Murders of Conveyance, page 2
Izzy is the only one of Miriam’s Ladies who is from the Islands. I had thought she was of purely Filipina background, but recently I learned the diminutive woman’s mother was Portuguese. At the time her parents married, there was much less mixing of ethnicities. Her maternal grandmother had not been pleased when her granddaughter married a short man with little education who worked his entire life as a fry cook in a diner. I, for one, benefited from the results of that union, since the delicacies created by Izzy greatly enrich my daily life.
Keoni grinned. “Who knows what Joanne might contribute from the garden—aside from the catnip I saw her planting the other day.”
Joanne came to her love of all things horticultural late in life. She journeyed throughout the world before arriving in Hawai`i, but sometimes I hear a hint of the South in her voice. I recently learned that she comes from a poor Creole family in rural Louisiana. After escaping her limited prospects, she joined the Army and eventually used the benefits of the G.I. Bill to earn a bachelor’s degree in education. Returning to government service, she became a teacher for military families. In addition to providing the neighborhood with luscious fruits and vegetables, she inspires our youth as a volunteer photography instructor.
At that point Keoni got a call. His Bluetooth system kicked in and I heard Samantha Turner’s voice. While she clarified details of the work she would be performing for him during our absence, I thought about how we know her.
After being an abused wife of a man noted for sordid business dealings, Samantha had been delighted to join the loving circle of women that welcomed her to Mokulua Hale. And although she was not originally one of Miriam’s Ladies, being present at the time of the psychologist’s death also awarded her lifetime occupancy of their benefactor’s home. Now, in addition to helping us with odds and ends that arise in our individual work, she is looking forward to a full-time career and is studying European languages and international business.
Within a few minutes we were pulling up at the front of our hotel. I dropped Keoni with our luggage and opted for self-parking, since the scavenger hunt might require access to rapid transportation. When I entered the lobby, I saw that Keoni had already checked us in. He was visiting with someone near a huge pot filled with blooming ki plants.
“Natalie, I’d like you to meet Alec Salinas. You could say we spent a lot of our misbegotten youth together. We both attended Queen Lili`uokalani Elementary, served as MPs in Nam, and entered the police academy together.”
“Nice to meet another survivor of Keoni’s working life,” I said, extending my hand.
“The pleasure’s mine,” replied the scarecrow of a man.
The two men may be the same age, but it appeared that life had been less kind to Alec. Although his jacket fitted his body as though it had been tailored for him, he was completely white haired and hunched, as well as skinny. When he clasped my hand with his left, I realized he was missing a couple of fingers on his right hand.
“Those were the glory days, my friend. After that, I moved to the Big Island for a couple of decades of alternating rhythms. Between the slow pace of upcountry policing in Waimea and the hustle of tourist-driven Kailua-Kona, I had the ideal balance—until a little run in with a man piloting a plane-load of contraband ended life as I knew it.”
“I don’t think anyone would say you slept through any of your career,” responded Keoni.
Alec shrugged and rolled his eyes. “I’d better get back to writing some reports. One nice thing about this gig is that I don’t have to be dexterous. I can use voice recognition software for most of my paperwork. You two enjoy yourselves. Here’s my card if you need anything.”
In a moment, we were alone in the elevator. Keoni squeezed my waist and leaned into me for a kiss.
“Hey, where’s the luggage?” I asked.
“Already taken care of. That’s the beauty of a full-service hotel. I checked in and the bellman took everything away. By now it should all be in our suite.”
We soon arrived at the door of our suite. Keoni popped in his entry card and passed a second one to me. I have not taken any trips since retiring and had never been in this hotel. But I could tell we were going to be comfortable in this suite featuring a coffee bar, five-strand cane furniture, and lithographs of classic paintings by Paul Gauguin and maps drawn by James Cook.
“Mm, there’s even a kitchenette with a rice cooker. I think I could get used to this kind of compact living,” I said gleefully.
Calling from the bathroom, Keoni added his acknowledgement of the value of our prize. “If you think you like the kitchen, wait until you see the Jacuzzi tub.”
We then played house for a while, arranging our clothing and toiletries. “You may not have brought much clothing, but you certainly didn’t stint on the bottles and jars,” he laughed while fanning his hand across the bathroom counter.
“Well, this is our first getaway and I want to make the most of our rendezvous with romance. Especially tonight, since we’re alone.”
“Promises, promises. And now my dear, how about a little champagne to christen our week in the big city. If you’ll look in the refrigerator, I believe you’ll find a little something has been dropped off by Ben.”
“That neighbor of yours really gets around,” I commented, moving quickly to open the refrigerator. “Oh, my…Pierre Gimonnet Champagne Brut…Blanc De Blancs. And who made the choice of this fine wine?”
“I did. And I’ll have you know I even did a bit of research. Balanced with floral and fruit notes and a crisp finish.”
“Sounds like a heavenly assurance of the evening to come,” I replied.
“That was the idea. One thing though, let’s not get too comfortable. Alec suggested we check out the hotel’s facilities, including the restaurant and lounge on the top floor.”
“All right. Although I thought we might live it up and dial room service for dinner.”
“Great minds think alike. Alec said the restaurant handles room service. They’ve got superb seafood. They even have Maine lobster flown in once a week. On Fridays. It’s the one night the business crowd hangs around town after work. We may need to place our order before the kitchen runs out. Not that I mean to force you into eating lobster.”
“You did say Maine lobster? I haven’t had that for several years. Why don’t we order our dinner at the restaurant during our tour?” I suggested, anticipating treats of many kinds.
While sharing a single glass of bubbly, we looked over the hotel’s comprehensive album outlining their amenities. The only decision we had to make was whether to go upstairs or down. After slipping into our sandals and closing the door, we decided to check out the first-floor shops and spa prior to enjoying the lounge.
Keoni was patient as I salivated at high-end jewelry and handbags. I tried to be as kind while he contemplated aloha shirts and kangaroo leather hats. When we entered the doors of the spa, we were greeted by a team of one man and one woman—obviously wanting to ensure that each guest felt welcome. Upon learning we were locals on a tight schedule, they eased up on what I was sure was normally a prolonged pitch for the many services we could experience.
Back in the elevator, I announced the one spa service I would truly appreciate. That evening. Delivered not by the hands of a stranger, but those of the man I love.
“Happy to ease your stress, my dear,” responded Keoni with a leer. “Will that be now, or do you want to complete the tour?”
“It’s a difficult choice, but I guess as long as we’re upright with shoes on, we might as well continue exploring our temporary home,” I said with a sigh.
Never one to ignore an opportunity to assure me of his affection, Keoni pulled me to him and planted a kiss on my brow. He had just straightened up when the elevator doors opened on a crowd of business men and women who looked like they had been enjoying an early round of TGIF liquid delight.
Within a few moments, we were seated at a table overlooking the city and the ocean. Knowing we would be enjoying a private dinner in our room, I ignored the pūpū menu, and simply nibbled at the mix of nuts and dried fruit the waiter set in front of us.
“I don’t usually play tourist, but I haven’t had a Mai Tai in years. What kind of rum do you use?” I asked the young man serving us.
“As a connoisseur, I can say you’ll be pleased with our signature Mai Tai which includes Coruba Jamaican rum, Amoretti Orgeat almond syrup, Giffard curaçao liqueur, and lime juice.”
“That sounds divine,” I said.
“The only catch is that I may end up having to finish the champagne by myself,” observed Keoni with a sparkle in his beautiful blue eyes. “It’s a good thing I’m going to stick with the classic iced tea served with a spear of pineapple for now.”
Recognizing the potency of the drink I had ordered, I began eating the house nut mix in earnest. “This is really good.”
“I’m glad you’re getting a little protein to go with the liquor, but don’t overdo the snacking if you want to appreciate your dinner.”
“Yes, Daddy. I’ll have you know that in anticipation of tonight, I restrained myself from eating much today. Besides, we’ve got a refrigerator for storing any leftovers.”
“Good point, dear.”
Soon we had consumed our drinks and eaten a full bowl of the nut mix. After settling our bill, we moved next door to look over the restaurant. As I glanced through the menu, I realized that the restaurant was owned by the chef who had opened the culinary school I would be writing about. Since it was Friday, there was no deliberating on what I would order for dinner. Upon returning to our suite, we moved into the bathroom for one of our favorite pastimes—a long relaxing steamy shower for two. By the time dinner arrived an hour later, I was attired in one of the fluffiest bathrobes I had worn outside of a five-star hotel in Europe. With Keoni wearing swim trunks and a T-shirt, it seemed prudent to let him answer the door.
When I heard the waiter leave, I came out to find a lovely setting on the table in front of the sliders leading to the lānai. We began our feast with halves of artichoke stuffed with crab and then shared a Caesar salad. In addition to one entrée of lobster and another of grilled `ahi, we relished a medley of wild rice and quinoa with slivers of Maui onion and asparagus.
“Well, honey, welcome to my world. At least the world I knew as a leisure journalist. I know it may not be the blast you and the guys have when you go deep sea fishing, but what do you think?” I inquired extending my glass for a refill.
“Now this is a form of R & R I could get used to—on a regular basis,” said Keoni.
“I agree, sweetheart. With a potential trip to Japan on the horizon, I’m glad I’ve maintained my travel industry contacts. I’ll see what I can come up with for a party of four—unless your old HPD buddy Stan Carrington and his girlfriend Tamiko have better connections in Sapporo. When’s the last time you spoke to Stan?
“I haven’t talked to him since my birthday party, but I think I would have heard if he and Tamiko had broken up. He’s always been one for sharing the big moments in his life…not always just the good ones.”
“Here’s a toast to romantic relationships…and continuing journeys of interest,” I said.
After that, we filled a couple of glasses with the sun tea we had brought from home and went out on the lānai to enjoy the twilight sky. Later we settled in for a private film festival.
“What are you in the mood for?” queried my sweetheart.
“I’m game for most anything. Last night I had a funny dream from an old black and white movie. I just can’t remember which one.”
“Sounds like fun, but don’t look to me for titles. I’ve probably watched them all, but I never remember the details—except for a classic like Casablanca, which I think would be a bit of a downer tonight. What kind of plot did your mental movie have?”
“It was a whodunit: a dead guy in a hotel hall; a woman going through his belongings.”
“Intriguing. I don’t know how we could figure out what its title is, so we’ll just pick something that looks interesting. If we’re lucky, we’ll see your film.”
For several minutes, we clicked through the movie guide. “Here’s a classic. How about we begin our evening with The Maltese Falcon?” offered Keoni, pulling me closer. Little did we realize the events that would flow from our night at the movies.
CHAPTER 2
The joys of meeting pay the pangs of absence…
Nicholas Rowe [1674 - 1718]
It may not sound like a romantic opening to St. Valentine’s Day, but Keoni and I started our first morning in the hotel with a simple breakfast of Kona coffee and bagels with macadamia nut butter. While sitting on the lānai, we looked over our packet of information about the scavenger hunt. Like many events in the Islands, the entry fees we had paid were inclusive. Every evening we were to receive two cocktails and pūpūs. There would also be a lū`au, Chinese New Year dinner, and banquet to award the grand prize.
“I’ve never been on a scavenger hunt,” I noted. “But I’ve found there’s one common factor among the people who have. They’re the same ones who like car rallies.”
“I hear you. I knew one guy who was really into scavenger hunts. He fit the profile you’ve mentioned perfectly. Loved anything to do with cars…muscle cars, that is. He was thrilled any time he could bring out one of his vintage babies—at least until one hunt took him out to some old sugar cane fields and he got stuck in a ditch and scraped the body of his high-performance cobra jet Grand Torino. After that he steered clear of any events that weren’t held on paved surfaces. The only other guy I knew who loved scavenger hunts went on one because it beat sitting around listening to his wife’s parents talking about her old boyfriends on Thanksgiving.”
“I think this scavenger hunt is going to be somewhat different than other ones I’ve heard about. It’s not really timed, other than different tasks on each day; and there are numerous references to Hawaiian culture and history.”
“I noticed that. I think it’s good that I was born here and you’re a wiz at research. I don’t see how mainlanders like Margie and Dan O’Hara could compete in the hunt without local assistance,” Keoni said.
“It may not be an even playing field for non-residents, but the organizers would be foolish to limit participation to locals. If they’re smart, contestants from off-island will team up like we’re doing—you know, based on their knowledge of the area and individual skill sets. I just hope everyone has such a good time that the event is successful and becomes an annual affair. It would be a great way to gain funding for those suffering from domestic violence…and the hunt will bring media attention to the cause.”
“I’m sure everything will work out. Let’s just enjoy the week. With our free lodgings, we’re already winners,” observed Keoni.
“You’re right. Say, I was wondering, how many movies did we watch last night? I remember The Maltese Falcon, but after that my memory’s a bit fuzzy.”
“You made it through two films. The second one was The Thin Man. I stayed conscious halfway through a third. It was some Charlie Chan movie. I think it was set in Shànghăi. It’s nice that some of those old movies are so short.”
After we enjoyed our usual morning shower, we took a walk through the bustling downtown area surrounding the hotel. We were then ready to host our out-of-town guests. Since Margie works part-time for a travel agency, she gets fabulous deals on transportation, hotels, and even entertainment. This time it looked like they would be getting full value for their trouble.
Riding up in the elevator to the hotel’s top floor lounge, I thought about the many trips I have enjoyed with friends and family through my career in travel journalism. London and Paris may sound the most romantic to many people. But taking in New Year’s Eve in New York, the Parade of Ships during Fleet Week in San Francisco, or Rose Festival Week in Portland, Oregon, were more likely to draw companions to my side. It was not just the difference in cost. Domestic events allow for short side trips with the ability to move freely without the hassle of passports.
“So, Natalie, how does it feel to be back on the leeward side of the island?”
Coming out of my reverie, I paused to think. “Well, it’s not like downtown Honolulu was ever my home, so I probably won’t be joining John Denver in singing ‘It’s good to be back home again’. But I think our plans for the week have the earmarks of a pleasurable getaway. We’re together, sharing time with two of my oldest friends, and about to embark on an unpredictable adventure. Who could ask for more?”
Keoni quickly replied. “I agree with your sentiments. I’m looking forward to playing tourist for a few days. Who knows how much of O`ahu we’ll be exploring. As to the perks of being in this neighborhood, if I have to check in with a client, I’m within walking distance of most of them.”
“Don’t even think of pulling that on me. Hewitt Investigations is on hold for a few days. You’ve always said you can take off whenever you want to go on a fishing trip.”
“That was before my marriage to corporate America. Now I’m a very popular guy with the jacket-over-the-aloha-shirt set!”
“For this week, you’re my very popular guy. Are you already forgetting that we told Stan Carrington we’ll join him for that trip to Japan next year? How are we going to manage a trip to the Sapporo Snow Festival if you can’t take a short holiday on O`ahu?”
“Point taken. I’ve finished hooking my clients into their new security systems, so unless they’re hit by some nasty guys with evil intentions, we should be fine. I’ve got my tablet to monitor any minor problems.”
“That all sounds great—as long as you don’t end up wired to your electronics all week.”
