Livin' Lahaina Loca (3 page)

She
sniffed and crossed her arms.

I
took the moment of silence as an opportunity to nudge her back to the subject
at hand. “Well then, let’s order a fifty-serving cake. That way, you’ll have
plenty left over for your first anniversary. And remember, you’ll also have the
groom’s cake. Some people will eat that one instead.”

While
they flipped through page after laminated page of wedding cake photos, I
pondered how to mention finding the hank of hair. I’d hoped they would have
expressed some concern over their missing friend without prompting, but since
they hadn’t, I had to bring it up.

“It’s
hard to choose, isn’t it? Speaking of choosing, I was wondering how you
selected your bridesmaids. I mean, six bridesmaids is lot of girls for a small
wedding, especially since you’re having your ceremony on a boat.”

“They’re
all my best friends forever. How could I possibly decide who to pick and who to
leave out?”

“That’s
true, it’d be hard to choose just two or three. And they’re all really pretty
girls. I guess it’s true what they say about beautiful people sticking
together.” I was babbling like a beauty pageant contestant answering a tough
question, but I was trying my best to maneuver the conversation around to
discussing the missing bridesmaid.

“The
girls I hang around with are all just like me,” Nicole said. “We all belong to
the same health club and we all date the same kind of guys—successful ones. We
know what guys like in a girl and we dress to impress. Hey, if you don’t work
at looking good and finding love, you’ll end up alone, slaving at some stupid
job just to make ends meet.” She shot me a pitying look.

I
didn’t allow my eyes to wander down to my baggy yellow cotton tee-shirt dress
and rubber flip-flops—what we call
slippas
. That morning I’d given up
trying to find something fetching to wear to this meeting. It’d been months
since I’d gone shopping in Honolulu. In fact, the last article of clothing I’d
purchased had been a new kung fu uniform. A few weeks earlier my instructor,
Sifu Doug, had taken me aside and pointed out that my black silk uniform had
been washed so many times it had faded to a dusty gray. He said a worn-out
uniform sets a bad example for the younger students, and since I held a black
belt they looked up to me as a role model, and so on and so forth. Meeting Sifu
Doug’s dress code had set me back eighty bucks plus tax.

“Oh,
speaking of looking good, have you had any word from…?” I waited for Nicole to
supply the name of the missing bridesmaid so I could pretend she’d brought it
up first.

“From
my parents? No, they’re being jerks. They’re saying they don’t like to fly.
Funny, they don’t seem to have a problem flying to Vegas two or three times
every year.”

“No,
I mean, you know, have you heard from your bridesmaid who didn’t come back to
the hotel after the bachelorette party on Tuesday night?”

“Crystal
Wilson? Oh, she’s kind of weird like that. Like you said, I don’t need all six
girls. And besides, I thought she looked kind of pukey in the super-pink
bridesmaid dress. She’s the totally wrong color for it.”

What
she referred to as
super-pink
is a color most people call
fuchsia
.
It looked stunning on her brunette attendants; okay on the blonds. But I had to
agree—it looked downright clownish against Crystal’s milky-white skin and
vibrant red hair. Had Nicole sacked Crystal over a color clash and then covered
it up by claiming Crystal had taken off?  That still didn’t explain the
creepy ponytail on my back seat.

The
couple decided on a colossal three-tiered hexagon-shaped lemon pound cake with
a vanilla mousse filling studded with fresh papaya. The whole thing would be
covered in bright pink
ganache
and decorated with handmade white sugar
plumeria blossoms. It was, hands down, the most expensive model in my cake
collection. I couldn’t be more thrilled for them, or for my baker up in Kula.
To thank me for selling the top-of-the-line she’d probably throw in a dozen
free cupcakes for me and Steve.

Then
we moved on to the groom’s cake. Keith’s shoulders sagged as I flipped to the
tab marked
Groom
.

“Do
we have to do this right now?” he said. “I mean, I came down here thinking we’d
only have to pick one.”

I
slid the cake book across the desk to him and his face brightened.

“A
boob? I can have a boob cake?”

“If
you like.”

The
first cake in the section was an attention-grabbing realistically rendered
woman’s breast—complete with erect nipple.

Subsequent
groom’s cakes were done in golf motifs, poker hands, baseball themes and so on,
but the breast cake was always the show-stopper.

“Keith,
really.” Nicole wagged her head as if she felt obliged to feign disdain, but it
looked to me like she was more amused than offended.

“Here’s
the best part,” I said, spooling up for the
coup d’ grace
. “If Nicole’s
willing to provide a photo of her breast, the cake artist can match it. Color,
shape, nipple size—everything. But that’s if you’re okay with that. Otherwise,
we’ll just go with the standard model.”

“Oh,
Keith. How cool is that?”

“Way
cool. Okay, let’s do it. So, are we done here?”

“Almost,”
I said. “Can you guys come downstairs with me to my car? There’s something I
need to show you.”

“I
already missed the poker finale and I’m supposed to play golf at eleven.” Keith
checked his chunky expensive-looking watch and then gave Nicole a pointed look.

“Yeah,
we’re kind of in a hurry.” She grabbed her purse and popped up from her chair
as if she’d just remembered she’d left the iron on in her hotel room.

“I
promise this will only take a minute.” I’d already made it to the door.

We
clomped down the back steps and across the alley to where I’d illegally parked
my car in a loading zone.  

Keith
stopped short. “That’s your car? Seriously? Does it run?”

“It
runs fine. It’s a little
pupuka
from living so near the ocean. You know,
salt air is really hard on things.”

“Hey,
man, don’t blame the salt air for that sorry heap. That’s the most pathetic set
of wheels I’ve seen since high school. What do they call that color—phlegm
green?”

I
unlocked the rear door and pointed to the back seat. I hadn’t moved the hair
from where I’d found it the night before. Even though I’d agreed with Farrah
that I should call the police, I’d stalled off, wanting to see what the bridal
couple had to say.

“Any
idea what we’ve got here?” I said.

“Ugh,”
said Nicole. “What
is
that? It looks like some Hawaiian voodoo thing.”

“No,
it’s a ponytail—with a scrunchie,” I said. “And it looks a lot like your friend
Crystal’s hair, don’t you think?”

“I
don’t think it looks like hers at all. Her hair’s lighter. More blond.”

I
turned and stared at her. She grabbed Keith’s hand. “C’mon lover, we’ve gotta
go.”

“Nicole,”
I said, “I found this hair on my back seat last night. I’d been asking around
town about Crystal and then when I came back to my car I found this. Pretty odd
coincidence, don’t you think?”

“Wow,
Lahaina was totally crazy last night, don’t you think?” said Keith, faking a
laugh. “It’s probably just a wig from somebody’s costume.”

“Have
you seen or heard from Crystal since the bachelorette party?” I said in the
tone of voice I usually reserve for hung-over grooms.

“No,”
said Nicole. “But I already told you: she’s weird, and she’s moody. I’m not
worried about her, and you shouldn’t be either. She probably hooked up with
some guy and they’re still partying. Don’t stress over it.”

“I’m
pretty sure this is real human hair,” I said. “So, just to be safe, I’m going
to call the police.”

“Uh,
I wish you wouldn’t do that,” said Keith. “I mean, this is our
wedding
.
Our friends are coming over here for a good time. If the cops start snooping
around, asking a million questions about some chick with a screw loose, it’ll
wreck the whole vibe.”

“Vibe?
What kind of vibe do you think I got finding a hacked-off ponytail in my car?
And especially since it’s the same hair color as your missing friend’s.”

“Pali,
I told you. That’s not Crystal’s hair,” said Nicole. “She’s way more blond than
that. That’s pretty much an auburn color, and I’d call Crystal’s hair light
strawberry blond, right Keith?”

His
gaze was fixed at a point far down the alley.

“Keith!
I’m talking to you.”

“Oh,
sorry, what’d you say?”

“I
said
, Crystal’s hair isn’t that color. It’s
way
more blond.”

“Yeah.
You’re right. Anyway, I gotta go. My tee time’s in forty minutes and I’ve got
to get to the driving range for a little practice before then.”

“Yeah,
me too,” said Nicole. “I’ve got a pilates class and then at noon the girls are
taking me to a fortune teller up in Pa’ia. She’s going to give me a tarot card
reading. I’m
dying
to hear what she has to say about my future.”

There
was only one so-called ‘fortune teller’ in all of Pa’ia who did tarot readings
for tourists. I considered calling Farrah to clue her in about who’d be showing
up for her twelve o’clock appointment. But then I figured, hey, she’s the
psychic, she probably already knows.

CHAPTER 4

I
never lock my car. No reason to, and it wouldn’t do any good anyway since the
lock on the passenger side door’s been broken since the day I bought the car.
I’d never considered it a problem, but after the hair showed up I no longer
felt it was okay to leave my car wide open. I still wasn’t worried about car
theft—that’d be cause for celebration—but it creeped me out to imagine someone
getting in and rummaging around my personal space at will. I wasn’t buying
Nicole’s claim it wasn’t her bridesmaid’s hair. On TV crime shows, the cops use
hair to identify people through DNA testing. I was sure once I filed the
missing person report the police would be eager to track down the missing
woman. And I’d be able to supply them with Crystal Wilson’s DNA, because I had
her hair—lots of it.

I
pulled out my cell phone. It was dead. It’d been doing that lately. It never stayed
charged for more than a few hours. I trudged back up the stairs to my shop and
plugged it in. 

When
the phone sparked to life, the message beeper went off. I punched in my code
and listened.

“
You
have three messages
,” purred the voicemail lady.
Message received
Wednesday, at eight-thirty-two.
“Hey, Pali. It’s me, Steve. I won’t be
coming back to the house tonight. Didn’t want you to worry. I’ll see you
tomorrow after work. Have a good one.”

Message received Wednesday, at nine-oh-nine
. From the first word, I
recognized Hatch Decker’s deep voice. “Hi, babe. It’s me. I’m on shift tonight.
If you’re going down to Lahaina I might see you there. We’re taking an extra
med unit down just in case. I’m off tomorrow but I’m going fishing with the
guys. I’ll be off again on Sunday. Maybe we can hook up then.”

Message received Wednesday, at nine-fifty-nine
.
“Hello Pali Moon.” The
male voice was unfamiliar—even the accent wasn’t one I recognized. “I hope you
got my present. You tell Lewis I—” The voicemail ended and there was a long
pause.

End of messages.

I
looked up the number for the Maui Police Department. I knew better than to
bother nine-one-one with a non-emergency call. “Maui Police Department, how may
I direct your call?”

“I
need to report a missing person.”

“Missing
person reports are taken here at our main station in Wailuku from eight a.m. to
five p.m. Do you need directions?”

“No,
I’ve been there before.”

“Can
I assist you further?” In the background, I could hear other phone lines
ringing.

“No,
mahalo
, that’s all. I’ll come in today.”

She
signed off and I looked at my watch. Still plenty of time to get my errands
done and get to the station before they closed.

***

Keith
and Nicole’s wedding was scheduled for Saturday, November 10
^th
onboard the
Maui Happy Returns
—a for-hire catamaran docked in Lahaina
Harbor. Hatch Decker, my-more- than-a-friend but not-quite-a-significant-other
had given me the name of the boat captain and had vouched he was a reliable
sailor. I’d never used this particular catamaran before and I never commit to
anything without first checking it out six ways to Sunday, so I headed down to
the harbor to inspect the craft and crew.

The
day was perfect—the kind of weather the Hawaii Visitor’s Bureau plasters on its
website and brochures—all golden sun and crystal blue sky with matching
sapphire-colored ocean. I had to drive around the harbor area three times
before finding a parking spot. I knew I was wasting gas cruising for a spot but
something in my local blood won’t allow me to pay for parking. The harbor was
abuzz with tourists lining up for the early afternoon snorkel cruises to
Honoloa Bay and down to Turtle Town. There are a half-dozen spots in South and
West Maui that claim the title, ‘Turtle Town’, but that’s because the snorkel boat
captains simply keep an eye on their fish finders and when they spot a few
turtles they drop anchor and announce they’ve reached Turtle Town.