Murder on Mokulua Drive

by Burrows-Johnson, Jeanne;

  “Miss Una is paying us a social call. At least one of us will be home throughout the day, so come whenever it’s convenient,” wrote Joanne in a finely scripted hand.

  “It doesn’t sound like there’s any crisis,” said Keoni. “Why don’t we clean up and take over some of the bagels from San Francisco for Miriam and her ladies?”

  “That’s a neighborly idea,” I replied. “But there’s no need for you to interrupt your schedule, dear. I’ve been dealing with Miss Una’s antics by myself for quite some time.”

  Soon I was heading next door with a bag of bagels in one hand and the cat carrier in the other. As I opened the gate into Miriam’s yard, I looked with appreciation at the garden. The rows of fragrant herbs, vegetables and even strawberries were laid out in two beds in the center. Running along the edges of the house and below the hedges of deep red oleander were numerous varieties of beautiful flowers.

  I had barely arrived on the lānai when Izzy opened the classic Dutch door with flour across her apron. “Well, good morning. I guess you got the message Joanne left on your door.”

  “Oh, yes. I would have been here earlier, but I didn’t think you’d want me tracking in sand from our morning at the beach,” I said, setting the bag on the counter. “It may be coals to New Castle, but I brought you a few of the bagels we have flown in weekly from Noah’s New York Bagels in San Francisco.”

  “Lovely. We always enjoy a new taste treat. Your timing is perfect. Just let me wash my hands and I’ll take you upstairs where Joanne and Miriam are holding our invader at bay.”

  Continuing, she said, “I’m especially glad to have the bagels because I’ve been a little slow to pick up the pace since I got home from Portugal.”

  I followed her into the hallway and up a flight of stairs. “I know how it is when you return from a long trip. Although you’ve had a break from your normal living, you need a rest after your vacation.”

  She nodded. “You’re so right. I finally put my empty suitcases on the balcony outside my bedroom to air yesterday. When I went out to bring them in this morning, I found a tortoiseshell cat napping. I guess I scared her, because she sprang up and dashed inside.”

  “That’s Miss Una—always making the most of any opportunity for adventure. Unfortunately an open door would be all the invitation she’d need to get into mischief. I’m sorry for any trouble she’s caused.”

  “Oh, she hasn’t been a problem; it’s really been rather fun.”

  After climbing the first set of stairs, we looked up to see Miriam and Joanne standing in a doorway at the top of another stairway.

  “Hello, Natalie,” greeted Miriam. “We’ve been getting organized and bagging items that may be of help to the women at Nathan’s shelter. While I was downstairs emptying out a dresser in the old maid’s quarters, I heard a disturbance up here. When I reached the first landing, I saw a ball of brown, cream and white dash from Izzy’s room to Joanne’s doorway. I guess she felt blocked by the mound of clothes we’ve been gathering for Nathan’s clients, because the little dynamo turned around and ran up the stairs into my attic suite. When I got to my bedroom, I found the stepladder I had left in front of the closet swaying slightly. Even though I could not see her, I knew where she was hiding.”

  Continuing the saga, Joanne said, “At the time, I had a headset on and was in the living room transferring some old jazz pieces from records to my MP3 player. When I saw Izzy run from the dining room into the hallway, I figured I’d better see what was going on.”

  “After I spoke to Izzy and got a description of the culprit, I realized it must be Miss Una who had dashed into the house,” said Miriam.

  As we stood crowding the front of the room, I heard a faint mewing.

  “All right, you little intruder, I’m here to take you home,” I called out. Opening her carrier, I set it on the bed and climbed up the ladder.

  “Come on, Sweet Pea.”

  My empty hands must have looked inviting, because she crept out from behind a hat box and walked over serenely for me to pull her into my arms. Although she saw all of the ladies, Miss Una remained calm and allowed me to move down the ladder and put her into the carrier.

  “I’m sorry for all the fuss. We’re still trying to get her settled,” I apologized again.

  “We’re just flattered Miss Una wanted to continue our chat after last night’s party,” said Joanne with a broad smile.

  “Speaking of parties, I’m planning a surprise birthday party for Keoni and I hope all of you’ll all be able to come.”

  “That sounds like fun. None of us plan to travel any time soon. Just let us know what we can bring, said Izzy.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t say no to more of your potato salad, Joanne,” I remarked, remembering how delicious it was.

  CHAPTER 5

  Good fortune is what happens when opportunity

  meets with planning.

  Thomas Alva Edison [1847-1931]

  The period of transition from city to seaside living was a grand time enjoyed by all of us. While Keoni might have to travel farther to see clients and friends, he was excited about completing his many projects at White Sands Cottage. My own days were filled with such delight that I barely missed my friends in Waikīkī. I had so much to do that I did not even notice the absence of research or writing assignments. As to Miss Una, there is no way to describe the joy with which she dashed around the house and yard during the days. Mysteriously, her evenings were spent in guard duty stance on the table on the back lānai.

  After a week of settling into White Sands Cottage, it was time for Keoni to catch up on the demands of his own home—and his business. To launch his marriage to a large security company, he was training on their hardware and digital systems for a couple of days. Therefore, he would be staying at his bungalow above the University of Hawai`i for at least one night a week. Once he was familiar with the products, he would begin analyzing the existing security systems in a downtown office building in which he already had several clients.

  Although I would miss his presence, I had a lot to keep me occupied that second week in August. My first chore was the blending of art from my condo with that of Auntie Carrie. Most of my art consists of framed travel posters and photographs from my years traversing the globe. Carrie’s ranged from architectural line drawings of old buildings in downtown Honolulu to shockingly bright oils of Island scenery.

  Next on my to-do list was the office. There I needed to re-shelve the books of my substantial reference library and cull decades of neglected files. While Keoni’s preference is for computerized recordkeeping, I maintain both hardcopy and electronic versions of everything I have researched and written. For once I was glad that many of the newspaper clippings I have kept are so old that they could be tossed into the recycling bin.

  * * * * *

  On my first night alone in the cottage, I treated myself to one of my favorite bachelorette dinners: veggies with dressing; Havarti and sharp Vermont cheeses with rice crackers and taro chips; sliced deli meats (no nitrates, of course); and a split bottle of Ayala Brut Majeur. With a blend of Pinot Noir and Chardonnay, its fruitiness was a great compliment to my menu. With the use of a special tray, I was able to eat dinner while soaking in my new whirlpool tub. I brought an assortment of Miss Una’s treats into the bathroom, where she joined me in listening to some vintage Emma Veary recordings of Hawaiian songs with her classic vocal styling.

  When we moved on to the bedroom, I pulled out several magazines and my current suspense novel about an old woman endeavoring to find the murderer of her childhood friend. After reading for a while and saying goodnight to Keoni over the phone, I turned on my side and thought about the party I was throwing for his sixtieth birthday. He is a couple of years younger than I am and does not seem to care about marking the chapters of his life. But with everything that has occurred in the last year, I think this is a gre
at excuse to hold a major celebration.

  Thank goodness we were nearing the end of the alterations to the cottage. With all the cupboards and closets now available, I would be able to squirrel away the necessary decorations and supplies for the event. First of all, I needed to plan the guest list. I had not seen my friends Margie and Dan O`Hara for a while and this would be a great chance for them to get to know Keoni. If I told Keoni they were coming for a vacation, it would give me an excuse for scurrying around…and that would be a great cover for party preparations.

  Keoni did not talk about his years in the military, but he had several buddies from his years with HPD. He had mentioned having a half-sister somewhere in Washington State, but they did not seem to have any contact and I did not want to go fishing in waters that might be polluted. I felt confident that with the help of the friends I knew, plus Keoni’s electronic data base and his little brown book, I would be able to figure out the most important invitees from his perspective. Surprisingly, there were few old girlfriends mentioned anywhere.

  Once I had determined the number of guests, I could move on to having the Souzas help me plan the food and drink. For entertainment, I decided to have one of Brianna’s friends play classical guitar at the beginning and a DJ spinning Golden Oldies afterward. As to everything else, I had been so busy with the move that I had not video-conferenced with Brianna for a while. I was sure she would have suggestions beyond music.

  Before falling asleep, I thought about what I could give Keoni as a unique gift. He would not expect a party and I wanted to give him a tangible reminder of the event. He certainly deserved it with all that he’s done for me and my family. He does not wear much jewelry, although he enjoys the watch he was given at retirement. I could not think of any other personal items he would use on a daily basis. That left clothing. Maybe an aloha shirt, new or vintage. But how could I compete with his own Internet cruising for the classics he loves so much?

  With that thought, I fell into a state of dreamless sleep. In the morning, I pulled on a pair of shorts over an old swimsuit in anticipation of another great day in my cottage by the sea. While I waited for a pot of mint tea to brew, I put some tinned fish on a plate for Miss Una. I then chopped a peach into a container of yoghurt and stirred some agave syrup into my tea. After I had eaten and rinsed out my teacup, I addressed my animal companion.

  “So what do you say to a little walk this morning? Just us girls. I’ll put on your harness so I can swoop you up if a canine dares to come close.”

  Absorbed in her breakfast, Miss Una did not even look at me. Lifting her harness off a hook by the back door, I reached over and slipped it onto her when she sat up to wash her whiskers. Fortunately, she does not mind the harness, as long as we are going out of doors. She knew I was serious when I stepped into my sandals and walked toward the door. Once outside, we strolled through the back gate and onto the path leading toward the beach.

  I could tell she was enjoying the scents in the air, but was not thrilled with the texture of the sandy footing. I picked her up to cross Mokulua Drive and we sauntered along the final stretch of walkway to the open beach. There, Miss Una sat down and we both looked around for potential threats.

  “What do you think?” I asked. “Are you ready for a surfside adventure?”

  The answer was a silent negative. Getting up, she promptly turned around and pulled at her lead to start walking toward home.

  “Oh, well. It was a start on walksies,” I said to myself.

  We retraced our steps and once we were through the back gate, I took off the harness. After springing onto the table, she quickly turned to study the cottage of the women I had come to think of collectively as The Ladies. Grabbing a towel from the short laundry line behind the garage, I turned around and returned to the beach for a quick swim.

  After showering, I began gathering some permanent press items for a load of laundry. I grabbed a couple of Keoni’s things and checked every pocket for anything he might have forgotten to remove. I noticed that one of his aloha shirts had a Cooke Street label. I was pretty sure it was a Beth Surdut design and that reminded me that I still needed to find a special birthday gift for him. Why not a custom hand-painted shirt?

  I remembered that day when I had met Beth in her Punalu`u studio. I was driving along the windward side of the island when I saw her evocative sign at a beachside art gallery. It was magical watching her laying down outlines in gold resist on a long piece of luscious white silk. Then a fantasia of tropical flowers, birds and sea life came alive as she filled in their forms with rich French dyes. I vividly remembered the recording of Hawaiian falsetto singing by the Ho’opi’i Brothers and the Siamese cat grabbing at her long Chinese brush, as she applied gold resist on the edge of a purple orchid.

  Inspired by my memory, I moved into the office. I turned on my computer, Googled her name, and within a couple of keystrokes I was at Beth’s website. It was my lucky day, because she quickly responded to the email I sent. We were soon visiting on the phone, while I continued looking at images of her beautifully detailed work in several media.

  Listening to her sultry voice, I again thought of our brief visit in her studio. This was indeed the ideal gift for Keoni. She said she could create something new, but I could not see any reason to interfere with the perfection of work she had already created. After describing Keoni and his sparkling blue eyes, I said I wanted the shirt to be elegant and we agreed that a black background would be optimal. Once I decided on a short-sleeved shirt, Beth gave me a quote. She then asked me to send her one of his best-fitting shirts to use as a pattern and said she would send a few design samples that afternoon.

  I was disconnecting from Beth when I received a call from Nathan. He informed me that he had a potential housekeeper for Miriam. To keep things casual, he suggested we get together at my house initially. Depending on Miriam’s response, the women could adjourn to her cottage. If it was a no-go, it would be less awkward for everyone concerned. I followed up immediately and scheduled a meeting with The Ladies at three o’clock that afternoon. I might not have fresh cookies, but there were a few blueberry scones in the freezer I could heat in the toaster oven in case anyone was hungry.

  The timing was perfect since Keoni would not be returning until the end of the day. By then I hoped he would have the tile for completing the lānai outside of the master bedroom. It would match the work he had finished on the back patio that now extended beyond the covered porch I had enjoyed since childhood.

  With a moderate temperature and slight breeze to keep us cool, I decided we would sit outside. I wiped down the furniture and set out a tray with glasses and napkins plus iced tea and a variety of sodas and declared myself ready for today’s gathering. Although I did not have a stake in its outcome, I was hoping the woman Nathan was bringing would be a good fit for all of The Ladies’ needs and their personalities. I was glad when he and the candidate for the housekeeping position arrived first.

  “Hi, Natalie,” my brother called out, letting himself in with the key I had given him.

  Moving into the hallway, I replied, “Well, ‘Hi’ yourself.”

  “This is Samantha,” he said, introducing a beautiful, tall blond woman in her thirties. She was dressed in a spaghetti-strapped sundress in blue vertical stripes. Although she was staying at a women’s shelter, her engraved gold bracelet and enormous engagement and wedding rings projected wealth. As a client of Hale Malolo, I wondered about the appropriateness of the word ku`uipo on the bracelet. Of course, she could always have the Hawaiian word for sweetheart replaced with her name.

  “How do you do, Samantha? Welcome to White Sands Cottage,” I nodded and shook her hand. Beckoning for them to follow me, we moved through the hallway and kitchen and out the back door.

  “What a lovely home, ma`am. It seems both new and old at the same time,” she remarked.

  “That’s because we’ve been carefully remodel
ing for several months,” I answered. “The work actually started with my Auntie Carrie, who lived here for decades.”

  Shortly after we sat down, the back gate opened and Miriam, Joanne and Izzy entered. Following a round of introductions, everyone settled down with their beverages.

  Always alert, Miriam noticed that we had completed the enhancements to the lānai.

  “Your new kitchen island looks wonderful.”

  “Thank you. Or perhaps I should say that I accept your complement on behalf of Keoni, who did all of the work out here.”

  “You’ve even got a sink,” observed Izzy with a wistful sigh.

  With that remark, we moved on to the topic of the day. Miriam and her companions explained their united front for economical living in the modern age. Then they politely encouraged Samantha to talk about herself.

  “I guess you could say I’m starting over. I’ve been at Hale Malolo for a couple of weeks, and I think I’m ready to move on. I don’t really know what I’m going to do with my life. I never finished college, and since I don’t have kids, maybe I’ll take some classes to help me decide what to do.”

  No one asked about Samantha’s motivation for going to Hale Malolo. Nathan had told me she was married, but that things had reached a difficult spot and she needed to leave the relationship.

  When it was clear that Samantha had volunteered as much about her circumstances as she wished to, Joanne spoke up. “I was in a similar position when I was in my twenties in rural Louisiana. At the time, the military was the best option for me. After one hitch in the Army, I had the GI bill to help put me through school. That’s how I ended up becoming a teacher. In fact, you could say I joined my two careers, because I was a teacher on military installations around the world for more than two decades.”

  “That’s how we met,” volunteered Miriam. “I was touring the Pacific, giving talks on women’s rights. After addressing public school teachers and counselors on Guam, Joanne came forward to discuss her concerns for the women and children with whom she did volunteer work. We stayed in touch through the years and after my husband Henri died, I invited her to join me here when she retired.”