Livin' Lahaina Loca (5 page)

“Anyway,
here’s the written order for both cakes. I need them for the Saturday next, on
the tenth. The ceremony’s down in Lahaina, on a boat. Then we’re going to Gerard’s
at the Plantation Inn for a fancy dinner and reception. I’ll be here by nine
that morning to pick up the cakes.”

“This
three-tier cake is
pa’akiki
—you know, not easy. And much money. I don’t
mind carrying it down to Lahaina Town. I’ll get Komo to help me.”

“You
sure? It’s sometimes hard to find a parking place down there.”

“No
worries. We know Pako, one of the line cooks at Gerard’s. He’ll let us park in
the truck zone for a few minutes.”

I
left her with a hefty down payment on the cakes and a pledge to meet her at the
Plantation Inn at ten o’clock on the day of the wedding. I knew that for
Keahou—and most of the residents on Maui—that meant any time before noon, but
I’d adjusted my timetable accordingly.

Leaving
Keahou’s, I felt my heart rate quicken as I considered my next stop. There’s a
police station on the West Side—in the Lahaina Civic Center—but I opted for the
Wailuku station since it was closer to home for me. Besides, I’d met a couple
of the guys there when I’d gotten involved in a crazy proxy wedding last
winter, so I hoped I’d run into a friendly face.

 Traffic
was light on my way down to the Hana Highway and from there I made it to
Mahalani Street in less than half an hour. I parked in back and went through
the familiar glass doors marked Maui County Police Department. The police
station was decorated in classic your-tax-dollars-at-work décor. Everything was
beige, with shiny tile floors, low fluorescent-lit ceilings, and a big glass
case displaying various awards and citations earned by members of the
department and local citizen heroes.

A
smiling receptionist sat behind a wide counter on the far side of the room. She
wore a wireless telephone headset with a black foam bulb near her mouth. I
assumed she was on a call since she was talking in a low voice and there was no
one else in sight. Her long black hair was pulled back and as she turned to
pull a file from a cabinet behind her I couldn’t help but notice the bright
blue scrunchie securing her ponytail. I shook off a shudder.

She
signed off from her call and turned to me. “
Aloha
. Can I help you?”
 

“
Aloha
.
I need to speak to someone about reporting possible criminal activity.” I’d
rehearsed that line while walking into the station.

“
Possible
criminal activity? What exactly do you mean?”

Okay,
so much for my attempt at cop-talk. “I have evidence that indicates a missing
girl may have been abducted.”

“How
old?”

“Well,
it was left in my car last night. But this was the first chance I’ve had to
bring it in.”

“No,
how old is the
girl
?”

I
had a strong desire to mutter
never mind
and flee. Were Keith and Nicole
right and I was overreacting? “Oh, sorry. She’s… I don’t know, probably
twenty-two, twenty-three years old.”

“Then
she’s an adult female, not a girl.” She glanced down as one of the lines on her
phone console started to blink. A second later it began humming an almost
soothing,
chirr-chirr
. She broke eye contact as she picked up the call.
As she questioned the caller, I wondered if maybe she was finished with me. Even
though it had been over forty-eight hours, it was starting to look like the
police didn’t consider a missing adult a big problem.

I
turned to leave. I heard her quietly say, “Hold please.”

I
was nearly to the door when she said in a much louder voice, “Miss? Please have
a seat. I’ll have you speak to Detective Wong.”

Glen
Wong was one of the few guys I’d met at the department. When a crazy wedding I
was involved in last winter had gone sour he’d questioned me for what seemed
like days, but turned out to be just a little over four hours. Not a hostile
guy, but definitely thorough and a bit
aloha
-challenged when it came to
dealing with the public. 

The
receptionist gestured toward a row of beige plastic chairs. “It’ll be just a
few minutes. He’s on the phone.”

I
hate wasting time. I’d promised to call my potential client on the mainland by
five so I pulled out my cell phone.

The
receptionist saw me and wagged a finger. “Civilian cell phones aren’t allowed
in this building.”

“Not
allowed? Like they’re against the law?”

“You’re
not supposed to use them in here. Only lawyers or sworn officers are allowed to
make calls inside the building.”

“So,
normal people…” I waited for her to answer my implied question.

“We
don’t get a lot of ‘normal’ people in here.” She smiled as if she’d been
waiting forever to use that line on someone. “Civilians need to be at least
thirty feet from the building to make or receive calls. But if you leave, I’ll
have to alert the detective that you’re no longer on the premises. His shift’s
almost over.”

Ah,
Hawaiian-style bureaucracy. Maybe I’d remember to mention that downside of
island life to Ono the next time I saw him.

I
nodded and took a seat on a chair facing the glass display case. If I’d been in
the mood to suck up, I’d have gone over to check out the
attaboy
awards.
But by then I was already regretting I’d come in. I’d stick around long enough
to file the missing person report and hand over the hair and then at the first
opportunity I’d hightail it out of there. My stomach was growling.

Detective
Wong appeared a half minute later.

“Hello,
Ms. Moon. Good to see you again.” He held out his hand and I shook it. Oddly,
in my wedding business there’s very little hand shaking. Lots of hugs, even
some occasional fist-bumps and cheek- or air-kissing, but very little formal
handshaking. I reminded myself of the handshake protocol I’d learned in federal
agent “charm school”—firm, but not gripping; look ‘em in the eye; and let go after
counting to three.

“Nice
to see you again, Detective Wong. I’m here with a rather strange situation.”

“Okay.
Let’s find a room and you can tell me all about it.”

He
led me to a door leading from the reception area to a hallway. He swiped his ID
through the card reader and opened the door. Once we were in the hallway, he
peeked into the first interior room and found it empty. I was pretty sure it
was the same room I’d been in last time, but who could tell? There was nothing
memorable about the contents of the room:  a metal table with a fake
wood-grained top and three metal and plastic chairs. No pictures, no clock, no
window except a large framed mirror along one wall which I knew was really
one-way glass to an observation area.

“What’s
up?” He pointed to a chair on the other side of the table. I wondered if that
meant we were being taped and he wanted me in full view of the camera.

“Mind
if I sit over there?” I nodded to the chair opposite the one he’d indicated.

“Please.
Sit anywhere you want. This is your show.”

“
Mahalo
.
Okay, I don’t want to waste your time so I’ll get right to it.” I launched into
a brief summary of the events surrounding Crystal Wilson’s disappearance,
starting with the bachelorette party; then no one hearing from her the next
day; then me asking around Lahaina on Halloween night. The big finale was me
finding the hank of hair on my back seat. As I concluded my little speech it
occurred to me that the whole thing sounded pretty bizarre.

“Okay,
let’s start with names and numbers. Do you have contact information for the
friends who first told you this young woman was missing?”

I
gave him Keith and Nicole’s names and told him they were staying up at the
Kapalua Ritz. “I’ve programmed their cell phone numbers on my phone—can I check
it?”

“The
names and hotel information are enough.” His face turned hard, as if allowing
me to even peek at my cell phone inside the police building would get him in
trouble with Internal Affairs or something.

“Do
you have the hair with you?”

“Yes,
I left it pretty much as I found it. I’m parked in the lot out back.”

“I’d
like to see what you’ve got. Give me a minute and I’ll catch up with you out in
the lobby.”

He
walked me back to the lobby and then he went through a door on the other side
of the reception desk.  A few minutes later he returned and he moved a
little peg from ‘in’ to ‘out’ on a whiteboard with a list of names. Without a
word he gestured for me to lead the way and we silently made our way to the
parking lot. It would have been nice for him to make an effort at small talk—I
mean, I was reporting a missing woman and I was obviously kind of nervous about
the whole thing—but he stayed quiet.

As
we approached my banged-up car I steeled myself for the usual wise cracks and
put-downs but even as the rear door hinge squealed as I pulled it open, he said
nothing.

I
waited by the open door while he leaned in and peered into the back seat.

“Is
this the hair you’re talking about?” he said pointing at the ponytail, as if I
had a backseat piled with various clumps of disembodied hair.

“Yes,
and it’s the same color as the woman who’s gone missing.”

“Huh.
And you think this indicates foul play?”

“No
one’s heard from her for almost two days now.” 

He
stared at the pavement and rubbed a hand across his mouth as if deep in
thought. “It’s not against the law to cut your hair, you know, Ms. Moon. I
guess you could claim this as littering or improper disposal of waste, but I
don’t really see a crime here.”

“There’s
a woman with hair just like this who’s been missing for
two days
,
Detective. Oh, and check this out:  someone keyed my car. It probably
happened when they put the hair in there.”

He
ran his finger along the deep scratch that ran the full length of my car.
“Yeah, that’s a pretty deep scratch. You’re going to need to get that
professionally buffed out. It may require a whole new paint job.” He turned and
shot me a smile. “If you’re looking for a police report to file an insurance
claim, just say so. No skin off my nose. But don’t worry about the hair. It was
Halloween night—in Lahaina. We arrested seven people down there, mostly drunk
and disorderly. We caught a couple of guys urinating in public; even had a
minor stabbing incident outside the Bubba Gump’s. Guy used a dinner fork, can
you believe that?”  

He
stared at me, I stared back.

“Okay,
fine. I guess that’s it then,” I said. I reached for the driver door handle.

“Don’t
go just yet,” he said. “Let me bag this hair. You mind hanging out here for
another couple of minutes? I need to go inside and grab an evidence bag.”

As
soon as he was out of sight I looked at my watch. It was already
seven-forty-five on the West Coast. I pulled out my cell phone and called my
potential client. I got her voicemail.

Hi! This is Trish. Buddy proposed! If you want to
leave congratulations or a fabulous message, wait for the beep. And if you’re
Susan, get over it. He picked me, not you. Ha, ha! Bye-ee!

I
doubted I could come up with a message on the fly that Trish might consider
fabulous
,
so I just left my name and number and then launched into a short commercial
message about my business, ‘Let’s Get Maui’d.’  I told her we were the
perfect choice for conducting her nuptials in Maui—
you bring the dream, we
bring the team
, yada, yada. I was nearly finished when my phone peeped the
low battery warning. I hurriedly ended the call with a sincere-sounding note of
congratulations, even though everyone in the world knows you’re supposed to
congratulate the groom, not the bride. But Trish’s voicemail greeting had
tipped me off she probably wasn’t going to be a stickler for the finer points
of wedding etiquette.

Wong
returned clutching a wad of evidence-gathering paraphernalia, including a
couple of monster-sized plastic baggies, a pair of latex gloves, and a black
felt pen. He snapped on the gloves and eased the ponytail off the seat and into
one of the bags. Then he scribbled a few notations on the bag and sealed it.

“We’ll
be in touch,” he said.

“That’s
it? Don’t you want to write down my statement?”

“I’ve
got what I need, Ms. Moon.” He started to walk away, then turned back around.
“Were you in Lahaina Town last night?”

“Yes,
I already told you I was. That’s where my car was parked when I found the
hair.”

 “And
you were down on Front Street?”

“Yes,
I already said that too.”

“Drinking?”

“No,
I was looking for the missing girl—uh, woman—the bridesmaid.”

“It
was Halloween, you know.”

 “Yes,
detective, I’m well aware it was Halloween.”

“A
night for pranks and practical jokes.”

“I’m
not the joking type, detective.”