O'ahu Lonesome Tonight? (Islands of Aloha Mystery Series #5)

by Bassett, JoAnn

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Why?”

  “I was hoping to drive up to the North Shore. Maybe check out the surf. The news is saying this storm’s brought in some killer waves.”

  “Operative word there is ‘killer’,” said Jeff. “You’re not planning on surfing, are you?”

  “Not sure. I’ll have to decide when I get there. But I’d love to see ‘em. Word is all the surfing greats will be out there.”

  “Well, be careful,” I said in my ‘mom’ voice. “You know the story of Eddie Aikau?”

  “Is he the guy on the ‘Eddie Would Go’ signs?”

  “Yeah, that’s him. He was a terrific surfer and a strong swimmer. In fact, he was one of the first lifeguards up on the North Shore where the waves can get real hairy. He got picked for the second Hokule’a expedition—the Tahiti to Hawaii trip in a raft like the ancient Polynesians used to get to Hawaii. Anyhow, the raft capsized south of Moloka’i and they were stranded. Eddie offered to swim to Lana’i to get help. It was twelve miles away. The channel between Moloka’i and Lana’i is one of the most treacherous straits in the islands. He never made it. And they never found his body.”

  “Did you tell me that to scare me out of surfing today?” Steve said.

  “No, I told you so you’d realize even the toughest guy out there can get in over his head.”

  “Got it.”

  Steve left soon after and Jeff and I headed out to catch a bus to ‘Iolani Palace. Neither of us had been there since we’d toured it as school kids. In the past decade the palace had been given a major facelift and we wanted to see the changes. We got off at King Street and bought tickets for the tour.

  “You know, coming here is as much an act of remembering as going to Pearl Harbor,” I said. “The overthrow of the legitimate government of the Kingdom of Hawaii is also a part of our Hawaiian heritage we should never forget.”

  “Yeah, but in this case, our ancestors were on the wrong side of things,” said Jeff.

  “Still, it’s our duty to pay our respects.”

  We went on the tour and were amazed at the spectacular rebirth of the palace. The work included restoring the original colors as well as replacing much of the antique furniture and accessories from the time of King Kalakaua. The authentic furniture had been painstakingly tracked down. Many palace furnishings were sold following the overthrow and after a hundred years pieces had been scattered far and wide. In some cases, when the ‘Iolani Palace restoration team contacted the owners and explained where the item had originated, the owners graciously donated a valuable family heirloom to the restoration. In other cases, the owners balked and only relented after receiving payment of the current value—which in most cases was a lot of money due to the historical significance of the piece.

  When we got back on the bus we were in much the same somber frame of mind as when we’d returned from Pearl Harbor.

  “Let me see if I’ve got this straight,” said Jeff. “The Queen abdicated to avoid a possible bloody battle which she knew her loyal subjects would lose.”

  “That’s right. She only gave in to save lives.”

  “But the plantation owners and sons of the missionaries lied to the U.S. Government about what was going on over here.”

  “Yeah, and those lies were the only reason Washington sided with the overthrow. By the time the truth came out it was too late,” I said.

  “Or they didn’t care.”

  “Hard to know.”

  When we got back to the penthouse it was nearly two o’clock but Steve still wasn’t back. I called his cell and got bounced to voice mail.

  “That’s odd,” I said. “It’s still raining hard. How much fun can it be to surf in this lousy weather?”

  “I guess wet is wet,” said Jeff.

  “Yeah, but he never stays out on the water this long at home. I’m getting worried.”

  We went downstairs and grabbed a quick plate lunch but I didn’t eat much. The rain, the sad history of ‘Iolani Palace, and worrying about Steve had put a dent in my appetite.

  “I think I’ll just hang out and read my book,” I said when we got back upstairs. “Feel free to go out if you want.”

  “No, I’m just gonna check my email,” Jeff said. “I told myself I wouldn’t check it while I’m on vacation, but I’m finding it’s more stressful worrying about it.”

  “And you can sneak a peek at Jack’s ‘doggie cam’ while you’re at it.”

  Jeff laughed. “With him I’d rather not know.”

  We went to our respective bedrooms. When I looked up a few minutes later, the only sound in the penthouse was the low whoosh of the A/C fan. But you know that old saying, the calm before the storm?

  That afternoon, things felt just too darn calm.

  CHAPTER 12

  My phone rang and I snatched it up. Was it Steve at last? No, my caller ID showed Farrah.

  “Hey Pali,” she said. “Guess what? We’re still here.” She giggled and for a moment I was at a loss as to what to say.

  I finally said, “You mean you’re still in Honolulu?”

  “Yeah. Ono says we can’t go anywhere until this storm clears, but the water’s getting bad here in Ala Wai Harbor. We’re gonna have to leave the boat and stay at his friend’s place.”

  “Tomika’s?”

  “Yeah, her place.”

  I’d stayed at Tomika Fujioka’s lavish high rise condo when I first met Ono. It’s at least ten floors higher than the Waikiki penthouse I was in and the exterior walls of the condo are floor-to-ceiling glass. The twinkling lights at night offer a postcard view of the Honolulu skyline.

  “Don’t freak out when you get there,” I said. “It’s kind of high up.”

  “I won’t.” She giggled again. “Ono’s promised to stay by my side the whole time.”

  “You haven’t heard from Steve, have you?”

  “No. But I hope he checked out of the Royal Hawaiian yesterday. He promised me he’d handle it.”

  “He did. He’s staying here with us. But he went surfing this morning and he isn’t back yet.”

  “He went surfing? Total bummer. With this storm there’s gonna be some bad ass waves out there.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “That’s why I’m worried.”

  “Oh, gotta run. Ono sends his aloha. I just wanted to call and let you know we’re okay.”

  I hung up feeling even more anxious. Where are you, Steve?

  A half-hour later my phone rang again.

  “Pali? It’s Stu. Say, have you got plans for dinner?”

  “Uh, I don’t think so.”

  “Natalie would like to have you out to the house. Jeff can come too, if he wants.”

  I already knew Jeff’s answer, but decided I wouldn’t say anything right away. I’d take the time to come up with a plausible excuse.

  “That sounds nice. What time?”

  “Say, cocktails at six, dinner at seven? I have to be at work early tomorrow so we won’t make it a late evening.”

  “Okay. Can you give me directions?”

  “You got a GPS? I’ll give you the address.”

  “No, we didn’t get one.” I thought about explaining my irrational need to not be mistaken for a tourist, then figured he probably didn’t care.

  “Funny. I thought all decent rental cars came with ‘em nowadays.”

  “Just give me the address, Stuart. I can figure it out.”

  He gave me the address. Nothing about it sounded familiar.

  “It’s way out beyond Diamond Head. You know the Kahala Resort by the Waialae Country Club? We’re just a few blocks shy of that.”

  “Mahalo. I’ll find it. See you at six.”

  ***

  An hour later I plugged in my phone to recharge it. By then I’d become nearly frantic about Steve. It was after five o’clock and still no word.

  I turned on the TV. There was a ‘breaking news’ banner running across the bottom of the screen. It said due to the storm the sewer system
had failed in Waikiki and thousands of gallons of untreated sewage had been diverted into the Ala Wai Canal. It warned boaters and swimmers to stay out of the canal until further notice.

  I mindlessly flipped through the channels until Jeff came out of his room. He looked stricken.

  “Everything okay back home?” I said.

  “No.”

  “You want to talk about it?”

  “Not really.”

  I changed the subject. “Stuart and his wife Natalie have invited us to dinner at their place.”

  “Won-der-ful,” he said, dragging out the word. “I can’t think of anything I’d rather do right now.”

  “I thought as much. But I need to go.”

  “Why?”

  “You know why. It’s family. It’s kind of ironic, don’t you think? All my life I’ve been bitching about not having any ohana and then when I finally get some I inherit this bunch.”

  “I’ll stick around here and wait for Steve,” Jeff said.

  “I’m really worried about him,” I said.

  “Yeah, me too. By the way, how are you planning to get to your brother’s place? Steve’s got our car, remember?”

  I called Stuart and explained the situation.

  “Your friend’s still not back from surfing?” he said. “Haven’t you heard? A bunch of surfers had to be rescued out at the North Shore. Maybe your guy is one of them.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “Sticking around there waiting won’t help, you know,” Stuart said.

  “I know, but Jeff wants to stay, just in case.”

  “Fair enough. But I’ll pick you up in twenty minutes. You mind waiting outside? Parking’s a bitch in Waikiki.”

  “No worries. I’ll be downstairs.”

  I hung up and grabbed an umbrella. “Call me the minute you hear from Steve,” I said to Jeff. I headed for the door and my phone started up. The caller ID showed STEVE’S CELL.

  I answered without saying ‘aloha,’ or even ‘hello. “We’ve been so worried about you! Where are you? Are you okay?”

  “Calm down. I’m good. I had a little excitement, though.”

  “We heard some surfers had to be rescued up there. Is that what kept you?”

  “Matter of fact, yes. Hang on, I’m just getting off the freeway. I’ll be there in ten minutes and tell you the whole story.”

  “We’ll be here.”

  I clicked off and Jeff said, “What about Stuart? Isn’t he already on his way?”

  “Crap.” I looked at the clock and then dialed Stu’s number. I got his voice mail. “Stu, something’s come up. Can we make it six-thirty instead of six? Call me back, okay?”

  When I didn’t get a call back I said to Jeff, “Maybe Stu doesn’t answer his phone in the car. I’ll go downstairs and tell him what’s happening.”

  A big tan Mercedes sedan was idling in the portico when I got off the elevator. I went outside and the bellman rushed over. “Miss Moon, I was just about to call your room,” he said. “There’s a gentleman here to pick you up.”

  Stu grinned and gave me a finger wave from the driver’s seat. He was wearing a silly-looking blue baseball cap with the Mercedes emblem emblazoned on the front.

  “Mahalo,” I said to the bellman. I started rummaging in my purse for tip money.

  When I pulled out my wallet the bellman said, “No worries. Mr. Wilkerson has already taken care of me. Very generously.” He grinned as if Santa had brought him a new bike. He opened the passenger door and I slid onto the cool leather seat.

  I gave Stuart a kiss on the cheek and then said, “I need to ask you a favor. Steve called and he’s on his way. Can we wait a few minutes until he gets here? He said he’d had to be rescued up at the North Shore.”

  “No can do. My wife’s got dinner ready and waiting. I’m sure your friend’s harrowing story will keep for a couple more hours.”

  “But I told him I’d be here.”

  “When did you talk to him?”

  “A few minutes ago, when he called.”

  “Well, you told me you’d come to my house for dinner two hours ago. So I win. Don’t forget to buckle up.”

  He shot out of the portico as if someone had waved a checkered flag. I winced. The sidewalks of Waikiki are filled with a constant stream of pedestrians and I was amazed Stuart hadn’t mowed down a few people as he rocketed across the sidewalk and out onto the street.

  We roared down Kalakaua, shooting through yellows about to be red, and zigzagging around jaywalking tourists.

  “Uh, is there a reason you’re driving so fast?”

  He laughed. “This isn’t fast. You should’ve seen how Dad drove. He used to clock his time from point to point and try to beat his record every time he got in the car.”

  “Tell me about Natalie.”

  “What’s to tell? You’ll meet her soon enough.”

  We shot down Diamond Head Road and then onto Kahala Avenue. Soon we were in a neighborhood of stately houses on expansive lots. One house had dozens of white Grecian-type statues in a yard festooned with intricately-shaped topiary and severely-clipped hedges. It looked like a tropical attempt at a formal English garden. Behind the elaborate garden was a sprawling oceanfront home.

  “What’s going on there?” I said pointing toward the place.

  “The Greek’s? Yeah, that guy’s something else. He owns a bunch of souvlaki joints on O’ahu and Maui. Who’d of thunk Japanese tourists would go wild over gyros and ouzo?”

  Another block down, Stu slowed to take a speed bump. “I hate these things. Some a-hole had the city put these in. Said he was worried about his kids. I say, ‘If you’re kids are so stupid they walk in the street, then maybe they shouldn’t grow up.’ You know what I’m saying? Darwin’s survival of the fittest and all.”

  We pulled into the circular driveway of an ivory-colored, two-story home with a tile roof. The place was a mini-mansion. It was across the street from the oceanfront homes, but it was still a jaw-dropping residence.

  “You live here?”

  “Since last February.”

  “Wow, Stuart. This is amazing.”

  “It’s ‘Stu,’ okay? When you call me ‘Stuart’ I feel like I’m in trouble or something.”

  The front doors were inlaid with beveled glass and the foyer was tiled in shiny ivory-colored granite. The floors beyond the foyer were some sort of reddish-colored wood. My mind wandered to a documentary I’d seen about disappearing hardwood forests in Southeast Asia, but I put it out of my mind. The walls were white—almost blindingly white—and there were skylights in the foyer as well as the sitting room beyond the dining area. The house had an open floor plan, which made it seem to go on forever.

  A tall woman of about thirty with Asian features and glossy shoulder-length dark hair stood at the far end of the foyer. She was dressed in a silky red blouse over an ankle-length slim black skirt. Stu had mentioned she was pregnant but from the looks of things she was one of those women who doesn’t show it until the baby is a few weeks from making an appearance. The outfit looked understated, but two years of wedding planning had given me an eye for quality tailoring. I figured her minimalist outfit probably cost more than everything I had in my closet back on Maui.

  She stepped forward and extended her hands. On her left hand, an enormous diamond twinkled in the bright light streaming through the skylight.

  “Welcome to our home,” she said. Her voice was low, with a slightly British accent.

  “Pali, this is my wife, Natalie. Nat, this is my half-sister, Pali.”

  I reached out to shake hands but instead she grasped my hand with both of hers and held it. Her hands were cool and dry. There was something about the way she stared into my eyes as she gripped my hand that sucked me in, as if she were hypnotizing me. “Stuart tells me you’re staying in a penthouse in Waikiki. How charmingly Bohemian. Are you enjoying your stay?”

  “Very much so.”

  “Excellent. Well, since Stuart is a bi
t tardy bringing you out here, I think we should go immediately to cocktails. Or do you insist on having a tour?”

  “Thank you, but the tour can wait,” I said. “Your home is gorgeous. Did you decorate it yourself?”

  Natalie uttered a low chuckle. “Oh my, what a lovely compliment. No, I had David, of David Peralta Interiors do the living spaces and I engaged Ray Yashimoto of Island Paradise Landscaping to design the garden. It was a huge undertaking, but Stu was kind enough to indulge me.”

  Stu beamed as if his wife had just handed him the Oscar for Best Supporting Actor.

  “Hey,” said Stu. “I say, ‘if the wife’s happy, everybody’s happy,’ right?”

  The rain had stopped for a while so Stu ushered us to the back yard where an azure pool, edged in the same creamy granite tiles as the floor in the foyer, glinted in the late afternoon light.

  “Are you a martini girl?” said Stu as he handed me a conical-shaped glass big enough for a foot soak.

  “I guess I am now,” I said. My smile had begun to feel a bit tight but I kept it going.

  “Stu makes the driest martini in the Western Hemisphere,” said Natalie. “He’s very proud of that accomplishment.”

  I was used to reading the unspoken language of couples, but this couple had me baffled. Was Natalie’s wit as dry as Stu’s martini, or was she pissed off about something? Hard to tell.

  “Of course Nat’s not drinking,” Stu said. “She’s bearing her burden with grace.”

  “Ah, well, a stiff upper lip is in my blood,” said Natalie. “Keep calm and carry on and all that.”

  I’d drunk less than half of the high-octane beverage when a tinkling bell sounded from the house.

  “Seems we’re being summoned,” said Stu.

  “I’m not in favor of that bell,” Natalie said. She turned to me. “Don’t you feel it’s demeaning? I’ve repeatedly asked Stu to come up with a more appropriate means of notification, but he seems to take pleasure in being beckoned to table like a servant.”

  Stu smiled and put a hand on Natalie’s shoulder. She stiffened.

  “After you,” he said to me.

  We were served dinner by a maid in an old-fashioned black uniform with a lace-edged white apron. The uniform seemed out of place in the tropical setting, but there it was. She was a thin Asian woman, probably in her mid-twenties, but it was hard to tell due to the silly uniform and her refusal to make eye contact. She whispered to Natalie in a foreign language but never spoke to either Stu or myself. She kept her head down and moved around the room as if trying to remain invisible.