The restaurant had started to empty out some, and I hoped no one had heard him. "Black coffee, sir. It's what you ordered."
He grimaced and shook his head. "No, honey. I wanted real coffee, not this crap. Now bring me the only kind that should be allowed in the world."
"What kind is that?" I asked, confused.
He stared at me like I had pineapples growing out of my ears. "Wow, please don't tell me that you grew up here."
What did that have to do with anything? "I'm from Vermont. I just moved here a few months ago."
Randolph snickered in obvious contempt. "That figures. So you're an authentic woodchuck. Did you feast on tree bark as well? No wonder you think that this mud will pass for kope. Did you know that's Hawaiian for coffee? Of course you didn't. Go tell your so-called boss that this patron wants real kope, made with fresh ground Kona beans. That's a good little girl."
Okay, I tried to be easygoing and pleasant with the customers since it was part of my job, and usually managed to be successful, even when some were downright rude. But this guy made my blood boil. I detested obnoxious people who thought that they were better than everyone else. Randolph was in a class all by himself, no compliment intended.
I managed a half smile for him and then turned away before my face betrayed me. I returned to the kitchen, where Poncho had the Loco Moco and hash browns ready.
"He wants his coffee prepared with fresh ground Kona beans," I said. "I know we've done that before but—"
He muttered a swear word under his breath. "Viv, can you prepare a cup in the espresso machine for the king, please?"
Vivian's eyes were as round as saucers. "His nickname is the Kona man." She spoke the words in a halting manner, as if talking about a sacred idol.
"How do you know so much about this guy?" Poncho demanded.
Vivian placed the beans in the espresso machine. "He's married to Belinda Davenport, the former fashion model. One of them is always being mentioned in Star. There are rumors that she's having an affair and he plans to divorce her."
Poncho looked out the portholes again. "I hope she found herself a live one this time. That man looks like a walking corpse."
I carefully made my way back out to the café with his order, my nerves tingling and starting to get the best of me. Keanu and his parents were still upstairs, and I had the customer from hell to wait on. Still, I was confident that Poncho's cuisine would win him over.
"Here we are." My voice was cheery as I placed the plates down in front of Randolph. "Your coffee will be out in just a minute. Can I get you anything else?"
Randolph picked up his knife and fork. "Ketchup, and more napkins."
"Right away." There should have been a bottle already on the table. Since it was my station, I wasn't sure who would have removed it, but there were some newly filled ones in the kitchen to use.
Another customer was waving at me, and I ran over to give them menus and table settings. More people had arrived on the patio, and I hurried back into the kitchen. "Where's Coral?"
Vivian shrugged her shoulders. "Beats me. She's never where you need her to be. That chick is more trouble than she's worth." She whispered in my ear. "Plus, she's got her eye on your man. That's pretty obvious."
No kidding. My teeth gnashed together, but I merely nodded, not wanting to think about Coral and her tight T-shirts anymore. I reached out and grabbed a ketchup dispenser that was sitting near the stove.
"Who are you taking that to?" Poncho wanted to know.
"Mr. Cremshaw asked for ketchup."
"I'll bring it out with his coffee," Vivian volunteered. "I want to see him for myself. The man is a legend."
With great effort, I managed not to roll my eyes at her. "Be my guest."
Poncho and I watched through the portholes as Vivian dropped off the ketchup and coffee and made small talk with the food critic for a minute. Randolph's gaze traveled appreciatively down Vivian's lithe figure, and then his beady eyes followed her as she went out on the patio to take an order. Ick.
"Well, at least he seems to like Viv." I wondered how I'd managed to offend the man. We stared in fascination as Randolph dumped ketchup liberally all over his order of Loco Moco and hash browns.
Poncho uttered a moan low in his throat and covered his eyes with one hand. "I cannot stand this. I just cooked food for a man who has the eating habits of Homer Simpson. How is this joker one of the most feared and popular food critics in the world? How can he even attempt to taste the labors of my efforts now?"
Before I could reply, Randolph suddenly dropped the utensils and reached for his glass of water, downing it all in one gulp. Alarmed, I grabbed a nearby water pitcher and rushed over, Poncho at my heels. Randolph's face had gone from its sickly pallor to a bright cherry red.
"More water," he croaked and didn't wait for me to pour him some. He grabbed the pitcher from my hands and started guzzling directly from it.
Poncho's expression was horrified. "Sir, what is wrong with your food?"
Randolph banged the pitcher on the table so hard that we both jumped. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stood, towering over my five-foot-four-inch height and glared at the both of us. "You think it's funny to treat a patron like this? Well, you're about to find out how funny it is."
"I do not understand," Poncho said. "What is wrong with the food?"
"Why don't you taste it and see for yourself. And don't forget to add lots of ketchup," Randolph taunted as he shoved his way past both of us and charged out the door that led to the lobby, slamming it hard behind him.
"What was that all about?"
With panic, I recognized Terry's stern voice and turned around. Keanu and his parents were behind the front counter watching us. Perfect timing.
My mouth went dry. "The man said that there was something wrong with his food."
Poncho took a small bite from the Loco Moco and muttered a four-letter expletive under his breath. "This is not ketchup that he put on his food. It is Tabasco sauce."
"Who is he?" Keanu asked. "A guest at the resort? Maybe we can track him down and apologize for the mix-up."
"He just happens to be one of the most acclaimed food critics in the world." Poncho pinched his nose between his thumb and forefinger.
Terry's eyes almost popped out of his head. "Please don't tell me that was Randolph Cremshaw. I heard a rumor this morning that he was staying at the resort."
Poncho nodded, his black eyes large and ominous. "The one and only. We are toast, my friends."
CHAPTER THREE
On Saturday, I walked the familiar path to the Loco Moco from my apartment, with a feeling of euphoria that life could not possibly get any better. If I'd had a decent singing voice I might have been tempted to burst into a chorus of Julie Andrews "The Sound of Music." As it was, Poncho and Vivian had been begging me not to sing karaoke at the café on Saturday nights anymore.
Sunlight streaked across the blue hues of the sky above as I observed the nearby ocean, fascinated by the subtle waves that always seemed to beckon me. They were calm today, but I knew how looks could be deceiving. Keanu was teaching me to swim—not an easy task for him since I was an unwilling student. I had almost drowned twice during my lifetime and had a deep-rooted fear of water that he was trying to help me overcome. If not for him, I would not have survived the last episode a few months ago when I'd come face to face with Hale's killer on a nearby pier and fallen into the water.
The beach was crowded with people, most of whom were most likely guests of the Aloha Lagoon Resort. The warm breeze felt wonderful against my skin, and I would have loved the opportunity to curl up in a chaise lounge and experience the hot sun on my face. Unfortunately, there was no time to indulge in such luxuries now as I hurried off to work.
The restaurant crowd was almost nonexistent, and Vivian was putting together some table settings behind the front counter. She looked up as I entered from the patio entrance and winked. "How'd it go last night?"
&n
bsp; I assumed she was talking about my role in Little Women. "Fabulous. Opening night couldn't have been better. I didn't mess up once, and we had a full house to boot."
"That's terrific," she said. "I'm coming next weekend, remember. So, did you and your man celebrate?"
"We went to Starlight by the Lagoon for a late dinner and didn't get back to my place until after one." I'd had a difficult time falling asleep afterward, probably a result of the adrenaline pouring through my veins. Even though I was still elated about the performance, exhaustion had begun to seep into my bones, and I was quickly losing steam. If the place remained dead maybe I could take off an hour or two early and get in a nap before tonight's performance.
Keanu hadn't come inside the apartment with me like he usually did after our dates. His father had asked him to sit in on a board of directors meeting at the resort this morning. A couple of times a year, Keanu's parents flew higher-ranked employees into town to discuss the financial status of the supermarket chain. The "big suits" was what Keanu called them. He'd also mentioned the other day that his parents were thinking about opening a supermarket in Kauai during the next year or so.
Ava and Terry were grooming their son to take over the business someday, and Keanu didn't seem to be jumping for joy over it. I knew he was happy managing the restaurant, but he'd developed a wait and see attitude. I tried to be supportive and not interfere, yet it seemed to me that they were placing a lot of responsibility on their son's shoulders without asking what he wanted.
"And?" Vivian whispered. "Did you—um, do anything else?"
Good grief. If there was one thing I had learned about Vivian in the past few months, she was not the most subtle of creatures. Next to Keanu, she was my closet friend on the island. I was fond of her, but didn't kiss and tell. She'd been asking me the same question for weeks. Having grown up with a neglectful mother and a sister who didn't want me in their lives, I'd never felt the need to confide in anyone before. It was difficult for me to trust people, but I was slowly getting there.
"I told you before—we're not rushing anything," I said.
She gave a small toss of her short blonde hair. "You guys have been dating for what, close to three months? What's really going on here? Is it because of what happened with Brad? I know he messed with your head, but I honestly don't think Keanu would do that to you."
While living in Vermont, I had jumped into a physical relationship with Brad right after we'd started dating. I had told Keanu that I wanted to take my time, and he'd never tried to force me into anything.
"We'll know when it's the right time."
I didn't want to admit it to Vivian, but the issue was with me and me alone. There had been several times—especially in the last few weeks—when Keanu and I had come close to being intimate, but I always managed to hold back for some reason. We hadn't said those three little words to each other yet, but I felt them every time I looked into his eyes. For some odd reason, they refused to tumble out of my mouth though.
Vivian shrugged. "Well, be careful. Lots of girls are hot for him, in case you hadn't noticed, especially one in particular that we have the misfortune to work with. Coral is definitely an I put out on the first date kind of girl."
"Cripes, Viv. That's a nasty thing to say about anyone."
She wrinkled her nose. "Come on. Coral makes it so obvious. I mean, she practically drools every time he walks by her." Her face softened. "You're so lucky to have a guy like Keanu. Some days I wonder if all the good men are already taken."
"I used to wonder that myself. You're going to find a great guy too—I'm sure of it." My heart flip-flopped at the very thought of Keanu. "So is it just you and me this morning?"
She nodded. "Coral and Sybil are closing tonight. Coral is really starting to drive me nuts. All of her screw-ups just make more work for the rest of us."
I glanced around at the nearly empty restaurant. "Where is everyone?" There were only two tables of people out on the patio and one customer sitting inside. The beach was jam packed, so why was no one coming to eat here?
"It's so quiet it's almost creepy," Vivian admitted.
At that moment, Poncho flung open the door from the kitchen, slamming it into the wall and startling us both. "I'll tell you what's wrong." His eyes were black as coal and smoking with anger.
Vivian and I jumped back in alarm, fearful of his sudden rage. "What's the matter?" I asked nervously, not sure that I wanted to know.
Poncho gestured for us to follow him into the kitchen. There was a laptop sitting on the stainless-steel countertop that belonged to him. He kept it handy in case he needed to look up a certain recipe. I examined his face. Being half-Mexican and Polynesian, his skin tone was naturally dark, but at this moment it resembled more of a fire engine red.
He gritted his teeth and pointed at the computer. "Look what that jerk Cremshaw put on his blog this morning about the Loco Moco."
"Oh no," Vivian whispered.
"What made you look at his site? Did someone tell you it was there?" I asked.
Poncho nodded. "A friend of Terry's follows the rodent on Twitter. Apparently, he is posting his comments all over social media. This could have an even worse effect than if he had reviewed it for that hot-shot magazine he contributes to."
Vivian and I started to read the article silently to ourselves. It was entitled, "You'd Have to Be Loco to Eat Here," by Randolph Cremshaw.
Okay, this was not going to end well.
As my faithful readers know, Hawaii was my home for several years. I enjoy the tropical climate and always stay at the elegant Aloha Lagoon Resort whenever I return to the beautiful island of Kauai. I don't typically review cafés, but a recent visit to the Loco Moco, which wears the name "loco" well, has forced my hand.
The history of this restaurant itself is an interesting one, to say the least. The place was originally owned by George Kama, who then sold it to Maya and Sampson Akamu. The couple was killed shortly afterward in a car accident, and their son Hale ran the place solo for about twenty years. Hale himself was murdered a couple of months ago, inside the actual restaurant. Now if that wasn't enough to make you never want to look at a plate of their pork hash again, this is what I have to say about my recent dining experience at the hole-in-the wall establishment:
Pass. That's all.
Service—Three stars. The server was attractive and pleasant but totally inept. I have my doubts that she could manage to walk and chew gum at the same time.
Beverages—One star. When I am served coffee in the beautiful state of Hawaii, it should not be in the form of mud, but a beverage that consists of freshly ground Kona beans. Eventually I did receive the latter after complaint, but the experience was already ruined for me. A bitter disappointment—yes, pun intended.
Cleanliness—Two stars. The best I can say is that the table wasn't sticky, and the server was nice enough not to place her gum underneath it.
Quality of food—Zero stars. That moment when you ask for ketchup but receive Tabasco sauce instead…well, what else is there left to say, except that I left the place in burning anger. Yes, another pun for you.
Average these ratings together and you come up with 1 ½ stars, or in my opinion a complete failure, so don't waste your time and hard-earned money here. Look elsewhere.
Skip the Loco Moco Café. You'll thank me for it later.
Vivian covered her mouth with one hand as she finished reading, and I sucked in some air. This would no doubt be very damaging to the café. I silently fumed about the line that stated the server couldn't walk and chew gum at the same time. Excuse me? I never chewed gum while I was working. What a jerk.
"How are Terry and Ava taking this?" I wondered if Keanu knew as well.
Poncho pressed his lips together tightly. "Not well. You just missed the latest episode of Terry's screaming. I think Ava has managed to calm him down for the moment. The one thing they seem very curious about is how Tabasco sauce ended up in the ketchup holder." He glanced piteously
at both of us.
"I didn't do it," Vivian said quickly.
I shook my head back. "I filled some the other day, but I'm positive it was ketchup." I distinctly remembered pouring the contents from the large container into the holders.
Poncho muttered something indistinguishable under his breath. "Anna filled a few the other day as well. Terry just called his royal highness—Cremshaw. Would you believe the man had the gall to tell Terry that he might remove the post from his blog if we would deliver breakfast and dinner to his room today? I am in the process of placing the breakfast items on a rolling cart. Carrie, he asked that it be delivered by the girl with the soulful dark eyes who waited on him the other day."
A giant knot formed in the pit of my stomach. Great. Ava and Terry were probably upstairs right now throwing me under the bus for the ketchup incident. How I wished Keanu was here. I'd asked him what had happened after they'd found us kissing—nothing, he'd assured me, and left it at that.
"Lovely." What was up with this guy anyhow? He didn't like me but commented that I had soulful eyes? Was he a pervert in disguise? I didn't want to go to his room alone. "Do I really have to wait on that creep again? I thought that food critics weren't allowed to say such nasty things. Can't he be sued for slander because of the remarks he made about the Akamus?" Mercifully, he hadn't identified me by name.
Poncho did a palms-up. "Ava and Terry are only concerned with giving the man whatever he wants right now. He is a freelance food critic and contributes to the most popular cooking magazine in the world. In short, he gets away with murder, and there's nothing we can do about it."
Vivian snickered as she helped us load the food onto the cart. "I bet he's got more than a few people that would like to murder him."
Poncho snorted. "It is tempting, ho'aloha. Believe me."
I stared at the contents on the cart. "What did he order? It looks like one of everything."
Aloha Lagoon Mysteries Boxed Set Volume III (Books 7-9) Page 42