by Aysia Amery
By now you’d think I’d have gotten this down pat, but nope, I still screwed up.
“Let me rephrase because I’m not sure if you’re answering that you don’t know which, or that I’m getting the answer you’re trying to express incorrectly.”
He nodded and pointed, shaking his index finger at me.
“So I’m not interpreting your answer correctly?”
His head nodded a few times. His finger pointed to his chest. He was acting out a pantomime.
“I?”
He nodded. Then he pointed at his temple, followed by drawing out a question mark in the air. He repeated the steps.
“I, something, question mark,” I said as I pondered.
He repeated the gestures again.
“Is the second word ‘mind’?”
He shook his head. As he pointed to his temple, his eyes glanced upward and rolled back and forth. Then his face contorted as though contemplating something or having difficulty with it. Wait, he was now furrowing his brows as if sad or confused.
“Are you confused?”
His head now moved back and forth, and he made rolling gestures with his hands as if conveying that I was getting closer. At least I think that’s what he was getting at.
“Okay, not confused, but close to that word. Forgetful?”
He nodded.
“I, forgetful, question mark?” That didn’t make sense.
There was that hand-rolling gesture again. I was close, but still no cigar.
“I, forget, question?” No sooner did I say that when my mouth spat out, “I forgot the question?” I think this time I got it.
He nodded as though he were a wound up toy.
“Ah, you forgot the question I had asked.” I smiled.
“Okay, let’s try again,” I said, realizing the need to choose my words wisely. “Do you believe you were murdered?”
The two nods were loud and clear.
“Did you see who did it?”
This time it was a shake, not a nod.
“Hmm. So you didn’t see anything but have a feeling someone murdered you?”
Tony’s eyes looked past me before he faded away.
“Hey, wait,” I said, but he was gone.
“Can I help you with something?” a high-pitched voice asked.
I turned around to face a petite woman in her early 60s wearing a wide-brimmed straw gardening hat, a short-sleeved solid pink blouse, and jeans.
Dang. Tony totally engrossed me to the point her approach went unnoticed.
“Oh, hi, I was just talking to myself. I do that sometimes.” I bestowed her a sheepish grin.
Her wrinkled forehead indicated she wasn’t amused.
“I was just admiring your protea. Are you Mrs. Min?”
“Yes, I am. Are you a florist? Were you interested in our protea?” she asked.
“No, I’m a caterer, but I love coming up to Kula. Since I was here, I decided to stop in at your farm.”
If I were Pinocchio, my nose would’ve grown about an inch on that one. It wasn’t a huge lie because most of it was true except the last bit.
“By the way, I’m sorry about the passing of your husband.”
“Thank you,” she said as though I’d just bought some flowers.
Seems her mourning was either over or she hadn’t mourned at all. But then, not everyone handled grief in the same way. With my mom’s death, I cried for days and couldn’t sleep for months, while my brother, Aku, seemed to go on with life as though nothing happened. Then one night about a week after the funeral, I heard him in the bathroom gasping for breath, calling out ‘Mom’ between sobs. Hearing him hit me like a baseball in the gut. Tears poured down my face as I padded back to bed. I never mentioned that night to him.
“Well, feel free to enjoy our grounds. If you have any questions, you can visit the kiosk. If no one’s there, you’ll find a phone number on the wall to call. Someone will then be there shortly.”
Guess she was through talking to me. Maybe my condolences put her off. Then again, there just may not be anything else to say to a caterer who she knows won’t be a potential customer.
“Thank you,” I said with a smile.
After she left me alone, I tried calling out to Tony again, but he was done with me too it seemed.
Time to talk to Pako, my detective friend. Tony’s death might just be a murder after all.
:: Chapter 3 ::
“Hey, Ging,” Pako greeted me.
“Hi, Pako. Guess what I’ve got for you?”
“Uh...don’t tell me you want me to drink another one of your newly found health products. I’m happy being unhealthy, thanks.”
“You are not! Why would you want to be unhealthy?” Before he could answer, I continued, “Anyway, it ain’t that.” We can discuss his bad eating habits later. “You know that guy who died up at that protea farm in Kula?”
“Yeah, what about him?” he asked.
“I just got back from talking with his ghost.”
When I paused a little too long he said, “And...”
I loved teasing Pako. He didn’t always bite the way my two assistants, Reese and Jemma, did though. Being mischievous with those two was like a day at the circus.
“Well, he thinks he was murdered.”
“For real?” he asked.
“Yeah, for real.”
“What did he say, or rather, pantomime?” Pako knew how ghosts communicated with me. He’s seen me trying to guess their actions many times. Sometimes he’d even get a few good chuckles out of it. He called it ‘entertainment.’
“He didn’t give specifics. His wife snuck up on me before I could ask him anymore questions. Then he never reappeared again, so I left after waiting fifteen minutes. I didn’t want to draw too much attention to myself, especially after his wife caught me in the midst of talking to his ghost.”
“That must’ve been weird. What did she say?” Amusement grazed his tone.
“She just looked at me funny. I made the excuse that I had the habit of talking to myself.” Which a lot of people do, right? Not everyone who talks to themselves were candidates for the looney bin.
“Did she buy it?”
“I guess. She didn’t seem to feel the need to call the police or anything. I looked harmless enough.”
“Well, she doesn’t know you like I do,” he said with a snicker. I imagined a gleaming smile on the other end of my cell phone.
“I knew you were going to make a wise-butt crack,” I told him.
He burst out in laughter.
“Ginger, it’s either ‘wise-crack’ or being a ‘wise-butt’ but ‘wise butt-crack’ just sounds wrong.” He couldn’t stop laughing.
Yeah, I always get those sayings screwed up. Blaine teases me about that too. Sheesh!
“Oh, shut up. You knew what I meant.” I rolled my eyes at him even though he couldn’t see me.
“Who needs The Simpsons when we’ve got you?” He sure knew how to rub it in, but I did the same to him, so all’s fair in friendship and war.
“Ha-ha, very funny, Mr. Smarty-Pants Detective.” I had to smile and admit I deserved some ridicule with that little blunder. I was used to it by now. “All right, you’ve had your fun with my asinine faux pas, so let’s get back to this possible murder, shall we?”
“Too bad you didn’t get more info out of the guy’s ghost,” Pako said.
“Can’t you start an investigation from knowing his ghost thinks somebody did him in?” There had to be a reason Tony thought there was foul play involved. That wouldn’t be a conclusion most people would jump to after suffering a heart attack or whatever.
“I’m the only one in my department who knows you see ghosts. I can’t very well open a murder case predicated on that, now can I? Let me get an autopsy report on the guy, and then we’ll go from there.”
At times I forgot that there were procedures Pako had to adhere to. Getting some facts on the cause of Tony Min’s death was certainly the first
step. But if it came back that he died of a heart attack, they’d file it away as death by natural causes. Even then, there’s been times that didn’t deter us from getting to the bottom of things, but it helped to have the case deemed a criminal investigation.
“Okay, sounds like a plan. Let me know what you get,” I told him.
“Don’t I always?”
“Yeah, but I guess I inherited the reminder trait from my mom, so what can I say?”
“Yeah, didn’t you tell me she used to put Post-it notes all over your house?”
He had a good memory. Since my mom died before I met Pako, which was in high school, he only knew of her through my family stories.
“Yup. Just be glad that I don’t stick those on your forehead and all over your car when we go on investigation trips.”
“Sometimes I wish I could tell the guys in my department that you help me solve most of our cases because you can see ghosts. I don’t feel right taking full credit for it. Also, some of ‘em are suspicious that we’ve got something going more than friendship.”
“I thought you told them we were almost like best friends,” I said. “Don’t they know you and I go back to our high school days?”
“Almost?” He sounded hurt.
“You know that Blaine is my best friend, and you’re my second best friend.” And he was. But don’t tell Jemma that because she thinks she’s my second best friend. Okay, I know second best friend just doesn’t make sense, but you know what I mean.
Gads, this was sounding so juvenile.
Pako finally let out a laugh. “Don’t get your panties in a crumple. I’m just pulling your chain. I’ve got no penchant with taking Blaine’s place in your hierarchy of things. I’ve been there once, so I don’t need to be there again. Our spouses should be our best friends now anyway. Kim’s mine, so I get that Blaine’s yours. You think I’m still in high school or what?” He laughed again.
“Sometimes I do wonder,” I replied, snickering back at him.
“Well, I ain’t, and I wouldn’t wanna be in Blaine’s shoes anyway. I couldn’t live with you nagging me all the time.”
“I don’t nag!” Do I? Man, I sure hope I didn’t. Now I’m gonna have to ask Blaine if he felt nagged. I could box Pako’s ears. Grr.
“Somehow, our banter always gets sidetracked. Let’s get back on subject, please,” I said.
“I thought we were done. I’m gonna get back to you with the autopsy report. You were the one who got sidetracked with the reminder thing. Then I brought up the Post-it notes, and then we went on this whole best friend crap.”
Too funny. Yup, he was right about that.
“Okay, if we’re done then, I’ll let you go.”
“Good. I gotta go eat lunch.”
“I swear, Pako, that’s what you live for, don’t you?”
“You know it.”
I laughed and shook my head.
“Talk to you later, bud.”
“Yup. Call you soon, Ging.”
Click.
:: Chapter 4 ::
“I got the preliminary autopsy report. Full report won’t be ready for 4 weeks,” Pako said between chews.
“Are you eating?” I asked.
“Yeah. Somebody brought cookies that their wife made, so I grabbed me some.” Crunch. Chomp.
“Didn’t you learn any manners? It’s so rude to eat while you’re talking on the phone,” I chided.
“Eh. I’ll be done in a minute.” Crunch. Chomp. Chomp.
“Why didn’t you just wait until you finished snacking before calling me?” Actually, I wasn’t all that perturbed, but I enjoyed razzing Pako.
“After this I’m gonna have lunch, so I figured you’d want to hear about the report now rather than later.” Slurp. I presumed he just washed down his mouthful of crumbs mushed with saliva with a cup of coffee.
“Okay, you ready to talk to me now that you’ve cleaned your palate?”
Paper rustled on the other end. “Min suffered respiratory failure due to muscle paralysis.”
“Don’t do it,” I said.
“Do what?”
“Shove another cookie in your mouth.”
“You able to see through phones now?”
I laughed. “Yeah, so watch yourself.” Of course I couldn’t, but I’d let him think so. With my seeing dead people and past lives, it wouldn’t be hard to believe if I indeed added another psychic ability to the list.
“Hmm. Remind me not to call you when I’m sittin’ on the can.”
A laugh burst out of me like a cannonball. I practically snorted.
“And remind me to hang up if you forget and do,” I said, gaining my composure.
“Okay, so this guy didn’t die of a heart attack. If he had, that would make it a simple case of death by natural causes,” Pako said. “The pathologist noted no blow to the chest or injury to the spinal cord or brain.”
He wasn’t attacked then.
Pako’s mulling over something.
“The toxicology report’s not included yet. Could take a few weeks.” That would determine overdose or alcohol abuse, poison, or toxic chemicals.
Shuckies. That one would’ve been helpful.
“So death by natural causes doesn’t seem to be the case, right?” I didn’t wait for him to answer. “Tony Min might be correct with his suspicions then.”
“Yeah, looks like it, unless he ate something that accidentally caused the respiratory failure. An allergy perhaps. Or botulism.”
“That could be, but Tony thinks somebody offed him. He doesn’t feel he died by accident. At least that’s what he conveyed.”
I bit my lower lip. “We can’t wait for the toxicology report, Pako. We gotta look into this.”
“Well, we can start by interviewing his family and those who were on the farm that day.”
I loved that he included me during the interviews as though I were his partner. In some ways, I was. Just not officially. I had no badge.
“I take it you wanna come along as usual?”
“You already know the answer to that, so why are you even asking?” He knew I looked forward to playing detective.
“Just gotta make sure. I got in trouble lately with Kim cuz I assumed...”
Why’d he pause?
“Assumed what?” C’mon, fess up, Pako.
“Never mind. Just suffice it to say, she was pissed.”
Hmm. Either he was embarrassed to say what it was, or he knew I was going to be all over him and side with his wife.
“Remind me to keep that secret about...” Yup, getting back at him.
“About what?” And, of course, he bit.
“Never mind.” He-he.
“Oh, you one eeeeeevil woman.”
Score one for the Ging.
“So when are you going to schedule the interviews?” I asked.
“I figured Thursday to start. You can go?”
“Thursday’s good for me. I’ve got no gigs for the rest of this month.”
“Scored some big ones, huh?” He knew some of my gigs and specialty cakes made obscene amounts of money.
“You know it.” That was Pako’s favorite line, so I liked mimicking it back to him.
“Okay, I’ll call you to let you know what time we’ll head out. You wanna meet me someplace, or should I pick you up?”
Sometimes I liked to meet him in case I needed to run errands first. Thursday wasn’t one of those times.
“Are you gonna be out in Kihei or at your station?”
“Don’t know yet. Depends on what time we head out.”
“Well, let me know, then I’ll decide. Don’t wanna have you go out of your way.”
“No matter to me. We can talk about that secret you’re gonna tell me.” Crunch. Chomp.
“You just stuck another cookie in your mouth, didn’t you?”
“I’m hungry. You talking so much, I’m gonna be late for lunch,” he mumbled, probably trying to keep the bits from spraying out of his mouth.
>
“You’re talking just as much as I am. And you don’t have a specific time you go to lunch. I’ve known you long enough to know that.”
“Yeah. Yeah.” Slurp.
“All right, Mr. Gotta-Feed-Your-Face, we’re done here anyway. Aren’t you glad I talked to Tony Min’s ghost? Somebody might’ve gotten away with murder, otherwise.” My gift came in handy sometimes—well, a lot of times, actually.
“Well, don’t count your malasadas (Portuguese donuts) just yet. It could’ve been an allergy to something he ate. Like shellfish.”
“We’ll see,” I said smugly. The ghosts are usually right.
“Okay, I gotta go. A ‘Double Quarter Pounder with Cheese’ has got my name on it. Laters, Ging.”
“Talk soon. Bye.”
Click.
I swear, if Pako ever had to go on a diet, he’d suffer withdrawals. His opu (tummy) was beginning to show his enthusiasm for food. I should talk, because mine was too, ha-ha, but at least I tried to make healthier choices. With Pako, he ate anything and everything in his way, and he could care less about what it was made of. He’d eat a wax replica if you set it in front of him. Well, okay, I’m exaggerating of course, but you get my point.
Sugar’s his biggest problem. I told him if he could just limit his sugar intake and cut out the white rice he ate everyday he’d be fine. I felt for him though, I truly did, because I loved my desserts too. But I kept mine to a limit each day. But not him. And why do I keep after him? I worry about my friend, because his family has a high rate of diabetes and cancer. I don’t want to see him become a statistic too.
I guess I’m so passionate about all this because my own family clan has a high rate of cancer, diabetes and stroke as well. That’s why with my catering, I try to use healthy ingredients for my creations as much as possible.
Fat wasn’t the issue, as everyone knows now; we need certain fats in our diet for our brain cells and heart. But choosing carbohydrates that were low-glycemic, and definitely no hydrogenated crap, were the important areas. Creating healthy, exotic menus were fun and challenging. I enjoyed that part of it.
Anyway...
It might be a while before I hear back from Pako, so now’s a good time to call Vandie Nomura. She’s my go-to person for intel and computer stuff. When it came to scouring the Internet and public records, that lady found jewels in the rough I would’ve missed. I thought I was good at searching out data, but Vandie’s got the Gold Medal on that one. But her real specialty was hacking into things. Just visualize those geeks you see on TV. That’s her.