Aloha Betrayed (4 page)

‘Ike Aku, ‘Ike Mai
—Recognize and Be Recognized

M
ike’s car was a dusty blue SUV with a dent in the front fender on the passenger side and with the distinct aroma of fried fish inside. A plastic bag hanging from a radio knob held balled-up wax paper from a variety of fast-food places. Two empty cans of Coke occupied the cup holders in the console.

“It looks like you do a lot of eating on the run,” I said, hoping it didn’t sound like criticism.

“Yeah,” he said as I buckled up. “Excuse the mess. My wife won’t go near this car. She says it stinks. I cleaned it up for you. Not too bad now, huh?”

“As a method of transportation, it’s perfect,” I said, pressing a button to roll down the window.

“You don’t need air-conditioning?” he asked as the car started with a groan of protest and rumbled to life.

“I’m fine without it.”

“Where you from? Florida?”

“No,” I said, laughing. “I’m from Maine, all the way up the East Coast, the last state before Canada.”

“Never been there. Actually, the only place I been to on the mainland is California.”

“So you’re a Hawaiian, born and bred?”

“Relatively speaking,” he said. “My father was half-Hawaiian. Like most of us on the island, I’m pretty much a mutt. Got some Portuguese, Filipino, Samoan, French, Korean—I think there’s even some Irish in my blood.”

“My mother was from Ireland,” I said. “I knew we had something in common.”

Mike gave out with a belly laugh. “Then top o’ the morning to you, Cousin Jessica,” he said.

“That’s not a bad Irish accent you have there, Cousin Mike.”

A police car passed us on the road and the driver honked.

Mike gave him a Hawaiian wave, a fist with thumb and pinkie finger extended. He was silent a moment, then said, “After class tomorrow you should come to our family picnic.”

“Where is that?”

“We do a barbecue up in Iao Valley. Good food. You’ll like my wife. She’s a lot like you. Her name is Pualani. She calls herself Lani. Are you free?”

“I am, and I would be honored to come. Can I bring anything?”

“Just yourself,” he said, grinning. “It’ll save me a lot of time explaining to my wife who this woman is that I’ve been seen driving around with.”

From Kahului, where the college was located, we took Mokulele Highway across the island to Pi‘ilani, a four-lane road that ran parallel to the southwest coast and avoided the congestion of the main street through Kihei, a neighborhood of smaller condominiums, homes, and hotels where many of the resort employees lived.

Mike parked his car in a shopping center and we made our way between two luxury hotels to reach the Wailea Coastal Walk, a mile-and-a-half trail that ran behind waterfront resorts and private condominium developments. I’d explored a small portion of it the evening before. It was midday and hot. I followed Mike’s example and put on a hat, grateful that I’d thrown a pair of tennis shoes in my shoulder bag so I could change out of the dress pumps I’d worn to teach the class. The paved part of the walk radiated back the heat and the air shimmered above it as we walked past a crescent-shaped beach and down toward the field where the luau had been held.

A few runners, undaunted by the high temperature, coasted by us, but most of the pedestrians must have opted to wait for the cooler evening or early morning hours to enjoy the spectacular view. The luau field was empty, the tables and chairs gone, the stage dismantled and stored away until the next performance. We ambled around the curves of the coast, Mike taking his time and examining the vegetation along the path.

“So Miss Kapule was at the luau last night,” he said, pausing to peer over a bush near a rocky outcropping.

“I can’t confirm that,” I replied, “but one of the women at my table said that she’d seen her talking with someone.”

He moved on. “Who would that woman be?”

“Her name is Grace Latimer,” I said, glancing over the same bush that seemed to interest Mike. “What are you looking for?”

“Just admiring. Tell me about Miss Latimer.”

“About twenty-five, blond, blue eyes. Pretty, but a little restrained. She doesn’t smile much, but perhaps it was the company. She’s a graduate student working with Professor Abbott Luzon on her master’s project. The professor and his wife were at the luau as well.”

“In what context did Mala’s name come up?”

“I mentioned that I was looking for her. Mala had told me that one of her cousins was a dancer and that I might see her there.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No. We never found each other. At least, I didn’t find
her
. I have no idea if she was looking for me as well.”

“Was there any reason why she would have avoided you?”

“None that I can think of, although she had made a point of saying we might not run across each other because of the crowd.”

“How many people were there? Any idea?”

“I would guess several hundred, but the luau organizers should be able to give you a more precise number. As I understand it, everyone needed a ticket or reservation to get in.”

He grunted. “You didn’t make plans to meet in a particular area?”

I shook my head. “When I last saw her, she was going into an appointment in the science building and wasn’t even sure if she would make it to the luau. I simply suggested that we look for each other. That was the extent of our plan, if you can call it that.”

“But this Grace Latimer said she saw Mala at the luau? Did she speak with her?”

“I asked the same question. The answer is no. But that’s certainly understandable; at the time, Grace didn’t even know I was hoping to see Mala.”

“Who was Mala talking to?”

“You’ll have to ask Grace. All she said was that Mala was engaged in a serious conversation and looked as if she didn’t want to be interrupted.”

Mike thought about that a moment, then said, “You should tell this to the police.”

I smiled. “I thought I was.”

He looked down at his feet and shook his head slowly. “Sorry for the interrogation. Once a cop, always a cop,” he said with a bemused expression. “Hard to break old habits.”

“So I hear.”

“I’ll introduce you to a buddy on the force.”

“Why would he even be interested if they believe Mala’s death was an accident?”

“Just to cover all the bases.”

“Do you think it was an accident?”

“I already told you. I’m reserving judgment.”

“Just checking to see if you’re still telling the same story,” I said.

“You sure
you’re
not a cop?”

“Maybe in another life, but not in this one.”

“Yeah? You believe in that reincarnation stuff?”

“I’m reserving judgment,” I said.

Mike laughed. “Touché,” he said. “I don’t think there’s a word for that in Hawaiian.”

We continued along the path overlooking the water. At one point a stone wall rose about eight feet high, obstructing our view of the land and buildings above and narrowing the walkway so that those we met coming in the opposite direction had to stand sideways to let Mike and me pass. A little beyond, a wooden bridge crossed a small ravine, at the bottom of which a trickle of water flowed down a hill and over a sandy patch of shoreline into the sea. Yellow tape marked the place where three investigators were conferring on the sand.

“How good are you at rock climbing?” Mike asked.

“Am I about to find out?”

“Let’s see if we can find an easy way down.”

We walked around a wooden gate meant to keep trespassers off private property, backtracked up the side of the gully until the trail to the bottom was less steep, stepped through the brush that flanked the stream, and followed the smooth gray stones toward the wider water. Mike splashed directly through the water, and after trying unsuccessfully to keep my sneakers dry, I followed suit.

The crew on the beach looked up as we approached. Mike lifted his chin, “Howzit?” he called to a man in a blue flowered shirt and white shorts.

“’Ey, Kane! I thought you pulled the pin,” the man said, walking up to us. The two uniformed officers, a man and a woman, stayed by the shore.

“I got bored being retired. Besides, I heard you were praying to the goddess Uli for my return,” Mike said. He turned to me. “Jessica Fletcher, meet Detective Henry Tahaki, a big-mouth cop who thinks he knows forensics.”

Tahaki chuckled and reached out to shake my hand. “Aloha. Any friend of this big kahuna is welcome,” he said. “Jessica, is it?”

“That’s right. Nice to meet you.”

“Who you got with you?” Mike asked.

“New recruits. Showing them the ropes. How often do you get a dead body to investigate on Maui?”

“Once is too often,” Mike said.

Henry eyed Mike. “What brings you here? Did you know the vic?”

“Are you thinking she’s a victim now?”

“Whether it’s by her own hand or someone else’s, she’s dead,” Henry said. “That makes her a vic in my book.”

“Did you find evidence to sway you either way?”

“Look, brah, I got to know your position here. Last I heard you were working hotel loss prevention. I take it this isn’t a social visit.”

“Let’s just say I’m on special assignment from the department,” Mike said. “Private duty.”

Our class on community involvement in criminal investigation could be considered a “special assignment,” I thought, although I wasn’t sure the police department would approve of Mike’s using his position as an instructor to justify poking his nose into a case.

“Is Jessica here your assistant?” Henry asked.

Before Mike could answer, I piped up. “I’m his partner,” I said.

Henry’s eyebrows shot up. “A female private investigator? Cool. Don’t see too many of those,” he said.

I smiled, deciding not to correct Henry. If he filled in the blanks himself, I could honestly say that I hadn’t claimed to be a private investigator. I only hoped he wouldn’t ask to see my license.

“Jessica knows someone who saw Miss Kapule at last night’s luau,” Mike said.

“Yeah? Who was it?”

I gave Grace Latimer’s name to Detective Tahaki and told him he could find her at the college. I wondered if Grace had recognized the person Mala was talking to, and thought I might ask her myself the next time I was on campus. I realized I didn’t even know if Mala’s companion was a man or a woman, and silently chided myself for not having thought to inquire. But of course I never expected I would need to know such information. I had no reason to think Mala was in danger, if, indeed, she had been.

“This isn’t where she fell,” Mike said.

Henry shook his head. “No. They found her body up the coast a bit in a place only fit for
honu
.”

“That’s a sea turtle,” Mike said to me.

“You can’t get in there without a boat,” Henry continued, “and even with one, it’s a bumpy ride. The rocks’ll put a big gash in anything too heavy. They had to moor the rescue boat offshore and paddle in to get her.”

“How long do you figure she was in the water?”

“Not sure she was. Might have just been on the rocks. But that’s a question for the coroner, not me. I’m just checking out the area, see if she dropped anything, find any witnesses.”

“And?”

“We checked all the neighbors. No one saw or heard anything. At least that’s what they’re saying. It started to cloud over around oh one hundred hours. Rained for an hour or two. She could have slipped when the ground was wet. Couldn’t really tell; the rain washed away a lot.”

“So you don’t have a time of death?” Mike said.

Henry shrugged. “Sometime between darkness and oh six hundred, when a jogger called it in.”

“You can do better than that,” Mike said.

“Probably around midnight before the clouds covered the moon. If she was looking for a particular plant, she wouldn’t have been able to see it easily after that.”

“What makes you think she was looking for a plant?” I asked.

“I didn’t see the body, but one of the rescuers said she was holding some leaves in her hand.”

“Would you mind letting me see the report when you’re finished?” Mike asked.

Henry shrugged. “You know where they’re filed,” he said.

“Don’t make me go to headquarters,” Mike said. “E-mail me a copy. You can do that.”

Henry nodded but didn’t look too happy.

“Mahalo,”
Mike said to him.

“Yes. Thank you, and nice to meet you,” I said to the detective. I waved to the other officers, who were watching us.

“Not much new there,” Mike said under his breath as we left the beach.

“I’d like to see where she fell,” I said, trying to keep up with Mike’s pace.

“We’re on our way there now.”

“Why did Detective Tahaki call you ‘brah’?” I asked.

“It’s our word for ‘bro,’ like mainland slang for ‘brother.’ A lot of what you think is Hawaiian is just our version of the way an English word is pronounced. Like ‘fadda’ for ‘father’ or ‘eriding’ for ‘everything.’”

“I’m going to have to listen carefully,” I said.

“Stick with me. I’ll teach you. Before you leave, people will think you’re a real
kama‘aina
.”

“That sounds Hawaiian. Does it mean someone who lives here?”

“Yeah. A local. See? You’re picking it up already. All you really have to know is
aloha
,
mahalo
, and that it’s bad luck to whistle after dark.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” I said.
“Mahalo.”

“
A‘ole pilikia.
That means ‘no worries,’ but most people simply say ‘you’re welcome.’”

We traipsed up the stream, climbed the side of the ravine, and walked through the gate and back onto the trail. The wet footprints we left on the path evaporated almost immediately in the hot, dry air, and soon my sneakers were dry as well. A short way ahead, around a curve, more yellow tape alerted us to the site from which the police believed Mala had fallen. The grass there was matted; more than one pair of shoes had beaten it down. The trampled edge was across from a grassy area that bordered a condominium development. A wood-sided porch jutted from the second floor of the building, and a little boy in a straw cowboy hat leaned over the railing watching us. Thick black hair jutted out from beneath the hat. The lenses in the round, rimless glasses he wore caught the light and gave the impression that no eyes were behind them.