Iced in Paradise

by Naomi Hirahara

  “I going to the bathroom. Are you okay, Leilani?”

  I nod. “How about you?” Besides our dad being taken in for questioning by police, there was the shock of Luke’s death. The golden surfer had been at our family table, eating a mouthful of pancit the night before.

  Dani nods.

  “Come ova here,” I tell her.

  Dani slowly approaches, as if she’s slightly scared of what I’m going to say. “You and Sophie cleaned off the surfboards that Dad and Luke brought ova yesterday.”

  She nods again, and I notice some sleep stuck in the corner of her eyes.

  “What did they look like?”

  “They were boards I had never seen before. One was made out of wood.”

  I pick up Luke’s phone, tap the screen, and hold it in front of her. “Was it dis one?”

  Dani squints and nods. “Yeah, it had that funny mark on it. Sophie said that it was a bad mark, but I didn’t know why. What does it mean?”

  I frown, trying to understand why my dad and Luke would bring over such a board to the Islands. “I explain later,” I tell her.

  “I really gotta go shi-shi.” Dani’s hands are clasped in front of her giant T-shirt.

  “Yah, sorry,” I say and let her go.

  I finish off the ice cream and wash out the empty carton so that the bugs don’t come. After smashing it into the trash, I look into my parents’ room. Mom is sleeping alone in the bed. Dad hasn’t come home yet. Toma, that friggin liar. He said that he was taking my Dad in for questioning, not that he was going to spend a night in the police station.

  Based on Luke’s phone display, it’s midnight and I probably should handle this in the morning, but I can’t sleep, anyway. I take a couple of keys off of their hooks underneath the “Please Take Off Your Slippahs” sign and put on my Crocs. Once I’m in the Ford, I take out a lighter and a fresh pack of cigarettes from the glove compartment. Once the car is running, I open the window and blow out some smoke into the moist night air.

  Once I reach Waimea Junction, I see that the mystery man’s white van is outside Aunt Lulu’s old place, which is lit up. Is this guy some kine vampire? I say to myself. What’s he doing on Kaua‘i, anyhows?

  I park my car in front of Lee’s Leis and Flowers, pull out a flashlight from the car door pocket, and quietly creep up the wooden stairs of Killer Wave.

  I go in without turning on the light and use the flashlight to get to the back. There are the same five, six surfboards lined up in a row. Mostly rentals. I don’t see anything wooden. On the floor, underneath the worktable, I spot the two black surfboard cases, next to the rollaways. Both empty. I aim the flashlight in different corners of the back room to make sure that I haven’t missed anything.

  Through the back window, the grim face of the haole neighbor stares back at me from outside. I let out an f-bomb and then regain my composure. I go to open the back door, but he beats me to it.

  I tighten my grip around the flashlight as he enters the back room.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” he says. I guess he noticed my fighting stance.

  “Damn, you scare me,” I tell him.

  “Well, you scared me.” He adjusts his glasses. “You’re the girl with the shave ice shop. One of the Santiagos.”

  I snap on the light. “I’m Leilani.”

  “Sean Cohen,” he introduces himself. He has huge brown eyes behind his black-framed glasses. His hair is a mass of dark curls. “I’ve moved in next door. I’m from California.” Tell me something I don’t know. “Sunnyvale. It’s near San Jose.”

  Never heard of it, but I nod my head as if I have.

  Since we are getting friendly, I feel bold enough to ask him outright, “Whatchu doin’ here in Waimea, anyway?”

  “I’m here to make soap.”

  Oh, one of those Mainland people, I think. Made some coin there and then come to Hawai‘i to produce something that nobody really needs. “I saw you movin’ in,” I tell him. “This is my father’s place, too.”

  “Then why are you sneaking around with a flashlight?”

  “Well, I didn’t want to bother you.”

  “That didn’t work.” He says it with a squirt of sarcasm. I like sarcasm and am warming up to my neighbor, who I have to admit is pretty hot up close. “I may be on edge because of what happened.”

  I look down. “Yeah, I’m the one who found him.”

  “I heard.”

  “The police told you?”

  “Well, it’s been all over the local news, too. They even said that they may have a person of interest in custody.”

  Not my father, I hope. “The police don’t know the whole story.” Seeing Sean’s confused expression, I say, “He brought over a bizarre surfboard. I’m wondering if that’s connected with his murder.”

  “That must be some surfboard.”

  I remove Luke’s phone from my pocket and turn it on. It still has about thirty percent juice. “Look what’s on the nose of the surfboard.”

  Sean pulls off his glasses, studies the image, and frowns. “That’s not what I think it is.…”

  I nod my head.

  The glasses are back on his face. “Why would Luke and his father be seen with a swastika?”

  “So it is his father? You know them or someting?”

  “Know of them. The father owns some property on Kaua‘i. I doubt that he’s a white nationalist, but I guess you never know.”

  Could Luke be a Nazi lover? I ponder that for a moment. Why would he be hanging out with my dad, a Filipino Japanese? Maybe he was being unduly influenced by some Grand Wizard type, like his father. Maybe his father convinced Luke that he couldn’t accept a sponsorship from Killer Wave.

  “I don’t think Luke was that type of guy. But I really don’t know much about him.” I think back to his crowd in Bamboo Royal. None of them seemed the hater type. Except for maybe the girlfriend. You didn’t want to cross her. All I knew was this was all way beyond me. “I probably need to get his phone to the police. And tell them about the missing surfboard.”

  “Hey, before you give it to them, can I get a picture of the surfboard?”

  “Why?” What was this guy after?

  “I’m always on the lookout for haters.”

  That’s kind of a weird thing to say, but I don’t challenge it. “Sure, go ahead.” I touch the screen and hold out the phone.

  After he takes his photo, he says, “I can drive you over. Where’s the police station? In Līhu‘e?”

  “Nah, too humbug.” I don’t want to be a burden. Plus, I’m a little scared about going into that white van.

  “Let me help you. We’re neighbors now.”

  Against my better judgment, I agree. I know that Travis wouldn’t approve. Neither would Kelly or Pekelo. But they aren’t here, and despite their concerns, I can take care of myself.

  I remember Luke’s suitcase and bring that with us, too. The whole drive over, I also cling the flashlight tightly. If Sean tries anything, he’ll find a flashlight in the middle of his Adam’s apple.

  Sean’s GPS takes us to the Lihue Police Station, not far from the airport and Walmart. In the darkness, it reminds me of a haunted museum. Outside, it looks grand, but inside it is anything but, I can tell you that firsthand.

  Sean pulls Luke’s rollaway as we enter the station. Since it’s the middle of the night, it’s quiet, and it seems like the receptionist prefers it that way. I want to ask about my father’s whereabouts but figure that I can work up to it. I take a chance and ask for Andy.

  “It’s important. I have evidence related to the murder of Luke Hightower,” I say in my most authoritative voice.

  The receptionist looks me up and down and checks out Sean. “One minute,” she says, and then she gets on the phone.

  Could Andy be here so late? I wonder. Based on all their recruitment advertisements, I know that the police force has had a lot of open vacancies.

  Andy appears from a doorway in back of the reception area
. “Whatchu doin’ here in da middle of the night?”

  I place the phone on the counter.

  “What dis?”

  “Luke’s phone. I found it tonight. It was underneath my bed. He must have dropped it before he left the house.” I press the button to turn on the screen and point to the lock-screen image.

  Andy doesn’t seem to register the swastika on the surfboard. Instead, he’s more fixated on the older man. “Dat’s his faddah,” he says, confirming what Sean told me. “Sergeant Toma at the airport with him to pick da wife up.”

  Before Andy can claim the phone, I put my hand over it. “I’ll give you dis, but I want my phone back. You guys don’t have a warrant for it, and Toma shouldn’t have taken it.”

  “I betta check with him first.”

  “Andy, do you want this piece of evidence or what? I brought his suitcase here and everything.”

  Andy bites his lip. “Okay, lemme check with the other assistant chief.”

  “And there’s another thing. Where’s my father? Is he under arrest?”

  “We told him he was free to go home, but he said that he was fine sleeping in the jail cell for a night.”

  That was plain pupule. I would think Andy was lying, but knowing him since high school, he wasn’t that kind of guy.

  “Why you wen hold him for so long? And why you make him look guilty in front of everyone at the beach?”

  Andy’s face becomes flushed. He knows that the police had mishandled the situation at Cannons Beach but still tries to defend their actions. “Some newlyweds saw the news about Luke Hightower and came to the station to report dat you faddah had a fight with him.”

  “It wasn’t a fight. Just disagreement.”

  “Whatever it was, dat’s motive right there.”

  I start to remember sequences of my favorite Law & Order episodes. “Where da murder weapon, den?”

  “Yah, we still looking into it.”

  “Tell my dad we’re here to take him home.”

  “You hangin’ out with him now?” Andy asks, gesturing at Sean, who was sitting on a bench with Luke’s rollaway beside him.

  “He gave me a ride, okay? Just being neighborly.”

  I think Andy rolled his eyes a bit. What does he care who I spend my time with?

  “Waitaminute,” he tells me before he goes off to talk to his higher-ups. Toma’s not going to be happy that he’s not being consulted, but that’s his problem, not mine.

  I sit next to Sean on the bench. “I think they’re going to let my dad go.”

  “That’s great,” he says. “That’s what you wanted, right?”

  Just then the doors of the station open, and it’s Toma, followed by an older haole couple. They look beleaguered; the woman’s shoulders are bent over as the man holds on to her bent arm, as if he is holding her up. He has a head full of silver hair. I realize it’s the man in the photo with the swastika surfboard, the father.

  When the woman sees the rollaway next to us, she snaps to life. “That’s my son’s suitcase.”

  Toma narrows his eyes. He obviously is not thrilled to see me. “What are you doing here, Leilani?”

  “We brought this.” I gestured toward the Union Jack rollaway. “And I found his phone underneath my bed.” Luke’s mother and the man give me a side eye and I hear how awful that sounds. “No, it’s not—”

  “Mr. and Mrs. Hightower, please go down the hall to the open conference room. I’ll be with you in a few minutes.” The father, like a predator bird, locks eyes on me, and I feel chills going down my spine. Chicken skin all over. Toma waits until the couple is a hundred yards away before dealing with me.

  “So that’s the father,” I observe and exchange glances with Sean, who also seems to have recognized him from the photo on Sean’s phone.

  Toma crosses his arms. There are bags under his eyes that I haven’t noticed before. “This is none of your business, okay? Turn in Luke’s things and go.”

  “I’d take a good look at his phone,” I tell him. “And the surfboard that he brought over, it’s gone now.” I lower my voice. “It has a swastika on it. Maybe someone stole it.”

  “We don’t need a Nancy Drew on this. I’ve been doing this work for twenty years now.” And he probably has ambitions to be the next chief.

  “I’m waiting for my dad. You haven’t charged him with anything, right? He should be able to go. And I’m getting my cell phone back.” I want to say, I know my rights, Sergeant Toma, but I’m actually just learning about them now.

  “I know your father had something to do with this.” He points his index finger at me. It’s a bit crooked, like he had broken or dislocated it in the past. “He hasn’t been telling anyone the whole truth. But I’ll find out what he’s hiding.” After that threat, he leaves, the leather belt holding his assorted weapons squeaking as he makes his way down the hall.

  I sit back down on the bench.

  “He doesn’t like you much,” Sean says.

  “We have history. And believe it or not, we’re related. Not by blood, though.”

  Sean looks at his phone and scrolls through his messages. What kind of texts would a soap maker receive in the middle of the night?

  Finally, Andy appears in the reception area, and my father a few steps behind him. Dad’s hair, like Dani’s, is a tangle, and his goatee has grown into a beard. As he gets close, he smells ripe; it’s obvious he hasn’t bocha for some time now.

  “Who’s he?” Dad asks about Sean as he rolls the suitcase toward Andy.

  “He’s in Aunt Lulu’s spot. He makes soap.”

  “Eh?” Dad doesn’t look too impressed.

  “Forget about that. He drove me down here. Luke’s parents are here.”

  Dad’s face becomes gray, the color of ash. “I told the mother I take care of the son.” His eyes are bloodshot, like the times he had been drinking.

  “And here’s your phone.” Andy returns my cell, and it feels good to have it back in the palm of my hand. Come to Mama, I think. It’s silly to have emotion about an inanimate object, but that phone is my connection to Travis and the rest of the world. I try to check my texts, but the phone is completely dead.

  As I promised, for this phone exchange, I surrender Luke’s phone to Andy, its battery level now at eighteen percent. Once we are in the van, my father sits in the front passenger seat. He doesn’t bother to say anything to Sean. No thank-yous, no howzits. We ride in silence, and I watch the moon bounce light over the ocean in the distance.

  I direct Sean to my house, but he seems to know exactly where I live. Waimea isn’t big, but he’s a newcomer, and I wonder if he knows more about us than he is telling me.

  As soon as he stops by our run-down mailbox, Dad opens the passenger door and jumps out.

  “Tanks,” I quickly say to Sean as I get out and start running after Dad. I’m quick enough to grab the tail of his Killer Wave shirt. In the full moon, some of the writing is glowing.

  “What?” My father is irritated to be caught by me.

  “Before we go in, I need to know some things.”

  He waits, scowling in his typical way.

  I readjust my weight from one leg to the other. “Where were you? The night Luke was killed.”

  “What, you da police now?”

  “Dad, I deserve an answer. I went all the way to the North Shore to track you down last night.”

  “I went surfing. Used a stick outside one of the shacks in Hanalei Bay.” Borrowed would be a generous word. Some would say steal.

  “All night?”

  “When I got tired, I slept underneath the banyan tree.” That would explain the sand caked in his hair. But do I believe him?

  “I nevah kill him, Leilani. I was mad, but I wouldn’t have killed him.”

  “By the way, his surfboard is missing.”

  “What surfboard?”

  “One of the surfboards he brought over. The wooden one. It had a swastika on it.”

  “Who knows about it?”


  “Andy and Toma, too, if he bothered to listen. Maybe the one who took the surfboard was the one who killed him.”

  “Leilani, stay out of dis,” Dad says. “You not helpin’.” He opens the screen door and goes inside, leaving me alone outside. Somewhere in the neighborhood, a wild rooster crows in the still darkness, as if searching for someone to hear him.

  Chapter Five

  I DON’T SLEEP WELL THAT NIGHT. I do have some dreams, and I remember one with Luke. He’s alive, only his hair is brown instead of blond. He’s wearing shorts and a Killer Wave shirt. He’s at Pakala Beach, a little southeast of Waimea. He’s walking toward the Infinities surf break in his clothes and without his board. “Luke, come back,” I call out. But he doesn’t hear me over the roar of the surf. He keeps walking, his brown hair barely visible as the waves pound over him until he is completely submerged.

  I wake up groggy, and I don’t want to move. I can hear the padding of footsteps, the frenetic, hyper steps of probably Sophie and the sure-and-steady ones of Dani. They are getting ready for school. Mom tells them to hurry up, and the toilet is flushed. More light steps on the linoleum and then the bang of the screen door. There are some sounds coming from the kitchen, the clang of dishes and maybe silverware. I smell coffee and pull myself up, grabbing the quilt that Baachan made for me and wrapping it around my shoulders. I fell asleep while my phone was recharging, and now I see a solid wall of text messages. I’m going to need some coffee to get through them.

  Baachan is sitting at the kitchen table with the cup of hot green tea that she always drinks in the morning. The paper square of the tea bag hangs from her handleless Japanese mug, and steam covers the surface of her reading glasses. Dad is in one of the other chairs with a mug of coffee, most likely black, the way I drink it, too.

  “Howzit,” I murmur and leave my phone on the kitchen table as I go over to the coffeemaker. I take my tumbler out of the plastic dish rack and fill it up about halfway.