JoAnn Bassett - Islands of Aloha 07 - Moloka'i Lullaby

by JoAnn Bassett

  ***

  As I drove down the highway to Kaunakakai, the turn-off to Papohaku Beach came in sight and I slowed. I wouldn’t be coming back this way anytime soon, and I still hadn’t retrieved my things from the maid’s quarters. Even more pressing, before I left Moloka’i I’d like to put to rest at least a few of the dozens of questions I had stacked along the walls of my brain.

  I turned onto the road to George’s beach house. The two police cars and the unmarked car were still there, but the medical van had left. Seems Lono’s poor decision was tying up a good portion of the vehicular resources of Moloka’i’s finest for the day.

  “I’m back,” I said to the same female officer I’d spoken with earlier. “I know what happened here, and I’m on my way to ID the body for the mother’s peace of mind. But, before I go, I really need to get in there and get my stuff.”

  “Sorry, we’ve still got detectives working in there,” she said. “They don’t want anyone in or out.”

  I wondered if George was there, and if so, if he’d be willing to bring me my bag. I called the house. He answered on the fourth ring.

  “I told you; I have no comment,” he said by way of greeting.

  “George, it’s me—Pali Moon.”

  “Oh, I saw the local number and figured it was some media ghoul,” he said. “I’ve been getting calls all morning.”

  “I’m out by your entrance, but the police won’t let me come in.” I glanced over at the cop and saw she was trying awfully hard to pretend she wasn’t eavesdropping.

  “I was very sorry to hear about Lono,” I said. “It’s a terrible loss.”

  “And totally unnecessary,” he said.

  “I hate to impose at a time like this—”

  “Then maybe you shouldn’t,” he snapped.

  “I know, and I’m sorry, but I’m leaving and I need to get my overnight bag from the maid’s quarters. Would you mind getting it for me? They won’t let me come in.”

  “I guess no good deed goes unpunished,” he said.

  I wasn’t sure if that was a “yes” or a “no,” so I waited for clarification.

  Finally, he spoke again. “I’ll bring it around front. I’ll leave it a few feet from the entrance. You can tell the lady constable to come in and fetch it for you.”

  “Mahalo, George. And, again, I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “My biggest loss is to my privacy!” he said.

  But I heard the crack in his voice.

  ***

  I stood around until my suitcase arrived, and once I had it in hand, I got in the car and called Hatch. He answered on the first ring.

  “Everything all right?” he said.

  “I wish. I’m afraid there’s been an accident.” As soon as it was out of my mouth I knew it was the wrong thing to say.

  “An accident? Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I shouldn’t have said ‘accident.’ Actually, it wasn’t an accident at all. It seems Malama’s son has committed suicide.”

  “What?” he said. “That’s terrible.”

  “Yeah, but it gets worse. He hung himself, and his mother isn’t taking it well. She wants someone to ID the body. I guess she holding out hope there’s been some kind of mistake. I said I’d do it.”

  “Are you sure you’re up for that? I mean, that’s pretty tough duty.”

  “I know. But I ran into him in town yesterday, and I can’t get it out of my mind that I should’ve seen how bad off he was. I can’t help thinking that if maybe I’d I said something, or done something differently. I don’t know; I feel just awful.”

  “Babe, what you’re feeling is understandable, but I seriously doubt you could’ve made any difference. Are you still going to be able to come back this afternoon? I hate not being there when you’re going through stuff like this.”

  “I’m booked on the two-ten. I’m on my way to the hospital to do the ID, and then I should have plenty of time to make the plane.”

  “Call me when you’re done,” he said.

  “Will do. Love you.”

  “Love you, too, babe. Good luck, and see you soon.”

  ***

  The hospital on Moloka’i sits atop a small hill on the east side of Kaunakakai. It’s a low, single-story structure that resembles the mid-century elementary school I attended on Maui.

  I parked and went into a door marked, “Emergency.” The small waiting room was empty. A nurse sat behind a glassed-in partition at the back of the room. I crossed the room and tapped on the glass and she slid the window open.

  “Aloha, can I help you?” she said. Her eyes scoped me from head to toe as if she was trying to guess my emergency, and she frowned when she came up short.

  “I’m looking for the morgue,” I said.

  She narrowed her eyes, and the look on her face told me she wasn’t going to be the least bit happy if it turned out I’d be requiring psychiatric care.

  “You need the morgue?”

  “Yes, the son of a friend of mine was brought here this morning. I offered to be the family’s representative to ID his body.”

  “Ah, are you referring to Leonard A’amakualenalena?” she said.

  No wonder I’d never heard anyone use Malama and Lono’s last name.

  “Yes.”

  “We don’t actually have a morgue,” she said. “We’ve put him in one of our patient rooms until the medical examiner can get here from O’ahu. We’ve turned the A/C way up in there. Please take a seat while I call the doctor.”

  I waited almost twenty minutes for the doctor to arrive. She was a small-statured Asian woman of about forty. She had a kind face, and a perfectly-cut bob of coal-black hair.

  “I’m so sorry for your loss,” she said. “Are you ‘ohana?”

  I explained the situation, and she led me down a wide hallway with doors on either side. I couldn’t help but note the vast difference between this small hospital and Queen’s Medical Center. It was as if I’d traveled back in time fifty years. But everything was clean and freshly painted, and there were vases of fresh tropical flowers in small niches along the hallway.

  She opened the door to a room at the end of the hall, and gestured for me to go in before her. The overhead lights were off, and the shades had been drawn. The room was chilly to the point of feeling downright cold. She crossed the room and flipped the switch on a fluorescent lamp over the bed. The light flickered a few times before staying on.

  Lono had been placed on a bed covered with thick plastic. A white cotton sheet had been draped over him. When she pulled back the sheet, I saw they’d tucked a folded white towel beneath his chin, probably to conceal the trauma to his neck. His mouth and eyes were closed. I’d steeled myself to witness something worthy of nightmares, like a black protruding tongue or bulging bloodshot eyes, but the reality was much less gruesome. His color was bad and his face swollen, but other than that, he looked like he was sleeping.

  “We understand the mother wouldn’t allow an autopsy until she’d been provided with a positive ID,” said the doctor. “So, this is only for her sake. Mr. A’amakualenalena is well-known on the island, but we like to honor the wishes of the ‘ohana as much as possible.”

  “That’s Lono,” I said.

  “You’re positively identifying this man as Leonard A’amakualenalena?”

  “Yes, that’s him.”

  “Mahalo for coming in. Would you like a few moments alone with him?”

  I nodded, and she retreated. She stood by the doorway, ostensibly checking cell phone messages.

  I leaned in toward Lono’s lifeless face.

  “You’ve broken your mother’s heart, you know,” I said in a whisper. “No matter what you did: fooling around with Amanda, taking Richard’s cash, even pushing him in the pool. None of any of that is half as bad as what you’ve done to your momma.”

  “Is everything okay?” said the doctor. She’d stopped fingering her phone and was now eying me somewhat suspiciously.

  “Yes, I’m rea
dy to go now. Mahalo.”

  I walked outside to a brilliant blue sky and the sparkling azure water of Kaunakakai Harbor below. But no matter how beautiful the setting, nothing could lift the melancholy I felt at witnessing a life cut short by its own hand.

  CHAPTER 24

  I drove to the Moloka’i airport with the pedal to the floor, hoping the police were still tied up down at Papohaku and wouldn’t be around to hand out speeding tickets. I parked and then dashed to the ticket counter just in time to see the two-ten to Honolulu taxiing down the runway.

  “I guess I missed it,” I said, cocking my head toward the window facing the tarmac.

  “That’s the two-ten,” said the agent. “Next one’s going out at four, but it’s full. We’ve still got a couple of seats on the six-thirty.”

  I felt deflated. I had nothing against Moloka’i, or its people, but it was going to take a while for all the bad memories I’d created there to fade, and I desperately wanted to get back to Farrah, her babies, and Hatch.

  “Can I use my ticket for the two-ten on that flight?” I said.

  The agent glanced around, as if checking for the hard stare of an airline superior.

  “I’m supposed to charge you a change fee,” she said. “But I remember you. You got booted off the volleyball flight this morning, eh?”

  I nodded.

  “Well then, you’ll be glad to hear our Farmer girls won. They’re going on to the state championship in Hilo. They whipped those Maui High girls bad. Sent ‘em howlin’ like babies back to their high-rise condos on the beach.”

  I’d gone to Maui High, so I wasn’t feeling the love, but this wasn’t the best time to point that out.

  “Good for them,” I said. “You said you could get me on the six-thirty?”

  “Sure can. But be back here by six. Wouldn’t want you to get bumped again.”

  I called Hatch to tell him about my change of plans, and he got quiet.

  After a few seconds, I checked to make sure he was still on the call. He answered by saying, “What’s going on over there? You’re not missing these planes on purpose, are you?”

  That set me off.

  “How can you say such a thing? I just got back from identifying the corpse of a young guy who hung himself. Not a fun job, believe me. And now you’re insinuating I’m lying about missing planes?”

  “I didn’t say you were lying. I’m just anxious to see you. We haven’t had a chance to talk for days.”

  “So? Talk to me now,” I said. “I’ve got four hours to kill.”

  “No, I’ll wait ‘til you get here. I don’t like talking on the phone.”

  “How’s Farrah?” I said.

  “She’s good. Everybody’s getting better all the time. Oh, and I have more good news: the cab driver brought your wallet here to the hospital.”

  “Great. Did you tip him?”

  “Of course.”

  “How much?” I said.

  “Seriously?” he said. “Now, you want to micromanage my tipping skills?”

  I apologized, and we said perfunctory “love you’s” and hung up.

  ***

  I didn’t want to go back to Malama’s and witness her grief. I do better with happy occasions, not sad. That’s why I’m a wedding planner and not a funeral director, even though funeral work is quite lucrative. Besides, I felt I’d done my duty to Malama by identifying her son’s body, and heaven help me if any of her friends who’d shown up to console her asked me for gory details.

  Instead, I drove back down to Kaunakakai and bought myself yet another burger and fries at Moloka’i Burger. I was starving and wolfed it down, even though I had nothing to do for the next four hours.

  When I’d finished, I turned right out of the parking lot and drove down the King Kam V highway. I went out past the condos where I’d stayed with Hatch, and on past a huge open park named, One Alii Beach Park. I went through the tiny hamlets of Kawela and Kamalo and kept driving. I didn’t know how far the road went, but I knew the entire island was only thirty miles long, so I wasn’t worried about making it back in time.

  The road became narrower, and the houses alongside grew more rustic. In one yard, the owner had constructed dozens of knee-high triangular structures spaced about three feet apart. As I whizzed by, I couldn’t imagine what the odd little structures were for. Were they yard art? Or maybe some type of obstacle course for training dogs?

  Life in rural Moloka’i was worlds apart from the glitz and glamour of Waikiki Beach or Maui’s posh Wailea area. The locals claimed this island was “the most Hawaiian,” and I think they nailed it.

  Finally, after driving for about half an hour, I came to the tiny settlement of Kalua’aha. A tiny steepled church painted white with red trim caught my eye. I pulled into the small driveway and parked on the grass since there didn’t seem to be a parking lot. The church sign said it was “Our Lady of Seven Sorrows Catholic Church.” The sign was decorated with grape leaves, and included a rendition of Father Damien’s famous silhouette, with his long coat and flat hat, along with the date “1874.”

  I got out and walked up to the church to see if I could go inside. The church door was unlocked and I peered in. Could this small church really have been built by Hawaii’s famous first saint? The stark interior was painted white, with four tall windows on each side, and dark hardwood pews.

  I closed the door and looked at the view from the slightly sloping hill down to the massive fishpond across the highway. The fishponds were marvels of ancient engineering, built seven to eight hundred years ago to provide the Hawaiian royal family with fresh fish. The ponds were constructed to allow sea water to flow in and out, while trapping the fish inside.

  I checked the time and went back to my car. I still had almost two hours to burn before my flight, but even if I had to sprout wings and go under my own power, I was determined to fly to Honolulu that night.

  ***

  The airport was deserted when I got there, but the ticket agent was still at her station.

  “I forgot to mention earlier that I’ve got a little problem,” I said.

  “What’s that?”

  “I don’t have my driver’s license with me. I lost my wallet in Honolulu a couple of days ago.”

  “Ah, that kinda stuff happens over there,” she said. “Lots of crime, eh? Do you have some other ID? A passport, or maybe a food stamp card, somethin’ like that?”

  “I’m afraid not. Actually, my wallet was returned, but there was no way for me to get it over here.”

  “You got a cell phone?” she said.

  “Yes.” I held it up to show her.

  “Maybe someone could send a photo of your license to your phone. That’d be good enough for me.”

  I called Hatch and he said he’d do it right away.

  He sounded like he’d gotten past his pique over the tip thing.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “We’re all looking forward to having you back. Farrah’s been asking about you. I think she’s getting antsy and she wants someone else to bitch to.”

  “Tell her I’m on the next flight.”

  “Love you,” he said.

  “Love you, too. See you soon.”

  ***

  We landed on-time after a mercifully uneventful flight. As I made my way across the tarmac toward the inter-island terminal I realized I was going to have a tough time getting to Queen’s Medical Center. After paying for my burger in Kaunakakai, I had only eleven dollars left. A cab ride would be more like thirty, without tip, so I was going to have to figure out where I could catch a city bus.

  I walked into the terminal and Hatch sprang from a chair in the waiting area.

  I ran over to him. “Boy, am I glad to see you,” I said.

  “Because I’m your ride, or because I’m your guy?” he said.

  “Both,” I said. We hugged and he gave me a long kiss.

  “I’m glad you feel that way,” he said. “Because I’ve got something we need to t
alk about before we get back to friends and babies and doctors and all that.”

  “Is everything okay?” I said. He seemed nervous, and I thought back to our earlier conversation when I’d clearly felt he was holding something back from me.

  “Yeah, it’s great. I just want to let you know what’s going on with work.”

  We flagged down a cab and climbed into the back seat. Hatch told the driver to take us to Queen’s Hospital. He instructed him to go via the H-1 and not Nimitz Highway. I was pretty sure the driver knew the way to the hospital, but figured Hatch was putting him on notice that we were locals and we weren’t interested in the scenic tour.

  “I want to hear all about what happened over on Moloka’i,” Hatch said. “But before we get into all that, I’ve got something I need to say.”

  “Okay.” I wasn’t eager to recount the sad details of my last couple of days, so it was fine with me to let Hatch go first.

  “As you know, I’ve given my notice at Maui Fire. Next Monday is my last day.”

  I nodded.

  “Well, next Friday I’m going for a final interview at LA City Fire Department.”

  “LA? Like, Los Angeles, California?” I said.

  “Yeah.”

  “Next Friday?”

  “Yeah.”

  “But our wedding’s the weekend after that,” I said.

  “I know. I’ve told them that. If I get the job—and I probably will, since they told me I’m one of only three candidates, and they’re hiring for two spots—they said they’d give me a month to relocate. I won’t have to report for duty until the first of June.”

  “You’re thinking of moving to Los Angeles?” I was so stunned, my voice came out squeaky.

  “Not just me; you too.”

  “Why?” Of course I knew why; I just couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  “Because we’re in this together. Look, Pali, LA City is the third largest department in the country. My chances of making captain are a hundred times better over there. And with the wildland firefighter training I did last year, I’ll be able to write my own ticket. ”

  “But we’d have to live in Los Angeles,” I said.

  “Yeah, but not forever. Once I make captain, we can move anywhere you want. I should be able to transfer my rank if there’s an opening.”