

  “Her father works here too?”

  “Victor is, I mean, was Keiki’s stepfather. And he doesn’t just work here.” Regan gnawed on her lower lip. “Victor is my boss.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  For a brief moment, you could have heard a coffee bean drop. Then the chatter of the other tourists filled the room.

  “Victor married Keiki’s mother several years ago,” Regan clarified. “Technically he’s my boss because he runs the coffee operation. Since I’m the controller, I also report to Ritz Nagrow, the owner. He…” she stopped as two men entered the center from the back of the building. “There’s Ritz and Victor now.”

  A short wiry Asian man in his early fifties conversed with a tall dark-haired man with cinematic good looks. Dressed in an off-white linen blazer and dark slacks, the taller man looked like he’d stepped off the movie set of South Pacific, ready to sing “Some Enchanted Evening.” I took a wild guess this was the owner. Regan gave a half-hearted wave in their direction and they headed toward us.

  She introduced the men to our group. “This is Ritz Nagrow, the owner of Koffee Land. And this is Victor Yakamura.”

  Mother took Victor’s calloused hand in both of hers. “We are all so sorry for your loss.”

  Victor stared at her with red-rimmed eyes, bordered by crow’s feet so deep they appeared etched in stone. “Mahalo. Thank you,” he said, releasing her hand. “I must go home now and assist my daughter and my wife.”

  “We’ll talk about that matter tomorrow,” Ritz said to Victor.

  Keiki’s stepfather nodded then took his leave.

  “How do you like Koffee Land?” The dashing coffee plantation owner’s brown eyes sparkled as he beamed at our group. This man was either naturally energetic or he’d just drunk a pot full of Peaberry coffee.

  “They just arrived,” Regan told Ritz. “I was about to give them a tour.”

  “Of course, of course. They must have the grand tour,” he responded, his voice indicating a trace of an accent. “Feel free to tell them about our upcoming event. But, first, I must go over something with you. Perhaps your guests can sample one of our many delectable items while they wait.”

  “Um, okay.” She pointed to a shelf of brightly wrapped boxes. “If you’re hungry, check out our selection of donkey balls. They’re really tasty.”

  Liz and I looked at each other. Did Regan say what I thought she said? We zipped over to the aisle Regan had pointed to and discovered an assortment of Donkey Balls, a local brand of sphere-shaped chocolate candies with flavor options ranging from chocolate-covered macadamia nuts to chocolate and fruit-flavored malt balls larger than a super-sized jawbreaker.

  What a great place to work. Caffeine in liquid and solid forms. Liz and I each purchased a pack and shared them with the group while we waited.

  Regan looked frustrated when she returned. “Ready for the tour?”

  I wondered if everything was okay, but with my cheeks stuffed full of chocolate chunks, all I could do was nod.

  As we hiked toward an area planted with coffee trees, Regan provided running commentary. “The history of Kona coffee goes back over 180 years. At one point, all Kona coffee trees came from one single tree in the King of France's private greenhouse.”

  “Talk about a huge family tree,” joked Stan.

  Regan politely chuckled then explained that elevations for coffee farms on the Big Island ranged from 1,500 to 3,500 feet. Unlike grapes, which are picked in the fall at the precise moment the vintner determines, coffee cherries don’t ripen at the same time. They get picked four to six times a year. Labor costs for hand picking are one of the reasons Kona coffee is so expensive, sometimes exceeding fifty dollars a pound.

  Fifty dollars a pound? No wonder they call it Kona gold.

  “After the cherries arrive at the mill, the beans are washed then sundried on decks called hoshidanas.” Regan pointed to a large deck in the distance

  “What happens if it rains?” I asked.

  “We use lots of tiny umbrellas,” Regan responded. When my mouth gaped, she smiled. “A little coffee humor. We have mechanical dryers if needed.”

  As we continued the tour, I marveled at the similarities and differences between grape growing and coffee farming. More than fifty wineries are located in El Dorado County. Several owners are friends of mine, so I knew a tremendous amount of love and labor went into producing the award-winning Gold Country wines.

  “Are all beans grown on this island considered to be Kona coffee?” I asked.

  Regan shook her head. “True Kona coffee must be grown within the Kona coffee belt, an area twenty miles long and only two miles wide.”

  “I read something about a scandal where some grower bought less expensive beans then sold them as one hundred percent Kona coffee,” Stan said.

  “That was a huge scandal and it led to new laws,” replied Regan. “Inspections are now required to ensure that all beans labeled as 100% Kona are grown in the district.”

  “Next up is the roasting room. After that, I’ll show you our latest project. Something no other coffee farm has done.” She pointed to a tall wooden tower situated on a distant hill.

  “Is that a zip-line tower?” Stan asked.

  “Our latest addition,” confirmed Regan. “Ritz and Pilar are determined to turn Koffee Land into a destination coffee farm. They want to host weddings, special events, even movies. Our first big event is a new reality show called The Bride and the Bachelor. They start taping next Monday.”

  “That sounds like fun,” I said. “Aren’t you excited?”

  “I guess.” Regan nibbled her lower lip. “I personally think if a coffee farm produces fabulous coffee that should be enough. But Ritz thinks on a grand scale. We’ve just completed the addition of six more ‘honeymoon’ cabins to the two guest houses that were already on the property, plus an event pavilion and the zip-line, of course.”

  “Are you going to have zip-line weddings?” Liz turned to her husband. “Darn. That would have been something, wouldn’t it, honey?”

  Brian’s eyes cut to mine. It was a good thing Liz was already married. There was no way this matron of honor would have “zipped” down the aisle.

  “Can we ride it today?” Liz asked.

  “Not today, although it will be operational before you leave for home. Everything was delayed when we had to stop construction for a few weeks. The coffee farms surrounding us are not happy about our new additions. They keep
saying these delays are due to bad juju. That the gods don’t want the Kona coffee belt turned into Disneyland.”

  “Those Hawaiian gods are an active bunch, aren’t they?” Stan said.

  Regan’s face turned as white as the fluffy clouds up above us as she replied. “I don’t know if the gods were involved or not, but it’s tragic when a worker is killed.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “Omigod,” I said. “What happened?”

  “He fell off that zip-line platform.” Regan pointed to the tower in the distance. “His boss asked him to stay late to finish something. Supposedly he slipped and fell from the platform to the ground.”

  “Ouch. That’s about a forty-foot drop,” Stan said.

  “His body wasn’t discovered until the following morning. It was horrible.” She closed her eyes as if remembering the incident. “Henry was beside himself with grief. And now the poor guy has to deal with his sister-in-law’s death as well.”

  “Henry was his boss? Walea’s husband?” I asked. “No wonder he’s so…” I wanted to say crabby, but that seemed rude considering what the poor man had recently suffered.

  “It’s been a tough month for all the staff.” Regan glanced down at her watch. “We better get on with the tour. By the time we return, Ritz will undoubtedly have another project for me to work on. I just wish we made money as quickly as he spends it.”

  As Stan and Brian peppered Regan with questions about the zip-line and other Koffee Land improvements, my phone beeped indicating a missed call from Dave. The reception on this side of Mauna Loa must be iffy. I followed the others into the roasting room, but it was so noisy I slipped out to return my brother’s call. In the distance, an SUV climbed the long driveway to the visitor’s center. Poor Regan. She would barely finish with our group before leading another tour.

  My thumb was poised over Dave’s number when the squeal of brakes drew my attention. The vehicle I’d noticed skidded around the last curve and slid into a parking space near the front of the building. The car had barely stopped when two men stepped out. One was dressed in a shirt and slacks and the other in a Hawaii police uniform.