“Mahalo for the advice Dad, but here’s the deal: I love Lili. And we’re getting married. Sorry I can’t help you out today, but she needs me.”
David wiped his hands on a stained purple shop rag and tossed it onto a fender. Then he skidded down the driveway to catch up with Lili.
Pono shook his head. “Dumb-ass kid. He got no idea what he gettin’ hisself into.”
CHAPTER 16
I drove Lili and David down to Loke’s coffee farm. It wasn’t far from Pono’s, just a few miles south and on the other side of the highway. That part of the island was extremely hilly with lush vegetation covering the steep slopes.
An older man in a brown “Naturally Kona” T-shirt stood by the open-air tasting room as we approached. “You here for the tour?” he said.
I started to decline when Lili jumped in and said, “Oh, can we? I’ve never seen a coffee farm before.”
David smiled and draped an arm over her shoulder, “Face it, babe. You’ve never seen anything before.”
It sounded like a put-down to me, but Lili seemed to find it endearing. “Silly. That’s why we’re saving up for our honeymoon.”
I waited for her to go on, but David picked up the thread. “Yeah, we’ve got almost five hundred put away for Vegas. Lili really wants to see ‘Sin City’.”
I could think of about a hundred places I’d recommend over Las Vegas, but one thing I’ve learned is to avoid weighing in on other peoples’ idea of a good time. Early in my wedding planning career I’d vehemently quashed a couple’s desire to get married jumping out of an airplane. So, they fired me and went to another planner. The wedding made the front page of the lifestyles section of the Maui News. Not only did I miss out on some great publicity, but the stunt spawned a whole sub-category of “weird places to get married” weddings. Who knew that taking vows underwater while wearing dive tanks or after a sweaty hike down Sliding Sands Trail in Haleakala Crater would become the next big thing?
I found Loke in the gift shop.
“Aloha,” I said in a low voice. She had her back turned to me and I didn’t want to startle her.
She stayed where she was and I wondered if maybe she had a hearing problem. I was about to step forward and touch her arm when she wheeled around. Her face was scrunched up like a little kid trying hard not to cry after skinning her knee.
“Are you okay?” I said.
“I’m kind of having a hard time with this.”
She’d been looking out a small window facing the coffee orchard. The window was smudged, the sill dusty, but it was still possible to see the visitors milling around waiting for the tour to begin.
“That’s her, isn’t it?” she said.
“Yes, that’s Lili. And her fiancé, David.”
“She’s so beautiful.”
“She is.”
“You know, you never get over it,” she said.
“I can only imagine how hard this must be. Would you like me to come back another time? Maybe alone?”
“No, I appreciate you asking, but as hard as this is, it’s probably good for me to see life goes on. I’ve been wallowing for nearly eighteen years now.”
I waited. I felt guilty for dredging her sorrow to the surface.
She cleared her throat. “So, how about a cup of coffee?”
“Your coffee is fabulous. I’d love some.”
She poured me a cup. Then she picked up a file folder from the coffee table and flipped it open so we could both see it. The top sheet was the original copy of her dead daughter’s birth certificate.
“I made you a copy,” she said, pulling out the second sheet in the file. Sure enough, it was an exact match of the certificate Lili had brought to my shop.
“And here’s a copy of her death certificate,” she said. The death certificate looked a lot like the birth certificate. Same size, same type-face, even the same signatures at the bottom. It struck me that these two pieces of insignificant white paper represented exceptionally significant events in Loke’s life. One of utter joy; one of deepest sorrow. It seemed they should be wildly different; maybe one on pink paper with a sprig of flowers at the top and the other on gray paper with a thick black border. But no, they were so much alike that just flipping through the file it was easy to mistake one for the other.
I scrutinized the two documents. “So, Charlene Cooper signed both the birth and death certificates?”
“Yes. She knew when Lili was born that she had breathing issues. And so she came by and checked on her every day. On the day Lili passed, Charlene was here. She knew she’d died, but she called an ambulance anyway. At the hospital Charlene had a doctor certify the death certificate, but she’d already signed it. See, that’s her signature there.”
“So, Charlene went to the hospital in the ambulance?”
“Not in the ambulance; she followed in her car. Back then she was a not only a practicing midwife but also an RN at the hospital. About a year after Lili passed, Charlene and the hospital had some kind of falling out because she got fired. In fact, I heard she was banned from even stepping foot on hospital grounds. I think she still delivers babies but it’s kind of on the down-low now.”
“Do you know what the falling out was about?”
“I’m not sure, but it might’ve had something to do with Charlene’s rather unorthodox views. As you’ve no doubt noticed, Kona’s pretty tolerant of alternative lifestyles, but Charlene sort of pushes the limits. Since she lost her job she’s gone totally woo-woo. In fact, along with her midwifery I’ve heard she’s got a rather thriving beyond-the-grave healing practice.”
“What?”
“Yeah, she claims she can heal people who’ve died of cancer or were mangled in a car wreck or what have you. She says it allows the dead person to have a happier experience in the afterlife.”
“Yikes.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
The gift shop door opened and a chunky woman wearing a red “Go Huskers” T-shirt stepped in. She looked at us sitting at the table and then took a step back.
“Excuse me,” she said. “I don’t mean to interrupt.”
“No, we’re finished,” I said. “Please come on in,” As soon as it was out of my mouth I realized I was overstepping my bounds. I’d had my own shop for so long I was used to being the proprietor. I turned and gave Loke a quick hug and thanked her for the documents.
Outside, the kids were sipping coffee from white paper cups.
“It was so cool,” Lili said. “Did you know coffee trees produce beans eight times a year? That means they’re constantly picking them. And this area of the island has a special microclimate that’s perfect for coffee. Every day it clouds over at noon and rains at four o’clock. Every single day.”
I glanced up at the sky and, sure enough, the clouds had rolled in and the humidity was building.
“Did you find what you needed for Lili’s birth certificate?” David said.
“Yes. How about you guys? Are you ready to go?”
“I want to buy some coffee beans to take home to my folks,” Lili said.
David and I waited by the car while Lili made her purchase. The awkward silence was broken when David got an incoming call.
“Yeah,” he said as he answered it. “Now?” He put the phone against his chest to muffle his voice. “Pali, would you mind taking us to over to my mom’s? Shayna’s called some kind of family meeting.”
“No problem.”
We drove over to Malia’s. It seemed weird driving up there and knowing just a couple of days ago a sick, but very much alive, person had lived in the beige house with the peeling paint. On Sunday it was just another house on the street, but now it was Tuesday. And now, forever more, the little house would be the scene of a suicide.
Lili and David piled out of the car, slipping their arms around each other’s waists. They were nearly the same height—David an inch or two taller. Lili rested her head on David’s shoulder as they went inside.
I sat in t
he car for a few minutes, but even with the windows down it soon became stifling. I got out and stretched. The guy next door, who looked like a ham-fisted bounty hunter or maybe a bouncer at a nightclub, began looking me over. He was ostensibly washing a pick-up truck, but he’d stopped and was letting the hose squirt straight up as he stared. I smoothed my shirt down and shot him my, “I’m here on official business” look. Over the years I’ve perfected the look to not only keep gawkers at bay but also to bluff my way into places where I don’t belong. The con involves perfect posture, a steely glare, and a no-nonsense set of the jaw. I’ve actually practiced it in front of a mirror so I’m pretty good at slipping into it on a moment’s notice.
He nodded as if admitting he’d gotten caught staring, and went back to hosing the truck. Meanwhile, a lady from across the street came out on her front lanai and waved. I looked around to see who she might be waving at but there was only myself and the truck washer in sight.
“Yoo-hoo,” she sang. “Can you come over?”
I was just waiting around anyway.
“Alo-ha,” she said. “Sorry I couldn’t meet you halfway. But I got some bum knees and it hurts to walk.” She had a strange twang to her speech, like she was from the Deep South or maybe Oklahoma or Texas. She’d pulled her thin, yellowish-white hair into a sparse braid that reached to the middle of her back. She wore a red print mu’u mu’u dress with a blue and white bib-style cooking apron tied over it. The combo resulted in a strange fashion statement. Sort of Hilo Hattie meets Honey Boo-Boo.
“I saw you over at Malia’s yesterday,” she said. “Are you friends or kin?”
Ah, the neighborhood snoop. Every close-knit community has one—or two. The cops have even given such people their own, more socially-acceptable designation as members of “neighborhood watch.” But whatever they’re called, they’re essentially the people who make it their business to know everyone and everything.
“I’m Edie Sanders,” she said. “I’ve lived across from Malia Byers for near on twenty-five years now.”
“Malia Byers? I thought her last name was Onakea.”
“No, that’s the name she used when her man Pono was livin’ there. After he left she went back to her maiden name, Byers.”
I nodded. I didn’t want to get into the “were they or weren’t they” married conversation with the neighborhood gossip. And besides, since Malia was dead, it didn’t matter. Not that it’d mattered much before.
“I called you over because I wondered if you’d heard anything,” she said.
“Heard anything?”
“Yeah. Yesterday everyone was goin’ on about how sad it was she killed herself. But I knew, sooner or later, people would figure it out.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying Malia didn’t do it. There were times she talked about it. Lord knows she tol’ me over and over how she was so sick of being sick and how her kids treated her bad and all. But kill herself? Uh-uh. No way.”
“Why are you so sure?”
“Bunch of reasons. Yeah, she was mad about them laying her off at work. She loved that park job and she’d been there a long time. But they were good to her. She told me she got a good pension and was gonna be fine for money from then on out. They even gave her good benefits. Last thing she worked on was fixing up the kiddie playground at Higashihara Park—you know, the one just south of the Kam Three? She’d even been invited to the park blessing this Saturday. She said they were prob’bly gonna fuss over her. Maybe even put her name on a plaque or somethin’.”
I digested all that. “Hmm. But what if she learned they weren’t going to fuss over her? Maybe they even uninvited her or something? You know, something like that could push her over the edge.”
“Why would they do that? Nah, they liked her at her work. They only laid her off ‘cuz a all the budget cuts we been having.”
“So, you don’t think she was depressed?”
“Sure she was. I’m jus’ saying I’ve seen her worse. And there’s no way she’d a done this now. Her boy was getting married this month. Over on Maui. She said she was gonna buy a plane ticket and go to the wedding. And that wasn’t like her to do things like that.”
“She told you all this?”
“Sure. Back when she was workin’ we’d see each other every week or so. But ever since she got laid off we pretty much talked every day. Look, Malia was a complainer but she was straight up. If she said she was gonna do something, she did it. She tol’ me she’d never been on an airplane in her life but, by golly, she was goin’ to Maui.”
“Okay, but if it wasn’t suicide, what do you think happened?”
“I don’t rightly know. Maybe it was an accident. Or an evil-minded person. You know, sometimes there’s like them serial killers and all. They just pick people at random.”
“But she was found in her car with no signs of a struggle,” I said. “She apparently died of asphyxiation.”
“You mean from sniffin’ the gas fumes?”
I nodded.
“Well, maybe she died from sniffin’ fumes, but that don’t make it suicide. I’m tellin’ you. That poor woman was bound and determined to see her baby boy get married on Maui. Come hell or high up water.”
CHAPTER 17
I left and had almost made it back to Malia’s house when Edie “yoo-hooed” me again. I stopped and turned around. She waved her hand in a “come closer” gesture so I retraced my steps back to her house.
“I forgot to tell you somethin’ important,” she said in a whisper.
“What’s that?”
“You believe me that she wouldn’t do this, right?”
“I must admit it seems odd she’d end her life now,” I said. “But it’s hard to know what people are really thinking or feeling. And unless the authorities find something to the contrary, it’s probably going to be ruled a suicide. There’s just no evidence of foul play.”
“But you’ve got to stop them. You could tell them to look harder. You know, tell them how she told me about going to the weddin’ and all.”
“Why don’t you tell them, Edie? She confided in you, not me.”
“They won’t listen to me.”
“Why not?”
“I got some so-called “history” with the police in this area.” She said the word “police” with a long “o” sound and a heavy accent on the first syllable. There was something about Edie’s demeanor that led me to believe she had good reason to assume they’d ignore her suspicions. She struck me as a woman who may’ve cried “wolf” a few too many times.
“Are her people okay with thinkin’ she did this to herself?” she said. “Or are they thinkin’ like me?”
“As far as I can tell they’ve accepted it. They all agree she was depressed and unhappy and she’d threatened suicide before.”
“Well, maybe so, but here’s somethin’ I forgot to tell you: someone should take a good hard look at her next-door neighbor, Gary.” She pointed to a plain green one-story house to the south of Malia’s. It was the home of the gawker who’d been hosing down his truck when I’d dropped off Lili and David. His house was in worse condition than Malia’s, with a big patch of roof shingles missing and a falling-down carport that sagged so low it would’ve been impossible to park even a little car like my Mini Cooper in there.
“What’s the deal with him?” I said.
“He and Malia never saw eye to eye on nuthin’. She called the cops on him more’n a few times. Finally, they wrote him up.”
“For what?”
“For being a darn fool. He used to keep dogs—you know, them fightin’ dogs. And sometimes one or a’tuther of those dogs would get loose and go to her place and mess with her kids. A few years ago one of ‘em bit her boy pretty bad. The cops called the animal control people and they came and took all the dogs. Far as I know, Gary and Malia haven’t spoke since.”
“Huh. But Malia was found in her car. And from what I hear, she was a very large woman. How would
Gary be able to get her out to the car and then keep her there until she suffocated?”
“You ever get a good look at him? Believe me, that boy could hunt bear with nuthin’ but a piney stick.”
I thanked her for the information, but I wasn’t about to go snooping around the house of a beefy guy who’d been cited for raising out-of-control fighting dogs. From what I’d learned in my criminology classes at University of Hawaii, the kind of people who abuse animals are also pretty okay with hurting people. And, as Edie would put it, “they’re partial to weapons.” I can hold my own when it’s hand-to-hand, but hand-to-gun or hand-to-knife puts me at a serious disadvantage.
But if Malia’s next-door neighbor hated her, and might have sought to seek revenge, how could I not take Edie seriously? The family deserved to know and I’m not good at leaving intriguing stones unturned.
I trotted up the short driveway to Gary’s house and knocked. The guy who answered filled the doorframe. He hadn’t looked that big washing his truck. He wore a stretched-out white “wife-beater” undershirt and red knit bike shorts that left way too little to the imagination. His arms and shoulders rippled with muscles and he had thighs as big around as my waist.
“Huh. Seems you changed your mind after all,” he said. He reached up to scratch the back of his neck and the odor from his hairy pit nearly made my eyes water.
“Aloha,” I said. “As you probably know, your neighbor died yesterday.”
“Yeah? What’s it to me?”
“I was hoping you could tell me—”
“Look, far as I’m concerned, good riddance.” He shut the door in my face.
I headed back down the driveway. As I passed the carport, I looked under the sagging roof and saw a black rubber contraption lying against a rotted support beam. I glanced back at the house. The door was still closed and the window blinds shut tight.
I poked at the rubber device with my foot. I knew what it was. I’d actually worn one when I was in training to become a federal air marshal. One day they’d trooped us down to what looked like a ship container and locked us inside. Then they opened a hatch on top and dropped in some pellets that hissed and smoked when they hit bottom. We’d practiced putting on our equipment a dozen times or more, but there’s nothing like sucking live tear gas into your lungs to see if you’ve been listening.
I'm Kona Love You Forever (Islands of Aloha Mystery Series Book 6) Page 10