Isle Be Seeing You (Islands of Aloha Mystery Book 9)

by JoAnn Bassett

  “Sorry, Sifu.”

  He didn’t respond.

  I slipped behind him and took a metal tea canister down from the shelf behind his desk. I popped the lid and found it empty, with only a few green flakes scattered across the bottom.

  “Seems you’re out of tea.”

  “Looks like I’ll need to get some.”

  I fully expected that meant we wouldn’t be having tea, but instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a keyring with about a dozen keys on it. He flipped through his keys until he came to one with a neon pink plastic cap. I’d seen key caps like that at hardware store check-out counters. The impulse purchase display said the caps make it easier to identify which key is which.

  He used the key to unlock the bottom drawer of his desk. “Don’t tell, but I keep the important stuff in here, away from snoopy eyes and sticky fingers.”

  He rifled through a jumble of papers and pulled out a gallon-size zip-lock bag of dried vegetable matter. Then he dumped about a third of the contents into the tea container, throwing off the unmistakable aroma of illicit herbs.

  I pointed to the bag. “Wow. That looks like enough to last you a year.”

  Doug made a popping sound with his lips. “The way things are goin’ lately, this won’t last ‘til the end of the month.”

  I’d agreed to make the tea so I got to work. I carefully measured two small scoops of leaves into a tea strainer. Then I checked the little hot pot to make sure it had enough water and plugged it in. Within a minute the water was bubbling. I dropped the strainer into the pot and after a few minutes filled two handleless cups. First one, then the other, making sure each was filled to one-half-inch of the brim.

  Doug remained silent throughout the process. I felt nearly as nervous as when I’d first trained with him. He’d scrutinize my every move and then rattle off a long list of mistakes. Daunting, but valuable.

  I handed him his cup. “Did you get a chance to talk to Lani?”

  “’Fraid so. And she’s stickin’ to her lies.”

  There wasn’t much I could add to that, so I changed the subject. “It’s nearly one o’clock. Don’t you have a class coming in?”

  He glanced at the clock. “Not ‘til two. I canceled my morning classes. I’d like to blow off this next one, too, but we’ve got a promotion ceremony next weekend.”

  We sat in silence, each of taking a sip of tea from time to time. My mind wandered to Alex and Kat’s ridiculous choice of venue. If after going to the summit tomorrow they still insisted on getting married at sunrise, I’d be faced with logistical problems I’d never encountered before. For starters, I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to snag a limo driver who’d be willing to navigate a costly twenty-eight foot long vehicle up the narrow twisting road in the dark. And music? Maui has a pantheon of local musicians who’d go to great lengths to book a gig, but I doubted even the most desperate wannabe-Iz would be willing to get up at three a.m.

  Doug interrupted my reverie by leaning across his desk, teacup in hand. “You know what I’m gonna have to do, don’t ya?”

  I shook my head.

  Lani was definitely Doug’s equal when it came to pluck. She’d been the first female black belt he’d trained at Palace of Pain, and although she’d drifted away from martial arts when the kids were born, everyone knew she was willing and able to go toe-to-toe with him if necessary. If the two of them were warring, I wanted no part of it. Too much chance of becoming collateral damage.

  “I’m gonna follow her.”

  “Like that’s going to work,” I said. “Lani will spot your Jeep a half-mile away.”

  “Not gonna use the Jeep. I’m borrowing my cousin Piko’s truck.”

  “Let me guess. It’s a silver Toyota Tacoma.”

  “You got it.”

  Gray metallic Toyota pick-ups are one of the most common vehicles on the upcountry roads where Doug and Lani live. If Sifu Doug swapped his Jeep for his cousin’s truck, Lani would have no reason to scrutinize the driver in her rearview mirror.

  “And check this out.” He reached under his desk and hauled up a brown paper grocery bag. He pulled out a blond furry object the size of a dinner plate. In one deft motion he stretched it out and fitted it over his closely-cropped dark hair.

  “You look like that chef, Guy Fieri,” I said. I had to give him credit, though. The pale spikey tufts radically changed his appearance.

  “Yeah? Whaddaya think?”

  “I think you look goofy, but it might work.”

  “Next time Lani gives me some song and dance about helping at the school all morning, or running to Kahului to pick up something, I’ll be right behind her.”

  “What about your classes?”

  “I was hoping you and a few of the other black belts could fill in. I don’t think it’s gonna take long to figure out what she’s up to.”

  “I’m happy to help. But you know it could be she’s working on some kind of surprise for you.”

  “Not hardly. My birthday was two months ago and Christmas is five months away.”

  “How about your anniversary?”

  “What about it? It was in June.”

  “Still, there may be a perfectly reasonable explanation.”

  “If there is, you’ll be the first to know.”

  There wasn’t much more to be said on that subject so I stood. “You want me to teach your two o’clock today?”

  “Mahalo, but I’m good. I got a couple kids going for their brown belt and they’re kinda nervous. Besides, if Lani’s planning to disappear today, she’s probably already gone. I’ll start surveillance tomorrow morning.”

  “Be careful, Sifu. You know this kind of sneaky stuff can blow a relationship right out of the water.”

  “Oh, yeah? Seems I’m not the one you should be tellin’ that to.”

  His steely voice and narrowed eyes gave me pause. Doug was capable of snapping a person’s neck with his bare hands. Why on earth would Lani provoke him?

  CHAPTER 5

  After my troubled conversation with Sifu Doug I didn’t feel like going back to work. I stopped by the Gadda to pick up something for dinner and check on Farrah’s attempts to contact her ghost.

  I grabbed a bottle of white wine and snagged the last quinoa-mushroom burrito from the hot case in the deli. When Finn’s away I never cook. To be honest, I hardly ever cook when he’s home, either. It’s okay because he likes to do it and I’m a lost cause in the kitchen.

  When I’m alone it’s easier to grab something from the Gadda than eat out, but I often get stuck with a wilted salad or something from the freezer made with soy-protein fake chicken. Her hot deli items come from a local organic restaurant but they sell out quickly. Farrah’s a vegan, so she doesn’t stock many items that include meat or animal products.

  It’s amusing to be at the store when tourists show up asking for hamburger. Farrah never lets on. She leads them to the freezer case and points to the black bean or textured soy burgers. I can see from the look on her face she’s struggling against the urge to break into a tirade about “living simply so others can simply live” and not eating “things with a face.” But she usually manages to keep it to herself.

  I especially enjoy watching her deal with customers who request hot dogs. She takes them to the canned food aisle and pulls down a can of pale-pink soy meal “haute dawgs.” I’ve tried them, and I can say without a doubt I’d prefer to go hungry than eat one of those flesh-colored tubes of mush.

  As she rang up my purchase I unfolded my reusable bag. “How’re you doing with getting in touch with the walking dead?”

  Farrah motioned to the man waiting behind me. “Would you mind taking your purchase to the deli? I’m closing up here.”

  The guy scowled as if he did mind, but he loped off without comment.

  She came leaned in. “Our cane cutter dude is way shy. I’ve tried a bunch of times to talk story with him, but he’s never in a chatty mood.”

  “Huh. But if he
’s trying to tie up loose ends, you’d think he’d welcome your help.”

  “Bingo. I mean, think about it. If you were undead and wanted to boogie on, wouldn’t you be stoked if a live person offered to lend a hand?”

  I nodded, pondering what such an offer might entail, but not willing to ask.

  She went on. “And another thing. What’s with the machete? I mean, I get that he prob’ly thinks he needs it for personal safety, but it’s a bummer having a dude in my back yard waving a thing like that around. Ya know?”

  Again, I was at a loss to add much to the conversation, so I just nodded.

  “I mean, I got keiki to think about here. This isn’t about me, eh?”

  I couldn’t help but ponder if Farrah would find it perfectly acceptable to have a machete-wielding apparition floating around outside her back door if she didn’t have kids.

  She reached across the counter and touched my arm. “What I’m sayin’ is, I may want to take you up on your offer.”

  It took me a second to recall whether I’d proposed joining her in her “Ghostbusters” operation, but then it hit me.

  “Oh, you mean giving you money for the kahu?” I said.

  “’Fraid so. I’ll check into trackin’ one down and I’ll let you know how much. I’m totally bummed we gotta hit you guys up again. I pinky-swear when we get a few bucks ahead we’ll pay back every nickel.”

  “No worries. You can’t put a price on feeling safe in your own home.”

  “You’re the best. Now go home and nuke this bitchin’ burrito. You’re gonna sleep good tonight knowing you didn’t chow down on somethin’ with a mother.”

  That night as I washed my plate and fork in the kitchen sink, I glimpsed something shiny off to the right. I reached out and picked it up, clenching it so tightly it left a mark in my palm.

  ***

  I went to bed early in anticipation of getting up at oh-dark-thirty to make the trek up to the rim of Haleakala Crater. I’d been up there many times so I wasn’t worried about getting lost in the dark, but on Sunday mornings locals often join the tourists making the journey to the top. Besides, although the guidebooks say to allow a couple of hours, it can take longer if a car leading the pack slows to a crawl on the twisting two-lane road. I went online to get a reservation. It’s a relatively new thing, reserving a spot with the National Park Service to view the sunrise, but if you don’t do it, you’re likely to be turned away.

  I checked my phone one last time before turning out the light. No messages. I’d hoped to hear from Finn, but so far, nothing. I imagined him on a jet high above an ocean. I’d done a stint with the Federal Air Marshal Service and had spent the better part of four months flying back and forth to Taipei in the Republic of China. I found it rough duty and I managed to self-sabotage my way out of the job by snoozing when I should’ve been keeping a steely eye out for onboard shenanigans. In my defense, most of my fellow passengers were also asleep, but then, they weren’t being paid not to.

  I snuggled up to Finn’s pillow and his scent helped me drift asleep. The next thing I knew my phone was shimmying across the nightstand, pulling me from sleep with an ever-louder disembodied female voice saying, “Rise and shine. Time to get up.”

  They say it’s darkest right before the dawn and they aren’t kidding. As I made my way out to my car, I looked up at a dense smattering of stars glistening against an ink-black sky. The moon was a timid curve of light, like a thin paring from a stubby fingernail. I looked mauka, or inland, toward the mountain and although it was still too dark for me to be certain, I was pretty sure I saw a bank of clouds obscuring the summit.

  A thin layer of clouds is good because they reflect light, intensifying the sunrise colors. But a thick cloud cover reduces the dawn to merely a gradual shifting from night to day. No awe-inspiring golden disk rising over the crater rim, no shooting rays of golden light, no eye-popping change from shades of gray to Technicolor.

  I drove out Hali’imaile Road and took a left on Haleakala Highway. From there, it’s a pretty steady incline to the upcountry town of Kula. Just past Kula the Park Service has stationed a lighted reader board warning visitors that they must have a reservation to enter the park before seven a.m. After a few miles of twisting two-lane road through stands of eucalyptus, jacaranda and native ohia trees, I had to slow down. There was a line of cars waiting to clear the gate at the Haleakala National Park entrance.

  From the gate the road opens out onto wide meadows, twisting and turning along the path to the summit. In daytime the views are spectacular, but in the predawn gloom all I could see out my side window was a never-ending blackness punctuated by the hazy street lights of Wailea and Kihei far below.

  The stream of taillights ahead of me played hide and seek through dense clouds hugging the road. I’d go through thick sections where all I could see were the two rear lights of the car directly in front of me and then the clouds would part and I’d see a long chain of ruby-colored lights, zigzagging up the mountain.

  I arrived at the uppermost parking area at five-ten and the lot was nearly full. I hadn’t thought to ask Alex and Kat what kind of rental car they were driving, but it probably wouldn’t have mattered anyway as many rentals are the same make, model and color. I made my way over to the ranger station to see if I could spot them in the huddled mass of humanity eagerly awaiting an awe-inspiring experience.

  It was cold. Frigid, really. I’d dressed in layers, starting with tights I’d gotten for a Halloween costume a couple of years ago. Then I’d put on my only pair of jeans. On top I wore a long-sleeved t-shirt, a sweatshirt, and a down vest I’d bought for air marshal training in New Jersey. I’d left my rubba slippahs at home. Instead, I was wearing two pairs of socks and sneakers I’d gotten when I thought I’d try jogging. I figured it could be my go-to exercise regimen on days I couldn’t get down to the guan to work out.

  The jogging had been short-lived. When I tried running near my house, my neighbors would stop and offer me a ride. I’d tell them I was trying to get some exercise and that would lead to a fifteen-minute discussion of the health and welfare of their various ‘ohana members.

  “My bruddah tried getting in shape one time. He dropped a barbell on his toe. Mashed it so bad they had to cut it off. He don’ do that no more. Uh-uh. You be careful, Pali. That healthy stuff can be dangerous.”

  “My dad should’ve done a little exercise. He had that heart attack, remember? ‘Bout two years ago now. He’s only fifty and he hasn’t been the same since. You smart to keep yourself in shape, eh?”

  After I realized running in my neighborhood was going to be a non-starter, I tried running at the beach. Getting to the nearest beach meant driving through town, past the guan, and out to Baldwin Beach Park. Once I got there, I had to find a parking space and lock up the car and make my way to the hard-packed sand at the water’s edge. Sometimes the tide would be in and I’d have to bob and weave to avoid getting my shoes wet. The beach run took more time and more gas than going to the guan, so in the end I hung up my sneakers and went back to simply kicking and punching my way to a healthy lifestyle.

  It was still pretty dark as I made my way to the ranger station. People were milling around, most of them looking sleep-deprived and shocked by the bitter cold and biting wind. The rangers had helpfully placed a large digital display outside the station showing the time and temperature. It read, 5:18 and 36 F. degrees. Four degrees above freezing. I stuffed my hands into the pockets of my cozy vest and wished I’d thought to bring a hat.

  I scanned the crowd. Many of the people were in t-shirts and shorts, wrapped in nothing more substantial than beach towels and sheets. They looked forlorn, like victims at a house fire. I didn’t see my wedding couple among them. By now there were only a few more open spots in the upper parking area. If the rangers closed it and began directing late-comers to the lower lot, it could take Alex and Kat another ten minutes to trudge back up. If they arrived any later than that they’d most likely miss the sunri
se.

  My view across the crater was limited by the gathering crowd and the dusky predawn gloom. Clouds shrouded the area, making it appear like a misty moonscape. It was hard to tell whether the cloud cover would stick around or drift up and provide a dramatic backdrop for the rising sun. Only time would tell.

  Behind me, a male voice yelled, “Pali!”

  I turned, thinking Alex had finally arrived, but instead it was my friend and former roommate, Steve Rathburn. Steve’s a creature comforts kind of guy which makes him one of the last people I’d expect to see at a Mt. Haleakala sunrise in the brutal cold. He was decked out in a puffy blue ski jacket and navy and white striped knit cap but even in the near-darkness I noticed his nose had turned bright red.

  “What are you doing here?” I said.

  His teeth chattered as he gave me a quick hug. “I could ask you the same thing.”

  “I’ve got clients who want to get married up here next week.”

  “At dawn? It’s colder than a well-digger’s ass and there’s no place to park. Why didn’t you tell them it’s better at sunset?”

  “I figured we’d discuss it after they’d had the occasion to experience facial freezer burn up close and personal.”

  “You’re diabolical, you know it?”

  “Not really. I just know what I can and can’t tell people. If I’d told them what’s it’s like up here they might feel the need to stick to their guns. This way, they’ll yell at me for not warning them and then we can quickly move on to Plan B.”

  He looked around. “Where are they?”

  “I’m still looking. I figure now that the sun’s up it’ll be easier to make out faces.”

  He yawned.

  I crooked my arm through his and leaned in to his puffy coat. My getting chummy had as much to do with keeping warm as to exhibit how pleased I was to see him, but it had been at least two months since we’d last met up.

  I looked around. “So tell me, what brings you up here? And where’s Allen?” Allen was Steve’s significant other. For the past seven months they’d been like peanut butter and jelly. Outside of working hours, you never saw one without the other.