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

by JoAnn Bassett

  Outside, the sky had turned a bright cerulean blue. Once Doug was convicted, he’d only see that sky for an hour or two every day. A thought nibbled at my conscience. Perhaps Doug hoped I’d never show the paper to anyone else. Maybe he considered me the one person he trusted with keeping the foul truth from ever seeing the light of day.

  I unfolded the page.

  The words weren’t written in Doug’s untidy print. In fact, the handwriting was in cursive, like a schoolteacher writing on the chalkboard for Parent’s Night. The only person I knew who still wrote in cursive was Lani, educated by nuns determined to keep grade-school education totally old-school. Elegantly formed capital letters were followed by carefully shaped vowels and consonants, flowing in a neat hand as if the meticulous execution of the penmanship signaled the gravity of the message.

  It took me less than a minute to read. But it would take me days to figure out what to do about it.

  CHAPTER 22

  I knew I should call James immediately, but I also knew Doug wouldn’t want me to. Since my loyalty was clearly with my sifu, I tucked the letter back into the bloody envelope and slipped it in my purse. I closed and locked the guan door and carefully replaced the crime scene sticker over the door jamb. But who was I kidding? The sticker was damaged, even after Steve’s meticulous removal process. One edge had folded over on itself and the whole thing was crisscrossed with wrinkles impossible to flatten out.

  I parked behind the Gadda but didn’t trust myself with what I might blurt out if I went in, so instead, I unlocked my shop door and went in. My brain was turning cartwheels over what to do next. I’d been trained my entire life to tell the truth, regardless of the consequences. But I’d never faced consequences of this magnitude.

  My desk phone rang, startling me.

  “Where have you been?” Steve demanded. “I’ve been calling your cell for half an hour.”

  I dug my cell phone out of my purse. It was still on airplane mode.

  “Sorry. What’s up?”

  “You tell me. What’d you find at the PoP?”

  I hesitated. “It turned out to be nothing.”

  “Nothing? I risked a month of being some three-hundred pound bruddah’s ‘jailhouse wife’ for nothing?”

  I stuck to the truth as closely as possible. “Sorry. I was hoping I’d find something in the manila envelopes but it turned out to just be PoP stuff. Doug’s pot stash was gone so I’m thinking Detective Ho must’ve taken it and maybe some other things when he put the sticker on the door.”

  “What’re you going to do?”

  “Not much I can do. James will have to tell Doug I couldn’t find what he sent me for.”

  There was a pause and Steve said, “Okay. It’s me, remember? I’m the guy who’s got your back. Whatever’s going on, you don’t have to hide it from me.”

  “Really, there’s nothing going on.”

  “Right. And I’ve got a bridge to Moloka’i I’d like to sell you.”

  Steve hung up under protest but I couldn’t possibly tell the biggest blabbermouth in Pa’ia about the contents of the bloody envelope. I needed to think.

  ***

  I spent the rest of the morning holed up in my shop. I cleaned the place, top to bottom. I even dusted along the baseboards, which opened up the nearly healed blister on my foot. Once the shop was dust-free and reeking of a fake lemon smell that didn’t come close to resembling any aroma found in nature, I started in on my computer. I updated my website, swapping new photos for ones that had graced it for half a decade. I even wrote a lengthy blog post about selecting the perfect wedding venue on Maui.

  I managed to push all thoughts about the bloody envelope aside until my stomach let go with a terrific growl and I looked at the clock. It was nearly one-thirty and I hadn’t eaten all day.

  I was about to lock up and go next door for some food when Farrah burst in. Her pale face and wide eyes caused me to automatically reach for the phone set, poised to call nine-one-one.

  “What is it?”

  “He’s here.”

  “Who?”

  “The kahu.”

  “He’s at the store?”

  “No, the house.”

  “Then let’s get over there before he leaves.”

  “Too late.”

  “What? He already left?”

  “Nope. I’m not that lucky.”

  I shot her a confused frown.

  “Ono’s home today,” she said. “He’s the one who called to tell me the guy was there.”

  On the way to Haiku we brainstormed ways to explain why we’d lied about the kahu already doing the blessing. It was frightening how facile Farrah was at coming up with elaborate scenarios and senseless excuses.

  “Okay, how ‘bout this? I’ll say I had a vision. You know, like a crazy hallucination or a rapture or somethin’. You say you went along so’s I wouldn’t completely embrace the dark side and freak out on my keiki. You know, like you had to play along about the kahu showing up or I might go ‘Cuckoo’s Nest’ and ‘Sophie’s Choice’ rolled into one.”

  “Farrah, Ono asked me point blank how the blessing went. How does that explain why didn’t I tell him the truth? You weren’t even there.”

  “Okay, okay. How about we say you were the one who flipped out? I could say you scorched me and said you’d kidnap one of the keiki until I forked over the thousand bucks. I could say we hassled over it and I sent you home before he got there.”

  I didn’t even comment on that one.

  Farrah cleared her throat. “Besides, that’s kind of what I told him.”

  “What?”

  “I didn’t tell Ono the dude didn’t show. I said I changed my mind and told him not to come.”

  “What? You told me to tell him it’d gone fine.”

  “I know. I choked.”

  “So, now Ono thinks I’m a serious liar.”

  “Better you than me.”

  We drove to Haiku in morose silence. The bloody envelope was still in my purse but there was no way I’d say anything to Farrah about it. My trust level with her had tipped into the red zone.

  Ono and the kahu were out on the front porch when we pulled up. They were smiling and joking like a couple of old army buddies recalling fond memories of eluding the MP’s after curfew.

  I’d planned to drop Farrah off and hightail it out of there, but Ono rushed the car like a crazed fan hoping to take a trophy selfie. “Hey, Pali. Look who’s here. Two days in a row.”

  The sarcasm didn’t suit him.

  “Okay, I was covering for Farrah. She was worried you’d flip out if you thought the kahu had scammed her.”

  “Yeah, so I guess you figured lying was your best option.”

  “Hey, all’s well that ends well, right? I mean, the guy’s here now and the house will get blessed.”

  He glowered. “You and I have been friends for what, almost three years now?”

  I saw where this was going. “Yeah, but I’ve been best friends with your wife for ten times longer than that.”

  “Great. Now I know where I stand. When we first met, I remember you giving me some song and dance about how you were a lousy liar. Said you’d been brought up to tell the truth and you were pretty much stuck in your ways. Well, congratulations. Seems you’ve mastered a whole new skill set.”

  “Look, Ono, I—”

  He cut me off. “No, you look. I won’t get between you and my wife because that wouldn’t be fair to her. But let me be clear. I have zero trust in you anymore. As far as I’m concerned, everything that comes out of your mouth is BS. And when Finn gets back I’ll consider it my brotherly duty to clue him in on what went down here.”

  I barked a quick staccato laugh. “As if he’d care.”

  “Oh, he’ll care plenty. Believe me.”

  By now, Farrah and the kahu were openly eavesdropping so I didn’t want to divulge I knew Finn was looking to hire a divorce lawyer.

  “Fine. Do what you will.” I popped the tr
ansmission into reverse. “Have fun at the blessing ceremony.” I jerked the car into gear and roared down the driveway. I’d have enjoyed making my tires squeal an “amen,” but with the combination of the tiny Mini Cooper engine and the soft dirt driveway I had to settle for a noiseless dust cloud.

  I called it a day and drove up to Hali’imaile. Steve wasn’t home when I pulled in but that wasn’t unusual since Saturday’s a big day for photo events. I puttered around, doing a few loads of wash and even cleaning out the screen in the stovetop fan to avoid looking at the contents of the bloody envelope for the umpteenth time.

  At dinnertime, Steve called and said he had a dinner date and might be “staying over.” I choked back an Auntie Pali admonition to not drink and drive, practice safe sex, and a half-dozen other motherly clichés that he didn’t need to hear and I didn’t need to parrot like some spinster older sister. I hung up feeling bereft. I must’ve been looking forward to sharing the letter and all its implications with Steve more than I’d acknowledged earlier.

  Sure he was a blabbermouth. And sure he ran in a different social circle than mine. But in the past few years I’d counted on three guys to steady me when life got rough: Sifu Doug, Finn, and Steve. (Actually, there’d been a fourth guy, but that’s a whole different story.) Now Doug was in jail and Finn was overseas, planning to give me the heave-ho at the first possible opportunity. Steve was my last hope at getting a man’s perspective, but he was so focused on repealing and replacing the guy he’d swore was his “forever partner” he was never around to help me out.

  I drank a bottle of flat beer I found in the back of the fridge and halfheartedly munched a bag of microwave popcorn while watching the evening news. Needless to say, no relief there.

  At seven-thirty I gave up and went to bed. I’d been up before the sun, and now I was going down along with it. I’d had plenty of time to consider what I should do about the letter. But I didn’t need time. I needed guidance.

  CHAPTER 23

  Sunday morning dawned under cloudy skies. It was warm, but dreary in a way that never makes it into Hawaii tourism brochures or Facebook cover photos. It suited my mood.

  Since finding the bloody envelope my world view had become a bundle of contradictions. Anger at Farrah for selling me out to Ono, but understanding why she did. Not looking forward to Finn coming home, yet anxious to see him. I liked the déjà vu normalcy of sharing my house with Steve, but once again I found myself fretting over his safety and whereabouts.

  The implications of the letter I’d found also had me racked with uncertainty. There were two paths I could take, like the proverbial fork in the road. Once I picked one there’d be no turning back. No do-overs. No never minds.

  Whichever way I’d ultimately go, it wouldn’t happen until Monday. The people I needed to involve were weekday workers entitled to their day of rest. Anyway, that’s how I justified putting it off. In retrospect, though, I’m pretty sure any one of them would’ve preferred learning the truth sooner rather than later.

  To keep myself from obsessing over the letter I put it away. More specifically, I slipped it between the pages of the latest edition of “Hawaii Bride” I’d left on the nightstand. No way Steve would inadvertently toss it out with the trash since one of our house rules was no entering the others’ bedroom unless something’s on fire or there’s no response after three attempts at knocking.

  Time passed slowly as I ticked off long-procrastinated items off my to-do list. I washed my car and bundled what seemed like a year’s worth of “The Maui News” to recycle at the dump. I cleaned out the refrigerator, which only took a few minutes given our Mother Hubbard-like inventory of fresh food, then I gave my shower a good scrubbing. I considered re-sealing the grout but enough was enough.

  Steve came home at four-thirty. After a few moments of pleasantries followed by his artful dodge of answering questions regarding his activities on the night before, he yawned and claimed he was overdue for a nap.

  “Finn’s coming back tomorrow,” I yelled to his back as he beat a hasty retreat up the stairs.

  He turned. “He is? Where’s he been, anyway?”

  “No idea. Some kind of black ops cyber thing.”

  “You want me to give you guys a little space? It’s cool, ‘cuz I’ve got a place I can crash if you need me gone.”

  I started to object, then stopped. The last thing I wanted was a blow-by-blow account of Finn’s farewell speech circulating around town. I’d already gained the somewhat sketchy reputation as a woman who couldn’t hold on to a man. Getting dumped six months after getting back from my honeymoon certainly wasn’t something any sane wedding coordinator would proudly slap on her resumé.

  “That’d be great. Just a day or two.”

  “What’ve you got planned for his homecoming?”

  Steve is the kind of romantic for whom everything requires a celebration. A new love, a break-up, getting-back-together, a betrayal, hiring a hit man—okay, he hasn’t done that yet, to my knowledge—but every occasion merits lots of planning and over-the-top food and décor.

  “I’m playing it low-key,” I said. “I’m taking tomorrow off and we’ll probably just hang out.”

  He came back down the stairs and took my face in his hands. “Look at me. Your man’s been gone for more than a week. And in that time you’ve been mourning the loss of Lani while worrying about the fate of your sifu, who’s been fingered for her murder. This is not a time for ‘hanging out.’ This situation demands action. And by that, I mean a pull-out-all-the-stops welcome home lovefest to get your mind off things.”

  If he only knew.

  “Mahalo, but I’ve got it handled.”

  “Champagne?”

  “I think I’ve still got a few bottles left over from our wedding.”

  “You mean in that box in the garage?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oops. I did you the favor of making sure those fine specimens of viticulture didn’t get ‘corked’ while they waited for you to flaunt your fun side.”

  “You mean you drank all of it?”

  “Not all by myself! Give me a little credit. Remember when Allen came over and we moved my rowing machine over to his place?”

  “That called for champagne?”

  He sniffed. “Well, we were in the early throes of blissful two-someness. Everything called for a celebration back then.”

  “Okay, but then the answer is, no, I don’t have any champagne.”

  He flicked a hand as if waving away a fly. “Consider it handled. I’ll make sure you have a chilled bottle on ice before I skedaddle out of here.”

  “Mahalo.” I gave him my best poker face, but I couldn’t help thinking how a good bottle of bubbly could go a long way in softening the blow Finn was poised to inflict.

  Steve narrowed his eyes. “And how about food? You know, not to sound cruel, but you’re a seriously sustenance-challenged person. I’ll bet you don’t have a speck of brie, Vermont cheddar, or even, shudder, Colby cheese on hand. Let alone a cracker that’s less soggy than the sponge I use to wash my car. I’ll pick up some decent cheese, a cluster of grapes, and new a box of those super-thin French crackers while I’m at it.”

  “Steve, please don’t go to so much trouble. It’s just Finn. And he—”

  “Just Finn? My dear, he’s just the love of your life. Just your lawfully-wedded husband. And he’s just returned from Kill-you-as-soon-as-look-at-you-stan. Let’s get a little perspective here, girl.”

  I toyed with the notion of bringing Steve up to date on Finn’s asking Ono to find him a divorce lawyer but let it go. There’d be plenty of time to stomp through that rubble once Finn had moved out. As Auntie Mana used to say, “Don’t borrow trouble. The interest payments are a buggah.”

  Later that night Steve made dinner. While I cleaned up the kitchen he drove off to the store to stock us up on what he refers to as “smile food.” When he returned he toted in bag after bag of spendy cheeses, sliced deli meats, aromatic bread
s, and about five kinds of olives, each in its own little plastic container.

  “You can never have too many olives,” he crowed. “Those little workhorses can grace a pizza, a salad, or a tiny sliver of baguette. Not to mention being the crowning glory in the perfect martini.”

  I doubted if Finn and I would be shaking up martinis. But then, I might be swilling gin straight from the bottle after he left and perhaps a little olive chaser would be nice.

  “Okay, I’ve put all the yummy eats away,” Steve said. “But before I go, I want you to tell me what’s eating you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Oh honey, I’ve lived with you, what, almost four years now? You don’t think I can tell when you’re about to burst into spontaneous combustion? Spill.”

  There’d be no getting rid of Steve until I told him something. But what? I wasn’t ready to delve into my rocky marriage, and I still hadn’t decided which way to go on the letter I’d found in Doug’s office.

  I pointed to the front porch. “Let’s grab a glass of wine and sit outside.”

  “Don’t even think that a glass of your less-than-stellar wine will make me leave without learning what’s going on with you.”

  “I know. It’s just that it’s such a nice night and I’d like your opinion on something.” I could always count on asking Steve’s opinion to distract him from demanding full disclosure.

  “Ah, so that’s it. You were reluctant to ask for my advice because you’re honoring my recent heartbreak.”

  I’d forgotten I can also count on him to think everything’s about him.

  As we sat in the ancient wicker porch chairs that I’d thought would’ve collapsed years ago and drank mediocre wine I told him about Farrah’s troubles with the kahu. Steve whistled when I mentioned the guy charged a thousand dollars to bless her house.

  “Seems kind of steep. I mean, she wasn’t asking him to re-roof it at the same time, was she?”